by Lee Kilraine
“Okay, yes. But it’s not my fault.” She leaned over, gently scooping up the tiny ball of gray fur. She gave it a soft kiss on its head, then stood and shoved it into my hands. “Hold her for one second.”
“No. I don’t want to hold it.” I tried to give it back, but Rhia was already around her desk, grabbing up her purse from the bookshelf on her way to the microwave. The kitten made a pitiful mewling sound. It was tiny and softer than I would have imagined. “He doesn’t look good. What’s wrong with him?”
“Her. She just needs to be fed for a few days,” Rhia said, coming back over with the now warmed bottle, and thank God, relieving me of the kitten. “I found her under my car last night, probably trying to get warm. I couldn’t leave her there. And I couldn’t leave her at home. She needs to be fed every two hours until she’s stronger.”
“Well… Of course, you couldn’t.” The little thing could barely lift its head to latch on to the bottle Rhia held to her mouth. “It’s so damn tiny. What’s her name?”
“You can’t name it. If you name it, you’re halfway to keeping it.”
“Gotcha.” Sure, that made sense.
“I didn’t plan on sneaking a kitten in your office, Wyatt. Don’t forget that when I showed up to move in today, I thought I had my own small office.” She hit me with her eyes, all soft and sweet.
“Right. We’re all adjusting to the sudden change of plans.”
“I know she looks weak right now, but she’s a fighter. I’m already looking for a good home for her.” Rhia smiled at me, and I couldn’t remember why a kitten was a big deal.
Rhia’s phone rang in its charger on her desk. So far, I’d heard two different ringtones from her phone. “She Blinded me with Science” and “Eye of the Tiger.” Yeah, that was going to get old quick. I saw a rule four in our very near future. She leaned over to check the caller ID, then went right back to feeding the kitten.
“Don’t you want to grab that?”
“Not really.” She bent, whispering into the kitten’s ear. “You’re a strong beautiful cat. You keep fighting, kitty.”
“Want me to get it for you in case it’s a client?” I asked. Anything I could do to make that song stop playing.
“That’s my family’s ringtone. Trust me, I don’t need to get it.”
“You don’t get along with your family?” My brothers meant everything to me, and I couldn’t imagine life without them. But I also had experience with the worst in a family, so I understood that too.
“I love my family. They’re just… It’s better if I return their calls later.” She shrugged.
The kitten released a soft purr, and I dragged my gaze from Rhia to see the kitten had fallen asleep. She settled it back into her drawer, taking care to wrap its frail body with a blanket.
“Hey, Wyatt!” Gray stuck his head into my office doorway, and whatever he’d been about to say got revised when his gaze landed on the tape divider. He stepped into the room, hands on his hips, and a big shit-eating grin on his face. His gaze flicked from the tape, to Rhia, and then to me. “I’ll be damned. I owe Ash five bucks.”
Of course, they had a bet going. “What did you want, Gray?”
“First, to welcome Rhia into the fold.” He winked over at her. “I really think having you around is going to liven up the place. Wyatt can be a little—”
“Wyatt can be a little impatient when his work keeps getting interrupted… What did you want, Gray?” I had a daily routine, and the whole sharing my office deal had blown it all to bits. I needed to get back on schedule.
“I was checking to see if you wanted me to pick up Sister for you?”
“Is it that late already? No, I’ll go get her,” I said, already moving to grab my phone from my desk.
“You guys have a sister I haven’t met yet?” Rhia asked, looking between us.
Gray barked out a laugh, and his eyes shot to mine because, yeah, that was ironic as hell. We did indeed have a sister she hadn’t met yet. A sister we hadn’t met yet, either. But this wasn’t her.
“Sister Mary Teresa is our part-time receptionist,” Gray said. “She doesn’t drive, so we take turns picking her up and dropping her back off at the Oak Garden Nursing Home.”
“You hired a nun from a nursing home as your receptionist? That’s amazing and refreshing.” Rhia smiled over at Gray, her green eyes practically mooning over him.
“I didn’t. Wyatt did. We’ve sort of had a problem when it comes to hiring receptionists.”
