Speak Now

by Chautona Havig

  His heart leapt into his throat. Cara stood in a strapless mini dress that looked nearly painted on her, her hair piled on her head, and wearing “the” heels. “So, do you like it?”

  “I like you in it even more but—”

  She repressed the urge to laugh as Jonathan struggled to tell her that her dress was inappropriate for a charity ball. Forcing her features into a mixture of hurt and disappointment, she sighed deeply and turned to leave. She whirled back and jerked the folded hemline down to her knees. “Would this work better?”

  “I—”

  As she walked back down the hallway, she forced her shoulders into a slump and dragged her feet just a little. Behind the door, she covered her mouth with her hand and giggled. His reaction—priceless.

  As Carly helped Cara into her dress, laughing and whispering about his expression, Cara wondered what kind of explanation he would come up with. A more perfect dress, she couldn’t imagine. The green brought out the deeper colors in her eyes, the fit was unparalleled, and she’d never felt more confident in her appearance, a quality that her mother insisted made her more attractive than anything else. She grabbed a matching clutch from the bed, hugged her friend, slipped through door, and walked down the hall.

  As she reached Jonathan, Cara smiled at the beatific expression on his face and pushed his chin back in place. “You’ll catch flies, Jonathan. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that?” At the unspoken response, she laughed. “Thank you. It is flattering that you’d eat flies for me but quite unnecessary. I’ll settle for dinner. I’m starving.”

  “How long have you been planning that?”

  “A while.”

  Before he could respond, the opening strains of “You Raise Me Up” drifted through the room. “She can play an incredible instrument; but seriously, why waste that kind of talent on this song?”

  “Not a Groban fan?”

  “Not a fan of this song, anyway. Seriously, it seems like every four years they have to take one song that might have been decent once—no one can remember—and then play it to death so that we can and do hear it in our sleep.”

  “Some people call that dreamy music,” she teased as she went to turn off the CD player.

  “More like a nightmare. Seriously, ‘I am strong when I am on your shoulder?’ Um, that would make you vulnerable.”

  “That’s the point of the song.” She stood, finger poised to punch the stop button, and defended the lyrics. “It’s why I am convinced that regardless of the intent of the author, the ‘Your’ must be God, because only with Him are we stronger on His shoulder than off. And, sometimes when we make ourselves vulnerable, then is when God steps in and really does something through us.”

  With a smile she’d begun to think he reserved only for her, Jonathan slipped his arms around her and danced slowly around her living room, avoiding the various furniture that interrupted their path. The simple two-step came naturally to the song, but when the music swelled, Jonathan swung her in an arc before he pulled her close again. Cara laughed, delighted. “Well, that’s one way to sweep me off my feet.”

  “I’ll do it any way I can.”

  As the song ended, she punched the button, knowing the next song on the track was her favorite, and she’d never leave if it came on. “Jonathan, you did it the evening you first called me Cara mia. I haven’t touched down yet.”

  He started to reply, but her stomach growled. “Aak!” She hurried to the fridge, pulled out leftovers from his deli run, and stabbed a few pieces of cheese and turkey on toothpicks. “Let’s go before we miss the meal. I’ve been hungry all day. I hate it when that happens on an inconvenient day.”

  His car zipped toward the Loop as Jonathan asked, “Is it ever convenient to spend all day eating?”

  “Of course.” She laughed as she realized the meaning behind his words. “You want me to talk. Okay, I can talk. As I said, of course it’s convenient on a nice, rainy, cold day when you have a stack of good movies or a book and a pantry and fridge full of good food—or aren’t too self-conscious to call every time you want something different.” Her eyes slid sideways. “I did that once.”

  “Did what?”

  “Called every restaurant that tempted me for anything and everything I wanted. I started off with that little bakery down by Westbury Foods. They deliver on Saturdays and Sundays. So I ordered half a dozen of my favorite donuts, my favorite coffee, some croissants, and I think a pan of rolls. I ate on that stuff for a week, but it was good.”

