"It hurts, huh?"
"Yeah. It hurts a lot." She gazed at Tomi, who was cuddling Vanessa close. "Tomi, I think I've been hiding. I think I've been telling myself that I'm fine with Jovial Janitors and living on my own. But maybe I haven't been. Maybe I do need someone to love."
Tomi looked at Vanessa, then at the door where Ronnie had exited. "Everyone does."
"And all that mess with Russell... Maybe even though he wasn't the right guy for me...maybe someone else is."
Tomi reached out and clasped Brooke Anne's hand. "Of course you need love," she said. "Of course Russell wasn't for you. Who knows if this Morgan guy is. But maybe it's time to think about giving him a chance."
To acknowledge that scared Brooke Anne half to death. "I don't know..."
Tomi rolled her eyes, a sure sign that she knew her friend wasn't being completely honest about her feelings.
"I think I like him," Brooke Anne finally said. "I can't stop thinking about him, even though I know I should. But we're so different. I mean, what would we talk about?"
"Beats me," Tomi said with a sad shake of her head. "But if you can't stop thinking about him...maybe you need to see him again. Right?"
"Right. Thanks."
Tomi squeezed Brooke Anne's hand, then let go of it and walked to the door. "Go on, now, girl. You've got things to do, and I've got to figure out how to build a cabin without Vanessa seeing it. Wish me luck."
"Good luck," Brooke Anne said as she stepped onto the porch, pocketing the note Tomi had given back to her. Yep, it had to be done. She had to go deliver the note herself. And if he was there.. .well, so much the better.
Maybe.
*****
Chapter Sixteen
"What did you do on the weekend, Morgan?"
Morgan looked up as Breva entered his office, carrying a batch of folders and a shopping bag that appeared to be filled to the brim with toilet paper. "I went to my sister's house for a party."
Breva sat down in the chair across from him. "Caroline?" she asked with a smile. "How is that rich sister of yours?"
Morgan grinned. "Just as loony as ever. She decided to host a soiree."
"Isn't that just a fancy name for a party?"
"Damned if I know. My cousin Barbara and I kept giving Caroline grief about it. Twice Barbara offered to perform her third grade recital piece on Caroline's grand piano."
Breva winced. "What did Caroline say about that?"
"To shut up and act refined," Morgan said, laughing at the memory. "Then her husband came in and got things going."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Bob can make a mean martini."
"I've met him before, right?"
"Yep, he came in once last year when Caroline took him out shopping."
"When I saw him, he hadn't shaved in two days and was wearing jeans and boots. You'd never know he was a gazillionaire."
"Nope," Morgan agreed. "The way he tells it, it's not his fault he inherited a boatload of money. Someone had to." He shook his head. "Bob does good things with it, though. Anyway, during the soiree slash party, he took us downstairs to play pool. It was fun."
"Well, your evening kind of makes my time with the grand-kids sound pretty boring."
"I doubt it," Morgan said. He knew Breva loved being with her grandchildren. "I bet it was like a three-ring circus there at your house this weekend."
"It was, but it was fun."
Morgan nodded his head. "It kind of felt like a circus at my sister's house, too. I'm glad I have Caroline. My parents are so much work, but Caroline makes me smile...inside, if you know what I mean."
"I know exactly what you mean. That's what family is for, M.C." She shook the large shopping bag she was holding. "Well. Speaking of circuses, ready to get back to the real world, boss?"
"That depends. What's in the sack?"
"Toilet paper."
He couldn't help scowling. "Haven't we looked at enough?"
"This is for the ladies' restrooms - at the A-list hotels in the East. Someone somewhere decided that the toilet paper needed to coordinate with the hand towels."
That sounded like a complete pain. "Can't you take care of it?"
"What? And let you miss out on all the fun? I don't think so. Besides, you're the one who has to sign off on it."
"If my mother had had any idea she was raising me to rate toilet paper -"
"If your mother had any sense - which she doesn't, by the way - she would be proud of you."
