Emerald Fire (Christian Romance) (The Jewel Series)

by Bridgeman, Hallee

  “Nah. He would have sent you anyway. Besides, college was fun.” She threw down the yellow pencil and selected the shade of red she wanted to use to color in the gingham cloth on the emerald green grass. Emerald green was her trademark color. All of her ads had it in there somewhere. “Sometimes, I wish I wasn’t in the nine-to-five world and I still had Art 101 at ten.”

  “Hmm. Well, I happen to know that most of what they are teaching is obsolete and I already have practical experience with the few things they teach that are useful. Usually, I feel decades older than the other kids. And, there’s the fact that my idea of a good time isn’t going to O’Malley’s Pub and getting falling down drunk three nights a week. That’s a bit of a problem.”

  She laughed. “Yeah? What is your idea of a good time, Derrick?”

  He shrugged, a habit brought from his life on the streets that he never shed. “A quiet evening, an intelligent woman, good food, stringed instruments.”

  “Well, there’s that fiddle some nights at O’Malley’s.”

  His smile looked strained. “How can you sit there and color like that?”

  With a smile, she colored in the blue eyes of the little girl happily munching on a chicken leg. “You nervous, Derrick?”

  “Honestly? I’m very nervous.”

  A piercing scream came through the door and the pencil Maxine held snapped in two. With a sigh, she set the board on the floor by her feet. “Yeah, me too.”

  “Why don’t you go in there, Maxi?” Barry asked from the chair across from the couch. For the last hour, he’d pretended to find a two year old parenting magazine highly engrossing, but had actually surreptitiously studied Maxine, noticing how she gradually paled as the minutes stretched into hours, watched the lines around her lips slowly tighten.

  She shuddered and shook her head. “No way.”

  Another scream came, peppered with some rather ingenious colorful language. Maxine ran her hands through her hair. “Aren’t there drugs or something they can give her?”

  “She didn’t want anything. She wanted to do this all natural.” Barry stretched in the little chair and contemplated going for a cup of tea from the coffee shop across the street.

  Maxine surged to her feet and paced the small room, avoiding looking through the small window of the door separating her and the rest of her family. “How can you be so calm and collected? Can’t you hear that?”

  “I have three sisters, Maxi, with seven kids between them.” His eyes followed her pacing around the room. “You’ll feel better if you would go in.”

  She stopped in her tracks. “Um, no I won’t. Trust me.”

  Barry laughed. “Why?”

  “Because there’s pain in there. And blood. And probably needles. No way. I’m not going. I’ll just wait here until they get everything cleaned up and I’ll never know how the whole process happened.” She visibly jumped with another scream.

  He grinned. “You don’t like blood?”

  “What a stupid question. How can anyone actually like blood?”

  “I’ll have to remember to tone down some of my football stories.”

  She heard Tony’s voice this time, but he wasn’t speaking English. She whirled around and looked at Derrick. “What did he say?”

  “Maxine, I don’t speak Italian.”

  She snapped at him. “Isn’t your last name DiNunzio? How can you not speak Italian?”

  Derrick shrugged again. Maxine snarled. Barry’s chuckle distracted her from her retort. She whirled toward him. If he did that one more time she was going to hit him over the head with something.

  “You don’t plan on having children, Maxi?” Barry watched as she turned her back on him and paced the length of the room at nearly a jog. At the wall she stopped, tense and drawn. When she came to rest, she resembled still photographs of athletes taken the very instant before they spring into a sprint or set the world record for the longest jump. Her body nearly vibrated with restrained energy. She spun around and paced back to the table.

  Barry’s question confronted her. At the notion of children, all of the thoughts she had ever had about children over the course of her life including her own childhood experiences, tumbled through her head as she paced. Her face turned to study the sketches she had brought to life of imaginary families enjoying a summer picnic. She mentally overlaid their generic faces with her face, Barry’s face, and the children became a blend of the two of them. His children. Her children. Their children. Children they would shelter and keep safe; children she could nurse, nurture, and feed; children he could teach, guide, and mentor. Children who would reach noble heights because, while they would understand the pain and horrors the world could bring to their doorstep, they would never personally experience it as long as blood beat through her veins.

