by Kit Morgan
Gray eyes framed with dark lashes looked back. They were Tory’s best feature and went well with her sable hair. Less of a good feature were the dark smudges beneath her eyes – she looked like she’d been out all night. Maybe that’s why Mr. Smith ogled her with such interest – he probably thought she’d consider using one of his rooms for “business.” She shuddered at the thought and got out of the car.
Once inside the house, she opened a few windows in the front and back to get a cross-breeze going, then went into the kitchen to see what sort of mess Benny had left behind. “Oh, Benny, you filthy slob,” she said, hands on hips. Dishes were piled in the sink, including a bowl with dried pancake batter in it. “That’s going to have to soak.”
“About time you got home!”
Tory yelped and spun around. “Don’t do that! What do you mean sneaking up on me?”
Benny lit a cigarette and leaned against the kitchen’s doorjamb. “I wasn’t sneaking. I was standing.”
“Sneaking is not standing, and you weren’t there when I got home.” She glanced around the kitchen. “And for Heaven’s sake, clean up after yourself – you weren’t raised in a barn!” She grabbed a greasy frying pan off the stove and went to put it in the sink.
“Why when I have you to do it for me?” He took a drag.
“I’m not doing those dishes. You made the mess, you clean it up.”
He stood, watching her with red eyes. Seems cigarettes weren’t all he’d been smoking today. She could tell he was thinking up some lame excuse to have her do them for him. “So where ya been, sis?”
“None of your busin … hey, wait a minute!” Tory said as realization dawned. “If you’re here, where’s your car?”
He went to the sink, blowing acrid smoke at her as he passed. “Repo men were here, didn’t you know? Oh, wait, of course you didn’t. You were out running around when you could have been here to help me KEEP MY CAR!” His last words were yelled in her face.
Tory held her breath and started to count to ten. If she didn’t, she was liable to clobber him with the frying pan and whatever was stuck to it.
“My car’s gone, Tory!” he bawled. “What are you gonna do about it?”
She smiled. “You made the mess, you clean it up,” she repeated.
He headed for the small table by the front door where Tory kept her keys in a bowl. “Fine, then I’ll use Mom’s.”
She ran after him. “Don’t you dare! If you lost your car, that’s your fault.” He grabbed the bowl, but she grabbed his arm and yanked, causing her keys to fly through the air and land behind the couch. He began swearing a blue streak and she gritted her teeth. Try as she might, her promise to her mother to get her little brother to stop swearing was failing … no, she was trying. Benny was failing.
He dove for the couch.
“Benny! No way!” She moved to block him.
But he spun her aside. “I’m taking Mom’s car!”
“That’s my car – Mom gave it to me before she died!”
Benny sneered, grabbed the back of the couch and flipped it over. It landed on the rickety coffee table, smashing it. He snatched up the keys and dangled them in triumph. “I’ll be seeing ya!”
“Benny, give me those keys!” Tory ordered, trying to block his path to the door. He had four inches and sixty pounds on her, but she had to try.
“Not this time, sis. The car’s mine.”
By golly, she would hit him. She was about to when the doorbell rang.
“Boyfriend?” Benny said with a smirk.
“Probably a bill collector looking for you!” she hissed back. “Pick up the couch!” She brushed her hair out of her eyes and took a deep breath.
Much to her surprise, her brother did as he was told, righting the couch with a loud thud as the doorbell rang again. Good, maybe whoever it was hadn’t heard. She answered the door to find a FedEx man on the other side. “Victoria Phelps?”
“Yes, that’s me.” She looked at the large white envelope in his hand. “What’s that?”
“No idea.” He took his electronic gadget and scanned the envelope before holding it out to get her signature. She signed and gave it back. Please don’t let this be legal papers, she thought. Oh, Lord, no one’s suing Benny, are they?
Benny saw his opportunity, shoving past her and the delivery guy on his way out the door. “See ya later, sis!” He cackled and got in the car – her car! – before she could say a word. With a screech of tires he backed out of the driveway, just missing the FedEx van, and took off down the street.
