Boss Meets Her Match

by Janet Lee Nye

  “Yes! Lena. Are you committed to this? Because we can make it into something really good and potentially huge.”

  She sat back, a grin on her lips. How committed was she? “I’m in. Completely.”

  “Me too. You have others you are reaching out to?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, you talk to your people, I’ll talk to my people and we’ll set up a strategy meeting.”

  “Perfect. I’ll get back to you tomorrow.”

  Ending the call, Lena set her phone down slowly, carefully. There was a light, wild emotion spinning through her. It felt good and she didn’t want it to go away. How long had it been since she’d truly been happy? Well before Lito, her beloved grandfather, died.

  Feelings of happiness led to thoughts of Matt. That was a happy of another sort. She frowned and did a Google search for the Unitarian Church. Upcoming events. What had she gotten herself into? Contemporary Art in a Historic City. Ugh. More of his Pollock-y stuff. Smears and drips. Another feeling began to rise. Along with the memory of his fingers drawing lines of paint across her face. His painted face above her. Okay. That had been hot. Can’t lie about that. Fires like that burn out quick though, Lena. Watch your heart.

  A single rap on the door preceded Mose. “Hey, boss, I wanted to... You okay?”

  “Yeah. Fine. What’s up?”

  Glad for the distraction from her own thoughts, she settled in to listen and answer Mose’s questions about transferring the accounts. Focus on this transition. Focus on getting this new project off the ground. Matt was a distraction she didn’t need at the moment, no matter how tempting.

  * * *

  THE SOUND OF THE “Imperial March” was so unexpected, Matt didn’t realize it was his phone. Then his heart sank. His father. He lifted the phone from the bedside table and squinted. What? He could think of no good reason for his father to be calling him. From his personal line, which meant it wasn’t his assistant.

  Scrubbing a hand across his face, he thought about dismissing the call. He didn’t want to talk to his father. He wanted to continue to wallow in bed, remembering how it had felt with Lena in it beside him. After she’d left, he’d spent half the night painting in something close to euphoria. It had been a long time since he’d painted with that passion. Talking to his father would only ruin it.

  He answered the call. It might be important. Maybe his mother or one of his sisters. “Morning, Dad,” he said as cheerfully as he could muster as he rolled to sit on the edge of the bed.

  “The day is half-gone already.”

  “I’m good. Thanks for asking. How are you?”

  “Your grandfather’s ninetieth birthday celebration is this Saturday. You will be required to attend. I’ve made your travel plans. My assistant will email you the details. Cut your damn hair before you show up. And leave your attitude in Charleston.”

  “Wow,” Matt said, but his father had already ended the call. He wanted to be furious but it was all so old. He’d spent half his life in a rage-fueled campaign against his father, and he was tired of it. But his dad had either never noticed that Matt had stopped playing the game or he didn’t care.

  He checked the time. Eleven. Not too bad. He yawned and shuffled to the kitchen to make coffee. It was going to be a light day he saw as he checked the calendar on the kitchen wall. Art therapy at the hospital from two until four. A wine and paint at seven. Perfect. Grabbing the coffee decanter before it was finished brewing, he held a cup under the stream of coffee.

  The anger came back, nibbling at the corners of his postsex postpainting high. Who does that? Calls and just demands that you be somewhere? No respect for your time or life? He shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts. Doesn’t mean you have to jump. The anger, the frustration, everything fell away as he approached the easel. He’d set aside the marsh scene he’d been working on for this. Casting a critical eye over the painting, he smoothed down his beard and sipped more coffee. Lena. He’d painted this portrait like a man possessed. He’d had to capture that look. The hot, dark passion in her eyes when he’d painted the streaks across her face. Fighter he would title it.

  It was more of an art nouveau style than he usually used for portraits, but it captured the lines of her face and hair perfectly. The streaks of paint contrasting with the black of her hair. The eyes. He hadn’t quite gotten the look in her eyes. The rounded cheeks, the full lips half-opened, yes, those were perfect. He finished off the coffee and poured a second cup before returning to the painting and dipping his brush in the paint. Just a little bit more.

  An hour later, he sat in a chair, stuffing cold leftover pizza into his face, hoping it wasn’t too old and wishing he had another couple of hours to work on the portrait. His phone signaled a FaceTime request. His sister Susie. Probably backing up his father’s call. The old one-two punch. The face of his four-year-old niece, Lila, appeared on his screen. Emotional blackmail. Great.

  “Hey, squirt,” he said. “What’s up?”

  “Momma says you are coming to visit me this weekend,” she said.

  Damn it. Trying to keep the irritation out of his expression and words, he shook his head a little. “I’m not sure, Lila. Your grandfather just told me about it this morning. I’m going to have to check my schedule.”

  Her sweet face grew serious as she drew her lips together in a double pout. “But you haven’t visited me since Christmas. And that was way back when I was just a baby.”

  “But we see each other all the time on the phone,” he reminded her.

  “But I can’t hug a phone, Uncle Matt!”

  She had him there.

  “Pleeeaaase!” she begged.

