by Carmen Green
She grabbed her keys off the table and locked her father and brother inside the conference room. They could easily unlock the door, but that would slow him down.
“Go up front and call security,” she said, eyeing Mervyn. She had never seen him so angry.
Well, he’d just lost his real job and his side income. He was facing arrest, and there was a current Mrs. Wright and two ex-wives with babies he needed to provide for. Mervyn would be uncomfortable for a long time.
Willa looked like a gazelle running to the lobby. She threw the door open and screamed, “Call security!”
Alexandria rolled her eyes. She could have done that.
Mervyn was still shouting from inside the glass walls of the conference room, but Alexandria blocked him out. Had she not left her purse inside, she’d have been on her way. Security was on their way up. Once she got her bag, she’d leave. Being the boss was hard work.
The handset Willa had given her beeped and she answered. “Hello?”
“This is Chris Foster. Marc’s brother.”
“Marc? My Marc?” Alex balanced on one heel while leaning forward to get away from the noise.
“Yes, your husband. My brother. Marc Jacob Foster.”
“My husband doesn’t have a brother. Excuse me a minute, please, Chris.”
Her father and brother continued their loud argument as a man walked through the door with Willa.
He was tall and strong, muscles bulging from beneath the jacket of a well-made suit. He didn’t look uncomfortable, just that he didn’t want to be there. She agreed with him.
His dark eyes missed nothing. Not her brother behind the glass wall gesturing toward her. Not her father telling her how disappointed he was in her behavior and how she wasn’t going to get away with anything. Not Willa, who sobbed as if she’d been shot, and Little Sweetie who was barking his head off.
Her entire family was an embarrassment.
This man had been in her life for forty-five seconds and she didn’t like him. He’d seen her at her absolute worst and anybody that saw that was somebody she didn’t want to know.
Instantly, her defenses went up. She didn’t trust him. He didn’t look as though he’d hurt her, but he looked as if he could if he wanted to.
“Who are you?” she asked him with a fake-patient smile in her voice.
“I’m Hunter. Are you ready to go?”
“And just where would I be going with you?”
“Have you talked to Chris Foster?”
“He’s on the phone now.”
“I’ll be standing by when you’re done.”
He stepped back to give her privacy. Without understanding why, she appreciated that about him. The men in her life were without consideration and she always felt inferior, but not anymore.
“Okay.” Alex heard her southern twang and took a few deep breaths. It was always more pronounced when she was stressed or after a long day. “Can you make yourself useful and hold this?”
She handed Hunter Smith her shoulder Vuitton doggie bag, turned and gestured inside. “My purse is inside. Can you get that without letting my daddy and brother out? Security is on the way to arrest my brother. It’s a long story. He wants to hit me, so it’s important that doesn’t happen.” She smiled and nodded her head. “Thank you.”
Plugging her ears, she turned her back on the whole mess.
“I’m sorry, Chris. You caught me at a bad time. My husband didn’t have any family. He was an orphan. You have the wrong number, and as I’m sure you can hear I’m kind of busy right now.”
“Mrs. Foster, my brother wasn’t truthful with you. I’m very much alive, and very much his brother.”
“When was he born?” she asked him.
“May 5.”
“That’s right. What city?” she said quickly.
“Costa Woods, California.”
“That’s not true. He was born in Macon, Georgia.”
“No, he wasn’t. Marc Jacob Foster was born in Costa Woods, California.”
“He has a birthmark—” she began.
“It’s shaped like a boot of Texas on the inside of his right knee,” Chris finished. “He has a scar on his shoulder from falling out of a tree when he was six years old trying to reach a cat that had climbed up and wouldn’t come down. Seven stitches,” they said together.
“That’s right,” she said slowly as the reality of his words hit home.
“Why would Marc say he didn’t have a brother?”
“I can’t answer that right now, Mrs. Foster. I’ve made all the funeral arrangements.”