Tory groaned, took one look at the startled FedEx guy and shrugged, “Sorry.”
He shrugged back and walked away, got into his van and left. He’d probably had that happen twice today already.
Tory pushed the door shut with her foot and stared at the envelope in her hands. “Who is this from?” She tried to read the return address, but the print was tiny – even holding it close and squinting didn’t help. At twenty-five she thought she was too young to need glasses, but her mother started wearing them in her thirties and her father had as long as she could remember.
Thoughts of her parents made her turn to the family picture on the mantle. It was from a trip to Disneyland. She was eight, Benny six and it was one of the happiest times of her life. She dropped the envelope onto the couch, crossed the room to the fireplace and picked up the framed photo. “I miss you,” she whispered to it.
Her father had died of cancer not two years after that vacation. Her mother, a housewife, had to work at whatever she could find to make ends meet. Dad’s small life insurance policy didn’t last long, so her mother had to save for the children’s college. When Tory was old enough to work and help out, things got better, and she, being the responsible one, told her mother to send Benny to school with the money. It would be good for him, teach him responsibility, he’d start to grow up. So much for that.
Despite Tory’s contributions to the family finances, they eventually had to sell the house. It was too hard to keep up the payments. She sighed just thinking about it. Her childhood home was a lovely two-story brick house near the university. She loved that house, cried when they had to give it up – and cried harder when she found out where her mother found another one, east of the city limits in what Stocktonians uncharitably called “Okieville.”
But it was all they could afford, so Wanda Phelps put a huge down payment on it, and between the two of them they paid off the loan in less than ten years. It wasn’t in the best part of town – whoever had built the neighborhood thought sidewalks were too ritzy – but it was theirs free and clear. Tory’s mother had achieved her goal. She died three days later, God rest her soul.
“Oh, Mom, what am I gonna do?” Tory glanced at the envelope and sighed. “And who do I owe money to?” She’d have to open the darn thing to find out. Benny had her so upset she couldn’t think. She hoped this wasn’t his doing, like the time he’d put her electronic signature on some student loan he’d applied for and it went through. When he didn’t pay on it, she got the bill. That was Benny for you. Though it had never occurred to her that he’d steal her car …
At times her brother felt like a noose around her neck. She wasn’t sure what to do about him other than toss him out. But she’d promised Mom she’d look after him, teach him how to be an adult or die trying.
But the latter was looking more and more likely. He was lazy, couldn’t hold a job and blew through cash like nobody’s business. Lately he’d been pestering her to sell the house so they could split the money and each get their own place. Yeah, right – most likely his half of the money would be gone before she could blink and he’d be after hers. No. The house was all they had and she wasn’t about to part with it.
She put the picture back in its place, went to the couch and picked up the envelope. She glanced at what was left of her coffee table, rolled her eyes and sat. “Please don’t let this be for a lot of money.” Because if it was, she didn’t know what she’d do. And plea
se don’t let this be something Benny did, because if it is, I’ll kill him. Not really, but the thought had merit.
With another sigh and a tear in her eye, Tory ripped open the envelope, dumped the contents in her lap … and read them in increasing shock.
Chapter Three
Tory double-checked the address on the employment papers from the packet she’d been sent, then looked at the seemingly abandoned building in front of her. “This can’t be right,” she muttered, but the numbers matched.
She watched a few workmen enter the building. “Excuse me?” she called.
One turned, and she noticed he was carrying a can of paint and a roller. He didn’t look happy at the interruption. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry, I have an appointment here. Are there offices in there?”
He glanced at the building. “Believe it or not, yeah, there’s a few. Don’t know what they are, but they’re occupied.”
“That’s good to know. The building’s being refurbished?”
“Yeah, part of the whole downtown redevelopment thing. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get upstairs.”
“Of course – thanks for the information.”
