Immersed: Book 6 in The Ripple Effect Romance Series (A Ripple Effect Romance Novella)

by Jennifer Griffith

  So. Fitting.

  “Well, thanks. See ya. Good luck to you too.” Lisette’s head was starting to pound. Maybe she should have let go of his arm and fallen down those stairs, put herself out of her misery.

  This whole day, Jerkface’s dumping, the stock speech from Mom, the near-death experience at the hands of the foreign nerd, had the same sad theme: wastin’ away in Total-Loserville, searching for her lost shaker of woe.

  Aunt Corky took Lisette’s arm so they could keep walking toward the car. “You get that all the time, I take it?”

  “What?”

  “Men just asking you to dinner. That’s twice today.”

  “I guess.” It was cold comfort in present circumstances. The only man she wanted to go to dinner with was Justin. The Jerkface.

  Later, at The Black Cat, Lisette set her wallowing aside. Who could wallow in The Black Cat? It smelled far too good in here, and the warm wood paneling and smoky atmosphere were too cozy for self-pity. Focusing on her business would be good medicine. She needed to make sure Mom was all in.

  “Look, Mom. I’ve got my business plan. You read it and approved it. Even Mort Bartholomew at Dad’s company looked it over and said it was sound. I only need the startup capital, and I can make this go.” Lisette shook out her dinner napkin and took in her mom’s dubious eyebrow raise again. “Fine. Look. I know you’re skeptical. I get that. And I know you think Dad’s company is my best bet.”

  “I just think you could find a nice young man there. They hire so many, and they make good money. It’s not like I’m telling you to be some mercenary, to marry just for money—”

  Like you did? Lisette asked silently then berated herself. Dad wasn’t rich when Mom snared him, not really. And he’d died without a lot of cash, having poured so much into Pannebaker Capital in those last years.

  “But a girl needs security. It’s not a question of being selfish, it’s about being smart. With your looks, you can have any man you choose. Choose well. And put yourself in situations where you have several to choose from.” Mom sipped ice water from her goblet.

  Aunt Corky interjected with a selling point. “Amanda, I think Lisette might have a good thing going with this plan of hers. Only the wealthiest business people will be able to afford to hire her as a linguist. It’s going to be a good pool to draw from.” She aimed her fork’s tines for emphasis.

  Geez. Great. Now her mom would think Lisette was only starting this business to catch a rich husband. And she’d expect Lisette to be actively looking among the clients—a complete no-no on Lisette’s ethical standards. She’d even written it into the boilerplate contract she expected to have every potential client sign. Aunt Corky meant well, of course. Lisette could forgive easily. At least what Corky said worked—there was a visible relenting in her mom’s countenance.

  Lisette pounced on that. “Look, Mom. I have a proposal. Give me three years at this. That’s a reasonable amount of time for a startup company to either make it or break. If I haven’t both paid you back and paid off my student loans in that amount of time—in full, to the penny—I’ll come take the Mandarin job at Pannebaker.”

  Mom took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and relented. “Fine. But three years. Every penny. It’s a deal.” She put an arm around Lisette’s shoulder. “I know you can do it. Of course, I’d really rather see you fail.”

  “Amanda!” Aunt Corky scolded.

  “No, not that. I just want to see her settled and having a family by then. It’s not business success that I count as a real measure.”

  Lisette had just been forcibly booted from a relationship not an hour ago. Now was not the time to debate the merits of marital bliss.

  “Three years. You’ll only be twenty-seven by then. There will still be a chance of happiness.” Mom sighed, but Aunt Corky squeezed Lisette’s hand and gave a happy little jump and a squeal.

  “Ooh! If we find a perfect office space, can we paint it robin egg blue?”

  A Year and a Half Ago

  Lisette shoved the client’s hand away from her leg with force. The light above them in the ramen shop flickered, and she wondered if it was from the energy of her soul lashing out at the universe over this misconduct.

