Edward took the colas Joseph held out to him. “At least he’s reading.”
“Takes after his mother. Noelle loved to read.”
“Still does.” When was the last time Edward had been able to read a novel? Too long.
“D-a-d. Let’s go,” Jeff called out.
Edward tucked the binders under one arm, followed Joseph into the family room and tossed Jeff a Coke.
“Edward, now it’s going to make a mess.” Noelle scolded.
“That’s mine—here’s yours.” He put the other can in front of Jeff. “Be right back.”
“Hurry up, Dad.”
“And leave the reading material up there,” Noelle called out. “You are watching the movie with us.”
“Two minutes.” He ignored Jeff’s sarcastic comment that that meant ten minutes.
The hall grandfather clock chimed then bonged ten times as Edward took the stairs two at a time. He plunked the binders on the counter in their bathroom. He didn’t dare try to read it after the movie; Noelle would expect some love tonight and he’d been looking forward to making his lady happy. Really looking forward to it.
But damn. He needed a few hours to prepare for that meeting. Edward kicked his shoes off and quickly shed his clothes. He wasn’t sure what Noelle had planned for family day tomorrow, but he’d have to eke out an hour or two for work. Noelle and Jeff would just have to understand. They always did.
They were used to his hectic life as a senator—they didn’t like it, but they understood how much it meant to him. Edward loved talking to and listening to people. He loved the whole political process used to make a better life for Michiganders. He loved having the power to be instrumental in making a positive difference in so many lives. He loved working each and every day at something he was good at.
So he’d made his family a deal. If they found the patience and energy to support him through another term, Edward promised to be better at time management. He’d carve out twenty percent more family time. Somehow. Not quite sure how, as there were only so many hours in a day, but he’d find a way. He’d promised.
Edward threw his robe on and headed downstairs.
* * *
In 2000, Dr. Albert Dutton founded Aviva Technology. Skye plumped the pillows behind her and pulled her sheets tight, before settling back to scroll down the page. Dr. Dutton’s expertise lies in modern molecular and cellular technology techniques. “Yada, yada, yada.” Eileen Warren, MD, Dsc, is the Vice President, Research and Development. “What does Dsc stand for?” Board certified... A fellow... Chief resident... “Yada, yada, yada.”
“A-ha.” Skye pulled the laptop closer and squinted at the monitor. Mark Dutton, graduate of University Michigan MBA program... Worked for... Before joining the team in 2013 as the President of Operations. She moved through several links looking for pictures, but couldn’t find any of the staff.
Hmm. Would have been handy to know him months ago when she’d been scouring the earth for stem cells for Niki. Now it was too late. Niki was dead and Skye had absolutely no use for a stem cell company or this man’s knowledge. Was this some sick cosmic joke? God sent her this guy after Niki’s gone? What’s the message in that?
Maybe there isn’t one and you’re just being paranoid, Skylar.
Maybe, but she still needed to find Mark Dutton and give him back his money. Skye could pay for her own dinner. It was reassuring to discover that he didn’t seem to be some desperate creep with nothing better to do than hang out in bars. Still, why had Mark Dutton come to a total stranger’s rescue and then gone one step further and bought her dinner? It couldn’t be a pick up; he hadn’t stuck around to meet her or get her phone number. He hadn’t even left his business card to make it easy for her to get in contact with him. What was his angle? If he was trying to make her crazy thinking about him, he’d succeeded—not that she’d ever let him know that.
Skye lifted the notebook off her lap and tossed it onto the bed beside her. She crossed her ankles. Maybe Mark Dutton was shy or socially awkward. Maybe he’s married. Maybe it was like Beauty and the Beast and he’s hideously ugly. Not that she was beautiful, but ridiculous occurrences often had equally ridiculous motives. Hmm, what would he look like?