He turned and headed into the building, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank heavens.” The envelope she’d opened a few days ago contained information about a teaching job overseas. She’d put in for several such positions months ago, but never heard anything back.
“If only you’d sent me this last week,” she grumbled as she entered the building. “Then I wouldn’t be working for that sleazeball Smith right now.” But money was money, and she needed a lot if she wanted to get caught up on bills. Lord knew Benny was no help in that department. Besides, if this didn’t work out she’d still have a job, even if it wasn’t a good one.
She glanced around the lobby and listened to the workmen hammering and sawing away in future offices. The building was so old, she wondered if there was an elevator. Not seeing one, she headed for the wide staircase in the center of the lobby. She liked that the old building was being refurbished. The stair railing was beautiful, as was the marble floor.
On the second floor she noticed several offices in use and smiled. Everything would be beautiful when it was finished. When she’d spotted the place she’d had visions of meth labs, or sex traffickers luring innocent women into dark rooms. But a real estate firm occupied the office closest to her and beyond that was an accountant’s office. The next two offices were under construction.
At the end of the hall was the one she was looking for. MacMos International Educators, the plaque on the door read. Tory took a deep breath. “Okay now, Phelps, don’t blow this. You need this job.” She opened the door –
– and stopped dead in her tracks. The most beautiful woman she’d ever seen was sitting at the reception desk, typing at a computer. She looked up as Tory unfroze and approached. “Good afternoon.”
Her voice gave Tory a tingling sensation, like champagne flowing through her veins. Tory blinked twice. “Uh, yes. I was contacted about a teaching position …”
“Oh, you must be Miss Phelps.”
Tory nodded. “Um, yes. That’s me.” Her voice sounded like a tow truck starting up compared to the receptionist’s beautiful lilt. She studied the woman more closely. Her long auburn hair was thick and curly with streaks of gold, cinnamon and saffron. Such incredible highlights couldn’t be natural, but how could she have colored it that way? And her eyes were even more amazing – almond-shaped with an upward slant and a fluorescent green that had to be tinted contacts.
Then Tory remembered she had business to attend to. “I have a 4:00 appointment with Mr. MacDonald,” she said, almost stumbling over the words.
The woman smiled. “Yes, I’m aware. I’ll let him know you are here.” She stood. “Would you like some water or tea?”
“You have tea?” Not that she wanted any, as hot as it was. Thankfully, the office was air conditioned.
“I can make you an iced tea if you’d like,” the receptionist said as if reading her thoughts.
“Iced tea would be great, thank you,” Tory said with a smile. She loved iced tea.
The woman nodded and went to the door behind her. “I’ll let Mr. MacDonald know you’re here, then bring you both some tea.” Before Tory could comment, she disappeared into the other office.
This gave Tory a moment to study her surroundings. The office wasn’t fancy but looked respectable enough. She noted several packets on the desk similar to the one she’d received and wondered how many people had applied for this particular job. Or were there several openings? The one they’d chosen her for would be a dream come true … if she got it.
The woman returned to her desk and picked up a sheaf of papers. “If you’ll follow me, Mr. MacDonald will see you now.”
Tory watched her head for the other door with a pinch of envy. The woman wore a simple white blouse and black pencil skirt, but filled it out in all the right places. But her jealousy didn’t stem from the woman’s looks – Tory did okay in that department, thank you very much. It was that the woman didn’t so much walk as glide. Tory didn’t have a graceful bone in her body.
Once in the adjoining office, she stopped short again. “Oh wow, it’s a loft,” she said in surprise. The room was big, at least thirty feet long with high arched windows along one whole wall and a high ceiling, maybe twelve feet. But most of all, sitting behind a desk at the other end of the long room was a huge man that seemed to define the words “drop dead gorgeous.” Oh my Lord, she thought, how am I going to get through this interview without drooling all over myself?!