  Soundlessly, she studied Barry, and her possible future stretched out before her in the space of her glance. Then she remembered that Barry had some paperwork that would ensure none of those children would ever exist. Quietly, she said, “Maybe someday.”

  The moment broke when Robin’s voice reached them again. Maxine began pacing again and offered, “But they have technology nowadays that makes all the pain just go away.”

  Twenty minutes later, the door opened and three sets of eyes flew to Sarah. The smile on her face helped them all relax just before she spoke. “We have a boy!” she said with a grin.

  “A boy. Oh, how fun. Robin wanted a boy.” Maxine rushed to her sister. “What about Robin?”

  Sarah laughed. “She’s wonderful. A little hoarse, but fine.” She opened the door again and looked over her shoulder. “In a few minutes it will be safe for you to come in, Maxi. Just let me get some of this cleaned up.”

  Maxine looked through the window and caught a glimpse of the baby as another nurse handed him to Robin. She felt a familiar hand on her neck and suddenly felt exhausted. Without a second thought, she leaned against Barry’s side and smiled.

  THE second she had her apartment door open, Maxine started moving. She whipped her shirt over her head on the way to her room, stopping only long enough to kick off her shoes. “Can you get those boards into my car?” she asked as she opened the door to her bedroom.

  Barry heard his wife’s words, but Maxine might as well have spoken them in some foreign tongue. The majority of his awareness was still trying to permanently burn the glimpse he’d gotten of her smooth brown back and the curves he had observed as she undressed mid-stride into his memory. She had been so casual about disrobing in his presence. He felt his pulse beating heavy in his fingertips and lips as memories of their wedding night flooded his mind.

  “Barry?”

  He cleared his head and her words all suddenly became clear in his understanding. Fit those boards into her tiny little sports car? “I doubt it.”

  “Argh!” Thirty seconds later, she stuck her head out of the doorway. This time, he caught sight of lace nearly identical to the color of her skin. His mouth went dry. “I don’t have time to take the train. Maybe I’ll call a cab?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know if I’d trust a cab on this ice.”

  He could hear muttered words as she went back into her room.

  Distracted by the thought of her dressing in the other room, he picked up the telephone and dialed his office. His secretary picked up on the first ring. “I’ll be coming in late this morning. Send flowers to Robin Viscolli at St. Mary’s. She had a little boy early this morning.”

  “Aww. Do you have the stats?”

  “What stats? She had a baby. She didn’t win the World Series.”

  “The baby’s stats. Height, weight, all of that.”

  “What does that matter? The baby’s healthy and Robin’s doing fine.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Barry, we’ve been through this seven times with your sisters. This is important information.”

  He sighed and rubbed his eyes, dimly remembering other conversations like this one. “Call Tony’s secretary. She’ll probably know.�
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  “Okay. Do you at least have a name?”

  “Antonio Frances Viscolli, Junior.”

  “Aww. What are they going to call him?”

  He saw the envelope with the annulment papers in it. He reluctantly picked it up. “Am I supposed to know that, too?”

  He heard a sigh in the receiver. “Never mind. I’ll just call the Viscolli offices. What time can I expect you?”

  He caught a whiff of perfume and glanced up as Maxine walked by him, wearing a bright yellow suit. The jacket fit snugly and the skirt barely brushed her knees, showing off her long legs. Her hands were up and behind her head while she whipped her hair around, twisting it into a fancy knot as easily as if she were putting it into a rubber band. As she turned her body to nudge the door to the dining room open with her hip, he noticed that she had hair pins clenched between her teeth.

  Whether Elizabeth was still talking to him or not, he didn’t know. “Listen, I’ll be in later this morning, maybe. I’ll call back later and let you know.”