Morgan ducked his head for a moment, too aware of the truth behind Breva's words. She was completely right about his mom. His mother was a cold woman who had never really attempted to form a bond with him. Again, he was grateful to have Breva in his life.
She was the mother figure he'd always wanted. And a damn good assistant.
He raised his head as she ceremoniously dumped all the rolls and packages of hand towels on his desk. "Hop to it, M.C. They're waiting for a reply."
He squeezed a roll, just to make her smile. "This one - Number J7594 - feels nice."
"But is it A-list-ladies'-room nice?"
Morgan picked up another and tossed it to her. "You're a lady. What do you think?"
She rubbed the roll against her cheek. "It feels good to me."
Unable to help themselves, they started laughing. "I guess my bosses won't care that I attended a bona fide soiree just the other day."
Breva shook her head in mock sympathy. "Nope. Every day can't be a party, M.C. Some days are only fit for TP."
"That says it all," he replied, then pulled out a sheet of paper and prepared to check costs, stock availability and softness.
Morgan yawned again and fought to keep his eyes open. It may have only been seven o'clock, but his body was telling him it was time to sleep. Although he and Breva had gotten a kick out of rating the toilet paper, the rest of his day had been taken up by an endless supply of paperwork and conference calls.
It had been a bear of a Monday.
He grimaced as he eyed the mountain of papers that never seemed to shrink. He'd almost snarled at Breva when she'd brought in the last stack before she'd left for the day.
Invoices needed to be checked. Commissions verified. It was part of his job, and as much as it drove him crazy, he didn't complain. At least, not that often.
He glanced at the clock again: 7:10 p.m.
Slowly, his problems at work were replaced by thoughts of Brooke. He had no idea if she was going to stop by tonight... but he really hoped she would.
Of course, there remained the question of what he was going to say to her if they actually did meet. Should he tell her he was sorry? Mention that they ought to go out again, but this time on a real date? He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to think of something to say to a woman he'd practically abandoned during a dance-a woman who had then deserted him.
He closed his eyes and silently tried out some lines. "Hi, Brooke. Long time no see." Ouch. "As long as you're here, why don't we go get a bite to eat?" Cheesy. "I really like your shoes." Morgan groaned. Yawned. He could just imagine what she'd say to that comment. She'd probably think he was a creep with a shoe fetish.
Morgan sank lower in his chair, pushed his feet out in front of him. Maybe he should just be straightforward? "Brooke, I've been thinking about you for days, and I'd love to take you out again. Will you give me another chance ? "
He thought that sounded pretty good as he drifted off to sleep.
It took all of Brooke Anne's strength to enter the Royal Hotels headquarters with her key and walk down the long hallway to Morgan Carmichael's office. But since Tomasina - the traitor - had abandoned her, she had little choice.
As she stood outside his door, clutching her note, she had to admit she couldn't wait to see him again. Her pulse had quickened in anticipation. She felt excited and nervous and embarrassed that one person could cause such a stir within her.
But then again, maybe it was only natural. Morgan's kisses had been so tender
, so promising. And when he touched her, it had made her feel all jittery and hot inside.
Russell had never made her feel like that.
Brooke Anne steadied herself against the wall. She had to calm down, or she'd just sound like a flighty teenager, and he'd hand her the check and her shoes and get rid of her as fast as was humanly possible.
With that in mind, she turned toward his door, straightened her shoulders in an effort to look a full inch taller, and knocked.
No answer.
She tried the handle. His door wasn't locked. "Mr. Carmichael? Morgan?" she said before peeking in.
There he was, sitting at his chair. Most likely too busy to even look up from his desk. Brooke Anne stepped inside the office and cleared her throat to get his attention, but he didn't budge. Then she noticed that his eyes were closed and he was breathing softly.
He was sound asleep.