A guy that smooth and confident must be either movie star handsome or homely. One extreme or the other. A president of a research company was probably on the nerdy side. Skye pictured this tall, scrawny, anemic, pocket-protector nerd, with thick glasses that would slide down his nose. And blond; he’d have straight blond slightly-greasy hair, a little on the long side ’cause he never made time to take care of his appearance. And if he didn’t look like that, he’d be prematurely balding and paunchy.
Skye rolled over and turned out her light. Fluffing her pillow, she snuggled down under the covers and closed her eyes, but her buzzing brain refused to slow. Darn Mark Dutton. She didn’t even know the man and already he was causing her to lose sleep.
She’d thought of going back to Luigi’s to question the bartender, but as curious as she was, Skye wasn’t desperate. And that smacked of desperation—and shallowness—as if she wouldn’t be looking him up and repaying him if he wasn’t young, handsome, and available. She was doing the right thing, and it had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with appearances.
Mark Dutton could be a lonely elderly gentleman who came to her rescue because she reminded him of his granddaughter. In fact, she hoped that was the case. It’d make meeting him tomorrow much less awkward.
* * *
Finishing up her Dear Darlene letters, Skye left the office early and drove through downtown Detroit a good fifteen minutes before pulling into a near-empty parking lot. Though it was late afternoon on Wednesday, the weekend was approaching, and Skye hadn’t wanted to leave this hanging over her head all weekend.
Skye picked up the white envelope from the passenger’s seat, threw her shoulders back, and walked toward the red brick building. The two-story structure bore the name of Aviva Technology in tasteful black lettering. Hunter green awnings shaded the entrance and nondescript beige blinds protected the inside from the strength of late-day sun.
Skye let herself into an open reception area. Live plants leisurely stretched out in the corners. Soft, calming music piped in, complementing the gentle mauve and taupe chairs, and large pastel framed landscapes of innocuous countryside scenes graced the room. The whole decor flowed to soothe and reassure clients—tasteful.
The receptionist sitting in front of a built-in computer desk excused herself from her phone conversation and looked up at Skye. “May I help you?”
“I’m here to see Mark Dutton."
“Your name?”
“Skylar Kendall.”
The receptionist picked up her phone and murmured into it, then turned back to Skye. “Mr. Dutton is taking a conference call, but he’ll be done shortly.
“Thanks, I’ll wait.” Skye went to one of the end tables and stared at the magazine rack bolted to the wall. Science, Nature, New England Journal of Medicine, or...the newspaper? Hmm. Scintillating reading. Skye picked up the paper.
“Ms. Kendall.” The receptionist opened the inner door for her. “If you’ll just sign in and attach this pass, you can go on back. Mr. Dutton’s office is the second one on the left down at the end of the hall.”
Skye signed the log and looped the visitor’s pass lanyard around her neck. She walked down the long hallway, slowing as a woman talking on a cell phone drew near. Tall and elegant, the pretty blond approached on three-inch heels and in a cloud of Coco perfume. Her white lab coat lofted open as she strode forward. DR. EILEEN WARREN was boldly embroidered in navy thread over her left breast pocket. She brushed an index finger across her phone, then dropped it in her lab coat pocket before sizing up Skye with an acute two-second glance.
“You look lost.”
Dr. Warren exuded breeding and confidence from the tip of her highlighted blond head to the bottom of her designer alligator stilettos. She looked to be in her mi
d-forties—far too young to have accomplished all her bio claimed. With her designer suit, fashionable shoes, and expensive perfume, Dr. Warren resembled a socialite more than a serious researcher. Skye felt like going home and throwing away her jeans, clogs, and sweater to change into a skirt and stylish top.
Shoot. What would Mark Dutton turn out to be like? A child prodigy?
“I’m looking for Mark Dutton’s office.”
“Straight ahead, next door on your left.”
“Thank you.” Skye hurried forward before her nerve left her. She stopped in front of a dark wooden door with an etched plaque identifying it as Mark Dutton’s office. Skye knocked and, at his invitation, opened the door.
A guy in tight blue jeans and a white dress shirt crouched in front of a large wooden desk over a box of squirming bundles of fur. His thick hair was pushed to the side revealing coffee brown eyes. A hint of a beard shaded his chin and face, giving him a disheveled, outdoorsy kind of appearance.
