Plain Jane Evans and the Billionaire

by Mallory Monroe

  “Lance, what are you talking about? What word?”

  Lance looked at her. She didn’t know? “Mr. Shetfield called the mill manager.”

  Janet was pleased to hear that. “So he’s alright then?” she asked.

  “Yes, he’s alright,” Lance said. “Why wouldn’t he be alright?”

  “Then what word are you talking about?”

  “Mr. Herman, the assistant mill manager, you may have heard, has gotten a promotion to another Shetfield company somewhere in Ohio.”

  “I didn’t hear it, but okay.”

  “Yeah, I forgot. You’re a frontline worker. Why would you hear about management changes? But that apparently opened the door for you.”

  Janet was still confused. “For me?”

  “Once Mr. Herman clears out in two weeks’ time, you will become the new assistant mill manager. You will become the second highest ranking person at the whole mill.” Then Lance gave her another disgusted look. “Lil’ ol’ you,” he said.

  Janet was floored. “Mr. Shetfield did that for me?”

  “He did. I wonder why?” he asked sarcastically. “I just got the word.”

  “But . . .” Janet didn’t know what to say. What on earth did she know about managing a mill? She was only twenty-two years old and barely knew how to work on the floor! What was Richard thinking? And why wasn’t he telling her all of this himself?

  Then she thought about what Lance had said about his home. “You said he went back home,” she said. “What do you mean?”

  Lance didn’t see where it was hard to understand what he said. “I meant what I said,” he said. “He went back home.”

  “To Tulsa?”

  “Tulsa? He has a house there, sure. But I’m talking Europe. Don’t you know anything? Don’t you know lover boy lives in Europe?”

  Janet was floored. Richard lived in Europe? Was that why he didn’t tell her himself about the car, and that crazy promotion? He wasn’t even in America anymore?

  Lance smiled. “You had no idea, did you?”

  It was obvious by the stricken look on her face that she didn’t. Then Lance’s smile left. He wasn’t a kind man, but he wasn’t a sadistic one either. He saw the pain in Janet’s eyes. She wasn’t used to this. “Get back to work, Evans,” he said to her. “For a man like Shetfield to give a fancy car to a woman, or a big promotion is no big deal. It’s just like giving a box of candy to a woman for the rest of us guys. It means nothing to him. Get back to work.”

  And Janet did just that. She got back to work. But for the remainder of that whole day, and the rest of that whole week, she was in a daze.

  Her coworkers had been whispering about her relationship with Richard, and his extravagant gift, ever since he gave her that car. She didn’t care at the time, because she thought. . . She thought what? The fact that he had given her a car said everything about their relationship? Only to discover it said nothing about their relationship because there wasn’t a relationship. Because he had left for Europe, without so much as telling her that he was leaving, that very same day!

  And when word spread about her possible promotion to assistant manager, those rumors became vicious and overwhelming. Everybody was talking!

  She felt like a fool. And she wasn’t angry at Richard. He’d been nothing but kind to her. How could she be angry at the man who found a picture of her mother for her? She was angry with herself. She knew better than to let herself get carried away by a brief moment in time. But she had done just that. She had not only allowed her heart to hope, but she had allowed herself to put her hope in somebody so beyond her reach that it was like reaching, not just for the stars, but for the sky, too, while she was at it. And that ache she felt for days, for the loss of someone she never had to lose, was exactly what she deserved.

  And at lunch time, she knew what she had to do. She went straight to Lance’s office.

  “Give that car back to him,” she said, handing him the keys.

  But Lance wouldn’t accept them. “Give it back?” He had a fixed frown on his face. “It’s in your name, Evans. There’s no giving it back! You should not have given it up.”

  Janet looked at him. She understood exactly what he meant. “I didn’t give anything up!” she said angrily.

