He had brought Linden Communications to Anya the first week he was here. He remembered her face when he told her the numbers this account would bring. She'd shaken her head and called him Mr. Boy Wonder. David exhaled loudly. “Mr. Boy Wonder.” If she only knew.
The miniature walnut grandfather clock chimed softly eleven times. He didn't have to raise his head to know that, finally, it was time to go home.
Slowly, he stuffed papers into his briefcase. He never looked at anything he took home. He was always too tired. But he took them just in case he awakened in the middle of the night.
He stood, closed his eyes, and released a long sigh. He couldn't wait to fall asleep; unconsciousness was his relief.
He turned off the lights and walked through the capacious office, stylishly decorated with glass desks and black lacquer furniture. Moving silently along the rich mauve carpet that Anya had installed when she'd rented this space, he paused in front of one of the positive affirmation posters she had hung throughout the office. DON'T QUIT, he read silently. That was the only thing he hadn't done.
It would be midnight by the time he got home. He would sleep for a few hours, then be up at five for his normal hour run on the beach, before returning to the office by eight—always before anyone else. He knew he was pushing himself, but it was the only way for him to survive.
Chapter 2
It felt like it was one hundred degrees in the conference room. The sun wasn't even shining through the paneled windows, but Anya knew if she didn't get relief soon, her satin blouse would be permanently affixed to her skin. She sat stiffly at the head of the long cherrywood table with her hands folded, waiting for Jon Green, the president of Linden Communications, to complete his perusal of the proposal.
Anya took a deep breath, hoping that would provide some ease, but the longer Mr. Greene kept his head lowered, the higher the temperature in the room seemed to rise. With just the slightest nod of her chin, she motioned toward the wall panel and Alaister, her manager for Group Accounts, stood and adjusted the air controls.
Alaister's movement made Jon Greene lift his head. “Anya, this looks good, but I want a few minutes to review these numbers with Charles. Is there an empty room we can use?”
Although surprised by his request, Anya said, “Of course, we can leave you alone in here.” She looked at David and Alaister, and they nodded.
“No, let us go to another office.”
As Alaister led them from the conference room, Anya removed her suit jacket, hoping that the perspiration lines on her blouse weren't noticeable.
“Is it hot or is it just me?”
David smiled and folded his hands behind his head, looking as cool as if he were on a Jamaican beach. “What're you stressing about? We've already won.”
Anya squinted at David's grin. “Cocky, aren't we?”
He shrugged and unfastened the single button on his jacket. “I just know this business and I know the signs.”
A bit too eagerly, Anya leaned toward David. “Signs? What are they? How do you know? Are you sure?”
David chuckled. “The first sign is that they are very impressed with you!”
Anya stood and paced the long length of the room. She stopped in front of the mahogany panels, which hid the large-screen television they often used for presentations. “Usually I can read body language,” Anya started. “But Mr. Greene never even blinked his eyes.”
“Because he was staring at you.”
She ignored his comment. “And his sidekick—it's amazing to me that Charles is one of the partners. He's barely out of high school. I don't think he understood any of the numbers.”
“It is a curious team, but Jon's the numbers-and-decision man. There's nothing to worry about. They'll come back, tell us they want a few hours to compare our proposal to the others, and they will get back to us tomorrow or the next day—”
Anya jumped as the door of the conference room opened and Alaister returned. His normally put-together facade had melted in the heat. His tie was loosened and his blond hair stuck to his neck.
“Did they say anything?” Anya asked.
Alaister hunched his shoulders. “They hardly said a word. Just thanked me for the room, then closed the door in my face. I put them in Matthew's office.”
Anya sighed deeply. Suddenly she felt drained by the anxiety. She wanted this account. Her business had grown steadily every year since she'd opened, but Linden would bring in an annual premium of more than a million dollars. Winning this account would be the perfect celebration of her tenth year in business.
“We'd better start thinking about hiring at least two associates to execute this business,” David said, breaking the silence.
Anya shook her head. “I wish you would stop—”
A quick knock on the door interrupted her, and the three stood as Mr. Greene reentered the room.
“I thought I might have some questions, but you did such a good job, it's all clear.” Mr. Greene took Anya's hand. “It's about the numbers for me, so let me compare yours to the others and I'll get back to you tomorrow or the next day.”
She felt like her hand was drowning inside his and she softly pulled away.
“That's quite a little ring you've got there,” Jon Greene said suddenly.
Anya looked at her hand, then back at him. “Thank you. Well, Mr. Greene, we'll be looking forward to hearing from you.” Anya stood firm under his steady gaze. She turned to David. “Do you have anything to add?”
David shook his head and stepped forward. “Mr. Greene, let me walk you out.”
Jon Greene took a long final look at Anya, then shook his head slightly. As David led the way, Mr. Greene turned back and smiled at Anya once again.
“That guy really likes you,” Alaister said when they were alone.
“What are you talking about?” Anya had hoped that no one else had noticed the lewd looks the president of Linden had been giving her. She moved around the conference table, pushing in the chairs.
“Whenever you talked, Mr. Greene acted like he was hearing the voice of God. We got this account for sure.”