There was a loud crashing noise and Alexandria didn’t even want to know what was going on behind her. This day had turned out to be a day she shouldn’t have gotten out of the bed. But she knew that not looking at the mess didn’t mean it wasn’t going to be there. So she turned around.
Her brother had tried to pile chairs against the conference-room door to keep the police out, but they weren’t amused.
He was on the floor being handcuffed while their father stood by dialing his phone. No doubt calling his attorney.
“It sounds like you’re at the zoo.”
“About the same thing. It was a board meeting,” she said.
“Your husband, Marc Jacob Foster, my brother, born May 5, died in an airplane crash.”
She braced her hand on the wall and all her gold bangle bracelets rattled. “Marc can’t be dead,” Alex broke in, keeping her voice steady despite the panic that shook her rib cage. “I talked to him two days ago, and he helped me…with something.” Alex took the phone to the far end of the hallway and pressed herself into the corner.
“He’s dead, Alexandria. I know it’s hard to comprehend. But he’s gone. I’ve made the arrangements,” he said compassionately. “You’re booked on Delta flight 1135 from Atlanta to Los Angeles. There’s a layover before catching flight 231 to Del Rosa. Your seats are row 15A and 27B. A friend of mine, Hunter Smith, has agreed to be your escort so you won’t be alone. I’ve known Hunter since my days in the bureau. He’s a trustworthy guy who owns his own security company in Atlanta. The funeral is tomorrow here in Del Rosa, California. Do you have any questions?”
“Your friend is already here. Can I trust him? He’s no rapist, is he?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Ma’am is my mother. I’m Alexandria, or Alex. I have another question.”
“Go ahead.”
“Where are rows 15A and 27B? They don’t sound like first-class unless there’s a plane of all first-class seats. You know, I’ve never seen that before.” Alex tried to block out the sound of her brother gurgling.
“They’re not in first class.”
“Oh.” Her stomach bottomed out. She’d never sat in coach before.
“Where will Little Sweetie go?”
“Who’s that?”
“My Chihuahua.”
“Sorry. You’ll have to leave him home.”
“I don’t travel without him.”
Silence grew, but he broke before her. “I’ll call Hunter with an update if changes can be made. In the meantime you have two hours to pack and get to Hartsfield-Jackson Airport. Hunter’s a good man. He’s really efficient.”
“Yeah. He’s kneeling on my brother’s back now while the cops are cuffing him.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” she said, trying not to cry.
“Okay,” Chris said, dragging out the word. “He’ll escort you to your home to get your essentials and then bring you out here. See you tomorrow. Again, my sympathies.”
Alex looked at the dead phone in her hand.
Hunter helped Mervyn to his feet and brushed him off.
Her heart squeezed in her chest. Her family couldn’t know that Marc might be dead. They’d really steamroll her then.
She had to get out of there, but if her father saw her face he’d know something was wrong. Then she’d break down and ask her dad to help her find out if Marc was alive or not. Then
she’d be a vulnerable needy girl again, instead of a woman in control of her life and able to run a company.
Heading down the hallway, Alex scooped up Little Sweetie’s bag, grabbed her BlackBerry off the table, took Willa by the wrist and pushed her wayward group forward. Hunter followed with her purse on his arm.
“Where are you going?” her father demanded.
“I’ve said all I came to say. Now that Mervyn’s fired and on his way to jail, I guess you’re going to have your hands full. I’ll be back in a few days. Daddy, you have to collect that money and turn it in or no new projects will be green-lighted. Willa, stop crying now.” The woman’s sobbing instantly became tiny hiccups.
“Very good. Daddy, new credit cards will be issued tomorrow. The accountant will have them.”
“You will not leave here like this, Alexandria.”
“Daddy, I have to go to California. Today. Now. I’m leaving. If you have a business expense, submit it to the accountants in grandmother’s office. Do not yell at them. They’re not as nice as me. I’ll call you in a few days. Thanks. Bye, y’all.”
