He turned to walk back to his desk. The top remained empty and no computer sat next to it. He sat down at the tiny desk chair and pulled open the drawers. None of his files had been brought over yet either and he definitely needed his chair, or he’d start working on that couch and probably end up spending much of his time asleep. He walked back to Lizzie’s desk, picked up her phone to call maintenance, and stopped.
The door to the cottage swung open. Fresh laundry blew in, he closed his eyes and smiled. Lizzie.
Against his ear, the phone rang and rang and rang. But he didn’t hear it. He only saw her, wearing a fitted floral dress with a blazer and heels. The dress hugged her curves in an entirely appropriate manner. But his mind drifted back, remembering her pert behind in the tight leggings the night they met.
Clearing his throat to shake lose from recollections, she glanced over at him. He stood holding her phone, standing behind her desk. And yet she seemed unfazed. She didn’t say anything. She closed the door, and then turned and tripped over the giant box he’d left by the light switch.
Dropping the receiver, he ran around the desk and across the room to help her up.
“Are you okay? I shouldn’t have left that there,” Mark said.
He offered a hand to help her up and she took it. Her hand felt delicate and soft in his, but strong too. She was no wimpy girl. She had backbone and if he’d thought to comment on her actions the day before, he reconsidered. Brushing a thumb against the back of her hand had been unintentional. But she reacted, closing her eyes for a moment. She dropped his hand after straightening to her full height and smoothed down her suit jacket.
“What is this?” she asked, kicking the box with the peep-toe of her heels.
“Coffee maker for the office.”
She eyed the box suspiciously, raising an eyebrow.
“Looks a little complicated,” she muttered, stepping around the box with a wide berth.
“I can take it back. We don’t need to use it.”
“No, no, it’s a good idea. But I’m more of a Mr. Coffee girl. Maybe we should get one from Target.”
“Sure,” he agreed, nodding his head.
He didn’t seem able to control the movement. He kept nodding for longer than necessary. He was glad she wasn’t screaming or racing from the room, but he didn’t know what to expect out of her. She left him by the door. She walked over to her desk, pulled out her chair, and never spared him another glance. He cleared his throat and she momentarily noticed him.
“Your stuff isn’t here yet?” she asked, tilting her head to the empty desk as she pulled the keyboard out of her top drawer and set it on the desktop.
“No, not yet. And I guess they aren’t here yet either. I was trying to call when you came in.”
She tilted her head to acknowledge his words, turned her chair away, and began typing. She seemed to forget his presence. He couldn’t forget hers. But without his stuff, he couldn’t really work. He’d brought over a box of papers and pens the day before, but nothing that he actually needed. The box had been symbolic. Probably the most effective thing to do would be to walk back over and carry his computer out himself. Then he’d at least have something to do. He felt the power shift imperceptibly between them, like he was standing on the beach and had suddenly begun to sink into a dune.
“You’re here early,” he commented.
She glanced over and smirked. It wasn’t a friendly smile. Her eyes didn’t sparkle and only half of her mouth lifted in the gesture. Was she placating him?
“I have a busy day,” she said.
“What are you hours like?”
“Depends on the week. Next week I have three weddings and three rehearsals and two walk-throughs so I’ll pretty much be living here. But this week I only have a rehearsal dinner tonight and a wedding tomorrow. It’s a light week.”
“I’ll need your help with the events.”
He watched her cross her arms over her chest and knew he’d have to tread carefully, but he needed to be up front with her. He cleared his throat.
“Not with day to day things, but I will need your help working events.”
“You need me to show up for the actual event and work it?”
“Yes, and I’ll need you to help oversee set up and tear down.”
“And what will you be doing?” she asked.
He watched her bite her lip. She’d misspoken and she knew it. The power had once again shifted.
“These are major events, they will be all hands-on deck evenings.”
She nodded. “What am I going to do with the nights I’m already booked for a wedding or rehearsal or reunion or whatever?”
“Just pass it off to another planner.”
Her eyes darted left and right. “Do you see another planner?”
He turned away to walk in front of the wall of binders but he felt her eyes on his back. He didn’t see another planner. He hadn’t realized how much of the job she’d taken on. She was the job. And until he’d voiced aloud what he needed from her, he hadn’t understood how much help he needed. They both needed help and more staff.
“What’s this about?” he asked, trying to divert her attention.
“Those are all of the events we’ve held, arranged chronologically for the past three years.”
“What’s in them?”
“Everything. Every contract, every email, every idea, every checklist. Everything.”
“You don’t save your emails on your computer?”
“I do, but this is actually an easier way to find them.”
“How is this easier? Just search your mailboxes.”
“It’s never as simple as that.”
“Saving every email in the cloud and printing them off too seems like a huge waste of paper.”
“I can find anything in a second this way.”
“It seems like a redundancy protocol.”
“We’re going to have to agree to disagree on this, okay?” she snapped.
He nodded but didn’t understand. How had pointing out inefficiency set her off?