“Well, if we get it, I hope it's based on more than that. Alaister, you guys did a great job.”
He nodded his thanks.
“Let's get back to work. We have other clients depending on us.”
Alaister left Anya standing in the middle of the room, rubbing her arms to ward off a sudden chill.
Chapter 3
The sun fought valiantly, but the clouds moving along the coast proved to be more powerful. Anya blew on her hands, hoping that her breath would warm her. Shed forgotten her running gloves this morning, but shed be fine once she started moving. One last stretch to the side, forward, hamstring stretch—and she was ready to go. Zipping her jacket to the neck, she began to move. She ran without headphones, not needing music. The pounding surf provided both rhythm and melody.
She began jogging slowly, barely keeping ahead of the early morning walkers. Her sneakers tapped the pavement as she passed the eclectic mix of boarded-up T-shirt shops, jewelry stores, and eateries lining the Venice beach. Nothing would be open for hours. The strip belonged to the diehard health enthusiasts.
“Hey, Anya.” Two male joggers came alongside her. “We haven't seen you recently.”
Anya merely waved, saving every morsel of energy.
“See ya on the way back,” one runner said, as they moved ahead of her.
The air felt good pushing against her lungs. She'd only been running since she met Braxton, and most of the time, they shared these morning runs. But Anya hadn't called him this morning; she wanted this time alone.
She'd barely slept twenty minutes last night, settling instead for watching reruns on Nick at Nite. As soon as the dark slipped into dawn's light, she was up, feeling strangely rejuvenated and filled with the desire to return to her morning routine.
Now, as she reached the Venice Boardwalk Tee-Shirt Factory, she jogged in place, taking a sip from the wat
er bottle hanging on her belt. She couldn't keep herself from thinking about the Linden presentation. Mitchell and Associates was no doubt a top contender but, still, it was a long shot.
“I'm not going to think about it anymore,” Anya said aloud. She had prayed over this for weeks; it was in God's hands now.
As she passed the steel-gray condos, she let her mind drift to Braxton. Yesterday, the presentation had given her a reprieve. But now, remembering how well the counseling session had gone, she smiled. Just as she predicted—things got better once they saw Pastor Ford. Counseling and prayer—that was all she and Braxton needed.
At the top of the Santa Monica pier, Anya paused, resting her hands on her knees. Suddenly she raised her head, and her eyes darted from the deserted pier to the boarded-up buildings. Usually there were other joggers around her but today, she was alone. She straightened her body and shook her head, trying to dislodge the feeling of uneasiness. She quickly turned around and began her trek back, running faster now. It was time for her to get home.
Chapter 4
He couldn't believe it when he saw her. He followed, jogging slower than his normal pace, staying a safe distance behind, just like he'd been taught all those years ago.
“There's a science to this,” his Sixteen-year-old friend Sean had told him. At fourteen, he listened attentively. “You have to be close enough not to lose sight, but far enough away not to be recognized.” Sean spoke with the authority of a teacher, one who had practiced his craft.
His friend's words had seemed simple, but as they followed the young girl that day, he'd learned that this wasn't like the other games they'd played.
But now he followed Anya with the expertise that the years had given him. He watched as she ran with an attitude, barely acknowledging a male runner who he knew she saw frequently. She kept her face forward, as if she was the only one on the planet with a purpose. Sometimes, he admired that—sometimes, it made him sick.
When she got to the parking lot, he lowered his face from her view and pulled his sweatsuit hood over his head. He leaned against the brick building and waited. She stretched her legs against the bumper of the car, then drove from the lot. Slowly he walked to his car. There was no need to keep her in sight. He knew where she was going.
Chapter 5
Anya was into her rhythm. Coffee in her favorite Delta Sigma Theta mug, subdued music flowing from the small speakers behind her desk, and papers strewn across her desk. She'd been in the office for almost two hours, but hadn't seen David or Alaister. They were all trying to pretend that everything was normal, though the Linden decision weighed heavy in the air.
Rapid taps on her door broke Anya's concentration. Dianna appeared, with both hands clutching the door.
“It's them. On the phone!”
Anya leaned back, waiting for her heart to beat a hole through her chest. Behind Dianna, she could see that half the office had gathered around Dianna's desk.
Anya inhaled, swiveled her chair so that her back was to the door, picked up the phone, and smiled into the receiver. “Mr. Greene,” she greeted him, with as much calm as she could manage.
He told her a joke about how he'd been on the phone all morning, feeling like the Grim Reaper. She had not yet exhaled, but she chuckled along. Behind her, she could feel her team edging their way into the office, and she wondered if all twenty-five associates were present.
“Yes, Mr. Green,” they heard her finally say. “Yes.” Her voice was flat.
“I cant take this,” Dianna whispered.
No one in the room seemed to breathe as they waited to hear the verdict.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Greene,” Anya said. “I understand.” As she hung up the phone, she faced the anxious group, her face expressionless.
Everyone held still, waiting to hear her words.
“David, may I speak to you … alone?”
The group backed out in noiseless disappointment.
“Anya, I should stay,” Alaister said.