  “Okay. I will come see you this weekend.”

  He put a little stress on the you for the benefit of her mother, who he knew was near enough to hear. Sure enough, the phone was taken from his niece and his sister’s face appeared.

  “For God’s sake, Matt. Just come to the party. Show your face. Sing “Happy Birthday.” The old man is freaking ninety. Ignore Dad like you always do.”

  “I said I’d be there. I’ll be there.”

  “Thank you. You know it puts all of us in an awkward position when people start asking about you.”

  “Why? Why is it so awkward to say I’m living in Charleston? That I’m an artist and an art therapist? You guys act as though I’m a male stripper or something.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “And you know what I mean.”

  She sighed and rolled her eyes. “So you’ll be there?”

  “Yes. Tell dear old dad you did your familial duty. But don’t use Lila anymore. She’s a child, not a tool.”

  He ended the call with a rough stab of a finger. He and Susie usually could pretend to tolerate each other. But involving an innocent four-year-old infuriated him. Another reason to stay far away. He wanted kids and he wasn’t going to let them grow up in that toxic atmosphere.

  Jumping in the shower, his irritation melted away with the memories of Lena standing under the spray while he washed the paint away. Grinning, he hurriedly washed his hair and beard. He had enough time. Barely.

  * * *

  NOT AS MUCH time as he thought. By the time he’d parked his bike on the sidewalk outside Reyes Financial Services, he had less than thirty minutes to get back across town to the hospital. Pushing through the door, he was greeted with an exceedingly knowing grin from Chloe.

  “Why, Mr. Matthews,” she said archly. “What a pleasant surprise. Flowers?”

  He grinned and half perched on the edge of her desk, bringing the little bouquet—mostly daisies, baby’s breath and greenery—up to his nose. “And here I thought you blondes were supposed to be rather dim.”

  “No, blond men are the dim ones. So tell me are the flowers for Mose to congratulate her on tak
ing over your account? Or...?”

  She left the or hanging in the air with a wicked grin. He felt his cheeks going a bit warm. Surely Lena hadn’t kissed and told. They must have guessed. He remembered Mose teasing Lena that time.

  “I think you know exactly who they are for.”

  “If it’s Lena, and it better be, she is out of the office for a meeting. But I’ll be happy to give them to her for you along with any message.”

  He handed over the flowers, a part of him glad Lena wasn’t there.

  “Wednesday,” he said as he stood.

  “Wednesday?”

  “She’ll know what it means.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  BUTTERFLIES ROUGHLY THE size of pterodactyls were colliding in her gut and her hands were trembling. Lena put them in her lap and smiled. She and Doris Manigault had gathered four women interested in developing a program for the college-bound kids of St. Toribio. Public speaking had never been her strong point. Doris finished introducing everyone and turned back to Lena. The five other women were watching her, waiting. Clearing her throat, she put her hands on the table, palms down. She’d thought she’d have more time, but everyone was so excited about the idea they’d agreed to meet after work on Tuesday.

  “First, thank you all for coming. I think we’re all clear on the overall goal—to put together a program that can be presented at least once a year, more if needed.” She cleared her throat again. They were all just sitting there. Staring at her. She laced her fingers together. Took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m no good with making speeches and stuff, so I’m just going to spit it all out and we can sort it out.”

  Doris nodded. “Basics,” she said.

  “Yes. Basics. Going to college is a norm for a lot of families, but in the immigrant community, it may not be. Everything is new territory for them. Deciding on a college. How to apply for financial aid. Writing the essay. Preparing for the SATs.”

  Heads were now nodding and one woman, Andrea, was taking notes. “Exactly,” Doris echoed. “Also, college readiness. Many of the students I work with struggle in their first semesters because even though they were in the top ten at high school, we all know school districts are not created equally.”

  “I work in the financial aid office at North Charleston Technical College. I can put together something on the different types of financial aid,” Andrea said.

  “Great, thank you,” Lena said.

  “I think in addition to the talks, we should have some literature printed up,” Doris added. “So the kids could take it home. And would we be able to leave it there for them to pick up when they are there?”

  “Yes,” Lena said. “I can arrange that and keep track of the supply.”

  “I can help with the SAT information,” another woman said. “I’m a librarian. I have a great list of free tutoring and online resources for preparing.”

  Doris clicked the pen and began writing on a yellow legal tablet. “Okay. So far, Andrea, you’ll put together financial aid information. Erin, you’ll do the SATs. What else?”

  “Writing the essay. Deciding on a college,” Lena said.

  “I can do the essay part. I have a degree in journalism and do freelance writing on the side.”

  “Alyssa for the essay,” Doris said as she wrote it down.

  “I guess that leaves me for the deciding which college,” the last woman said with a smile.

  “Is that okay, Lauren?” Doris asked her.

  “I got five kids through four different colleges,” she said with a laugh. “Different kids need different things. I got pretty good at helping them identify what would be a good match for them.”

  Lena sat back in the chair. The butterflies were gone. “This is great. Thank you all for this. I’ll get in touch with the people at St. Toribio and coordinate things with them. I’ll be telling my personal story as part of the program.”

