by Claire Adams
"Wow, you're in a rush," Ford said as I burst in his office door and skidded to a stop. "What's the good news?"
I couldn't get the words to form or my mouth to work. Instead, I asked, "Is everything alright? That looked like a pretty heated phone exchange."
Ford chuckled and handed me a slip of paper. On it was nothing but an astronomical sum. "Barton is trying to buy The Mirror again."
"That's awful. Why are you smiling?" I asked.
Ford shrugged and plucked the coffee cups from my hands. "I take it as a compliment. It's weird, but ever since I confronted him on the golf course, I feel like he respects me. These offers are a sign of respect, like he's proud of me."
"Or he's trying to con you like Tailor did my father," I said.
"Don't worry, I'm a cautious guy," Ford said.
"Are you? Because I've been feeling lately like I'm too cautious, and you're the one that's willing to go out on a limb." My throat dried up and so did my words.
Ford arched a dark eyebrow at me. I had his full attention now. "What are you talking about?" he asked.
An intern saved me by standing at the glass door and waving a stack of proofs. "Sorry to interrupt, Ford, but these need approval before we can let everything go live."
"Oh, god, that's right. You're under deadline. I'm not the only one that's under deadline. Sorry!" I stepped out of the way.
Ford caught me under the chin as he passed out the door. "I'll be right back. Then you have to tell me what's on your mind."
I watched him march up and down the rows of desks. Ford knew everyone by name, and he insisted they call him by his first name. The mix of familiarity and authority he gave off set his whole staff at ease. They worked hard for him. They respected him. They loved him.
Suddenly the words welled up, and I could barely contain myself. I felt like shouting it out his office door. The thought of interrupting the newspaper with a headline of my own was tempting but terrifying.
Ford saw me shifting from foot to foot in his office door. He initialed the stack of proofs without taking his eyes off me and then dropped the papers on the intern's desk. He marched clear across the floor and swept back into his office.
This time I was ready for the tsunami. "I love you," I said.
He stopped in the doorway and held on to the frame for support. Then Ford looked around as if he'd been dazed with something heavy. When his eyes focused back on me, I said it again.
"I love you, Ford."
This time, he was at a loss for words, but there was no doubt how he took the news. Ford strode across the office and swept me up in his arms. We spun three times before he pulled me to him, and in front of the entire Mirror staff, we kissed as if the world had faded away.
The raucous cheer that met our ears was enough of a reminder.
"The walls are glass, aren't they?" Ford asked. His face was still a mix of wonder and relief. "Everyone saw everything."
"Isn't it great?" I asked. "We don't have to worry about who sees us or not."
Ford brushed his lips against mine again. "Because we're just two people in love."
"Yes," I laughed. Then I unhooked my arms from around his neck. "But you are also the person under deadline and, trust me, I know how that feels."
Ford spun away with a hundred last-minute things to do, but he stopped at the door and circled back to me. "You came all the way to my office just to tell me you love me?"
"Yes. I didn't say it this morning, and I didn't know why."
He stopped, and his face sobered. "Why didn't you?"
I reached up and brushed a hand over his cheek. The caress drew the scent of his aftershave to my senses, and I was dizzy with happiness. "I've never been in love before," I confessed.
Ford laughed and scooped me back into his arms. "Then I've never been in love before either because I've never felt like this before."
"Like what?" I asked with a challenge in my eyes.
This time, it didn't matter that the walls were glass. When our lips met it felt like time stood still. Outside, the office worked at a frantic pace, but for just a moment longer, there was only Ford and I in the world.
I thought of Lexi and her engagement ring, Jasmine and her new romance, and my father finally with his dream artist. The world slowly came back, but I welcomed each part of it. The people around us had seen it from the very beginning, and Ford and I had just caught up. It felt good to finally know what everyone had realized long before us.
"Please wait right here. Jackson didn't give you any homework, did he?" Ford asked.
"Just a few new comments, but nothing I have to do this weekend." I waved the short story pages.
Ford frowned at all the red marks. "I thought he liked it."
I smiled. "Professor Rumsfeld gives great feedback. And my story was very well received in class."
"So? Is it the one?" Ford asked.
It felt like sunlight spreading across my chest. Everything felt right. "Yes, I think it's the one."
Ford kissed me again. "I'm so proud of you, Clarity. You're going to do it, right?"
"Yes, I'm entering the contest. There's no predicting if the judges will like it but—"
"But if you win, you'll be on your way to getting published at the same time as you graduate from Landsman College." Ford grinned and squeezed both my hands. "That's a reason to celebrate if I ever heard one."
"I've heard one better," I said.
Ford pulled my hands to his lips. "Tell me again."
"I love you, and you love me. That's the only reason I want to celebrate."
An alarm clock sounded on the floor, and all the newspaper staff members jumped up from their desk. A big monitor on the far wall flickered to life, and the IT staff fluttered around getting the last-minute codes in place.
