Plus, Devon wanted to film some scenes for Nana’s movie — the working title of the film he had decided to make after all. Trina would be arriving next week, as was the kindly old actress I’d helped cast for Nana’s role. She’d conveyed a sense of Nana even as she snuck cigarettes between readings, which somehow seemed to me a very Nana thing to do — taking care of herself and her interests. I smiled to think of Nana flirting with all of the handsome home healthcare aides who passed through our house in Dallas, wearing spangly shirts.
“What are you smiling about?” Devon asked, looping his arm around me.
“The state of things,” I said, resting my head on his shoulder.
“All good, I hope?”
“Of course.”
Trina had proven herself true, only staying on with the film after she’d asked me if I approved. I’d sat in on some of her readings, and was impressed by her range. Of course, I only knew her as the mildly foul-mouthed ex-girlfriend of my boyfriend, and that her phone number was good to have memorized in case you got in a scrape. She was going to be a good friend — she already was one. I could tell.
“I wanted to give you something,” Devon said. The sun was illuminating the clouds hugging the horizon in gilded oranges and reds and pinks. I wondered if it was as magnificent as Nana’s last sunset here. I didn’t remember the colors of the sky that evening. Only my own grief.
He was fishing around in his pocket until he produced a small velvet box.
“Devon …” My voice was a disapproving warning.
“No, no,” he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Oh my God, I didn’t even consider how this would look. I’m so stupid. It’s not — that. It’s not a proposal.”
I loved the man. I loved him irrevocably. But our romance and relationship was so whirlwind that we both understood and accepted the fact that we should take it slow from here on out. We’d nearly been ripped apart by misunderstandings and mistrust that had spun out of control — things that could’ve been avoided if we’d simply taken more time getting to know each other.
Marriage, right now, wasn’t something either of us were supposed to be thinking about, even if I did consider our relationship in the extreme long term, as in, what was I going to wear for the premiere of the movie, still more than a year away. At least, that was a long-term idea for me.
“Just open it,” Devon said. “No strings attached — none ringing wedding bells, that is.”
I eyed him, slowly reaching out for the box. “It better not be a ring, Devon.”
He grimaced. “It is a ring. But … just open it. I’ll explain. No wedding bells. I promise.”
I pried open the box, my traitor heart flip-flopping over what it symbolized for most, and my breath whooshed out of my lungs in spite of what I’d told Devon. It was a gorgeous ring, the stone bright in the setting sun, the biggest I’d ever seen in person.
“Devon, what the hell?” I gasped, feeling like I’d been socked in the stomach. “What are you thinking?”
“I wanted to give this to you sooner, but it took a while to make,” he said as I ogled the stone. “I know what it looks like, but it’s not what you think. I wanted to help memorialize Nana with the film, sure, but I also wanted you to have a piece of her you could hang on to. I know it wasn’t an easy decision for you to have her cremated. I hope you don’t mind.”
I still didn’t understand what I was holding, let alone what Devon was talking about.
“After the cremation, I sent some of Nana’s ashes to a special company,” he continued, touching the stone lightly. “They make diamonds out of the cremated remains of loved ones, so the survivors can remember them in a beautiful way.”
“You mean that this diamond … it’s Nana?” I carefully removed the ring out of the box, unreasonably terrified that it would slip from my fingers and plunge into the sand, to be lost forever.
“That’s exactly what I mean,” Devon said. “They helped me pick the design. I thought it might be something you like. Something you’d like to wear. Do you? Like it, I mean?”
He sounded so nervous after doing the sweetest and most meaningful thing for me I could’ve ever thought of, so I slipped the ring on my finger and hugged him.
“Of course I like it,” I said, barely able to get the words out over the surge of emotion in my throat. “I love it, Devon. I don’t love thinking about how much it had to have cost, but I love it all the same. And I love you.”
“Let me worry about the money,” he said. “I know it sounds entitled, but I really do have more than I could spend.”
“About that …” I pulled away and smiled at him. “I’ve been getting cold calls from literary agents.”
Devon’s eyes bugged out. “Really?”
“Don’t look so surprised,” I said, laughing at him. “You thought my open letter was good, too.”
“I’m not surprised, I’m ecstatic,” he said, pulling me back into his embrace and giving me a kiss. “Writing a book is much better than delivering pizzas, don’t you think?”
I pinched him. “That reminds me. What are you in the mood for dinner-wise?”
“Not pizza, that’s for sure,” he said. “Though maybe I could be convinced to have a certain pizza delivery girl for dinner …”
“That’s former delivery pizza girl to you,” I informed him.
We kissed just as the sun sank behind the clouds, the moment suspended in time and colored by an ethereal paintbrush of sunset. Life wasn’t a fairytale, sure, but it did have its perfect moments. And this was definitely one.
