A mix of panic and shame led Christina to blush furiously. Panic because she didn’t want them to know how thoroughly she’d lost the bet already. Shame because she didn’t like keeping it from her sisters.
“I told you about last week’s office gossip,” she said to divert the guilt. “Rockwell is nothing to joke about.”
“Oh, no jokes here.” Gloria grinned. “The rumors, as unfortunate as they are, go to show that everyone—not only our family—has noticed the va-va-voom between you and the boss.”
“Gloria,” Sierra said, “you’re just as bad as the gossips. Mama is angry with Edith because of the lies she spread. You don’t want to be on her bad side, too.”
“No, I sure don’t.”
Gloria seemed to shudder, just as much as Christina had when Sierra had mentioned the word lies.
Although Edith had been gossiping, she hadn’t literally been lying about Christina’s liaison with Derek. Thus, during breakfast a few days ago, Christina had gone easy on her, merely asking her to think about the effect her rumors had on other people.
But Mama hadn’t been so forgiving. Even now, she wouldn’t take Edith’s calls, even though Christina was trying to convince her to forgive and forget.
Papa had walked into the courtyard, dressed in a silk button-down and dapper slacks. “Have my girls decided what I should cook for them?”
“Are you open for lunch yet?” asked Sierra. “We can wait.”
“For you,” Papa said, bending down to pat Sierra’s cheek, “I’m always open.”
“Aw, Papa,” they said, standing, showering affection on him. After happily withstanding the onslaught of their attention, he took their orders: chicken tostada with no sour cream or guacamole for Christina, beef fajitas for Sierra and shrimp soft tacos for Gloria.
Before Papa left, he grasped Gloria’s hand, inspecting it. “You are keeping a surprise from your sisters?”
Gloria actually giggled. “I’m getting around to revealing it.”
“What?” Sierra asked. “What’re you hiding?”
Papa stayed, and Christina guessed Gloria’s news was something big.
“Tell us!” she said.
With a huge smile, Gloria reached into her purse, then slipped a beautiful diamond ring onto her finger.
Both Christina and Sierra gasped, then cried out, hugging their sister. Papa joined in but, when Christina detected a soulful tear in his eye, he retreated to the kitchen, muttering something about making tortillas.
While they all admired the ring, Gloria told them about how Jack had proposed. “He came to Mama and Papa late last night and asked them for my hand. Can you believe that? Jack, the gruff, stubborn manly man?”
“When’s the wedding?” Christina asked.
“We’re planning a small one for June.”
“Oh!” Sierra’s lower lip trembled, even though she was smiling. “I’m just so…so happy for you, Gloria.”
Before anyone could react, Sierra darted out of her chair to crush Gloria in another hug, then ran into the restaurant.
“It’s Chad,” Christina said. “She still isn’t over that jerk, but she’s truly excited for you.”
“I know.” Gloria looked worried. “Do you think we should go after her?”
“In a second. Give her some time to recover. She’ll be mortified about breaking down like this.” Spellbound, Christina touched the ring. “Jack’s one lucky man.”
“Thanks. I just wish…”
“That Sierra and I would find men, too? Don’t worry. There’re other ways to be happy.”
Leaning forward, Gloria took Christina’s face in her hands, really looking at her. “You’re going through something, aren’t you? Maybe it has to do with all those stupid office rumors. Or maybe…it’s more.”
“It’s nothing.”
Her sister shook her head. “Don’t fib to me. Just…whatever it is, will you just follow your heart? I would have wasted much less time and trouble with Jack if I’d let myself trust and love a little easier.”
Christina wanted to ask how Gloria was so certain this was about love, but she was afraid to. She was probably wearing her repressed emotions on her buttoned sleeve without knowing it.
There was a pause, weighed down with unspoken thoughts and explanations, but it was interrupted by the harplike ring of Christina’s cell phone.
Gloria stood, gestured to the restaurant. “I’ll check on Sierra.”
“Be right there.”
Alone, she allowed it to ring once more before she finally glanced at the calling screen.
Derek. The man she’d been dreading…and hoping…would be on the line.
Follow your heart, Gloria had said.
And, though it was so hard, Christina decided to try.
She answered his weekend call.
After lunch, Christina went home to change into something more colorful: yellow shorts, a yellow-and-white-striped tank top and white Skechers. Then she’d pulled her hair into a casual ponytail instead of the librarian-like chignon she’d been favoring lately.
What could she say? Maybe she was in the mood for some change.
As she drove downriver, where Derek’s condo was located, Christina wondered if following her heart meant ignoring her brain.
Could I talk to you? he’d said over the phone. I’d like to clear something up before office hours. If you feel okay about coming to my place, you’ll be well chaperoned and no one will ever know you were here.
She’d agreed, wondering what he’d meant by “chaperoned,” but feeling secure about trusting herself around him if they were under observation.
And, let’s face it, she thought. She’d seize any excuse to be around the guy.
When she arrived at the white, Mediterranean-style complex, she followed his directions, which led her down flagstone paths lined with man-made rocky streams. Finally, after passing blooming flower gardens and a variety of home security warning signs, she came to his slightly opened door.