  “Next?”

  “Then I wanted Chinese. So, I ordered from the Lotus Wok.”

  “You’re kidding.” He’d never heard a more ridiculous name.

  “Nope. Crazy, huh? But they have the best Mongolian beef and Szechuan chicken… mmm… Oh, and crab rangoons. Oh, man.” She licked her lips unconsciously as she described the meal. “About an hour later, I was hungry again. Chinese food is just not filling. So, I ordered pizza.” Cara giggled. “Frank came to the door, shuffled his feet a bit, and then asked if I was pregnant.”

  “What!”

  “Well, seriously, what would you think of a single woman alone in her apartment who ordered three separate orders of food over the span of five hours. That held me over until around six with the chips and yogurt that I had. Then I ordered from Jacques.”

  “Filet Mignon?”

  “Prime Rib, sautéed veggies, and cheesecake.”

  Jonathan laughed. “I bet you didn’t eat for three days!”

  She shook her head before he finished, blushing. “Actually, no. It doesn’t happen every week, or even every few months, but when it happens, the next day is the same as any day.”

  The car glided around the Rockland loop. Exits flew by as Jonathan whizzed through the lanes and down the off ramp and onto Washington Boulevard. Their conversation flowed through the silence of the car. No music invaded their space or interrupted their thoughts. Cara exuded thanks for his self-control of the previous evening, while Jonathan assured her it was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done.

  The topic of marriage entered their periphery and then drifted away again before either of them could put a voice to the desire. Though too soon, they also knew it might be time to consider it. They knew so little of each other while being so unified in thought and understanding. Cara knew that a relationship with Jonathan would take months, possibly years to develop, but to be realistic, they didn’t have that long. Their attraction, would lead to compromised convictions if they spent too much time alone together. “I know.” They were the first words spoken since the discussion of her starvation days. Her voice reverberated through the car.

  “Tomorrow—let’s discuss it tomorrow.”

  Valet service met them at the portico and whisked his rental car off into the cavernous parking garage down the street, leaving Jonathan and Cara to enter the Rockland Towers alone. Jonathan accepted a deposit box key and slipped it into his pocket as Cara slid her purse into the slot. Music danced around them as they entered the dining hall next to the Grand Ballroom. Schubert was the last thing Cara expected to hear at a function such as this.

  “Seriously? Schubert?”

  “Piano Sonata in D. One of my favorites.”

  She heard what he didn’t say. “And enjoy it while I can because the ballroom will be noisier?”

  “Something like that.”

  Suddenly, Cara felt completely out of her element. It was, in an ironic twist, as though their personalities switched bodies. Jonathan met people as they crossed the room to their table, introduced her to them, asked about their businesses, their horses, their children, their dogs, and even their vacations. How he knew so much about the lives of so many people, she couldn’t imagine.

  Meanwhile, she stood, smiling but tongue-tied, as person after person shook her hand, complimented her dress, and asked how she and Jonathan met. The sea of faces blurred until Cara didn’t know if she’d remember to whom she was introduced and who she wasn’t. Disgusted wit
h herself, she whispered an excuse into Jonathan’s ear and started to search for the restrooms.

  “Out in the lobby, toward the restaurant on the left,” he whispered back. In a more conversational tone, he smiled down at her and said, “You know I’m going to be counting minutes—seconds even.” To the couple he’d stopped to talk with, he added, “Isn’t she just beautiful!”

  When Cara reached the double doors, she glanced back and saw Jonathan watching her from across the room. That constancy buoyed her spirits in a way nothing else he could have said or done ever would have. Feeling more confident already, she strolled to the restrooms, smiled at the attendant that opened the door for her, and stepped into the powder anteroom.

  The room was mercifully empty. Standing in front of the mirror, she gave herself a stern, silent lecture as she pulled at a hair here, and readjusted her necklace there. You’re not out of your league. This is your new league, woman. Now get in there and make him proud. He needs you. Internal chastisement over, she surveyed herself once more. You look good. Mom picked the perfect fabric, and you chose the perfect style. Go out there and show them all that you can carry it off.