  “Mr. Garrett!” Under the table, Lisette pushed his hand away from her thigh. Again. Her blood hit full boil in her veins. “It was in the contract. No physical contact.”

  Mr. Garrett pushed back in a huff, toppling his chopsticks from the side of his bowl. “But this is a date. You’re eating food I bought for you.”

  “It’s not a date. That’s in the contract, too. And I intend to pay for my own breakfast.”

  Mr. Garrett swiped his hand across his oh-so-fashionable three day stubble. He thought he was so suave, this international rep for the biggest computer firm in Colorado; at first he seemed genuinely surprised at Lisette’s rejection of his advances, then angry.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be saying that to me in Japanese? That’s what you advertised. Full immersion in Japanese for the complete two weeks. Now you lecture me in English?”

  “Ja. Wakatta. Sawaranaide kudasai. Is that better?”

  “I get it. It means ‘Don’t touch me.’ Fine. But you’re speaking English again. I paid you an exorbitant sum to be my constant escort speaking Japanese for these two weeks. Now you speak English? You’re fired.”

  “You can’t fire me because I quit.” Lisette grabbed her purse, her only regret being the loss of the money. Well, half of it. Half she’d earned and fully intended to keep. Let Garrett take her to court for the other half.

  “Sayonara,” she said with a little bow of good-riddance at him.

  That’s how it had gone down this morning at the ramen shop over morning miso soup. Not particularly pretty. And worse, she’d counted on the lecherous client’s full fee to pay this month’s installment on her mom. The drip. She dripped a bit of paint onto the dropcloth in his honor.

  “Ah, so.” Aunt Corky dipped her roller brush into the paint tray. Robin egg blue on the office walls. The Immersed office was really taking shape at last, with pretty colors, even if the furniture still looked thrifted. “Mr. Garrett is an ah-so.”

  Precisely.

  “Today isn’t the first time this has happened, Z.” Aunt Corky used Lisette’s childhood nickname. “Or the second. What was that one guy? The one with how many—six hands?”

  “Like one of those Indian Vishnu statues. But with a less pointy hat.” Lisette dipped her own roller into the paint tray again. The work was going faster with two. She was glad she listened to Aunt Corky’s color advice this time. “Honestly, I really believed this business could work.”

  It had seemed perfect. Total language immersion in a one-on-one format, eight to ten hours a day, two weeks minimum. Exorbitant price, but cheaper than flying to the country and staying abroad. Lisette, as an immersion coach, accompanied the clients to their business meetings and translated all conversations. During that time, the only language the client heard or spoke in business hours was French. Or Japanese. Or Mandarin, German, or Norwegian.

  “Maybe I’m the problem.” She pushed the pole extension too high and got some blue on the copper ceiling. Great.

  “No, your clients are.” Aunt Corky retied the scarf covering her long, dark hair.

  “It’s starting to make me think all men are beasts. They’re not, are they?”

  “Of course they are, sweetie, or the human race would expire.” She finished one wall and turned the corner. “But no, I mean, think about your Uncle Charlie.”

  “He’s a teddy bear.” Uncle Charlie’s laugh alone redeemed half the faults of all mankind.

  “Bears are still beasts.” Corky got a knowing smirk. Lisette didn’t want to know. “Fine. But I didn’t envision my job making me lose hope for a real relationship.” Lisette climbed a ladder and wiped the blue smudge from the copper. Usually, redecorating cheered her up. Not today.

  “You, my dear, have not had a ‘real relationship’ sin
ce the last presidential administration.” Corky wiped her hands on her apron. Blue handprints decorated her stomach. “Have you considered lifting your no-dating-clients rule?”

  Lisette scoffed. “You’re asking me that today? Seriously? I know I can be a little paranoid at times, but I am not imagining where he put his hand. And, did I tell you this? He used the word ‘escort’ when he recounted to me his description of my job. Please.”

  Aunt Corky swiped a large area with her brush. “You aren’t going to like this.”

  “What.” Lisette set down her roller.

  “You were right. The problem isn’t the clients. It’s you.”