“No, let me talk to David. Then I'll meet with you.”
Before Alaister closed the door, he glanced back and shook his head.
David sank into a chair and held his head in his hands. “I am so sorry, Anya. I was sure—”
“Sorry?” Anya kept her voice steady. “Is that all you have to say?”
He nodded, keeping his head down.
“Which part are you sorry about?” She walked around her desk, perching on it in front of him. “Are you sorry that you won't have any time for leisurely lunches? Or because you'll probably ask me for a raise?
His head jerked up and his eyes blinked rapidly. “Wait a minute …”
Anya smiled.
David jumped from his seat. “You mean we got it?” His voice was barely a whisper.
Anya bobbed her head like an excited child.
“Whoopee!” David yelped and grabbed Anya, hugging and lifting her off her desk.
The door immediately opened, and Dianna tiptoed in. “Did you just say, ‘Whoopee’?”
Anya and David ignored her as they danced a jig. The associates cheered and tried to enter the office all at the same time to join in the jubilant dance. Alaister was the last to enter, and Anya rushed to him, hugging him. He drew back a bit and Anya frowned slightly, then smiled when he hugged her back.
“Congratulations,” she said. “You did a great job, Alaister.”
He seemed almost breathless. “I thought we had it, then I wasn't sure—”
Anya motioned with her hands to silence the group. “There's something I'd like to say.” She paused. “We got the account!” She held up David's and Alaister's hands in victory and everyone applauded. “And though this business belongs to Alaister's group, I thank all of you because this was a team effort.” She smiled into the sea of black, white, and brown faces that grinned back “This is one of the best teams I've ever worked with.”
“We love you too, Anya,” Mark Simmons yelled, and more cheers followed.
Her smile widened. “We have to celebrate.” The group muttered their agreement. “Well, what about tonight, since it's Friday?” Anya asked no one in particular.
In unison, the group howled and hooted their approval.
“Dianna?”
“Don't worry about a thing.” Dianna waved her hand in the air as she headed back to her desk “I'll get right on it. I can have something set in an hour or two. This is so exciting.”
“Okay, let's get back to work.” David ignored the groans as he ushered the group from Anya's office. He was the last one to step out, and before he did, he turned back “Congratulations … Boss,” he said with a deep-dimpled smile.
Alone, Anya leaned against her closed door. Her body trembled as she absorbed this news. She wanted to sing. She wanted to dance. But most of all, she wanted to praise God.
She picked up her old Bible from the corner of her desk. Loose papers slipped out and she sorted through them. Her grandmother had taught her how to develop prayers from scriptures, and she'd written many down. She read through several, basking in the words. After a few minutes, she closed her Bible.
“Lord,” she said out loud, “I would drop to my knees if I didn't have on these stockings and this short skirt.” She chuckled and lifted her eyes. “You are so awesome, and I bless your Holy Name. I thank you, Heavenly Father, for this tremendous blessing. Thank you for your faithfulness. Thank you for your grace. I pray and thank you in the name of your son, Jesus, Amen.”
Braxton's fingers continued their dance across the keyboard until he clicked on his speakerphone. “Hello,” he answered impatiently, and once again vowed to get caller ID.
“Braxton, we got it!” Anya screamed.
His fingers froze and his eyes moved from the computer to the phone. “You actually got the Linden account? That's great,” he said, forcing enthusiasm into his voice. He paused. “Well, there's no doubt now that you'll keep the business.”
He heard her sigh. Several weeks had passed si
nce they last discussed closing her agency once they married.
“Even without Linden, I would have kept my company, Braxton. I've worked too hard to get here.”
“I know, honey. It's just that I want to take care of you.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can,” he said quickly. “It's just my way of saying that I love you. Listen, I think this calls for a celebration.”
“That's why I'm calling,” Anya said, cheering up again. “We're having a party tonight—nothing fancy. I'm just taking them to Crossroads. We'll have hors d'oeuvres in one of their private rooms.”
“What time?” Braxton asked, trying to sound interested.
“Between five and six.”
Braxton hesitated. “I don't know, sweetie …”
It was a moment before Anya spoke. “I thought you wanted to celebrate.”
“Uh, yes, but I have to email this chapter to my editor in the morning,” he lied.
“And you can't find a couple of hours to spend with me?”
He waited a few beats. “All I want to do is spend time with you. Let's get together afterward. You can come by here.”
Silence. Then, she asked, “Are you sure you can't make it to my party?”
Braxton could hear Anya's fingers tapping against her desk. “It'll be better if we meet later.”
“Okay.” Her voice was as sharp as a jagged rock.
“So, you'll come here?” he asked.
“Whatever.”
“Now you have an attitude.”
“No I don't.”
“I can hear it.”
“Whatever.”
“Anya, I don't feel like going to a party with your office. I'll end up sitting in some corner while you go off and do your thing.”
“I'll call you when I get home.”
The dial tone droned in his ear. Braxton leaned back and tapped his fingertips together. That Linden account was going to impede his plans. How would he get her to sell her business now? He sighed. There was no way he could celebrate when he wasn't happy.
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