“Which we wouldn’t have if people paid attention to the no-sleeping-with-employees policy we all agreed to.” Yes, it was still a sore spot amongst us all. Ash had dated the best receptionist we’d ever had, Jon. When Ash broke things off, Jon said it hurt too much to stay. Gray swears Kira threw herself at him. Entirely probable, as women do seem to throw themselves at Gray. If only he’d stop catching them. Either way, we’d gone through seven receptionists in the last year and a half. “I was desperate when Sister walked in with her résumé, so I hired her on the spot.”
“Only you, Wyatt, would hire an octogenarian with a silver alert and a slight case of dementia so she thinks she’s a nun and a receptionist.”
Rhia’s eyes turned on me with curiosity. “So, she’s not a nun?”
“No. She’s also not a receptionist,” I said. “But I’d hire her in a hot minute if I had to do it over again. It’s been nice having her around the office.”
“Yeah, it has.” Gray nodded. “I’ll miss her when she’s gone.”
“What are you talking about?” I swear my heart clenched in my chest at the thought of Sister M.T. dying. She was like the sweet old grandmother we’d never had. A bit crazy but in a good way.
“Beck didn’t talk with you?” Gray frowned.
“No, he didn’t.” I shoved my hand in my pocket, finding the button I’d carried with me for ten years.
“Crap. I thought he’d told you. Guess with the fire at Sam’s office he got distracted.” Gray shoved his own hands in his pockets and looked away before meeting my eyes. “Sister’s grandson called. Her dementia is beginning to progress again, and he’s finally talked her into moving to a facility in Nevada where he lives. This is her last week with us.”
“Nevada? That’s a thirty-eight hour car ride away.” It was dumb, but it felt like someone had dimmed the lights. I was a pain in my own ass. I had a hard time dealing with new people in my life, but an even harder time when someone left. I didn’t like change. At all. I hated that Sister would be too far away to visit regularly.
“That’s very sweet of her grandson to take care of her,” Rhia said, pointing out the silver lining for me. It was a solid thing for the grandson to do, but it wasn’t going to make saying goodbye to Sister any easier. “So, your Sister Mary Teresa will have someone who loves her close by.”
“Right. All right, I’m off to pick her up. I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Goodness, does she live that far away?” Rhia asked.
“She’s just down the street, but I’m taking her to lunch first and letting her have whatever she wants.”
Chapter 8
Rhia
“Good morning, Wyatt,” I said, entering the office, pausing to appreciate the space like I did every morning since I’d moved in last week. I loved every bland, boring inch of it. Wyatt had nixed painting it, but each day I slipped in some little spot of color. An emerald green book for the bookshelves. A vase of fresh Shasta daisies for the center of the conference table. Bright orange tacks for the bulletin board hanging over the coffee station. Cute inspirational magnets I’d stuck on the side of the microwave. Today, I hung a quilted yellow star on the closet doorknob.
Maybe Wyatt didn’t need color in his basic beige world, but I sure did. I was careful to only add color to my side of the tape line. So far, not a peep out of Wyatt, although his eyebrow had had
a workout.
“Morning.” Wyatt sat at his desk, his face frowning in concentration as he glanced between his computer screen and a thick book lying open in front of him.
I had no idea how early Wyatt arrived every day. He was always here already working when I arrived around 8:00 a.m. And he was usually here working when I left at six. If he didn’t have on a freshly starched shirt each morning, I’d wonder if he ever went home.
I pulled the sleeping kitten out of my purse, gave her a kiss on the head, and tucked it into my desk drawer. The cat was responding well to regular feedings and had even started to play last night. I had two cat-loving friends deciding if they wanted to take on another pet, so I doubted it would need to stay too much longer, which I was sure Wyatt would be thrilled to hear.
I settled into my chair with my morning cup of coffee, fired up my computer, and wrote for exactly thirty minutes. It was my time to let my imagination go wild and close off the outside world. When the timer on my phone went off, I stopped, printed out my daily pages, got them into a neat stack, and tucked them away ready to tackle my day.