“In three days, this company will be back to the way it’s supposed to be.”
“Okay, Daddy.” Alexandria met her father’s gaze evenly. “We’ll see.”
He got in the elevator and rode down, no doubt to save his son.
Dragging Willa behind her, Alex held on to Little Sweetie’s doggie bag and shushed him. He ducked inside the bag and sat down.
“Jerry, I’m going away for a few days, okay? Do you think you can handle the phones for me?”
Her brother nodded and gave her the thumbs-up. The phone rang and he answered, “Wright Enterprises. How can I help you?”
She smiled at him. “Good job. Don’t let them take over, you hear me?”
He winked and went to work. Turning, she took two steps, and saw Hunter again, carrying her purse, clearly unhappy.
“Are you an accountant?” she asked him.
“Among other things. Today I’m here to escort you to—”
“Out of town,” she said, glancing at Jerry.
“That’s correct,” he said, picking up her cue for discretion. She wished he would step all the way back to the elevator so she could breathe, but to ask him would be rude. “Do you have a license?”
“For what?” he asked.
“Do you have one?”
“Yes.”
“May I see it?”
He seemed to be considering her from behind reflective sunglasses. “If you don’t mind, could you think a little faster?”
The only way she could tell she’d annoyed him was by the quirk in his jaw muscle.
Finally he pulled out his wallet and handed her his license.
“Here,” she said, giving him Willa’s arm as she scooted behind the receptionist’s desk and scanned his ID into the computer. Vincent Hunter Smith, six foot two, black eyes, black hair, thirty-three years-old.
He was handsome, but scary.
“Ma’am?” he said. “We need to get a move on now.”
“Alexandria. That’s my name. Or you can call me Mrs. Wright-Foster.”
“We don’t have much time, Alexandria. We need to go now.”
Somehow she hadn’t thought he’d go for Mrs. even though he was older than her by ten years. “I’m coming,” she said.
She returned his ID and he returned Willa, who’d lowered her sadness to a moan.
They boarded the elevator, and Willa stood behind them. “I don’t think I’m going to find another job. I’m going to lose my apartment.”
“Shh,” Alex told her. “Willa, you’ll work for me now as my personal assistant. Now be quiet. We have to think.”
“About what?” Willa asked.
Alex stood next to Hunter who watched the numbers above their heads intently.
“I don’t know,” she replied. “But I think we should be having important thoughts.”
He stuck his finger in his ear and shook rapidly.
They exited and got into his waiting SUV.
Maybe he’d gone swimming yesterday and the water wasn’t all out.
“You should try earplugs when you go swimming.”
His mirrored glasses turned toward her. “Buckle up. Where do you live?” he asked.
“Decatur, near the square.”
“I know where that is.”
“Good. The sooner we find out this was a mistake, the sooner I can go back to being Mrs. Marc Foster.”
He glanced at her. “What if that doesn’t happen?”
“I don’t know who I’ll be without him.”
CHAPTER 2
LAX teemed with people, but Hunter only had eyes for one person.
His gaze was fixed on Alexandria who walked in a purposeful circle, BlackBerry in hand. They’d arrived at the departure gate fifteen minutes earlier, but the plane to Del Rosa hadn’t arrived yet.
He wanted to check in with Chris, but didn’t want to be overheard by the surprisingly stoic young woman. He’d expected a lot of questions during the flight from Atlanta. But after they’d gotten settled in first class—she’d won that argument as soon as they’d arrived at the airport—she’d fallen asleep almost immediately, her eyes covered by a black silk mask, a custom-made contoured pillow protecting her neck, her personal blanket tucked around her shoulders.
To be honest he’d been disappointed. He’d expected questions, and he’d prepared answers. But that was the problem. He hadn’t had the opportunity to console the woman he’d been able to ascertain from his hurried investigation was a bit on the flighty, spoiled, entitled side.