  He hung up without waiting for confirmation and followed the trail of the spicy scent Maxine wore as if in a daze. He went through the dining room and into the kitchen, finding her biting into an apple.

  “Did you call a cab?” she asked, catching a wandering drop of apple juice on her chin with her finger and gesturing at the phone in his hand.

  The only thing he could think of was that she must be a witch who’d cast a spell on him. Otherwise, he wouldn’t find a fully dressed woman eating an apple so completely tantalizing. “No. I’ll just drive you.”

  Her expression didn’t change as she eyed her husband’s steady gaze. “What time is it?”

  “Just after eight.”

  She nodded and brushed by him. “Okay. I can put makeup on during the ride.”

  He caught her arm and whirled her around. “Just a second.”

  “Wha…” Before the word was completely out, his mouth covered hers, sealing the question. The apple fell to the floor with a thump while Maxine smiled and stepped further into the circle of his arms.

  MAXINE stepped out of the elevator and carried the boards through the hallway, already five minutes late. She didn’t run, though, because she had the presentation to give, and she didn’t want to show up out of breath. Peter Mitchell was already going to be rather peeved that he didn’t get the quick rundown she’d promised him on the phone that morning, and she didn’t want to add sloppy presentation skills to the strikes against her.

  Still, as she nudged the door to the conference room open with her hip, she smiled to herself. The extra fifteen minutes she’d spent at home with her husband was worth all that trouble and more.

  “Good morning everyone,” she said, getting herself completely into the room. She headed straight for the head of the table, where the empty tripod awaited her boards. She spoke as she checked their order and neatened up the stack. “I’m so sorry I’m late. My sister had a baby boy this morning, and I’m afraid I didn’t anticipate the traffic from the hospital.” She turned and felt her smile freeze. Ten sets of eyes faced her, ten stony expressions. The only slightly pleasant face in the room was Pete’s, and she could see through the slick expression down to the annoyance.

  Four of the men allegedly were on her team, but they were the ones who dumped the entire project in her lap right before Christmas. She knew half of the reason they were angry was because Pete probably spent a good portion of the morning gouging them for doing just that. The other half was due to her coming in late with the boards because it showed the clients who among them had actually done the work. She gave all of them her sweetest smile. Only one, Henry Monroe, shifted in guilt.

  The clients took up the other side of the table. Though she smiled and met each of their eyes individually, she received nothing in return. She sighed inwardly. This team had ripped through ten different agencies in a quarter, and she could already see Mitchell and Associates being added to the rejection pile.

  “Before you begin,” came a voice from the foot of the table, “and since you weren’t a part of the initial consultations we’ve had with your firm, I’d like to make it clear that if you have anything even remotely similar to the ads that have been run in recent history for my company, my time is valuable and I don’t want it wasted.”

  She focused on the source of the voice and could immediately see how this company had risen through the ranks of national fast food chains established decades in advance to become one of the fastest growing franchises in America. Power practically emanated from him as he sat there, sitting completely still wearing a spotless silk business suit. He was also incredibly handsome, obviously Native American, probably full blood, with his black hair tied in a ponytail on the back of his neck, and eyes dark enough to be nearly black.

  Maxine had Tony Viscolli in her life for over three years. Dark, handsome men who radiated power no longer intimidated her. Rather, she found him endearing.

  Added to that, she’d just spent fifteen minutes in Barry Anderson’s arms, so she was completely unaffected by his otherwise devastating good looks. She was certain the ease with which she held herself as she responded surprised him. She knew that men in his position were used to some reverence from everyone. “You’re right, Mr. Crow, I wasn’t a part of the initial consultations. I apologize for going into this rather blindly, but I’ve seen the ads that have been produced for you in recent years, and to be honest, they did nothing to make me want to buy your chicken. Pop-culture hype may appeal to a younger audience, but it never appealed to me and I bet it didn’t appeal to your primary demographic, your tried and true customer base, either.”