“Mark Dutton?”
He stopped petting a puppy and put it back with its whining littermates. Standing, he wiped his hand on his thigh, and reached out to shake her hand. “You must be Skylar Kendall.”
This was Mark Dutton? Crap. Not elderly—at least not for another thirty years. Skye took an involuntary step backward, frowning. He had dark hair. And he was large, muscular, and fit, not the scrawny, anemic nerd she’d expected. She stared at his proffered hand before taking it. Part of her registered the warm, firm handshake, while the other thought, No scientist geek, either.
“Please, call me Skye. It’s nice to meet you.”
Her gaze wandered around the office from the box of puppies to framed photos of an older couple and a large family, to the encased Bronco Jersey signed by Peyton Manning on the wall over a worn leather couch. On the credenza sat a collection of various group pictures, and one of Mark Dutton and...
Mark leaned back to rest his butt on the credenza and knocked over the picture she’d been looking at. He barely glanced at it before flipping it over. What was he hiding? A wife? Her glance dropped to his hand. No wedding band.
“Pardon my appearance. I usually dress a little nicer for work, but I didn’t have any meetings today, and I had these guys to take care of.” He bent to run a comforting hand over the whimpering pups. “You like dogs?”
He held up one little fluffy thing that faintly resembled a multi-colored guinea pig. Border collie or Aussie would be her guess, if it wasn’t a mutt. The pup lay in his palm docilely and blinked.
“Not particularly. Do you always bring your pets to work? I would have thought you’d want to keep things a bit more sterile.”
Mark wedged the small animal next to the other sleeping pups then scooped up a little finger of moist food and held it out to a noisy puppy. It immediately licked the food, and then began chewing on Mark’s index finger. Mark positioned him in front of the bowl of puppy food.
“No, this is a first. My sister needed someone to keep them while she’s on vacation.”
“They’re pretty tiny.” Skye scanned the floor for a larger dog. “Where’s the mom?”
“Died.”
Dead. Figured. “Well, I...” Skye smiled and handed him the envelope. “I just want to thank you for what you did the other night and repay you for my meal.”
Mark ignored her outstretched hand. “Not necessary.”
“It is to me.”
“Keep it. Please.”
“I can’t.” She placed the envelope on his desk and smiled. “It was sweet of you to run interference for me, but I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you can.” Full lips curved into a slight smile under his steady gaze.
“I can.” Skye couldn’t tell if he was teasing her, but she was definitely picking up on some sexual undercurrents that had her internal alarms humming.
Mark held up his hands as if to ward her off. “I believe you.”
“Look, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I just wanted to thank you and give you back your money.” Skye swung around and headed for the door.
“Whoa, hold up.” He pushed off the credenza and came closer. “No need to get offended.”
“I’m not offended.”
Mark raised a doubtful eyebrow. “I’m not sure what you’re used to, but all I did was run off a guy who looked like he didn’t understand the word no and buy you a meal. No big deal.”
“If it’s ‘no big deal’ then why not let me pay you back?”
“Where I come from, men take care of ladies, and the ladies don’t pay.”
“Where do you come from?” The middle ages? Mars?
A mischievous looked crossed Mark’s face. He poked his tongue in his cheek, then his eyes crinkled in amusement. “Are you hitting on me?”
Her mouth flopped open. “What?”
“Cause it’d be okay if you were. I was just wondering.”
Skye felt the heat of embarrassment and astonishment flush her face. What an arrogant ass. Or maybe he was teasing her? “No, I’m not hitting on you. I was just... We were having a conversation. It’s a dialogue, where people exchange words. Back and forth. Speaking. You. And me.”
“Would you like to continue this conversation over dinner?”
“Excuse me?”
“I asked you out to dinner.” Mark glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late and I’m hungry.”
She looked at the box of puppies. “What about your little pals?”
“I just fed them. They’ll be fine ’til I come back.”
