by Floyd, Jacie
As if she would ever sleep with someone to get ahead!
As if she needed to!
Other women in his life might be opportunistic and ambitious enough to climb into bed with him to advance their careers, but she had stronger principles than that. She had the talent and self-confidence to take her where she wanted to go. She didn’t need Max Williams and his mind-numbing kisses.
She didn’t need him at all.
She’d show him how much she didn’t need him.
He’d see when she won the Community First award right in front of his nose.
Her indignation carried her down the path and all the way home. Having acquired a feel for the bike on the long day’s journey, she held herself erect in a Max-free zone and slammed into him only when he braked in front of her house.
“Here you are,” he said as she scrambled to put a space between them big enough to hold a truckload of differences. “Safe and sound again at home.” His vanilla voiceover tones contained no sarcasm or emotion, but somehow she knew his impassivity hid a sneer. “Just the way you like it.”
“Thank you.” She snapped the helmet into place on the back of the seat, determined to remember her manners even though he remained planted on the Harley. “I had an interesting day.”
“Good.” Not very encouraging.
Honestly, she couldn’t say she hoped they’d do it again sometime. But now that she looked at life from the safe vantage point of her own sidewalk, the idea of driving around tamely in her Saab for the rest of her life did seem rather—flat.
“Well, then, thanks, again.” She made herself turn and head up the walk.
“Annabel,” he said, as she neared the porch.
She stopped but didn’t turn back. “What?”
“Do you ever do anything spontaneously? Just because you want to?”
“I went with you today, didn’t I?” She continued to face her front door and wasn’t sure if he heard her.
“That you did.” The Harley engine roared to life on the last word, then died out again as if he’d thought better of leaving. “But you would have stayed home if Carly and I hadn’t urged you on.”
She ignored the truth of his statement and swung around to confront him. “What about you? Do you ever take anything seriously?”
“Only my work when I have to. And my family.”
The bit about his family gave her pause, but only briefly. Knowing he cared about his family raised her opinion of him. Not enough to bridge the gap between them though. A close-knit family and winning personality didn’t make up for pregnant ex-girlfriends, one-night stands, strippers, and the downfall of innocent interns. “That’s why this is goodbye.”
He shook his head. “That’s not why. You’re saying goodbye because you’re tempted by everything about me and that terrifies you.”
“Hah! You’re as afraid of me as I am of you!”
“I’m not afraid.” He flung himself off the bike and strode forward, sweeping her into his arms. His kiss consumed her in a firestorm of challenge and passion.
Annabel struggled to keep up with it. Hot and hungry. Frustrated and angry. Eager and wary. All the confusing emotions of the day poured into one heart-stopping embrace. If they continued, she might invite him inside or pull him down on the ground. But he withdrew abruptly. He cradled her face in his hands and stared at her so hard, for so long, she wished she could read his mind.
“Think about how happy you are with your life the way it is,” he said at last, “and you give me a call when you’re brave enough to face the truth. If I’m still around, I’ll show you what you’ve been missing.”
Chapter Seven
Tuesday afternoon, Annabel paced outside the closed doors of the Arts Commission meeting room. Her boss, Howard Lasting, sat on a wooden bench. He crossed and uncrossed his lanky legs while he stared out the window and contemplated the flow of the Ohio River.
“Annabel, have a seat.” Even while bored to tears, his command assumed obedience. “You’re making me nervous, and I have nerves of steel.” He yawned and closed his eyes.
Probably not a good time to broach her biker brainstorm. But she so rarely had him as a captive audience, it seemed a shame not to make the most of the opportunity. She perched on a seat across from him.
“I have an idea about a documentary on motorcycle clubs.” The statement contained none of the polish she’d practiced on the way to work that morning.
“A motorcycle club?” Howard opened his eyes and looked at her with disdain. One of his bristly, caterpillar eyebrows arched upward. “Like the Hells Angels? Easy Rider? The Wild Bunch? Black leather jackets aside, all of that sounds so sixties.”
“That’s what I thought at first, too,” she said. “But respectable motorcycle clubs consist of weekend warriors who ride for fun, not to rebel or make some anti-establishment social statement. You should see a pack of them roaring along the highway with gleaming helmets and chrome.”
“Unh,” he groaned. “I have seen one. A couple of weeks ago, a whole parade of those bozos moved through an intersection like a psychotic funeral procession, trapping me in place for ten minutes. Damned aging hippies.”
“It’s not like that.” Not entirely. “People from all walks of life belong to them, from judges to mechanics. They get together for rallies, rides, fundraisers, and meetings. They have their own newsletters and Facebook pages, like the 4-H or the Shriners.”
He rubbed a finger up and down his prominent nose, indicative of his thinking mode. “Who could we sell it to?”
Getting a paying sponsor was always the second step toward approval—right after the initial idea. When Howard turned to the bottom line, she knew she’d caught his interest. “The Motorcycle Organization of America.” She jumped up to pace again as she bounced the idea toward him. “They might want to use it to spruce up their image.”
“Maybe.”
“Or motorcycle safety awareness to promote wearing helmets.” She made a viewfinder with her hands and framed the mental image. “Sunlight gleaming off all those shiny acrylic heads would make a stunning visual.”