  It worked. By the time Cara returned to Jonathan’s side, she felt much more at ease. She laughed at the jokes, asked intelligent questions, and carried her part of the conversation with the kind of vivacity and flair that she usually displayed. Jonathan, however, remained the outgoing, charming man who had entered the building with her—much to her surprise. Not until a man’s hand tapped her shoulder did even one of his characteristic silences surface, and even then, not for long.

  “Hello, Cara! Who knew you’d be here.”

  Even before turning, Cara pasted on a polite smile. “Jacob. What brings you here?”

  “I’m representing the firm…” A man interrupted him, leaving Cara ready to bolt, but Jonathan stopped her.

  “Cara, will you introduce me?” Jonathan slipped his arm around her waist as he spoke. She nearly choked on her drink at the standoff before her.

  “Jonathan, this is Jacob Laban, a friend from college. Jacob, I’d like to introduce you to my Jonathan.”

  Her slight emphasis on “my” didn’t do any good. Jacob gave his new rival a once-over that would have quelled a weaker man and then ignored him completely. Jonathan, however, seemed amused. “It’s nice to meet you, Jacob. I hope you have a lovely evening. Is your date here? I’d love to meet her.”

  Jacob shuffled uncomfortably and then met Jonathan’s eyes squarely. “I’m here for work. I don’t mix business with pleasure.” He glanced at Cara, “As difficult as that is sometimes.”

  “I see. That’s quite admirable of you. You’re the kind of employee that every employer hopes they’ll find, but we rarely do. If you ever need a job, be sure to ask for me at Delta Advertising.” Jacob began to reply, but Jonathan continued fluidly. “However, we am here on pleasure, and it’s rude of me to keep Cara standing here talking about business. I hope to see you again sometime.”

  The dinner bell chimed just as Jonathan turned to accept an appetizer. “Sounds like time to eat…”

  At their seats, Cara leaned into him and whispered, “Who are you and what have you done with Jonathan Lyman?”

  “Your Jonathan?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, my Jonathan.” At the look in his eyes, she laughed. “Jonafan, too.”

  Though she was sure he knew what she meant, Jonathan still asked, “What’s wrong with me?”

  “I’ve never seen you so—so—” she hesitated. “Well, if you were a woman, I’d call you vivacious!”

  “You forget that I’m not shy. I don’t have a great horror of social situations or people. I just don’t like to talk.”

  She cocked her head and asked, “But you like to hear others talk.”

  “Usually.”

  “Have you ever considered that perhaps your dislike of conversation has to do with something about the vibrations in your vocal cords or your eardrums bothering you when you speak?”

  Lost in thought over her observation, Jonathan didn’t respond immediately. Not until the welcoming speeches about everything from the importance of the year’s charity of choice to instructions for the silent auction did he finally answer. “I think you might have a point. I’ve never thought of it that way. Unfortunately, I’ve also grown accustomed to things the way I like them.”

  Cara picked up her fork as her plate was set before her and asked, “If I just wanted to hear you talk, for no good reason, would you do it?”

  “Cara mia, I’ll do just about anything for you, as you well know.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Jonathan sat with a phone in each hand. In his right, he held Todd’s phone with the message from Lynn Czech-something-that-sounded-like-a-sneeze; in his left, his own phone with a message from Della. His thumb punched each one in turn, listening carefully, trying to find a difference. Despite every attempt to find one, he failed. He printed several emails from his laptop, grabbed the phones, and strode through the office to the elevator. He had to ask his Uncle Weston before he stormed into the office, accused one of their best agents of unethical conduct, and then waltzed back to Atlanta, leaving his uncle with the fallout.

  The elevator opened directly into Uncle Weston’s reception area. The assistant that Jonathan hoped to inherit when he took over the company, smiled and nodded as he pointed to the door. “Wes is waiting for you.”