The man looked at his secretary admiringly and hinted at a smile before turning to Tory. So they have a thing, huh? she silently mused. She looked at the man’s left hand and sure enough, he was wearing a ring. Figured – all the good ones were taken.
The man stood. “Miss. Phelps, I’m Mr. MacDonald. ‘Tis good to finally meet you.”
Tory stared at him a moment. He was very tall – six-five, easily. His hair was dark, wavy and longer than what she expected a businessman to have, tied back in a ponytail. He looked fierce, like some barbarian warrior, but wore a business suit like he’d been born in it. His voice was deep and smooth with a Scots brogue, and his eyes were the same bright green as his secretary’s. “Thank you,” she finally said, remembering her manners. “It’s nice to meet you too. So, uh, do you live here in Stockton?”
He chuckled. “Nae, lass, I’m no from here. I …” His eyes flicked to his secretary. “… came here to do the interviews. My accent always makes people ask, though.”
“So this isn’t a permanent office?”
“Nae. We’re recruiting in the area, ye ken. Have a seat.” He motioned to a chair on the other side of the desk and she quickly took it. He smiled at his secretary. She smiled back, and Tory swore she felt something pass between them. She glanced at his secretary’s left hand, and saw she was wearing a matching ring – they were a married couple. So nepotism ran in the family around here? But what business was it of hers? She was there to get a job, not judge the interviewer.
His secretary – make that wife – left the room with the grace of a doe to fetch the tea as Mr. MacDonald rifled through the pile of papers she’d set on his desk. “So ye attended the local college?”
Tory opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Oh, how embarrassing! She smiled and swallowed – she could really use that iced tea about now. “I’ve, um, taken a few classes there.” Which was a stupid thing to say, considering he was looking at the papers that said so.
He smiled gently, continuing to look through the stack. Finally he set them aside, picked up a file and opened it. “But ye don’t have a license or credential?”
And this was it. The end. She might as well get up and walk out. “No, I’m afraid not. In fact you’ll note on my application that I’ve only had some college. I don’t even have an associate’s degree.” If she was going down in flames, she might as well thro
ttle up and get it over with.
“Ye put in this application months ago. Have ye taken any classes since?”
It was an odd question, but what the hey? “No, I’ve been too busy working. Not that I didn’t want to take more,” she quickly added, “but paying the bills came first.”
“Aye.” He scribbled something, then tapped the end of his pencil against the file. “But ye still desire to teach English abroad?”
Her heart leaped at the word “abroad.” It was the reason she’d applied for such a position in the first place – she wanted to teach, and this company didn’t require a bachelor’s degree and a teaching certificate. “Yes, I certainly do.” She tacked on a smile for good measure.
He smiled back and was about to comment when his secretary entered with a small tray. She set it on the table and gave them each a glass of iced tea. There was also a plate of chocolate chip cookies – big, fat and chewy-looking, like the ones you get after donating plasma. She’d done that a few times, literally giving blood to make ends meet. The big Scot eyed them, glanced at his wife, bit his lower lip and slid the plate towards Tory. “Cookie?”
“Oh, I shouldn’t …”
“I’d take one now if I were you,” the secretary commented as she turned to leave. “Otherwise he will eat all of them.” Yes, definitely his wife.
Mr. MacDonald narrowed his eyes at her retreating form. Once she left, he took three cookies and got back to business. “The position is in Sussex, England …”
Tory left the interview feeling relatively confident. And it was nice to see a couple that seemed so happily married. Maybe they were newlyweds, who knew? More importantly, she sensed she had a good chance at getting this job. She’d find out in a few days – Mr. MacDonald said he’d call her either way to let her know.
Everything hinged on her taking a few classes, but that was no problem – she could take them at night, which fit her schedule. She got off work early enough that she’d have time to go home, grab a bite to eat and get down to the building near the airport where the classes were held. She just hoped Benny didn’t ask too many questions. The job would pay very well, but it meant leaving the United States. Poor Benny would be left to sink or swim on his own. Perhaps to sink and take her house with him.