Howard chuckled. She might have hooked him. “Hmmm.” He rubbed his nose again.
“Or shoot it with a philanthropic angle.” She continued to pace. “Did you know that some bike clubs use their rides to raise money for charity?”
“I did not know that,” he said then nodded.
Thank God. She let out the breath she’d been holding. A nod usually meant he deemed the project worthy of consideration.
“I see the possibilities,” he admitted. “Maybe Terry can do something with it.”
“Terry? No way!” Annabel objected, loudly, to the possibility of handing off her project to another producer. Howard snapped a glare her way, and she modified her tone. “I mean, it was my idea. I want to do it.”
“Let’s see how this goes.” He jerked his head toward the meeting room. “Winning on Saturday would improve your chances of overseeing future projects.” Bored again, he resumed his study of the river. “Sit down. Try to contain yourself.”
“Sorry.” Deflated by his lack of confidence in her, she dropped onto the bench next to him. “I guess I’m on edge. This is all new to me.”
“You’ll do fine.” His off-hand words and disinterest eroded her small store of self-esteem.
“I’m just worried about the kids.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “They were supposed to be here ten minutes ago.”
A spasm of distaste crossed his face. “How many of them are coming?”
“Three. Or four.” Seven, she silently amended. Or eight.
As a nominee, she’d been invited to present witnesses to testify about the impact of her project. She intended to include as many of the students who had appeared in the film as possible, both the successes and the failures. One side balanced the other and confirmed the story she’d wanted to convey.
During the four years of production for Challenging Destiny, Annabel found it
impossible to remain aloof from the students. In real life, she couldn’t help comparing the difficulties they faced in their lives to the relative ease of those lead by Carly and her friends just a few miles away. With a slight shift in birth and geography, economics and opportunity, their lives would have been switched.
After Annabel had earned their trust, the teens often turned to her for help and advice. Sometimes she’d filled the role of social worker, mentor, or confidante, and she had grown to know and care for them all. They meant much more to her now than the subjects of a film. They were friends. With the project over, many still kept in touch.
“They’ll either get here or they won’t.” Howard’s lack of concern came as no surprise. His opposition to their presence had been a sore spot between them for days.
The elevator door opened, and two of the students stepped out. Keisha, currently a college student, and Sukari, an unwed mother who hadn’t managed to graduate, but planned to get her GED soon.
Sukari had her little one with her, leading the toddler by the hand. “Come on, now, Kenyon, don’t make mama any later.” She picked the boy up and carried him. “Sorry, Ms. Morgan. My sister didn’t tell me ‘til the last minute that she couldn’t babysit. But my Kenyon, he’s a good boy and he won’t cause trouble. Will you, fella?”
Annabel welcomed both girls. “I’m glad you brought Kenyon with you, Sukari. Look how big he’s gotten.” Annabel tickled the baby’s tummy and gave the young women hugs. “It’s great to see all three of you! Come tell me how things are going.”
A few minutes later, two of her young male subjects showed up. DeSean, an aspiring sound technician/record producer, smiled and hugged Annabel, always eager to please. Warren, recently released from jail on a drug charge, scowled, like a stray dog waiting for the next kick or curse. Soon Jonah, Viper, and Selena—two former gang members and a cheerleader—joined the growing group.
“I’m so pleased you’re all here with me today.” Annabel picked up baby Kenyon from the floor. He pulled her hair, tugged on an earring, and stuck his fingers in her mouth before giving her a smacking kiss on the check and wiggling to get down.
Everyone else laughed at his curiosity and energy, but Howard frowned over the growing crowd. Dismissing them as beneath his attention, he pulled out his phone and began scrolling.
The volatile combination of Warren and Viper worried Annabel a bit, but she smiled and chatted, doing her best to keep the former rivals apart. The eight teens sprawled across the chairs, benches, and tables, ignoring her boss and his disdain.
The elevator doors slid open again. With her group complete, she looked up to see who else had shown up. Her pulse registered off the Richter scale at the sight of Max.
She’d spent most of the past two sleepless nights reviewing their stupid argument. Despite feeling that it was best to leave things alone between them, a happy-to-see-him smile bloomed on her face. Remembering his last words to her, she wiped it from her mouth faster than smeared lipstick.
She doubted she ranked high on his list of favorite people these days either. But of course, when had she? Saturday, maybe. Briefly. Now, she noticed the lack of his attention the way she’d miss warm gloves on a cold winter’s day.
Wearing dark pants, a charcoal sport coat, and a shirt the color of coconut cream, he looked good enough to eat. With his strong shoulders, flat stomach, muscular arms, and narrow hips, it was impossible to forget she’d spent hours snuggled up against that gorgeous display of masculinity.
But today, Annabel could only watch as a Double D bimbo with big hair and spray-on clothes clung to him like an inflatable life vest. Well, if that was the kind of woman he was attracted to... Fine.
“Hello, there, Morgan, Howard.” He shook hands with her boss, shifted his gaze over her and ran a glance over the rest of her companions. “You’ve got quite a crowd here.”