  “I knew it.” Dang it. She knew it. She had been the problem all along. “Wait. I’m the problem? How so?”

  “No, no, no. Not your business skills or your professionalism. None of that.”

  She took a deep breath. “Okay. You think I have to do something different? I don’t know anyone I can hire to take my place. And I don’t know if I could afford it, anyway. Not with the shortfall on the Garrett account.” And the other clients she’d had to end terms with early. She was barely keeping her head above water every month.

  It made her ache, because this was such a great business plan, and by all logic Immerse should work like a dream. Except for idiots like Garrett, who sank her over and over.

  “Don’t hire anyone. No one else has your skills. Or your charm. You’re perfect. But too perfect. The businessmen get a look at the website, see your photo and think you’re some kind of supermodel.”

  “Oh, come on. That picture is not that good.” It’s not like she was in a swimsuit or anything. She was only smiling—on a good hair day.

  “Exactly. They get their expectations up, and when they meet the real you, they’re blown away.”

  This was too much. Lisette might be attractive, but she wasn’t some kind of goddess, like Aunt Corky was implying. That was ridiculous.

  The clock in the hall chimed. Lisette needed to get going. She had an appointment with a potential client for French immersion.

  “So… what?”

  “Plain and simple. You’re too pretty for this job.”

  Lisette rolled her eyes and picked up her brush again, going at the high spots on the wall with vigor. “You’ve been talking to my mom again. Did she finally rub off on you?” Great. Now no one believed in her. Not even Aunt Corky. Just a pretty face.

  “No, not in that way. What I’m saying is that your business has merit. It can totally work. But just not with you the way you are.”

  Aunt Corky probably didn’t mean to make Lisette want to cry, but the tears welled in her eyes all the same. This dream had taken every waking hour of the last eighteen months. She’d poured her heart and soul into making it grow, not to mention all the money she’d buried in it—advertising, the office, everything. And her time. Day and night. How entrepreneurs lived past age forty mystified her. She barely had time to keep an eye on her elderly next door neighbors. And when a girl was too busy to serve other people, she was too busy.

  Aunt Corky reached over and grabbed Lisette’s hand. “What I’m saying is you need a makeover.”

  Lisette raised an eyebrow.

  “Don’t raise that eyebrow at me, Z. I’m serious about this.” Aunt Corky folded her arms across her chest. “Not a makeover in the traditional sense. More like a make-under. You know, to make you look less… gorgeous.”

  Here it went again, with the appearance factor. Didn’t all the studies say that people who were good-looking had a better chance at success than those who were below average?

  “You’re not buying it, I can tell. But think with me. Dark circles under the eyes. A greasy wig. Lines at the mouth. And right about here”—she pointed at her nostril—“a big wart.”

  “A wart!”

  “Okay, maybe not a wart. That might be over the top. But something that will keep all the pawing maniacs at a distance.” Aunt Corky shrugged and leaned against a dry wall like she’d made her case and the prosecution rested. “Think about it, Z. I mean, you want Immerse to succeed, right? All the years of language skills and business acumen you’ve amassed, they’re going to waste.”

  Lisette sighed. Even though she wouldn’t admit it aloud to Aunt Corky, unless something changed at Immerse, things could go south pretty fast. However, she wasn’t convinced it was reason enough to subjugate her dignity and go into daily disguise just to ward off pretenders.

  Aunt Corky resumed painting. “Just think about it. Don’t decide now. But if you want to do it, I know somebody. Samantha. A genius with bad makeup. She could absolutely transform you. No one would even recognize you.”

  This was crossing over from ridiculous into the absurd. Truthfully, if Lisette were honest with herself, she’d admit that this whole Immersed experiment was flawed, doomed for failure. There was no way a single woman should be assigning herself to be some man’s constant sidekick and expect otherwise. Sure, she’d had lots of clients, but maybe Aunt Corky was right—they’d simply approached her because of the photo on the website, none with a serious professional intent.

  No one wanted her for anything real.