Surrounding him were more stacks of papers than anyone should rightfully have to deal with. There were open files and brochures lying in heaps. A pair of wooden dice and a few executive-looking toys were scattered around.
It was a real mess.
Brooke Anne was tempted to straighten things up a bit, but then Morgan shifted in his seat and turned his head to the left. She sat down in the chair across from him and just stared. He looked so cute asleep!
Every line in his face had been smoothed away, and appeared calm and serene. Momentarily, she imagined sleeping next to him every night. Would he want to cuddle her close when they turned off the lights? Slip an arm around her middle, so her back would stay warm against his stomach?
In her fantasy, she'd wear a pretty silk nightgown and Morgan would wear boxer shorts with animals printed on them. He'd kiss her and tell her he loved her, and after they'd passionately made love exactly as they do in the movies, they'd gently drift off to sleep.
But just before she'd sink into slumber, he'd whisper in her ear, "You're so wonderful, Brooke. So amazing. I love you so much."
Her keys clanked to the floor.
With a start, Brooke Anne shook herself. She needed to stop these daydreams and focus on reality. This man didn't want a future with her - he wanted to give her a paycheck for going out with him! He hadn't asked her to come by because he liked her - he wanted to get her out of his life and fulfill a commitment.
He didn't need her. He had modelesque brunettes and Caroline Hart and soirees in Indian Hill!
She placed the carefully folded note on his desk. She'd turned away and taken two steps toward the door when she stopped and studied him again.
What if he did need her?
What if he did like her...more than just a little bit?
Did he look cold? Spying an overcoat thrown over a pile of boxes, she picked it up and carefully covered him with it. She couldn't resist smoothing it over his shoulders and straightening it across his legs.
"Oh, Morgan," she whispered, tracing a finger along his cheek, "if things were different, we'd be perfect together." Unable to help herself, Brooke Anne brushed a kiss across his forehead.
Morgan's body twitched but his eyes remained closed.
She kissed his temple, pressed her hand to his chest. Smelled the remnants of the same cologne he'd worn on their date. Felt the heat radiating from underneath his blue button-down. She slid her palm over his firm muscles and imagined touching his bare skin. The smooth planes of his chest. A bare thigh.
Morgan breathed deeply.
Brooke Anne stared at him in shock. What was she doing, fondling a sleeping executive?
She moved away, ready to hurry out of the room, then was struck by the sight of the whiteboard next to the door.
Recalling her rather unimaginative note, she stared at the board. It was practically beckoning her to write something else. Anything to let Morgan know that he was more to her than just the purveyor of a paycheck, and a distant memory.
Brooke Anne picked up the red marker sitting in the bottom tray and glanced back at Morgan.
Still sleeping soundly.
She pulled off the cap. Held the marker over the board. Did she dare open herself up to him? Make herself vulnerable?
She thought about the way Russell had described his feelings for Suzanne and how ardently devoted Tomasina was to her family. And she heard her mother's endless questions about her own nonexistent love life echoing in her ears. Brooke Anne knew she had to do this. She could either give this relationship a try, or always wonder what might have been.
She touched the marker to the board and wrote:
Morgan,
Things are fine with me.
I've been busy buying angel Barbies for the hospital. And cleaning houses. I started a new puzzle. And I put up Christmas lights on the balcony of my apartment. They twinkle at night and make me think of stars.
Morgan shifted again in his sleep. Quickly, she put the cap back on the marker, then hurried out of the room, stopping only long enough to close the door tightly behind her.
She walked briskly down the hallway, chastising herself for covering him up with the coat. Berating herself for writing on his whiteboard. But she'd had to cover him.... He'd looked so cold and lonely. And warm and irresistible, and she'd wanted an excuse to touch him.
And the note...had been a risk worth taking...right?
Scowling, she pushed the elevator button firmly and tapped her foot. All right. The truth was that she was mesmerized by the guy, and she hardly even knew him! And what she did know wasn't all that good. He was self-centered and career-driven. Rich.