The gaping invitation, in turn, beckoned her into a stately, yet modestly decorated condo exploding with a strange, dangerous buzzing noise.
She stuck her head around the door, knocking, calling out, “Hello?”
“Back here.” It was Derek’s voice, vying with that electronic sound.
Shutting the door, she ventured inside. A lemony scent tinged the air, as if the sleek, black furnishings had been recently polished to a shine. Extra rooms revealed the skeletons of sparse furniture, plus exercise equipment, including a rowing machine.
Interesting, how Derek didn’t flaunt his great wealth. He could have afforded limousines, but instead drove his own Beemer. He could have lived in a mansion, but chose something more down-to-earth instead.
As she wandered closer to the noise, she noticed a wider selection of those primitive musical instruments that barely decorated his office: rawhide-bound drums, delicately painted stringed instruments, wooden flutes, a smooth rainstick.
Some of the items weren’t even placed in strategic corners or hung on the white walls; a few were tossed over the beige carpet, used and abused.
The trail of instruments led to a state-of-the-art big-screen TV that showed two Jedi Knights in heated battle, their light sabers zooming across the screen in streaks of color. In front of the set were two hypnotized people, madly manipulating their control pads.
Derek and a young boy, who didn’t look more than eight years old, with his spiky red hair and glasses.
Was this their chaperone?
“Glad you could come over,” Derek said glancing away from the action.
He was dressed in a white T-shirt, faded jeans and work boots, his casual air lending him a ruggedness she’d never seen before. Even his hair seemed a bit longer, more carefree.
His lighthearted grin invited her to smile back, and Christina couldn’t stop her heart from twisting, wringing out any doubts she’d had about being here.
He had that expression on his face that guys
usually got when they wanted to tell you how nice you looked—not that Christina had heard, or paid attention to, many of those. But she knew he wouldn’t say it out loud, taking a chance on making her uncomfortable after all that’d gone on this past week.
Besides, she was wearing shorts. A ponytail.
She had to be misinterpreting the appreciative look in his eyes.
Derek seemed to have forgotten about the game, thus allowing his Jedi to get tossed across the space port by a flick of his opponent’s hand.
“Hey,” he said to the boy, “that’s dirty.”
“Of The Force, always be mindful.” The boy laughed, then glanced at Christina. “Is she here to play?”
“You wish. I’m not about to subject her to your Dark Side.” Derek pressed a button and set his remote on the carpet, then stood. “This is my guest, Richie. Her name’s Christina Mendoza.”
Getting serious, the boy got to his feet, too, then came over to shake Christina’s hand.
“You wanna be a Jedi, Miss Mendoza?”
Shoot, yes, she would. This was some setup.
Derek interrupted. “We’ve got to do a bit of boring adult talk, so why don’t you ask the computer to play against you and we’ll be right outside.”
Then, nodding to some rattan chairs on the jasmine-lined patio, Derek went to the fridge and poured them both some bottled water over ice.
Christina really would’ve liked to play, but now wasn’t the time. “Good to meet you, Richie,” she said as the boy went back to saving the galaxy.
“You, too, Miss Mendoza.”
She met Derek on the porch, and he offered her the sweating drink. Richie was within sight, though the sliding glass door had been pulled to block out sound from both directions.
“Sorry,” he said, indicating the water, “it’s all I have. Time to do some grocery shopping.”
“Water’s perfect.” She took a sip, then asked, “So, Richie?”
“A neighbor’s son. He gets pretty lonely because his mom’s out most of the time. I’m the baby-sitter of choice, I suppose.”
“You?”
“Don’t be shocked. I need an excuse to play video games, and Richie’s it.”
Touched by his obvious lie, Christina knew it’d be smart not to show it. So she glanced over the low wall, at the shimmer of the river as it lazily flowed by. “This is a lovely complex. Does she have to work as much as we do to maintain residence?”
“No, her ex-husband’s loaded, and he pays for them to live here. For now, at least. She dates a lot. Looking for the second Mr. Right of her life.”
Had Richie’s mom given Derek a shot yet? Something told Christina that he’d probably taken one look at the young boy then removed himself from consideration. Just because he was a good babysitter didn’t mean Derek the Womanizer was on the market for an instant family.
“She’s on a first date as we speak,” Derek said. “Who knows? Maybe this’ll be her lucky day.”
After he chugged some of his water, he narrowed his eyes. They’d darkened in the last few seconds.
“Are you angry about something?” Christina asked.
“Nah. Just…” As he cut himself off by closing his mouth, a muscle twitched in his jaw.
She leaned forward. “What?”
“It’s…I guess I kind of feel sorry for the kid. Real sorry. Even though I haven’t lived here very long, the father’s barely dropped by. Two times in two months for visitation. Nice, huh? And I could hear some heavy yelling through the walls…Mom and Dad’s happy reunion. The dad’s a winner, all right, and I wish Richie didn’t have to suffer for it.”
Derek was tracing the rim of his glass with a finger, avoiding her gaze. Condensation beaded on his fingertips, a drop falling to the concrete like a released tear.