~~~
Nothing Bundt Trouble
Chapter 1
Joey
I slipped into my chair just as my supervisor started the slow walk down the hallway, checking to see which cubicles were filled and which weren’t. I’d never worked anywhere where tardiness was so closely monitored, but I’d learned my lesson last week when Mrs. Constantine reamed me out in front of everyone for being five minutes late. Just five minutes. It was ridiculous, but I needed this job.
I needed all three of my jobs.
“Joey,” she said as she passed my cubicle, “nice of you to join us today.”
I inclined my head just slightly, pretending I was terribly busy booting up my computer. In truth, I was just trying to catch my breath.
As soon as she was gone, Lesley, the girl who sat in the cubicle next to mine, stood and peeked over the thin barrier separating us.
“That was close.”
“Tell me about it. Mike made me stay late at the bar last night and my alarm didn’t go off. Then the bus—”
“Yeah, I know. I saw you running up the street.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.”
“Well, surely you’re close to paying everything off.”
I wished that I was. But it seemed like every time I felt like I was getting ahead, a new bill came in that I hadn’t counted on. I thought getting a college degree was good idea. You know, all that you-can-get-a-better-job-with-a degree bullshit they feed you in high school. What they forgot to tell you was that unless your parents made a quarter of a million dollars every year, you were going to have to take out student loans—and those student loans would have to be paid as soon as you stopped being a full-time student. I had more loans than I could count, and every one of them had a monthly minimum that barely paid the interest, let alone any of the principle. It was my goal to get them all paid off before I turned thirty. I had seven years, but I was making little headway, even with three jobs. And it didn’t help that the car I was still making payments on had given up the ghost last week.
Five thousand dollars. That’s how much it was going to take to replace the transmission. So much for certified used cars. There was nothing certified about my car. It lasted a year. The worst purchase of my life.
If my dad was still living nearby…but that was the problem, wasn’t it? If he’d been closer, he would have t
old me the car was a lemon and helped me find something a little less about to fall apart.
I miss my dad. I love my dad.
My computer finished booting, and I sighed as I read the number of emails waiting for me. Forty. And all work requests from upstairs, I was sure.
I worked for a graphic design company that did everything from creating logos for t-shirts to printing the huge posters that go up on billboards. The company had some very important clients, a lot of companies with household names. If you wanted your name out there where people would sit up and take notice, it was our company you would call.
I wasn’t an artist, though, as much as I’d like to be. I was essentially a glorified bookkeeper. I kept track of the money that passed between hands, the money that could potentially pass between hands, and the money that went out to pay for supplies, labor, and all that fun stuff. The guys upstairs sent a request down to us to ask that we figure out how much it would cost to do a specific project. We gave them a basic number, numbers that were impacted by unforeseen events, and a median number that was usually the one quoted to the client. It was all supposed to be random. But some of the project leaders upstairs had figured out how to get around the system and send their projects directly to the assistant accountants—(the fancy title Lesley, me, and three others shared)—they favored and—for some reason—the majority of those came to me.
Forty. It was going to be a long day.
I settled in and got to work, my ten key buzzing as my fingers never missed a digit. I was through about fifteen projects before lunch, which was something of a record for me. But I had so many left to do that I couldn’t stop. Another lunch missed.
I never seemed to have time to eat anymore.
“Hey,” Lesley said, stopping by my cubicle on her way back from lunch with a couple of the other assistants, “we brought you a sandwich.”
I looked up, so grateful I could feel tears threatening at the back of my throat.
“Thanks, Les…”
“We saw him downstairs.”
My eyebrows rose. “You did?”
“Getting out of a car at the front of the building.”
“I wonder why. Doesn’t he usually park in the garage?”
“Usually, but I think he was with someone.”
“A girl, I bet.”
“Likely. But we couldn’t see who was in the car.”
“I always miss the good stuff.”
I sat back and picked at the wrapper on the sandwich she’d brought me. She was talking about the CEO of the company. He was young, maybe in his early thirties, and had never been married. His family owned a chain of hotels with locations all over the world, so he didn’t need to work. But—the rumor went—he fell so in love with art when he was in high school that he was determined to do something with it in his future career. Then in college he took a graphic art class and decided that was what he wanted to do with his life. So, after some argument with his parents, he started this company, and it became an overnight success.
The rumor mill also said that he was something of a womanizer, that he’d been caught on more than one occasion with a woman he shouldn’t have been with. The rumors differed on why he shouldn’t have been with the women of his choice. Some said these women were married to equally wealthy men, some said that they were underage girls, or girls who worked for him. Personally, I suspected there really weren’t any illicit affairs, just many, many affairs. I mean, the guy looked like Ryan Reynolds and George Clooney had somehow had a baby together. He was tall and incredibly fit with these broad shoulders that just did things to a girl’s equilibrium. And he had dark hair, piercing blue eyes, a smile that could melt ice, and the deepest voice any man had the right to have. Not Barry White or James Earl Jones deep, but the sexy sort of deep that makes you feel a man’s sexuality without ever setting eyes on him. You know what I mean?