  Pete cleared his throat, and the other men shifted uncomfortably, but she ignored that when she saw the corner of Daniel Crow’s mouth tilt up. That helped her relax almost completely. Not entirely. She still had to sell this. She cleared her throat.

  “Again, I’ll apologize ahead of time for the roughness of these boards. Half of them were done in the hospital waiting room, and part of them didn’t get colored in so I’ll ask you to use your imaginations.”

  She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted again by Mr. Crow. “And was the rest of this group at the hospital working on this with you?”

  She flashed him a brilliant smile. “No, I’m afraid not.”

  Crow glanced at the men sitting across from him at the table. “So, they gave you conceptual ideas and let you run with them?”

  Still smiling, Maxine said, “No, the ideas you will see are entirely mine.”

  He nodded. “Then,” he turned to Pete, “why is this crack team sitting in here this morning, Peter? Trying to learn something?”

  Pete began with, “Mr. Crow, I assure you that…”

  Crow held up a forestalling hand. He turned back to Maxine and nodded, and she took that as his permission to continue. “When I think of fried chicken, I don’t think of a wild character screaming all over the screen with loud music playing. I think of summer afternoons, the deep south, sunshine, picnics.” She removed the cover board that contained the logos of both companies and started going through the concept. Her words helped enhance what her drawings conveyed; a nearly dreamlike sequence with hazy light and a summer field, gentle music playing, views of a happy family picnicking among the flowers, children playing, the sun shining down, laughter, all while they ate fried chicken from a Crow’s Chicken box.

  “No spoken words. No written words. Just the visual images. Then we’ll fade into your logo at the end. It gives you instant cross-cultural appeal when we market overseas because nothing gets lost in translation. Also, it makes your brand completely unique. While every other ad your demographic will experience will be screaming, thumping, flashing, loud, rushed, explosive conflict – your ads will be that momentary quiet, that peace. That comfort consumers are desperately seeking. That’s what we sell. Nostalgia. Mom, apple pie, and Crow’s Chicken.”

  She risked a glance at her so-called team and caught them glaring
at her accusingly. She felt like sticking her tongue out at them. Pete looked from her to Daniel Crow, his head moving back and forth as if watching a tennis match. Crow’s group gave absolutely nothing away. They stared at their leader with completely blank expressions. Maxine knew that Daniel Crow was the ultimate authority, probably the only authority, in this decision.

  Crow sat staring at her, as if waiting for her to bring her attention back to him. The second she did, he nodded. “I like the concept.” He pushed away from the table and stood. Almost comically, the rest of his crew stood with him. “I like it very much. I’ll get back with you later today with my decision.”

  As soon as he was gone, she collapsed into the nearest chair. “I’m so glad that’s over.”

  The head of the Crow account, and one of the partners, Victor Adams, turned on her the instant the door shut. “That was entirely uncalled for.”

  She sneered at him. “Oh? Well, Vic, the next time I’m given the task of single-handedly securing a national contract, are you saying I shouldn’t try so hard?”

  “That isn’t what I’m talking about. I’m talking about making the rest of us look like cronies who did nothing more than show up this morning.”

  “I’m confused. Isn’t that exactly what you did?”

  “No. We spent hours on preliminary work.”

  She knew he was bloviating for Pete’s benefit, but she refused to fall in line. “Last Friday, we all agreed that the preliminary work was no good, that we would go over other options in a meeting this morning for the presentation two days from now. And,” she added emphatically, “I’ve been gone for a full week on vacation. What has the team accomplished in that week?”

  He gestured at the last board, a rough sketch that had no color. “What we developed in prelim would have presented better than this. At least we would have come across as something other than some local, two-bit, fly-by-night company.”

  She rose to her feet. “Do I have to remind you that we’re agency number eleven in ninety days, and he said he liked the idea. My idea.”