Her defenses rose in reaction to the quick, dismissive perusal. “Couldn’t you find anyone to speak up for your project?”
“Shawntel is all I need.” He patted the woman’s hand and began making introductions.
Annabel’s boys drooled over the bimbo’s buxom display.
Even Howard seemed fascinated by the overflowing bounty. “Take my seat, Shawntel.” He jumped up to make room for her.
“I guess we’re early,” Shawntel said in a whispery little voice. Sinking into the vacated spot, she finally released her grip on Max.
“No, the committee’s running behind.” Howard peeled back his cuff to check the time. “We should have been in and out of there by now.”
Max practically smothered the bimbo with attention for a few moments. “Do you need a sweater? Some water? Anything?”
“I’m fine, Max.” She shooed him away with a sweet smile. “Don’t hover.”
Satisfied she was settled comfortably, he turned to Annabel’s friends. “Are all y’all here for Annabel? Nice show of support.”
“Hey,” Malcolm said. “You’re the dude on the news.”
“That’s right,” Keisha agreed. “I’ve seen you on TV. Are you here to witness for Challenging Destiny, too?”
“Not today.” He flashed his television smile. “Although I’ve heard it’s very good.”
“Damn straight. It’s got me in it, don’t it?” Keisha planted an adamant fist on her hip and drew hoots of laughter from her friends.
“Then maybe I’ll put in a good word for it,” Max said, finally turning to Annabel. “You’re looking less buttoned-down than usual, Morgan.” He flicked a finger at the collar she’d left undone that morning. He seemed careful not to graze her skin, but his natural magnetism almost sucked her into his force field anyway. “Any reason?”
She clutched the top two buttons of her blouse. Years of personal self-analysis made it clear to her why she’d hidden behind her straightjacket clothes all these years. But this morning, she knew she didn’t want to continue camouflaging herself that way. Max’s preferences weighed not at all on the decision. Right?
“It’s hot in here.” She fanned her face with her hand.
“Like it was hot in the restaurant on Saturday?” he asked as Kenyon toddled over and tugged on his pant leg. Without hesitation, he picked the child up and tucked him into the crook of his elbow. “Hey, there, little fella.”
“Ms. Morgan, Mr. Lasting,” said a woman from the door. “Thank you for your patience. Please follow me.”
Lynn Dorey, one of the other nominees, swept haughtily through the lobby and left with her entourage.
“Us, too?” Keisha asked.
“Not just yet.” The woman took a tentative step back as she surveyed the boisterous group. “We’ll call the rest of you in a little later.”
Annabel stood up, indicating the place on the bench she’d just vacated. “Looks like there’ll be a crowd out here for a while longer. Would you like to slip into my seat?” she asked Max.
“I’d love to slip into your seat, Annabel.”
He answered her so smoothly that the innuendo didn’t register until DeSean, Warren and the others laughed and elbowed one another. Even Shawntel choked back a giggle. Howard looked rather pained.
If it had been Max’s intention to fluster her before her interview, she refused to let on that he accomplished it. “Come on, Howard.” Annabel pulled him away from the charming Shawntel. “We’re up.”
Annabel’s presentation went well, all things considered. At first, her nerves got the best of her, and she read from her prepared comments. But by the time the panel began questioning her, she spoke coherently and authoritatively. For his part, Howard bragged about Lasting Productions, but gave her most of the credit for the documentary.
After the students came in, the tone of the interview shifted again. They were wonderfully candid about the impact the film had on their lives. Their mature behavior and comments filled her with pride.
At the conclusion of the interview, the kids huddled around her in the waiting area, exchanging hugs and high fi
ves. She thanked them for their participation and urged them to keep in touch even as her gaze strayed to Max.
He and Shawntel sat cozied up to one another. Thank heavens I made the right decision and didn’t sleep with him. He had the attention span of a gnat. How mortifying it must be to occupy just another space in his long line of women.
“Let us know how the award thing turns out,” DeSean said as they headed toward the elevator and stairs.
“I’ll text you after the ceremony,” she promised. “And good luck with your interview on Friday, DeSean.”
“Thanks, Ms. Morgan, but I won’t need luck.” He grinned. “I’m good enough without it.”
“Absolutely, but be sure to use me as a reference if you want to.”
“I won’t need that either.” DeSean threw a salute to someone behind her. “Max knows the owner of the record company. He said he’d call and put in a good word for me.”
“He did, huh?” She shouldn’t resent his offer to help. Very generous, but for some reason, she felt like he’d purposely upstaged her. “Well, then, you’re a shoe-in.”
When Howard stopped to talk to Shawntel, Annabel decided to confront Max about making promises he didn’t intend to keep. Just as she reached his side, he cursed.
“Sorry,” she said, stung by the show of displeasure. “I guess this isn’t the best time to talk.”
He checked the screen on his phone. “I need to take this call. I’ll be right back.” He touched her elbow, squeezed the bimbo’s knee, and strode to the other end of the hall with his cell phone in hand.
Annabel sighed and turned to Howard, ready to herd him back to work and leave all thoughts of Max Williams behind. Charley Asherton, the manager at Max’s television station, had arrived at some point and now sat beside Shawntel, vying with Howard for her attention.