  “I think it’s obvious, Aunt Corky, from what you’re saying—I should quit. Be done with this stupid plan. We should stop painting right now, and I won’t renew my lease.”

  Aunt Corky dropped her paint roller. A bit of paint splattered on her pantleg. She rested her hand on Lisette’s upper arm.

  “Don’t. No, don’t do that. You have to stick this out. It’s much more important that you make a go of this than you know.”

  “What are you talking about?” Hot worry sloshed through Lisette.

  “The money your mother lent you to start this? She borrowed it.”

  Lisette double blinked. But Mom had lots of money from Dad’s life insurance payout. Why would she borrow? Oh, right. Lots of money, except for those medical bills after her shoulder surgery. That couldn’t have drained her completely, could it? She still had the stock in Pannebaker. But that wasn’t liquid. Oh, brother.

  “From where?” But as soon as Lisette asked it, she knew.

  “Mort Bartholomew.” Aunt Corky cleared her throat, nervous. It was what Lisette had feared. “He gave her a deadline for payback. Two years. But when you said three, she persuaded him to give her three.”

  Thank heavens Lisette had said three. “What’s the end of this ticking time bomb?” She asked it almost in a whisper. Mort Bartholomew ran Pannebaker Capital, and he’d taken it from Dad’s garage business after his retirement to the international powerhouse it was today. He was no mental slouch—and he got what he wanted.

  “Your mom has to marry him.”

  All the air punched out of Lisette’s lungs. “Marry him!” she whispered.

  “He’s not a bad man. Entirely.” Aunt Corky didn’t sound convinced.

  “All this is my fault,” Lisette moaned. “I will quit this nonsense, go to work for Pannebaker Capital right now. That’ll delete the contract on Mom, won’t it?”

  “I don’t know. But it’s your own misery at stake. You can’t sacrifice yourself like that.”

  “Mom can’t sacrifice herself like that for me.” Hot tears stung Lisette’s eyes. Her mom might seem to never see things from Lisette’s perspective, but she’d put her whole happiness on the line for her daughter this time. Lisette gulped down the emotion massing in her throat and checked her watch.

  “Can you finish up this last corner? I have to go.” Lisette peeled off her over-shirt and gloves. Mom would be waiting for her, and there would be words. “Thanks so much for helping with the painting. Robin egg blue looks dreamy.”

  “I’m serious about the makeover, Lisette. Think about it.”

  She could barely think about anything.

  Plates and silverware clinked, and the air hung with the aroma of meat on the grill.

  “Mom, Aunt Corky told me what you did for me,” Lisette said before even sitting down at the table at Th
e Black Cat. “I can’t believe you.”

  Amanda Pannebaker was already seated. Her usually beautiful face looked a little strained today—well, more of late, now that Lisette bothered to notice. And now that she knew why, Lisette’s heart might burst with the ache of it.

  “I told her not to. I never should have mentioned it to her in the first place. She doesn’t understand.” Mom frowned at her menu. This situation didn’t hit her like the bombshell it’d been to Lisette. She’d been living with it for a year and a half.

  “How could you put yourself on the line like that? Over such a small amount of money? Seriously, under the circumstances, I could’ve gone to the Small Business Administration for my loan. You didn’t have to do this.” A waitress set down a glass in front of Lisette. The ice water matched the blood in her veins.

  “Oh, but you were so determined. And I didn’t want you to have to wait, wasting time after you got your degree.” Mom shook her head.

  “That’s just silly. Everyone has to do things that take time. It teaches us patience.”

  “I guess I’ve never had much of that.”

  Lisette didn’t even know how to respond. She stared in disbelief then looked down at her menu—as if she could eat anything today. In a few minutes, plates of steaming food sat before them anyway.

  “Look, let’s just go to Mr. Bartholomew. Work this out. He can’t possibly insist that you follow through on this deal.” Sure, he’d had his eye on the boss’s beautiful widow for years, but Lisette never thought he’d stoop to this.

  “Oh, but he can. I signed the contract.”