  “Yeah, sure. He just gave you an S-class because he likes you. He just made you assistant manager because you’re so intelligent. Sure buddy. Nobody at this mill believes that! Ask your coworkers. They’re talking about you like a dog. They’re talking how you slept your way to that car, and to that promotion. They’re saying you have no shame.”

  Janet was stunned. She knew the talk was crazy, but she didn’t realize how true they must have believed it was.

  “Although,” Lance continued, “why he would want to get it from somebody like you is a mystery to me. All these good-looking birds around this mill and he picks you? Now that’s surprising. But that’s not my problem, is it? Now get out of my face and get back on the line!”

  “I’m on my lunch break.”

  “Then go on to lunch! Just get away from me!”

  By week’s end, she quit her job. The rumor mill was running so rampant that nobody believed a word she said. It was as if one day she was a good Christian girl with solid Christian morals, and the next day she was a trash-barrel whore. It was crippling.

  No way was she going to allow her boss or her coworkers or anybody else to think of her as somebody’s whore. Especially somebody who didn’t have the decency to at least let her know he would not be hanging around. Not that he said he would anyway. She knew he never so much as hinted that he would. But she had thought that car gift said it all. And her mother’s photograph. And then that promotion? Why would he take such drastic measures if she meant nothing to him?

  Probably because he could, she decided.

  She had no job waiting somewhere else. She barely had enough money saved to last a good two months. But she quit anyway. Her reputation, and her character, were trashed at the mill, and she couldn’t live in that. Her self-respect was worth more to her than even a roof over her head. That was why she quit.

  Her nice old landlady said she should give back that car too. “Don’t ever let a man buy your affections, young lady,” she said to Janet, “or you’ll never be free.”

  But Janet knew that wasn’t true either. Richard wasn’t trying to buy her affections at all. He didn’t want her affections. He just didn’t want her to walk to work in the dark. That was it. That was all of it. But realizing that was all there was to it disappointed Janet mightily, and it led her into weeks of irrational hurt and shame. Until she was fully able to face reality. Richard’s intentions were good. It was the rest of the world, and Janet too, who misunderstood.

  She kept her mother’s photograph. But she returned that car.

  Although that situation could have broken her, she refused to let it write her story. She hit the pavement running, not whining. And she searched for work everywhere they were taking applications. Gas stations. McDonalds. Clothing stores. Burger King. The chicken factory. The Piggly Wiggly. A janitorial service. Anywhere and everywhere.

  And it paid off. By month’s end, she found a new position. At Rooney and Rice, a consulting firm. It was another minimum wage, entry-level job at a brand-new company too. But at least it was an office job with room for advancement. At least it was a new beginning. At least the Shetfields didn’t own it.

  She felt as if she had failed up.

  The next time she saw Richard; the first time she understood what it truly meant to love and to be loved, would occur six years later.

  But not a moment too soon.

  CHAPTER TEN

  SIX YEARS LATER

  Three Weeks Before Christmas

  “Bells will be ringing,

  the glad, glad news.

  Oh, what a Christmas

  to have the blues.

  My baby’s gone;

  I have no friends

  to wish me greetings,
>
  ooh, once again.

  Choirs will be singing, ‘Silent Night.’

  Christmas carols. By candlelight.

  Please come home for Christmas.

  Please come home for Christmas.

  If not for Christmas,

  by New Year’s night.”

  He was home for Christmas and the stereo was blaring Please Come Home for Christmas, a Charles Brown tune. But even back home in Tulsa, where he had no intentions of staying any longer than he had to, it felt just as lonely as Paris.

  He stood behind his room-sized bar, a lit cigar between his fingers, and poured himself another glass of wine. The bright light was blinking on his answering machine, and the digital display showed that he had nine calls waiting. Which confounded him. He didn’t announce his arrival. Why so many calls?

  He didn’t feel like bothering, but he pressed the button anyway.

  Beep.

  “Dicky, why haven’t you phoned me? They said at the club you were spotted in town. Give me a call!”

  Beep.