He was gorgeous and rich and talented…the perfect man. Was it any wonder that he was often seen around town with some of the most eligible women in the country?
What surprised me, was that he’d never been married. What kind of a woman would let a catch like him get away?
If he was with me…but that was never going to happen.
“Back to work, ladies,” Mrs. Constantine said, as she made her second cubicle check.
I groaned as I turned my attention back to my computer. Enough fantasizing for one day.
Chapter 2
Jason
“Birthdays are just a reminder of how much time has passed in your life.”
I bent and kissed my grandmother’s cheek. “Then I suppose it’s a good thing that this is my birthday, not yours.”
“Yes, it is.”
I wanted to laugh, but she was so serious that I was afraid of upsetting her. Instead, I patted her hand and moved back into my chair.
Justin, my brother, was watching me closely over the head of his new baby, Alexa. It was such a big name for such a tiny baby. But she was beautiful—dark-haired like her father, but she had the sweetest dimples that could only have come from her beautiful mother, Sara—and spoiled beyond words even though she was only three weeks old.
“Thirty-three,” Justin reminded me, as though I didn’t already know. “It’s time to start thinking about the future instead of focusing so much on the here and now.”
“As though you ever let me forget.”
“Isn’t that what older brothers are for?”
“To remind little brothers that they need to live a little instead of locking themselves up in their office all day and night,” Sara said with a soft smile.
“My business is what is most important in my life right now,” I said.
“Yes, well, there’s more to life than work,” Justin said, lifting the baby away from his shoulder so that he could see her precious, little face. “Isn’t that right, Alexa?”
And this spoken by the guy who ran the family business, a business that had been around for so long that his job was pretty much just a figurehead sort of thing. He wasn’t dealing with supply issues, personnel issues, or using every bit of his charm to get high-profile clients to come check his company out. He didn’t have to attend all the meetings, both with clients and artists, which were required at my company. He had time to spend with his wife, to take her on luxury trips and shower her with gifts. He had time to make babies and attend all the doctor’s appointments. I didn’t. I barely had time to sleep four hours a night. The last time I’d even wanted to spoil a woman, she ended up walking out on me in the middle of a very expensive dinner because I was fifteen minutes late.
But she had waited until after her forty-dollar steak was delivered to the table.
“Speaking of work,” I said, standing again. Lunch was pretty much done, and I did have a meeting in twenty minutes. But escaping from the conversation was even more important at this point. You’d think at my age that I wouldn’t have to put up with everyone else’s opinion of what I should do with my life, but, apparently, in this family it didn’t matter how old I was. As long as I was single and work obsessed, I was going to hear about it.
“I’ll drive you back to the office,” Justin said, handing the baby to Sara.
“I can walk. It’s not that far.”
“No, I want to.”
I bit back a groan because I knew what that meant. More lecture.
I dropped a kiss on my grandmother’s cheek and Sara’s, running my finger over the baby’s cheek before I turned to follow Justin out the door.
“Mom and Dad wanted me to remind you about the homeless shelter thing next week,” Justin said almost as soon as we were settled in the back of his town car.
“I’m sure it’s already on my schedule.”
“And the community center—”
“I’m aware of my obligations, Justin.”
He nodded. “You need to get out more, brother. You’re too tense.”
“You’d be tense, too, if someone was constantly reminding you of th
ings you already knew.”
“I’m just trying to make sure you’re on top of things.”
“I am.”
“Mom will probably call later. She feels bad that they were out of the country on your birthday.”
“I’m a big boy. I understand.”
Justin smiled. “Yeah, well, you know Mom.”
“I do.”
The car pulled to the curb outside my office building. I started to get out, but Justin grabbed my arm.
“Take my advice, brother. Leave the office early. Go to some bar and find a pretty girl to keep your bed warm.”
I glanced at him over my shoulder. “Is that something you’d say in front of your wife?”
“No. That’s why I’m saying it now.”
“Yeah, well, that was you once upon a time. Not me.”
Justin sort of clicked his tongue as he shook his head. “You’re missing out. Once you settle down with one woman, you’ll have nothing to look back on and be happy you did.”
“Once I settle down with the right woman, I won’t have a reason to look back and feel nostalgic. And you shouldn’t either.”
I got out of the car and left him to think about that.
I was vaguely aware of a group of women watching me as I crossed the lobby to the private elevator that led directly to a little alcove outside my office. As the door closed, I caught the eye of one woman, a tall blonde dressed conservatively in a long skirt and proper suit jacket. She smiled in a way that suggested that it wasn’t her chosen mode of dress, that she was more comfortable in something a little more revealing. And I was sure it was quite a sight, a woman who looked like her in so much less. But as the doors closed and she dropped a suggestive wink, I sort of shuttered.
SEAN: A Mafia Romance (The Callahans Book 3) Page 53