Ford looked from the newspaper floor, poised to publish, and then back to me.
"Go on; I don't mind waiting," I said.
"Put that in the top drawer of my desk. It locks, and it will still be here when we get back."
"Get back?" I asked.
"Sorry, I have to go take care of this," Ford slipped onto the floor and took care of the final details before he could publish the new online edition of The Mirror.
I took a seat at his desk and unlocked the drawer he suggested. Once my short story was inside, I sat back and took a moment to breathe. It was impossible to not want everything all at once. Then I thought about how far we'd come. From strangers at my father's party, to a student and professor, to journalists fighting against a well-funded enemy.
"What's that look?" Ford asked when he returned.
"Life just keeps getting better and better with you," I said.
Ford sat on the corner of the desk and tapped the locked drawer. "Listen, Clarity, I understand if you want to spend the weekend working on your short story. It's a huge deal. When you win the contest, you'll have the chance to find an agent or a publisher."
I shook my head. "I'm not in it for the money or the accolades," I said.
"Those things are important," Ford said.
I leaned back in his office chair and fixed him with a sharp look. "This coming from the man that is currently missing his own awards reception at Landsman College."
"It's only for being a good example. They don't expect me to actually show up to receive it," Ford joked.
I crossed my arms. "I thought we had fun the last time we were dressed up and on campus."
He smiled at the memory of me in my formal, black dress. "Well, we could go and do that, but I really had something else in mind."
"Do I have to remind you again that these walls are glass?" I joked.
Ford grinned and stood up. He held out both hands and pulled me to my feet. "Nah, I don't have to hide this from my staff because they covered for me while I went home and got everything packed."
His intern lugged two suitcases to the office door and dropped them off with a jaunty salute.
I looked from the suitcases to Fo
rd in surprise. "What's this?"
"This," Ford said, taking my arm and gathering up the suitcases in his other hand. "Is me taking you away on a road trip."
We went out the office doors and found his car waiting at the curb.
"A road trip?" I asked with tears of joy. "I hope it has plenty of detours."
EPILOGUE
"It's okay to admit if you're lost," I said.
Ford scowled and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. I'd never seen him so tense on a road trip. He pushed the accelerator down and seemed determined to beat the clouds to the horizon.
"I'm not lost, I'm just trying to find something special," Ford said between clenched teeth.
"Hey," I joked, "I thought I was your something special."
Ford's jaw relaxed a little. "You're something else, that's for sure. I was just hoping to catch a good sunset before we have to get back to town. Hang on!" He pulled hard on the wheel, and we skidded into the gravel parking lot of a scenic overlook.
I laughed. "This is the same exact overlook you brought me to two years ago. Remember? We finally left on our first road trip, and we stopped here to enjoy the sunset."
Ford leaned back in the driver's seat and shrugged. "Really? I can't quite remember. That was two years and two dozen adventures ago."
"Come on, was the book tour really that bad?" I asked.
"Twelve cities in ten days? No." He reached over and squeezed my knee. "I loved every minute of it."
"You're just anxious to get back to The Mirror and dive back into work," I concluded. "I get it. When you find the work you love, it's hard to be away from it."
"I think people say that about people more often than work," Ford chuckled.
"So, I'm ambitious. I thought you loved that about me. Besides, I'm not the one under deadline at the moment. Don't you have the first fall publication due out at the end of the week?" I asked.
Ford shifted in his car seat and smiled softly at me. "That's right. It's almost Thanksgiving. It's almost exactly the day that I first met you."
I grinned. "Remember what we talked about?"
"I remember you telling me about the headline game you liked to play. How about this one: Couple Misses Stunning Sunset, Stuck in Car."
I laughed and reached for my door handle. Ford jumped out and ran around to open the car door for me. "Here's one for you: Exhausted Editor Fills Empty Spaces with Headlines."
Ford laughed and pulled me out to the scenic overlook. The sun was still warm as it nudged against the horizon. Still, there was chill sent to the air that meant autumn was on its way. It was my favorite season, especially when Thanksgiving was only a few weeks away.
"Did I tell you that my father and Polly will be home from Cuba in time for Thanksgiving?" I asked.
"I know. Your father mentioned it when I talked to him the other day." Ford popped his mouth shut and admired the sunset with a sudden keen interest.
"Oh, no, what are you and my father planning now?" I asked. "I can just imagine the headline: Men Plan Elaborate Feast, Use Every Dish in the Kitchen."
I laughed at my own joke and turned, but Ford was gone.
He was down on one knee. The sky streaked with reds and golds as he reached for my hand. "I have one last headline for you: Will you marry me?"
I dropped to my knees and kissed Ford a dozen times over before I took a breath and said, "Yes. And you can quote me on that."
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BILLIONAIRE IN REHAB
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams
BILLIONAIRE IN REHAB PART I
Chapter One
Cassidy
“This is our dining area. You should come out here for all your meals,” Ronald March was saying as he brought the new guy around the facility.