  “Dick darling! You’re back in town? That’s great news! Give me a ring and we’ll do something special. And you know what I mean. L.O.L.”

  Beep.

  “Hey baby. I heard you were back. It’s all the rave at the club. How long this time? I’ve missed you. Give me a buzz and I promise to give you one!”

  The “club” was his country club. A place where the town’s elites went to hang out together and hide out from the commoners when it was the commoners, in Richard’s view, who probably needed the respite from them. He hated that club, with all the backslapping and phoniness and glad-handing. But ever since he decided to make his own way, apart from the family oil business, it was expected of him to at least show up.

  But he rarely did what was expected of him.

  Except, he thought to himself, when it came to Janet.

  He drank more wine and took a long drag on his cigar. And just like every time when he was back home in Oklahoma, his mind went back to Janet Evans. He wondered if she would be one of the women leaving him a message. But he knew she never would. The only woman he would actually call back was the only woman who wouldn’t call him to begin with. Because she wasn’t that kind of girl.

  He remembered, six years ago, when the owner of that Mercedes dealership phoned him. He had just left Tulsa earlier that week and was at his chateau in Paris, in bed, with some woman whose name he wasn’t sure he ever knew. It was ten o’ clock in the morning, but being the party-person he was whenever he was back home in Paris, he and his lady friend were still asleep.

  He opened his eyes and looked at his cell phone on the nightstand. Ten am. He remembered wondering who would phone him that time of morning. But he answered anyway.

  “Yes?” His voice was husky and barely discernible. It had to be obvious to whomever was on the other end that he had been asleep.

  “Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Shetfield.”

  “Who is this?”

  “It’s Michael, sir. Michael Greer.”

  Richard exhaled. He knew him. He knew he owned that Mercedes dealership in Tulsa, and that he was a friend of one of his brothers. But why would he be calling him that time of morning? “What is it?” he asked him.

  “To my own astonishment, sir, she returned the vehicle.”

  Richard frowned. “Who returned what vehicle?”

  “Miss Janet Evans, sir. She returned the S-class.”

  Richard heard it, but he couldn’t believe it. She returned it? Who returns a Mercedes?

  It was enough for him to throw the covers off of his naked body, swing his legs out, and sit on the edge of his bed. His lady friend stirred. “Dicky,” she said, reaching for him, “come back to bed!”

  But Janet was on his mind. “What did she say when she returned it?” he asked Greer.

  “She said it didn’t belong to her. She said to please give it back to you.”

  Richard frowned again. “That’s all she said?”

  “That’s all she said. My lot manager tried to reason with her, of course. But he was so blown away, too, that he couldn’t find the words to say. You’ve given many cars to many ladies since I’ve owned that dealership. And I thank you for the business. She was the absolute first, in all my years, who returned one.”

  It was a first for Richard too. But it confirmed what he had suspected all along. She just wasn’t that kind of girl! She had the kind of morals that people like him would say were fanatical. Because the morals of people like him depended on the situation. Her morals never changed. They were her way of life.

  And he took her virginity. That sweet girl. What an asshole!

  But then he remembered a surge of excitement shooting through his body when he had actual confirmation that Janet was who he thought she was. Could he have finally found the kind of lady he always wanted to have, but just knew could never exist? Could she really be the true definition of a good woman? He was so excited that his first inclination was to take the first plane.

  But then he thought about why he didn’t phone her after that morning in the first place. It wasn’t because she was a bad girl. It was because she was good! It was because he saw just how fragile she was, and how sweet she was, and how his slick ass wasn’t about to play with her emotions and mess her up. She couldn’t handle a man like him. And he knew, deep down, that he couldn’t handle a woman like her.

  And the reality of it. That he had found a good woman that he wasn’t good enough to have, sent him into that downward spiral of depression he sometimes found himself caught up in. He even told Greer to hold on as he stood up, his cell phone still in his hand, and walked away, with his lady friend yelling for him to stay. “Dicky!” she yelled in her own sleepy voice. “Come back to bed, Dicky!”

