by Karen Anders
“It might have started out that way, but I found out things about myself and discovered an adventurous soul. It was me in Central Park, in bed, in that damn garage in Cranberry.”
“Don’t try to play on my sympathies. How can I ever forgive you for deceiving me?”
Everything changed about him. His eyes hardened, his mouth toughened, and that edge she’d seen in the hallway got dangerous. “Do you even know what you want, Laurel?” He flattened his hands on either side of her head, leaning in so close she could see the heat in his eyes—and his frustration as if he couldn’t understand her reaction and was hurt that she doubted him. “Do you want a tough, doesn’t-care-about-your-feelings man? I can give you that.”
His hips pinned her to the wall, and she couldn’t help the heated gasp that escaped her lips.
She grabbed him and kissed his mouth, her lips relentless, set to devastate. This dark seduction was even more exciting then anything he’d done to her. He moaned into her mouth.
She broke the kiss. “I know exactly what I want, but you’re not that man. You never were. My parents have always tried to control me and I’ve let them. But no more. It was all a scheme to bring me to heel. Well, I won’t. It’s ironic, but you taught me to stand up for myself and take a risk.”
“Laurel, please,” he pleaded.
Tears threatened, but with sheer willpower, she pushed them away, her heart breaking. She couldn’t love a man who betrayed her, yet she loved him so much it hurt.
Laurel pushed at his chest and stepped away from him. “Thanks for the education.”
It was only after she’d gotten far enough away and was sure he hadn’t followed her that she let the tears flow.
14
How would you spend quality time with your hottie?
a. watching videos curled up on the couch
b. make love all night long
c. a rousing boxing match
d. an upscale dance club
—Excerpt from Who’s Your Hottie? quiz,
SPICE magazine
AFTER LEAVING MAC and gaining some composure, Laurel went back to work. She stopped briefly in her office, sat at her computer and typed, her vision often blurred by tears. Printing out the letter, she headed straight for Mr. Scott’s suite.
Entering his office, she stopped at his assistant’s desk and the woman looked up. “Yes,”
“I need to see Mr. Scott.”
“Your name?”
“Laurel Malone.”
“Yes, Miss Malone. He said you might be here to see him. Go right in.”
She opened the polished oak doors and entered his office. Mr. Scott sat behind an ornate desk purusing paperwork in front of him. His laptop was to the side up and running.
“Laurel, I thought I’d see you again today.”
“Mr. Scott. I find it necessary to quit,” Laurel said, knowing in her heart this was the right thing to do.
“Laurel, don’t throw your career away because your father and I had a hand in it. Please sit down….”
“I don’t want to sit down. I’ve realized today that I don’t really like accounting and it’s not what I want to do with my life.”
“Don’t be rash. Sure, you’ve had a shock, but it’ll pass. I do value you as an employee. I intend to use your unitedthinking model on all our corporate strategies and in all our brochures.”
“You’re welcome to it, but I won’t be here. Thank you.”
She set the letter on his desk, turned, and walked out without a backward glance.
As she left the building, she felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She was free now to do what had always given her the greatest pleasure. Her furniture.
From Waterford Scott, she caught a cab to the leasing office for the 27th Street storefront. After paying the money for the lease, the agent handed her the key.
Laurel wasted no time. She went home and changed and called Melanie Graham at the Met.
“Melanie, I need your help.”
“What can I do Laurel.”
“I need a truck. I have some furniture I need moved.”
“Just tell me where.”
Laurel gave her directions. “Could they leave now?”
“They’re on their way.”
“Thanks Melanie for everything.”
“It’s my pleasure. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
She jumped in her SUV and headed out to Cranberry. She supervised the moving of her furniture and once it was all loaded, directed the movers to her storefront. She showed the movers exactly what pieces she wanted moved into the store, where she wanted them placed, all but four pieces—the square-backed couch with the silver circles on blue, a replica of her wavy bed design, a triangular corner chair in a deep burgundy, and a dining table inlaid with geometrical designs.
“Could you please make sure that these four pieces are placed with all the art deco furniture slated for the Malone auction tomorrow night?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the mover said and he and his crew left Laurel to work in her store. She worked hard all afternoon, so that she wouldn’t have to think about a pair of aching blue eyes, a tender smile, or clever hands. She wouldn’t have to think about Mac and how he’d lied to her to fulfill a seduction plan dictated by her father.
All she knew was that she was now at peace with herself. She realized that she didn’t have to live up to her mother’s expectations or her lofty reputation. All Laurel had to be was Laurel.
LAUREL LAY AWAKE in the darkness, trying to force her mind to rest. It was useless; this would be another night she wouldn’t sleep through. Rather than lying wakeful in bed for hours, she rose and got dressed in the dark. Grabbing up the bag she always kept packed for her trips to Cranberry, she went outside and got in her SUV.
She drove straight through, the digital readout of her dash clock a dark green two forty-five in the morning.
Once she got there, she made her way to her garage and opened the side door, foregoing the pleasure of lifting up the large front door and getting the full view of her workshop.