First up, I replied to all emails that came in overnight. My client list was still small, but giving each client my personal attention and making sure they knew I was on top of their event was a priority.
“Ah, hah. I see what happened. The florist changed her total. No, that wasn’t what you quoted me, lady.” I’d be placing a call to the florist as soon as she opened. No wonder Mrs. Baxter had sent me the frantic email at six this morning. It is shocking to be quoted one amount but billed over five hundred dollars more. “I’ve got your back, Mrs. Baxter.”
“Rhia?”
“Yes?” I looked over at Wyatt.
“You’re talking to yourself again.” He didn’t even look up from his work, just frowned enough to let me know he was annoyed.
“Sorry.” I talked to myself a lot, and to anyone who would listen. I was a talker. I didn’t do well with quiet. Considering I’d been getting in trouble for talking too much since the first grade, I doubted that would change anytime soon. But for the sake of our office sharing, I’d make a valiant attempt at shushing up.
Next, I pulled out my to-do notebook. Basically, an event planner’s bible that went everywhere with me. If a client called while I was away from my office, I wanted to be prepared.
On my plate today, I had one contract to negotiate. I needed to crunch the numbers on the thirtieth anniversary party I’d just booked with a rather small budget. The children were throwing it for their parents, so I’d make the budget work.
Yesterday, I’d left a message for the manager of the Sweet Tea and Me teahouse to discuss the room I’d booked for a baby shower. If I didn’t hear back by noon, I’d call again. “Oh, I need to email the printer on the change to those invitations. And call the caterer with the updated number of vegetarian meals for the Delta Zeta reunion luncheon. Two vegetarian chilis and one peanut butter and jelly.”
That peanut butter and jelly song popped into my brain, and I hummed a verse before snorting. Ha! Silly song that was probably going to be stuck in my head all day now. “Peanut butter jel—”
“Rhia…”
“What?” I looked up from the email I was sending.
“You’re singing.”
“I’m sorry, but to be fair, there’s no rule against it.” I should have kept my mouth shut.
“An oversight on my part. Rule number four: no singing.”
“What in the world do you do for fun, Wyatt? Sit around and watch the second coat of beige paint dry?” I was pretty sure Wyatt was my age, but I swear my eighty-year-old Uncle Bo acted less crotchety when his hemorrhoids flared up than Wyatt. I wasn’t sure Wyatt Thorne knew what fun was let alone permit anyone to have any fun while standing next to him.
“I’m assuming that’s a rhetorical question,” Wyatt said.
I seriously wanted to know. But that would require talking to him. And then I could guess what rule number five would be. I tried to imagine Wyatt looking anything but calm. I pictured him riding on the back of a T-Rex, and still he wore his somber expression. Who wouldn’t have fun on the back of a dinosaur? Imaginary Wyatt Thorne, that’s who.
My cell phone rang, and my nerves jumped. Every time a potential new client called was a big deal in these early days. I glanced at the caller ID, and my excitement fell faster than a rock to the bottom of a bucket. I recognized the number from yesterday. Number forty-eight, Frank whatever-his-name-was. I’d already said no to a jazz club date. What was next? Tickets to a chess club tournament? Listening to the presentations of the latest class of orthopedic Ph.D. students?
I ignored the call and let it go to voice mail.
I did the same with his next three calls, too. Man, this guy was definitely persistent.
“Here at SBC, we use the technique of actually answering our incoming calls,” Wyatt said, his voice a bit abrupt. “Studies have shown it grows the client base faster than not answering the calls.”
“Wyatt Thorne, did you just make a joke?” I checked my phone to see if time had stopped.
“I’m being completely serious,” he said.
“Dang it. I thought it was the first sign you were human.” I saw his lips twitch, so I didn’t think he was as serious as he was pretending. “Thank you for your advice, but I believe I have everything under control over here.”
Of course, my phone rang again right then, and Wyatt looked across at me. Our stares locked and held as the Rocky ringtone played for the millionth time. Even I was getting sick of it.
Wyatt released a breath loudly enough I heard it from across the room, so it was easy to say I was bothering him. He shook his head and stood. “I guess I’ll study later.”