They had nothing in common. If they ever did go out on an actual date, it would be uncomfortable. What would they talk about, anyway? How she'd spied him in Caroline Hart's foyer while she'd been spot-cleaning his friend's carpet?
Just the idea of that conversation made her squirm.
But, they had gotten along very well when they were on the balcony, and they'd had a thousand things to say when they were dancing. Hadn't they?
Or was she just so used to living in her little fantasy world that she'd imagined there was more between them than there ever was? After all, he'd ignored her throughout the entire meal. What did that say?
Brooke Anne shook her head in confusion. She needed to get home and stop thinking about what amounted to one measly night in her life. She needed to listen to her mother. She needed to think about somebody other than a certain irresistible product purchasing manager.
With that firm resolve, she stepped into the elevator and smiled to herself, imagining Morgan's reaction when he woke up and found himself wrapped in his overcoat.
*****
Chapter Seventeen
"Breva, why do you think Brooke didn't just wake me up last night?" Morgan asked the following morning during their morning coffee break. "It was obvious that I'd been waiting for her."
"Well -"
"I have to tell you, I think it was weird that she was wandering around my office while I was sleeping, too. What kind of woman does that?"
"Maybe the kind -"
He shook his head. "It's a bit of a letdown, if you want to know the truth. All this time I've been thinking about how Brooke and I could be perfect if we just had a chance to know each other better. But if this is her way of doing it, I'm not sure if she's worth -"
"Morgan, stop! You're about to dig yourself into a very ugly hole."
Morgan set his cup down before he dropped it. "Excuse me?"
"You really need to settle down. You're acting like a child. In fact, right now you are reminding me of Daniel when he was three."
Still feeling peeved by her tone, he asked. "Care to explain what you mean by that?"
"Sure." Breva took a sip of her coffee before indulging him. "When Daniel was three, he wanted to do everything his older siblings did, but they didn't want him around."
"That sounds normal."
"Hush, Morgan. Let me tell this right," Breva chided. "The older kids didn't understand that Daniel would've been happy just to be with the
m, just to be in the same room, but he didn't know how to express himself."
She took a sip of coffee before continuing. "One day, when the older boys were trying to explain to him that he wasn't old enough to help them build a Lego tower, Daniel stood up and yelled, 'Cheerios!'"
Morgan felt a headache coming on. "And your point is?"
"That was the hardest word for Daniel to say. He only said it when he was really frustrated. Daniel needed help communicating. So do you, M.C"
"Brev -"
"Yep, your lack of skills in this area has really gotten you in a mess. Let's review."
"Let's not -"
She held up a finger, motioning for silence. "First, you wanted to be romantic with Sheri. When that didn't work out, you tried to be friends. And even though that wasn't really working out, you still asked her to the gala. Then, after she canceled on you and had the nerve to show up, sure you'd be sitting around mooning over her, you still managed to do things wrong. When you should've done nothing but give Sheri the cold shoulder, you left Brooke to go talk to her."
"Well -"
"Now, because you're so frustrated, instead of being happy that Brooke covered you up and wrote you back, you're finding fault where there isn't any." Breva glared at him. "Brooke is a good thing. Concentrate on making things work with her."
"Since you're not being shy about giving advice, anything else you think I should do?"
"Yes. Stop talking and help me organize these kits," she added as she started to fill a basket with the latest product samples. She flipped open the cap on one of the bottles and sniffed the lotion. "I don't like this smell as much as our old one."
"The old one reminded too many people of their grandmothers. We have to use a new scent."
"I liked my grandmother," Breva said. Then she frowned and added, "Hey, I am a grandmother!"
Morgan hid a smile as he took another sip of coffee. This was why he loved working with Breva. Despite their age difference, they could banter about almost anything. And together, they were able to turn the worst task into a fun project. "You're a damn fine grandma. I'm sure other people like their grandmothers, too. They just don't want to smell like them."
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