“So if I’m going to be taking on more work with your events, will they be hiring more event planners?”
“I don’t know,” he answered.
“There should already be two wedding planners, we’re in demand here. I’ve been out here on my own for a while. I need help.”
“I understand and I’ll see what I can do.”
Mark tugged at his collar, anxious for more air. He should have brought his stress ball with him. He needed to squeeze something. Nothing she’s saying is wrong, but I don’t have any answers she’d like. Or want to hear. Frank Cade’s tight fist had a strangle hold over the budget. If she’d been working for so long as the only planner, he didn’t think she’d be likely to get more help. Frank wouldn’t go for it.
While he watched her, she bit her lip and then turned away and began typing furiously again. Sitting at her desk, her lips formed a tight line instead of her usual smile. He wouldn’t have recognized her. Not that the air held any less of a charge for him.
I wish I could walk over there and…
The thought trailed off. He stood in the middle of the room, trying to decide what he wanted and what he could do. I don’t have any answers that either of us will like. Without another word, he saw himself out. He marched across the lawn to the hotel to retrieve his monitor. He’d settle himself in and get started. Even if moving his office piece by piece took him all day.
Chapter Seven
Lizzie held her breath until Mark shut the office door behind him. She exhaled when the door’s lock clicked into place. Left alone in her office, her sanctuary, she relaxed. She slumped over her desk, resting her head on her arms. Would every day now contain some awful new revelation?
She’d liked the man she’d bumped into in the hall a week ago. She’d been intrigued by the man and the dog she’d met on the beach. She could imagine going out to dinner with that guy. He’d been charming and kind and quic
k to smile. But she didn’t like the man who’d burst into her office a few days ago to question her about her contracts. She wouldn’t have thought twice about the man who delegated tasks to an already overworked staffer.
Moping around the office wouldn’t help her now. She pulled up her calendar to figure out when she’d have time to oversee set-up and tear down of the concert dinner and cocktail reception. If she scheduled her day to the minute, she might be able to squeeze everything in. She shook her head. She couldn’t believe the turns her job had taken in only a few days.
Downgraded from event planner on the rise to an assistant in an instant. She hadn’t begun to process how losing the job to someone else affected her. Now she was expected to help with tear down? She clenched her jaw, replaying his words. Did he even know what he was talking about? She never oversaw tear-down, maintenance did. And they did a great job. She’d had to learn how to let go of controlling everything and delegate as the only planner on staff. It sounded like Mark needed to learn what his job entailed before he started giving her orders.
Would she have to teach him? She groaned. She’d gotten in early to the office in the hope of getting work done without her new office mate hanging around. That plan hadn’t worked out so well.
Her desk phone rang.
“Lizz—sorry. Hello this is Elizabeth Shaw, Event Coordinator at the Resort on Jekyll Island, how may I help you?”
“Geez, that’s a mouthful,” Patrick replied.
“Ugh, Patrick,” Lizzie groaned.
“What? I wanted to hear how the job interview went.”
Sighing, she turned her chair to look out the window. The sun shone too brightly, the guests ambling along on the path seemed too cheerful, and the birdsong too happy for her. Couldn’t a sudden storm strike up and soak a certain person as they carried a computer across the lawn? Couldn’t something go her way?
“It was terrible. The catering boss who interviewed me apparently hates everything about me. And they gave the job to a guy who I kind of liked,” she stopped on the word. Even that morning, when he’d been so cavalier about her job and how she worked, she couldn’t stop the connection between them. She’d wanted to throw a binder at him just as much as she wanted to kiss him. Kiss him? She didn’t understand the fine details of his new role but he now occupied a position of authority above her, even if he wasn’t directly her boss.
“But now he’s kind of a jerk. So there you go,” she concluded, the words tumbling out in a rush.
“What? Stop, go back. What do you mean the boss hates you?”
Closing her eyes to take in a deep breath and gather her thoughts, she rested her forehead in the palm of her hand. Everything had to change now, didn’t it? How could she possibly buy time to stay? She took in a shaky breath.
“I can’t seem to do anything right for this guy. Including how I answer my work phone, thus the new introduction you heard.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t hate you, Frizz. Don’t exaggerate. It makes you sound young and inexperienced.”
“I don’t know how else to explain what’s happened,” she whined. She frowned at the sound of her own voice. Yikes, I do sound young. “But moving on, now I apparently have to take on more work for the guy who got the job. And I don’t think there is any kind of plan to help me out with my events but I have to take on theirs.”
“Frizz, can we talk about what you don’t want to talk about? Can you listen and not shut me out?”
Her nose tickled. She scrunched it up, trying to stop the sob that hovered under the surface of her cool demeanor. She didn’t want to have this conversation, but she knew they needed to. It was time. “Fine, go for it.”
“Mom and Dad didn’t want you to be doing this.” Patrick told her, his voice raising. “They wanted you to go back to grad school. They wanted you to get a specialized degree and work at a museum. That’s why they set up all those stipulations with the estate.”