She looked at the empty space where all her pieces had been and felt that triumph rise in her again.
She turned on a lamp on the worktable and directed the beam. Although she had followed her accounting curriculum religiously in college, Laurel had taken all her electives in art and design.
She pulled the stack of designs toward her and riffled through them. She chose a simple chair with a cutout in the back shaped like a keyhole, long and lean and infinitely a statement about form and function. Rolling up her sleeves, a calm settled over her as she started to work. One hour melted into the next until exhaustion began to make itself known through burning eyes and an aching back. Her hands stilled, and she leaned back in her chair to relieve the ache.
She stared at the form she’d created. A keyhole needs a key and Laurel knew who the key was. It was her.
She laid her head down onto the worktable and closed her eyes.
The next thing she knew, she was being shaken awake. She protested and tried to drift back to sleep.
“Laurel? Wake up, dear.”
It was Mr. Hayes’s voice and he sounded worried. She opened her eyes to see him standing there, Wanda anxiously looking over his shoulder. Both of them were in their night clothes.
She smiled and met Mr. Hayes’s eyes. He smiled back. “Come on, dear. If anyone needed my blueberry pancakes, it’s you.”
Laurel found herself eating pancake after pancake and pouring her heart out to Mr. Hayes and Wanda about all that had happened.
He looked somber and glanced at Wanda before he cleared his throat and began to speak. “Do you love this man?”
Laurel felt heat infuse her and for the first time in three days she came alive.
“Yes.”
“Then don’t throw it away. I loved a woman once. When I found out she wasn’t who I thought she was, I left. I thought she was having an affair. In my sense of betrayal and
bitterness, I never gave her a chance to explain. It was only later, after the divorce I found out that she had been faithful to me. I’ve regretted that decision, Laurel. Don’t live to regret yours, dear.”
Wanda put her arms around Mr. Hayes and held him. Laurel dashed away a tear.
“I’ll think about it. I just don’t know how I could trust him.”
“Give it a shot, honey,” Wanda said.
MAC OPENED THE DOOR to his loft Monday night, feeling disoriented after being away from it for what seemed like another lifetime.
The terrible fact that Laurel wouldn’t believe him cut him deep. He never would have predicted that she would think that he was in cahoots with her father. But, of course, he now saw exactly how it looked.
His insides felt shredded and there was a hole where his heart should be. For a man used to success, it felt like a complete and overwhelming defeat losing her. Even saying it to himself hurt.
“Hey, brother, what are you doing here?” Tyler asked as he snapped off the TV. He took a better look at Mac’s face and swung his feet off the table, his sleepy eyes losing their glassy quality.
“What happened? Is it Mom?”
“Not Mom. Laurel found out about me before I had a chance to explain.”
“Ah, Mac. I’m sorry. This is all my fault. I should have kept my big nose out of your business.”
Feeling raw inside and sick at losing Laurel, Mac said, “I shouldn’t have listened. But you’re judgment about relationships isn’t always sound.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you won’t give your own father the time of day. I can’t understand why you won’t at least listen to what he has to say.”
“We’re not talking about that. I was trying to help you, Mac. You always towed the line, but sometimes you have to break the rules to get what you want.”
“Yeah? It didn’t work this time, but that’s my problem. I’ll deal with Laurel, but you need to come to terms with your own stuff.”
“Don’t start on that again, Mac. I don’t….”
“Just listen to what the man has to say. It won’t kill you.”
“How do you know how I feel? You’ve had a father your whole life.”
“That’s right, I have but if I didn’t, I wouldn’t throw away the opportunity to meet him.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“You have too much pride, Tyler. Someday, it’s going to be your downfall.”
“This is what I get for trying to help you? Well, screw you, Mac.” Tyler grabbed his leather jacket and slammed out of Mac’s loft.
The silence was deafening. He knew he’d deliberately picked a fight with Tyler because he was mad, but the blame wasn’t Tyler’s, it was squarely on Mac’s shoulders. He’d gone through with it. He’d deceived Laurel and turned her against him. There wasn’t anything he could do now.
He remembered the shock in her eyes, the betrayal. He’d found and lost the woman of his dreams. How was he going to handle that? How could he live with that?
MAC GOT TO THE OFFICE early the next morning after very little sleep. The keen sense of loss seemed tenfold as if the day somehow magnified the feeling, made it more real.
He picked up the phone to call her, but put down the receiver. What more could he say? How could he convince her that he loved her and hadn’t conspired with her father? He picked up the receiver again, determined to make Laurel hear what he had to say.
He started to dial her number when he heard that hard, cold voice. “Mr. Malone wants to see you.”
Dread curling in his stomach, Mac followed Lucy to Mr. Malone’s office.
Mac entered. There was no warm greeting this time. Mr. Malone’s lips were pinched tight. He didn’t even offer Mac a seat.
“What have you done to my daughter?”
“I was told Laurel wouldn’t be interested in any man who worked for you, so I didn’t tell her I worked here.”
“I beg your pardon,” Mr. Malone sputtered, looking angry.