  “Thanks, Viv. Did your son get that scholarship?”

  “Yes, he did. Covers books and tuition.”

  Jonathan paused. “Did he apply for the Delta Award?”

  “Well, I thought it might be a conflict of interest…”

  “I don’t think it’s been awarded yet. Have the application in my inbox by five, and I’ll personally throw my vote his way. Can’t promise anything, but he’s a good kid. He did excellent work for the intern program.”

  Weston Lyman beamed as his nephew entered. “Did you come to give me your transfer notice, so I can get out of this rat race?”

  “Two more years, Uncle Wes. At least two more years.”

  “That’s better than the five I’ve been hearing for the past ten.” Weston’s eyes narrowed as Jonathan offered the email printouts. “What do you have for me?” The middle-aged man pulled his glasses from his shirt pocket and took the papers, glancing at them with a decided lack of interest.

  “What I hope is a very bad coincidence.”

  After reading each of the emails from Todd, Cara, and Derek, Weston Lyman removed the glasses again, leaned back in his chair, and gestured to the phones in Jonathan’s hands. “Does one of those have the voicemail?”

  “Yep.”

  “What’s on the other?”

  “A voicemail from Della Carletti to me. She left it this morning.”

  “Why was she calling you?”

  Jonathan pointed at the papers. “I left her a message while she was in a meeting with a client so she’d have to return my call. I didn’t answer.”

  “Let’s hear them.”

  Jonathan played each message, back to back, several times before Wes picked up his office phone and told Vivian to get Della Carletti in his office immediately. “Give me the one with the message from ‘Lynn,’ and sit in that chair. You’ll know if I want you to play your message from her today.”

  They talked about several work related issues before Weston said, “I’m tired of dancing around the issue. What is going on with that Laas woman—Carrie?”

  “Cara.”

  “Is she the one in charge of the Mayflower account?”

  “For now, yes. Their internet division is spread very thin right now, so once that’s remedied, she’ll be passing it along to someone else. She’s an assistant CFO.”

  “I see. If I hadn’t heard that voicemail myself, I might have thought you let your emotions get in the way of your judgment.”

  “If anyone but Cara had brought this to my
attention, I would have been in here hours ago. I wore down the batteries of both phones, had to recharge them, and poor Todd is working with a temp phone. I just wanted to be sure—”

  “I get it. So this Cara—is it serious?”

  “What makes you think that?” Weston Lyman didn’t interfere in his relative’s personal lives until invited. The interrogation, mild as it was, intrigued him.

  “You flew here, not took a train, flew. You used miles to take her to Chicago, and the return ticket was the next day. I’ve never known you to do anything so—so—modern.”

  “My credit card bill will reflect two hotel rooms, if it’ll make you feel better, but yes. I think it’s serious.”

  “Are you going to string things along for two years until you’re done in Atlanta, are you considering moving things up early, or will she be moving there if you get married sooner?”

  “I assume she’ll move there. Mayflower has a large office down on Peachtree, and I don’t think they’d want to lose her.”

  “Are we looking at six months, a year?”

  “She’s coming to Atlanta next month. After that, I think I’ll be able to give you a better answer. All I can say now is that I don’t think either of us is prepared to wait for a long engagement.”

  “Chemistry?”

  “Something like that. I—”

  The phone buzzed and Vivian’s voice came over the speakerphone. “Ms. Carletti to see you, Wes.”

  “Send her in.”

  Della showed no concern, no surprise at the sight of Jonathan—nothing to indicate she’d been engaged in nefarious activities to undercut one of their employees. For one long, unnerving minute, Jonathan changed his mind, certain he’d been premature. “Jonathan, did you get my message returning your call?”

  “Got it, thanks.”

  Wes took over the discussion almost immediately. “Della, I have something I’d like for you to listen to.” He punched the button and waited for her response as her voice filled the room.