As soon as they’d boarded the flight to California, she’d gotten comfortable, not wanting to eat or even drink anything except mineral water. Then she’d reclined her seat, tucked her hand under her chin, her neck against her pillow, and had fallen asleep.
Her beauty was flawless like that of a black porcelain doll, natural big black curls cascading over her shoulder nearly to her breasts. His mind began to play tricks on him as the plane streaked through the sky.
In his mind he’d taken her to Spain and Egypt, Russia and Europe. At first thought it had been an act, her falling asleep so perfectly. But then ten minutes rolled into a half hour, and then an hour, and then he realized he was the only one in their section not watching the movie or asleep. He’d been staring at her off and on for two hours.
Hunter stretched his back, relieved. To be off the plane and out of Atlanta felt good, but now Alexandria was attracting attention.
“I’ll make sure our connection is on time,” he said to give himself the benefit of distance.
“Where exactly are you going?” she asked, her eyes rich and vibrant, like the flavor cinnamon.
He looked at the desk and attendant five feet away. “Right there.”
Maybe she was confused, he thought, giving her the benefit of the doubt. She’d just found out her husband was dead.
“I’m going to try Marc’s phone again.”
“If you wait a couple minutes, I’ll find a place where you can make your call in private.”
“I don’t want to wait. I want to talk to him now.”
“I understand that, Alexandria. Just give me a minute—”
“Hunter, I’m not a child. You don’t have to babysit me.”
What would happen if this was the time that she finally realized he was dead and she fell apart? Then he’d have an hysterical woman on his hands. What if Chris had been wrong and Marc answered the phone? Then he’d have an hysterical woman on his hands.
What was he thinking?
Marc was dead!
Alexandria was sucking him into her land of make-believe where there were toy dogs, sobbing assistants and lunatic family members, not to mention the queen bee herself, Alexandria. The Clampets had nothing on the Wrights.
Hunter moved forward in the line. If he didn’t stick to the facts, he’d be as batty as they were. Marc was dead, he was escorting her to California, and
in a few days, he’d be going back to Atlanta to resume running his security firm and playing his saxophone.
He’d finally gotten an offer to play at a small restaurant. The idea of taking his hobby to the public was the coolest feeling. Like he was some hotshot sax player.
He’d been waiting for that day for a long time. The movement in his arm was nearly a hundred percent after being paralyzed three years ago. Now his life was his own and he was ready to live it on his own terms.
Hunter checked the perimeter, being patient. He’d be back in Atlanta soon, and all this craziness would be behind him.
Chris had been right. Alexandria wasn’t pretty. She was gorgeous, and that was causing a problem.
Passengers who’d been relaxing with their legs outstretched snatched them back as if she were Moses and they were the Red Sea. She threaded her way through them and stopped at the window. Once more she banged the phone against her palm, put it to her ear, then dialed again.
The irrational feeling of wanting to abandon his place in line seized him and Hunter understood the instinctual emotion. He’d worked in security for nearly ten years. He’d protected families of presidents, dignitaries and kings, and now that he was in the private sector, sitting in his office issuing instructions got boring. He was being overprotective.
“How soon will the flight to Del Rosa be boarding?”
“The plane just arrived,” the attendant Brittney answered with a smile that hinted at recent injections. “We should be boarding in about fifteen minutes.”
Brittney was a cute blonde, but not his type. He needed a woman on the East Coast, older than him, and someone with career demands so high she didn’t really need him.
“Your ticket, please?” Brittney offered him a look that held untold promises. He handed her both itineraries.
“Your wife?” she asked, her head tilted sideways. Jealousy lurked in her blue eyes, and he could see the explosive arguments before they happened. Accusations would fly like dessert plates, his CDs innocent victims of her rage.
Two men stood on either side of Alex, blocking her path. She tried to get around them, but they were playing a game of cat and mouse.
“Girlfriend?” Brittney sounded more hopeful, and he was rewarded with a fluttering of eye blinks.