“I’d have told her anything. She’s the most amazing person I’ve ever known. I’m in love with her.”
“Tell me why I shouldn’t fire you on the spot.”
“I had a feeling that was going to happen. I’m even prepared for it. But what I’m not prepared for is losing Laurel. She’s infused my life with life. I’m not sure you can understand that because you don’t really understand your own daughter. So, losing this job is nothing, less than nothing, next to losing her. She was the one searching for something missing. She says that I gave that to her, but she’s wrong, she had what she was looking for all along. I’m the one who didn’t know that something was missing until I met her.”
“You’re right. I don’t understand.”
“Stop trying to protect her. She’s more than capable of handling her own life. You would be proud if you could really see her like I see her. Let go of her. Let her be who she is, instead of some idea you have of who she should be and who she should be with.”
“I don’t need you telling me what kind of relationship I should have with my daughter. I think you should find other means of employment, Mr. Tolliver. Clear out your desk and get out of my firm.”
HER MOTHER’S WING rang with activity as Christie’s set up the podium and the auctioneer purused the items to be offered for sale late afternoon on Tuesday. Laurel had left Cranberry after a few hours of sleep.
Attendants set up chairs while the florist shop delivered and placed the flowers. Everything was coming together. All Laurel had to do was go home and change into her evening wear. She was turning to go, when she caught sight of her father, entering the wing and walking past the stacked furniture lined up in the hall. Laurel followed until he turned into a small room where the museum had collected family and individual photos of one of their most generous benefactresses—Anne Wilks Malone.
Her father went to the baby grand piano and sat down on the bench. He picked up a framed photo of his wife and he looked down into the still image for a moment.
Then he covered his eyes and bowed his head. Tears gathered in Laurel’s eyes. This glimpse into her father’s pain struck a chord inside her, made her realize that refusing to help with the auction had nothing at all to do with indifference and everything to do with protection. He was still having a hard time with her mother’s death and isolating himself from the preparations for her memorial was the only way he knew how to protect himself from drowning in that pain.
She understood now. His meddling was his way of compensating for his wife’s loss. She suspected that her father had never meant for her to find out about his part in her promotion, but Laurel was glad she had. It made it all clear to her what path she needed to follow.
The one that led straight to her dreams.
She walked into the room and sat down next to him.
“Dad,” she said softly. He raised his head, rubbed his eyes and she put her arm around him.
“I’m sorry about not participating in the memorial, Laurel, but it’s been very difficult for me. I miss her very much.”
“I know, Dad. I understand.”
“Good.”
“Dad, I quit my job.”
He set her mother’s picture down and turned toward her. “What for?”
“It didn’t make me happy.”
“Laurel, I thought you loved accounting.”
“No, not really. I only took it as a major because it’s what you and Mom wanted. I would have preferred to study furniture design.”
“No kidding? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Mom drilled it into me from the time I was young that I must always conduct myself like a lady. It didn’t occur to me to assert myself.”
“Oh, Laurel, she wouldn’t have wanted you to be unhappy.”
“I realize that now.”
“So this is what Tolliver was talking about right before I fired him.”
“What? You fired Mac. Why?”
“He was lying to my baby girl. I don’t want that kind of man on my team.”
“So you didn’t put him up to this disguise he used to get into my good graces?”
“Of course not, Laurel, but I can understand why you jumped to that conclusion after learning what I’d done in your professional life. I am sorry.”
“No, Dad, he wasn’t lying to me. He was the best thing that ever happened to me. I love him very much.
“Love is precious, Laurel,” her father said looking at the picture of his wife again. “You shouldn’t throw it away.”
Laurel leaned over and kissed her father on the cheek.
MAC STOOD IN THE BACK of the rotunda as people bid on the art deco furniture offered in each lot. He’d debated about whether or not to come, but the truth was he couldn’t stay away. Laurel was sitting up front with her father, her attention riveted to the auctioneer.
He slipped his hands into the pants of the impeccable tux he wore and although he enjoyed dressing up and doing the society thing, he had embraced the other wilder side of himself. He’d kept the Ducati that Tyler had loaned him.
Even losing his job hadn’t affected him that much. He could work with his brother or go to work for his father. It didn’t matter. He had plenty in the bank to hold him over until he decided what it was he wanted to do.
The only thing he regretted about pretending to be a bad-boy biker was losing Laurel.
“Ladies and gentlemen we have an addition of four pieces donated by the daughter of the late Anne Wilks Malone. Laurel Malone is both designer and craftsperson for these pieces being offered,” the auctioneer said.
Mac smiled to himself. He was so proud of her, he wished he could kiss her.
He stood there watching as each piece received furious bids and added a nice amount to the museum’s coffers.
When the auction ended, Mac turned and left.
LAUREL KNOCKED ON Mac’s door early Wednesday morning. She hadn’t been able to come last night as her duties were to her family, but now that the auction was over and her mother had received a fitting memorial, Laurel needed to right a wrong. Mac hadn’t been part of a scheme her father cooked up. He’d been as original as he’d said.