“Oh, I should let you know, I’ve got clients coming in around one. We’ll try to be quiet for you, but when I met with the mother and her sixteen-year-old daughter, the daughter was super bubbly.” Wyatt frowned. Of course he did. And, sure, if I was trying to study I would too. “I’ll try to keep the meeting moving fast and wrap it up as quickly as possible.”
“I appreciate it. If it gets too loud, I’ll simply head out early to my site visit.”
“Great. See, this can work, us sharing an office.”
“Hmm,” he said, looking like he didn’t believe it. He stood, pulled a cardboard tube from the shelves that filled the bottom half of the wall behind him, and tilted out a set of plans on his way over to his drafting desk. I watched him unroll the plans, then smooth them out flat.
He had nice hands. Not the hands of an artist like I might have imagined. No. They looked stronger and sharply muscled, more like a mechanic or an athlete. Long strong fingers with neatly trimmed nails. His skin had a golden tan as if he spent time outdoors, and he had those veins that ran their sexy path along his forearms under a light dusting of hair.
I wish I hadn’t noticed his hands. Another part of Wyatt Thorne I was fixating over. From his deep blue eyes, to his very nice butt, and now his hands and forearms. Maybe I needed to turn my desk to around to face the wall.
* * * *
My clients arrived promptly at 1:00 p.m. Less than five minutes later, Wyatt abruptly stood and hightailed it out of the office. When I said the sixteen-year-old had a bubbly personality, I might have been understating it a bit.
“Omygodomygodomygod, yeeessss!” Mandy squealed her excitement as I laid out my proposal for her sweet sixteen party. She loved it so much she stood up and high-fived me over my desk. “Mom, this is exactly what I pictured! I love it!”
Mandy’s mom looked happy that Mandy was happy. And if Mandy’s mom and Mandy were happy with the party proposal, then I was happy.
“This looks excellent, Rhia. Do you have a bakery you recommend for the cupcakes? I don’t like a dry cupcake.”
“Oh, can we get a DJ?” Mandy grabbed her mother’s hand. “Pl
ease, please, please, Mom? That’s what Rebecca had at hers, and it was epic.”
Mandy’s mom turned to me with a shrug. “I guess we’re aiming for epic.”
“Epic it is,” I said. And we went over the options for decorations, cupcakes, and playlists. I was glad Wyatt had left, because Mandy felt the need to play me her favorite songs. I was Justin Biebered out by the time Mandy and her mom left the office.
My next appointment was with the co-presidents of the Raleigh Twin Association. They’d asked for an Alice in Wonderland–themed picnic for their biannual reunion. I’d put together a proposal for a tea party. It was a fun theme. Tiny cakes and mini potions. White rabbits and decks of cards. Tweedledum and Tweedledee. I had to have an intervention, since their idea of having two of everything was busting their budget. Reducing the party plans down to one photo booth, DJ, dunking booth, and chocolate fountain, we came up with some manageable numbers.
Once Gary and Larry left, I methodically reran all the numbers from our meeting, revised the proposal, and emailed it to them. I set a reminder for next week to follow up.
Since Wyatt was still out of the office, I pulled up one of my fun playlists and spent time answering emails and refreshing all my promotional ads. When I went to feed the cat, she wasn’t in her drawer. Honestly, not a surprise. She’d been looking good and even gotten playful last night.
“Here, kitty-girl. Where are you hiding?” It took me a few minutes and an excursion onto Wyatt’s half of the office to find her. She’d climbed up his bookshelves behind his desk and was about to knock off a set of beautiful carved wooden boxes. “Yikes, are you trying to get me kicked out of the office?”
I reached out to gingerly pluck the kitten off Wyatt’s shelf when guess who walked in? I froze in my tracks when the door swung open, the Van Morrison song sounding even louder as I froze, pinned by Wyatt’s gaze.
“H—hey, there, Wyatt. How’s it going?” I played it casual, like I wasn’t deep in Wyatt territory. “Oh, guess what? The kitten’s doing much better.”