  “Perfect,” Doris said. “Can we meet again here next week? Is that enough time to get the initial information together?”

  Everyone agreed. Lena got up to shake hands and thank them each for coming. She was slightly stunned. She’d had an idea and now here she was making it happen. Like a real grown-up. A warm hand cupped her shoulder. Doris.

  “This is going to be a really good thing we’re doing, Lena. I’m so happy you reached out.”

  “I can hardly believe it’s going to be real.”

  “Oh, it’s going to be real. You’re just getting started. I see in your eyes how much you like this. This helping people stuff gets addictive.”

  “I believe that. This all started with a small project I got roped into doing and when I saw how just a little thing could positively impact so many people, it felt really good.”

  Doris laughed. “You’re hooked already.”

  Lena felt the smile on her face all the way down to her core. Yep, I’m hooked. This is some serious feel-good stuff.

  * * *

  “WHAT IN THE hell is a fried pig’s ear? Please tell me that means something else in fancy restaurant talk.”

  Lena smiled at Sadie’s horrified expression. Harvest was about the fanciest restaurant they’d been to in all their years of Wednesday-night dinners. But it was in walking distance of the Unitarian Church and she’d be damned if she was going to find parking twice tonight.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s a pig’s ear,” she said.

  “So they what? Just chop it off and drop it in the deep fryer? And people are just too afraid to say how gross it is because they don’t want to be the one pointing out the emperor is naked?”

  “Maybe it tastes good. We should try it.”

  Sadie shook her head. “I can’t. I’m just picturing all these poor little pigs wandering around earless.”

  “God shouldn’t have made them so tasty.”

  “Why are we going all fancy tonight?” Sadie asked, raising her eyebrows. “Or should I ask why are you all fancy tonight?”

  Lena tried for a casual tone. “I have a thing after.”

  “A thing?”

  Lena met Sadie’s gaze. “A thing,” she said firmly.

  “A date?”

  Her emotions betrayed her. “Maybe,” she muttered, pretending she wasn’t hiding behind the menu. A little quiver shook her inside as she thought about what had happened Sunday night and the very real possibility of it happening again.

  The tip of Sadie’s index finger touched the top of the menu and forced it down to the table. “You have a date and you didn’t tell me?”

  “It’s weird. And complicated.”

  Sadie laughed. “Anything involving you is going to be complicated.”

  “What are you saying? That I’m high maintenance or something?”

  “Nice try at diverting the topic of discussion, but no go. Who is he? Details. I need all the details.”

  “There are no details. He’s just this guy. Rather annoying, actually.”

  “Oh please. It’s Wednesday. You’re in a sexy little dress and high heels.”

  “I think I’m going to get the shrimp and grits. Have you decided yet?”

  “Oh. My. God.”

  Lena looked up at Sadie’s shocked face. “What?”

  “It’s that guy. That Viking guy? Isn’t it?”

  There was no hiding the blush that spread across her face. She tried a scowl. “Maybe.”

  Sadie did a little happy dance in her seat and clapped her hands. “Tell me. How’d this come to be?”

  Lena sipped her wine. “He asked me.”

  How did this come to be? That she was sitting here, wearing heels and makeup, with her insides quivering in anticipation? The waiter appeared at the table. Grateful for the interruption, Lena gave him her order while Sadie decided what she wanted.


  “Didn’t you want a pig’s ear?” she teased.

  Sadie looked up at the waiter with such a horrified face that Lena almost spewed wine across the table. She swallowed and then laughed. A real laugh. Can dress us up but you still can’t take us anywhere. The thought turned her laughter into giggles. Sadie glared at her across the table but her lips were pressed together against her own laughter.

  Lena dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “Stop it. You’re going to ruin my makeup.”

  “What’s gotten into you?”

  “I need to talk to you about something important,” Lena said as the waiter left.

  “What? How to tell your family you’re dating a white guy while they’re still conducting Hispanic Bachelor auditions?”

  “They aren’t doing that anymore.”

  “Then why did your mother ask Wyatt if he knew any Hispanic police officers?”

  “She. Did. Not.” Lena ground her teeth against the rush of very bad words that wanted to fly out. Harvest was a small place and there were others seated very close. “She told me she’d put an end to that nonsense.”

  “Tell her you’re dating this guy.”

  “We aren’t dating. We have this...this thing.”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “Listen. I’m putting together a series of talks out at St. Toribio’s. For the kids starting high school. I want you to participate.”

  Sadie made a face. “I give money. I don’t do things. Write yourself a check.”

  “It’s going to be basically a what-I-wish-I’d-known-back-then kind of thing. How to apply for college, stuff like that.”

  “And what would I teach them? How to be a maid? I didn’t go to college, Lena. I don’t have anything to offer them.”

  “That’s exactly why you should be involved. I’m not some dewy-eyed do-gooder who thinks she’s going to save the world, Sades. Some of these kids won’t go to college. But not going to college doesn’t mean not becoming successful. That’s what you have to offer them. An example of hard work and not giving up.”