  But he ignored her. He needed a drink. He went into the parlor that was adjacent to his bedroom, where a full-sized bar was housed, poured himself a stiff one, and then picked back up his cell phone. “What about the photograph?” he asked Greer.

  “Oh, you are so right, sir,” Greer said. “I almost forgot. She did keep the photograph actually. And she told my manager to thank you for that.”

  At least he didn’t completely blow it in her eyes, Richard thought.

  “What do you want me to do with the vehicle, sir?” Greer asked him.

  Richard took another sip of his drink.

  “Sir?”

  And it was Greer’s impatience that gave him a license to take his frustration out on the dealership owner. Although even he knew his anger had nothing to do with that poor man. “What the fuck you think you’re going to do with it?” he asked Greer. “You’re going to keep your car and refund me my money. That’s what you’re going to do with it!” And Richard ended the call. And angrily tossed his phone onto the bar counter.

  He remembered wondering why was he so angry? It wasn’t like he needed another woman in his life. He had too many already.

  But none of them, not one, was anything like Janet.

  But he wasn’t anything like her either. That was why he was having such a strong reaction to a woman he barely knew. Because he wasn’t worthy to get to know her better. He wanted to. Lord knows how much he wanted to! He felt his life would never be anything more than lurching from woman to woman, from obscenity to obscenity, until he made himself worthy of a good woman’s love. Something he didn’t even know how to do. And he remembered drinking too much that morning, and thinking how it was such a shame.

  And then he found out, when his management team phoned to brief him on the progress of the mill that Janet Evans turned down the promotion to assistant manager and then quit altogether. Which shocked him. Why on earth would she had quit her job?

  And it was only then did he realize how his offer could have been so badly misconstrued, not only by her, but by the people she worked with too. Did they think a good girl like her was sleeping her way to the top? What else were they going to think when he suddenly gives a Mercedes to a minimum w
age worker and a job promotion that would make her the second most powerful person at the entire mill?

  He felt awful when he realized his blunder. Just awful! And he wanted to correct the error. But how? Tell already doubtful people that it wasn’t true? That she would never sleep her way to the top? They’d believe for certain that it was absolutely true if he made such a big deal out of it that way. He knew then, even more than he already knew, that he had to leave that good lady alone.

  But that was six years ago. Why was he thinking about Janet Evans right now, six years later? Because his dumbass blew his one chance at finding true love with his extravagant gifts and foolishness, and blew up her life in the process? Could that be it?

  He stood behind his bar in his home in Tulsa, Oklahoma, three weeks before Christmas, and drained the rest of the liquor in his glass.

  Beep.

  He listened to another message. This one from Doris Wilson, his longtime secretary.

  “Hello, Boss. This is your beloved Doris calling. When you get in town give me a ring pretty-please. I’ve scheduled the consulting firm just as you requested, and they’ll be at the office tomorrow morning, nine am sharp. But isn’t this something? Three weeks before Christmas and we’ve got to deal with this crap again. It’s just awful the way people do you! I still say we should call in the lawyers and be done with it, rather than bringing in P.R. people, but your wish is my command. I am at your service. You wanted P.R., so P.R. is what you got. Tomorrow. Nine am. See you then!”

  But when another female came on after Doris’s voice mail, he put an end to the remaining calls altogether, and deleted them all.

  He walked over to his expansive window and looked out over the dark, foreboding lake that fronted his backyard. Part of the reason he was back in town was because of another harassment complaint against his mill, but this time with a group of women making the allegations. Which wasn’t unusual for a mill that size. That was why he was advised by the lawyers to settle out of court the last three times, which he reluctantly did. But such a move, in his view, set a horrible precedent. Now they were tripping over each other with complaints. But he wasn’t settling this time. A different precedent needed to be set. He was going to fight.