He expected her to turn him down. Well, she could be unpredictable, too.
“Sure.” Skye lifted her chin. Swiping the envelope from his desk, she held it out to Mark. “But only if you accept this.”
“All right.”
That’s it? No argument? Skye dropped the money into his open palm.
Mark folded the envelope and put it in his back pant pocket. His tight jean pocket that curved beautifully to his tight butt. Skye ripped her gaze away to look at the box of sleeping puppies. “Okay, so where should we meet?”
“The Grille okay with you?”
“I don’t know it.”
“The Village Grille. It’s on Kercheval down in the village. It’s in—you can follow me.”
“Okay.” Skye consciously kept her gaze from dropping to his butt. Following him would be no great hardship.
Chapter 7
Mark glanced in the rearview mirror to be sure Skye’s blue Prius was still behind him. He had to admit he was impressed. Skye moved fast. He hadn’t anticipated a visit at work—he’d thought maybe a phone call, at the most, to thank him for dinner. Then he’d almost blown it by overreacting when he turned over the photo of him and Ed. That had to have made her suspicious, but Mark wasn’t ready for her to find out about his friendship with the senator—at least not before he got a chance to know her and find out why she was so pissed at Ed.
Thinking about those deep brown eyes and full, juicy lips, his stomach clenched. Soft. They’d be smoother than satin, he’d bet. He could kiss those lips all night. That was just one of the things he was looking forward to finding out about Ms. Kendall.
Not that Mark hadn’t dated beautiful women before. He had, and he had an appropriate appreciation for them—except for deceitful or overly needy women—those he couldn’t stand, but Skye seemed genuine and smart. What started out as a whim might turn into something far more interesting.
The Grille was an unpretentious place with good food and a comfortable atmosphere. Ordinarily, he’d have run home for a quick shower, shave, and change, before taking his date to a little more upscale restaurant, like The Hill. The Village Grille wasn’t his typical first date type of place, but then Skye wasn’t his typical date either.
Their first meeting wasn’t typical, her restraint around him wasn’t typical, and her who-cares attitude about his money and connections definitely wasn’t typical. In fact, his relationship with Ed was a definite li
ability. Skylar Kendall intrigued him.
After Skye ordered a BLT with avocado, fries—extra crispy—and a glass of cabernet sauvignon, and he ordered a salad, a roast beef sandwich smothered in mushrooms, and a cold Heineken, she folded her hands primly and cast him a curious look. “So. How’d a guy like you get into this kind of business?”
He cocked his head and raised one eyebrow. “A guy like me?”
“You know, handsome, smart, socially adept, not some reclusive scientist out to cure the world of disease with some woman’s reproductive leftovers.”
Was there a compliment buried in there? It sounded like she was flirting with him, albeit, poorly with that reproductive leftovers comment, but her question seemed motivated more by genuine curiosity than any romantic overture.
“My dad is the doctor/scientist guy and CEO. He started the company. Our head researcher, Eileen, is the one who cures the world of disease with women’s reproductive leftovers. I take care of the fundraising and making this a profitable enterprise so that Dad can lecture and teach.”
“And have you?” Skye swirled the red wine in the large bowl glass.
“We’re getting there. I’d consider it a major victory if I could persuade insurance companies to cover the expense of collecting and storing cord blood for those insightful enough to want it stored. We’ve made enough headway so that Dad was able to semi-retire last year.”
“Well, that’s something. Congratulations.” Skye raised her wineglass in a toast, then tilted the glass and sniffed it before taking a sip.
Mark forced his gaze away from her full lips, moistened with heady rich wine, back to her eyes and the conversation. “I’ve still got a whole laundry list of things to achieve with this company.”
“But still, it must be nice to have accomplished your goal and know where you’re going.”
He heard the wistfulness in her tone—almost envy. “It is satisfying,” he admitted. He took a long drink of his beer, then moved it aside to make room for the meal the waitress brought. “How about you? What do you do?”
The Lives Between Us Page 6