There was definitely something else going on here, Christina thought. A buried sadness. A jagged secret deep inside.
Through the window, Richie played on, one of Derek’s instruments sitting near his leg. A rainstick. Christina knew how they worked: turn them upside down and the broken pieces hidden inside trickled downward, creating soft, haunting music.
She glanced back at Derek, finding him watching her intensely.
Shaken, she fixed her eyes on the instrument again.
He must have followed her gaze. “Oh, yeah. Richie’s new toys. My mom used to make my dad buy them for me, hoping to bring out this mysterious musical gene her side of the family was supposed to have. I got them out of storage because Richie likes them.”
“They look foreign.”
“I was an Army brat, so my father got around.” The sentence was short, to the point.
“Do you still see your parents?”
Derek shifted in his chair. “Both passed away a long time ago. Hepatitis, then heart failure.”
Before she could say she was sorry, a change came over him, a straightening of his posture. A return to control.
The boss.
“I didn’t call you over to chat exactly,” he said.
“That’s right. Business.” The avoidance of anything that mattered.
So why did she sound resentful? Wasn’t that how she wanted it with him? Impersonal?
His arched eyebrow told her he was wondering the same thing. But there was no doubt he knew better than to ask.
“I was worried about you last week,” he said.
“I told you, I’m fine.”
“No, I meant…” He was searching for words. “How you reacted after I told you about Twyla’s gossip. It concerned me. So I did some digging, Christina.”
Her pulse started to pound. “What do you mean?”
“The charges.” His voice was so gentle, almost as if he didn’t want to hurt her by bringing this up. “William Dugan.”
With all the calm she could muster, she set her water glass on a table before her hands could start to shake.
And, sure enough, they did.
Chapter Eleven
Christina’s face went pale.
Derek had expected such a reaction. That’s why he’d invited her over—so he could address what was worrying him without her being forced to put on an office game face for the rest of the day.
Last week, he’d contacted some business connections, slowly putting together details that weren’t exactly listed on Christina’s résumé. And he’d finally discovered why she’d been so skittish around him, why she’d decided their night together had been a “mistake.”
God, he felt like a fool for the way he’d treated her. For the way he’d tried to make her admit that it had been so right, that it hadn’t been wrong at all.
Setting down his own glass of water, Derek leaned his forearms on his jeans-clad thighs. “Can you tell me your side of the story, Christina? I talked to several people, but I want to hear what you have to say.”
She smoothed a hand over the crease of her shorts, avoided meeting his gaze. “You heard the basics, I’m sure. I cried harassment, Dugan cried denial and, in the end, I cried all the way to Los Angeles. Just so you know, I don’t make a habit of suing my bosses. Are you worried about that?”
“Good question.”
That got her attention. She whipped her gaze up to him, hurt.
“I suppose I can’t blame you for feeling that way,” she said.
“Wait. What I meant is that it’s something a decent boss would consider, but I don’t believe for a second that you’d ever do something so underhanded.”
“Then…” She tilted her head. “You believe my side of the story?”
She looked so sweet, so open.
He wanted to take her in his arms, soothe her. But he could only sit there, mindful of how she’d no doubt feel about him touching her again.
“I believe you, Christina. Since you quit Macrizon, William Dugan has been sued by two more female co-workers.”
Nodding, Christina exhaled. “I kept in touch with some of the employees. The cases are still pending, so we’ll see if Dugan finally
gets his due. Back when I brought charges, no one took me seriously. He was too rich, too influential and my complaints were dismissed because of a lack of evidence. But if I hadn’t done it, I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”
She paused, considering. “A lot of reasons. It isn’t exactly something you advertise to your new boss. ‘Hey, by the way, I accused a former employer of harassing me with constantly lewd comments, sexual situations and the threat of losing my job if I didn’t put out. But you can trust me and feel good about working with me anyway.’”
“I see your point.” Derek was trying not to sound bruised. “But I thought we had more than an office relationship.”
“Derek…” She sighed. “You know that it was a good idea for us to stop before things got ugly. I’m sorry for putting us both in this position, but for once in my life, I couldn’t help myself…”
She left the sentence hanging, a wisp of steam rising, then dissipating.
“I’m glad you lost control,” he said.
Christina looked away, started to push back a stray hair from her forehead before stopping, probably realizing her hair was entirely in place.
As usual.
“I’m glad, too,” she said, “even though it won’t happen again.”
His fantasies did a free fall at her words, but how could he blame her? Her background put a wrench into having a casual affair. Hell, he’d been lucky that she’d let him in for even one night.
Still, he heard himself saying, “What if we could keep our extracurricular activities under wraps? Would that matter?”
There. That sounded more like the old Rockwell. Stopping at nothing to get what he wanted. A man who relied on that “animal magnetism” to seek out a no-strings-attached good time.
It’s not as if he were asking her to have some kind of long-term affair. Not at all. When the San Antonio offices of Fortune-Rockwell became profitable again, who knew how long he’d be around.
Don’t stay in one place—or with one woman—too long. That was his philosophy. Walk away while everything was still good.
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