I had seen enough tours of our swanky Aspen drug and alcohol rehabilitation center that I could probably have given the tour myself if I had to. Mr. March was dressed in a custom-tailored suit and looked more like a celebrity stylist than the manager of a drug rehab center. But then again, our drug rehab center wasn’t exactly like the ones you would see on television.
My heart flipped as I looked at the man Mr. March was giving a tour to. My initial thought was that he must be famous. His deeply-tanned skin was covered with a scruffy beard, and he was wearing a winter beanie hat that probably cost more than I earned in a week.
A guy like that showing up at our treatment center wasn’t all that unusual. We were a high-end facility that cost a lot of money. But what caught me about this guy was his general level of casualness. He seemed comfortable in our facility, more like he was on a tour of a candy factory than a drug and alcohol treatment facility. I had to wonder if he was even the patient or perhaps instead he was the agent to someone famous. That wouldn’t be unusual.
But no, Mr. March had said “you” when he talked about where to eat, so the man must be a new patient. Secretly, I was happy to have such a handsome guy around; it was fun to have a little eye candy when we were busy working such long shifts.
The whole room paused and watched as the two men made their way through the dining area. It was an open area with several tables, each seating two or four people. Most of the patients were already out of the rooms and waiting for their meals; watching a new patient get his orientation was something to keep them busy with while they waited.
People paid thousands of dollars to hide away at Paradise Peak. Many of our clients were famous actors, musicians, and children of the rich. So, I wasn’t exactly surprised at my physical reaction to seeing the man. Hot guys were just as susceptible to addition as ugly guys were.
But there was something different about this one, something in his eyes that seemed genuinely lost. At Paradise Peak, people had the opportunity to work on mental health issues, drug issues, and alcohol issues – and many people had them all. Some celebrities even came to spend a week and just get away from all the people trying to control their lives.
“Hi, Brad, are you ready for some delicious stuffed chicken?” I asked as I brought a tray over to one of my patients for the day.
“What’s it stuffed with?”
“I don’t know.” I laughed.
“I don’t eat things if I don’t know what they are stuffed with. Come back when you know what’s in it.”
Brad seemed like he had Asperger’s syndrome or some form of autism that had never officially been diagnosed. Although, his behavior could have been from being spoiled all his life just as easily as it could have been an official disorder.
“Sure thing; how about I leave the applesauce and salad for you right now, and I’ll bring the rest back after I talk to the cook? Will that work?”
“Whatever.”
Brad Hanson was a musician and child celebrity who had frequented Paradise Peak for as long as I had worked there. Over the two years I had known him, I witnessed just what addiction could do to a man, and it made me so sad. Brad was forty-two years old and all alone. In his prime, he had been in a boy band that had been very popular in the ’90s, but in recent years, cocaine had taken over his life. He had also been part of a sitcom that ran for many years after his band broke up. All that happened before he turned twenty-five.
Most of the other technicians that worked on my unit didn’t like to deal with Brad, so inevitably I ended up caring for him whenever I worked.
As a technician, my job was to make the stay more comfortable for our patients. Sometimes I called them clients, and sometimes Mr. March asked us to call people our guests. But it didn’t m
atter what people were called, they were at our facility to deal with their demons and hopefully get better during their time with us.
Brad was rude and often mean, but there was an honesty to him that hit home with me. I didn’t mind his attitude and found him quite enjoyable when he sobered up and got to the end of his stays at our facility.
Nothing much usually bothered me while I was at work. I didn’t take insults personally, and I was patient with people and knew that they would eventually become friendlier.
Drugs and alcohol had a way of changing how someone dealt with life and the people in it. So, when a patient arrived who had to go through detox and withdrawals, I felt it was my responsibility to make that process as comfortable as possible. Trust me, they were going to go through enough pain and uncomfortable feelings; they didn’t need me to have an attitude with them, as well.
“Is Brad giving you a hard time?” Kaitlin asked as I returned to the back room with the tray of food. “I don’t know why you even try with that guy. He’s never nice.”
“Oh, you know Brad. I need to go talk to Chef Alexander and find out what the chicken is stuffed with before Brad will eat it.”
“Just give it to me. I’ll tell him what it’s stuffed with,” Kaitlin said as she reached for the tray.
“It’s fine. I don’t mind going and finding out. It will make him feel better, and that’s all that matters.”
“You’re way too nice to him. He’s a drug seeker who’s not interested in getting better. I don’t know why you baby him like you do. He’s not even nice to you.”
Brad wasn’t a drug seeker in my eyes, though. To me, he was just an addict who didn’t know how to cope with even the simplest of things in his life. He had popped a pill or drank some alcohol anytime he felt bad for as long as he could remember; it was going to take some time for him to truly learn new coping skills.
“I’ll be right back,” I said as I headed down the hallway. “Can you start handing out the other trays, please?”