A tear rolled down her cheek, but she refused to acknowledge her sadness by wiping her face. She blinked several times, trying to dry out the unshed pools that remained. “I know,” she whispered, afraid to raise her voice any louder.
After the death of their parents, Patrick and Lizzie had had even more unwelcome news. Their parents had changed their will in the way they’d threatened. Graduating college with a degree in art history, she’d discovered jobs were few and far between, most requiring advanced studies. Every entry-level job required at least six months unpaid intern experience. She’d stayed in her college town, working part-time, interning part-time, and relying on her parents’ resources for the rest of her funds. After a year, they had had enough and demanded she move back in to come up with a better plan.
“Lizzie, I want more for you,” Patrick continued. “I don’t want you to be working yourself to the bone. And I still don’t love that you stayed there. I get it. You needed time but I don’t think it’s helping.”
Pressing her lips together, she didn’t reply. Explaining how much St. Simons meant to her wouldn’t change his mind. It didn’t matter that she’d discovered she had a knack for events. Her love of details, her love of people, and her love of organization made her a natural. When she’d been promoted from part-time to full-time planner, her parents threw a fit. They wanted her to be a curator not a party planner. They’d threatened that she’d be cut out of the will if she wasn’t working or studying in her field, or if she made less than sixty thousand dollars a year.
At the time, she’d laughed off the threats. It wasn’t like her healthy, fit parents were going anywhere any time soon. She’d convince them to come around and realize how good she was at her job. She had no fears about being entirely cut out. Until tragedy struck and they were gone and what they’d threatened had turned out to be true. Only their will made everything worse.
Instead of leaving everything to Patrick and his kids, they’d cut him out as well if Lizzie didn’t comply. Patrick’s kids’ inheritance had been safely tied into trusts for them, but Patrick’s and Lizzie’s would be donated to charity.
“I’ve been stalling with the lawyers for you for months. You’re still not making the salary and if you’re not going to lose out on the inheritance, you need to start applying to grad schools. They want this closed out by September,” he said, his voice weary and exhausted.
She let out a sigh. She and Patrick had grown-up as foils to each other. They loved each other and would remain loyal no matter what. Putting Patrick in the middle of the settlement of the estate served no good purpose. The friendship they’d built up as adults came under attack by their own parents. She hated what they’d done, but she hated that they were gone more.
“I just wish they were here. I know they would have come around in time.”
“Maybe. Or maybe you would have left. Living on that island was their dream, not yours.” She heard the renewed purpose in his voice and could imagine he’d begun to pace the room. He’d never been one for sitting still with a problem. “Don’t you remember when they moved when you were in college? You were so mad you wouldn’t even go visit that first Christmas.”
“Yeah,” Lizzie said, the memory wiping away the lingering sadness of her circumstances. “My one and only rebellious moment. And then Dad flew up and rented a car and drove me down. You know, some of my favorite moments with him where on that sixteen-hour trip. He talked to me and he listened to me.”
“I know, he told me about it.”
“He did?”
“Yep, he said, that sister of yours might be sweet but she’s stubborn and strong. And she’ll be okay.”
“I hate that they’re gone. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. They were supposed to be around forever. Or at least, until I stopped needing them.”
“And when would that have been?”
Lizzie chuckled. Never, I’d need them forever. Even as she laughed, the tears streamed down her face. She grabbed a tissue from her top drawer, blew her nose and wiped her eyes.
&
nbsp; “I still need them Frizz,” he admitted. “I hate that they won’t be here for their other grandchildren. But you in that house, on that island, I don’t think it’s right. They didn’t want you to give up on yourself and I think you have.”
“I know Patrick. But I haven’t given up on myself. I actually like this job. And yeah, when the car accident happened in November… and I walked away and… they… didn’t,” she replied, halting with each painful word. She took in a steadying breath and started again.
“I couldn’t have imagined getting out of bed every morning let alone what my future might look like. But slowly I’ve kind of put a life together for myself here. And I believe that this is where I’m supposed to be. I can see it. Please don’t make me do this.”
“I don’t want to. You know I don’t care about the money. I care about you.”
A breeze stirred up the Spanish moss in the live oaks outside her window. As she watched the branches sway in the wind, a figure came into view in the distance on the tabby path. Tall, trim, walking with assurance and confidence. She didn’t have to squint to make out Mark. I can’t be mad at him for my circumstances. It’s not his fault that I needed the job.
“You know I can’t buy that house and keep my own house too, Frizz,” Patrick caught her attention again. “What are your choices? You have to be making at least sixty thousand if you’re not pursuing your art junk.”
She bit her lip at that phrase. As an engineer, he’d never had time or patience to understand the liberal arts. And she didn’t have enough of either to explain the value to him.
“Look, time is running out. It’s time to make a decision. Either you go back to school or you get cut out.”
Tidal Patterns (Golden Shores Book 1) Page 8
