Mending Fences (Destined for Love: Mansions)

by Lorin Grace

  Mandy laughed. “Totally normal to have your girlfriend go to the bathroom and come back with a new do. Is he your date tonight?”

  “No, I told you Friday night is girls’ night. Just us and a few of our friends. Pizza, ice cream, and every Meg Ryan movie ever made.”

  “Mr. Alexander isn’t going to like that. Too many people in the house and pizza delivery coming.”

  Candace winked. “Not one bit.”

  Daniel cringed as he opened the door. The designer had removed the hideous pink, orange, purple, and yellow furniture, including the flowery rug, and gone masculine. More like a hunting lodge. The taxidermy bear standing in the corner would give someone nightmares. Him.

  He texted the designer. Do you have any rental furniture that is more neutral and somewhat comfortable?

  I’ll see.

  At this point Ikea would be an improvement.

  Oh, I can do that only better.

  He checked the calendar on his phone. April Fools’ Day had ended four days ago. Why did he feel he was stuck in it?

  I realize it’s Saturday. But I would like something more relaxing for the weekend.

  No problem, Mr. C. I’ll be over in an hour.

  I’ll have the doorman let you in. Meeting the person who kept turning his apartment into a circus was not a good idea. He needed a shower and to get out of here before his next date. He was going to fire Morgan and the legal team. Being seen with six different girls in one weekend was not easy. And not as fun as it should be. But then, they were all playing a part as per their contracts.

  Leopard skin. She had replaced his bedspread with a leopard skin.

  He wished he had a New York version of Terrance who would call up Bloomingdale’s and order him a set of six hundred-count Egyptian cotton sheets, a nice navy comforter, and a recliner. That was all he needed. That and towels that were not zebra striped. How was a man supposed to dry himself off with zebra towels?

  While he waited for the car service to arrive, a text came from Colin—the first in several days. Colin didn’t enjoy it when his partnership duties forced him to travel, even for computer-related business.

  Meeting with the Tokyo group going well. Meant to text this earlier. M. 574-555-1607. Don’t blow it.

  The car arrived with Dublin LeDuc ensconced inside. Daniel smelled her overpowering perfume before he saw her. He’d have to wait to call Amanda. He hoped the new superhero movie was good. It had better be to make up for dealing with red-carpet paparazzi. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember what role Dublin had played. He should have reviewed his memos.

  The clock changed from 11:59 p.m. to 12:00 a.m. Monday.

  She glanced at the silent phone. Not even a text. She’d left a short voicemail asking him to call, rerecording it twice. He’d gone out with six different women this weekend and not five seconds to text her. Perhaps she should have done a Summerset and slapped him after the kiss at the pond. Maybe her heart would hurt less.

  At the time, she’d thought the kiss last Saturday had meant something. He’d claimed he wasn’t a player. But she had checked this week’s date photos using an analysis program. Those photos were not manipulated. More than half of the women had kissed him in public. She didn’t even want to think about what might be happening in private. What kind of fences did they have?

  She analyzed the quote in the laundry room another way. “Good fences make good neighbors but lousy lovers.” No matter how she twisted it, the fence between them was more than chain link. If it was the old pole fence, at least they could climb through it.

  Never would she trust her heart again. Danny had grown up to be a spoiled, conceited, lying, handsome (no, scratch that) … She tried to come up with another adjective, but only things like funny, caring, and tender came to mind.

  She was yesterday’s news. No, yesterday’s news was Daniel’s countless dates, ending with some awards thing for some type of music, a perky blonde on his arm, her lips mashing his, her jewel-encrusted dress worth more than a camera.

  Six hours ago, Mr. Alexander had told her he would not be shadowing her anymore and had given her a panic button, telling her to use it even if only for the coach. Then he shook her hand and left.

  She was not going to cry. Anymore.

  She would not dream of DC.

  And the reason she wasn’t sleeping? Her foot hurt. It had nothing to do with the kiss that kept replaying in her mind as often as those she’d seen on the entertainment channels. Why was she defending him?

  The last thing she thought of as she wiped her nonexistent tears on her pillow was that Candace’s rally started at three. School got out at 3:20. Hank’s great-grandchildren would not lose his home if she could help it. She owed Daniel nothing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Daniel woke feeling disoriented. Were the steps going up or down? What kind of designer put an M. C. Escher knockoff on a bedroom wall? The same designer who had done his entire apartment over in black and white with construction-worker orange accents. The couch was at least comfortable, even if it did resemble a huge, smashed toilet-paper roll. And the desk was pure Ikea, plain and functional. He could live with it for another week. At least he didn’t have to go to court today. There had been a jury issue over the weekend, and they’d needed to choose new jurors. His phone rang. Odd. Mr. Hastings almost never called.

  He tried not to sound too blurry. “Crawford here.”

  “Sorry to bother you, but we have a problem at the Indiana property.”

  Fully alert now, Daniel sat up. “Is Amanda okay?”

  “At the moment, yes, but her chameleon-haired roommate and lawyer boyfriend have set up a rally at the mansion this afternoon.”

  “Protesting what?”

  “The sale of the property for a refinery.”

  Daniel collected his clothes from the closet. “There isn’t going to be a sale. We put out a press release.”

  “Well, they missed the local paper. We started finding flyers for the rally late last evening.”

  Daniel ran his hands through his hair and pulled his phone away from his ear to check the time. 7:43. “Let me think. Colin is en route from Japan, so he can’t help. If I can get a ticket, I should be there around two or three.” He’d talk with Candace, then he could spend an hour with Amanda.

  “We could talk to them, or you could call …”

  “No, the trial was postponed until tomorrow. And I want to see for myself how Amanda is doing.”

  “I suggest you charter a plane. Then you won’t have the drive from the airport to deal with.”

  “Probably right. I’ll let you know the details when I do.”

  Daniel stared at his phone and wished for a split second he had a New York office, but Father hated the Big Apple. Getting the apartment must have made him roll over in his grave. Daniel laughed. Perhaps the designer was karma.

  Too early in Chicago to call Bonnie, Daniel found a charter company they’d used before and hoped the last-minute flight didn’t cost him as much as he thought it would. What time did Amanda need to go to work? After he met with Candace, should he call her or go see her?

  Mandy had forgotten she had an art-department meeting. She pulled up the lane just after four to find about fifty people there, mostly college students. But she recognized a few of the older locals, too. Candace was shouting something unintelligible through a bullhorn.

  She pulled the poster board sign out the back of the Golf Ball. Keeping the sign low, she moved toward the crowd. Candace wore a cheap red-white-and-blue wig, the type a clown would wear on the Fourth of July. She started them chanting.

  “No gas here! No gas here!”

  She came over to Mandy. “What do you think?”

  “I think that is the worst wig you have ever worn and I made a mistake coming here. Look, Candace, it’s only us and some cows across the street. Did you ever talk to Colin?”

  Candace blanched. Apparently not.

  Just then, three vehi
cles came speeding down the road. Two had satellite equipment and network logos on the side. The third was an all-too-familiar truck. No. Mandy couldn’t see the inside clearly, but the driver who passed the access road to the main gate wasn’t built like Mr. Alexander or his crew. Mandy felt her heart sink a little lower. She moved away from the crowd. One of the news vans had boxed in her Golf. Mandy turned around—better to hide in the middle of the crowd. Maybe the cameras would miss her.

  The camera crews unloaded their equipment out of the van, a reporter questioned various protesters. Someone pointed toward Candace. Mandy moved to the other side of the crowd, closer to the fence, wishing it offered more protection.

  Dust rose from the road near the house.

  The truck.

  She froze for a moment, then turned her back to the fence and hunched down behind the picketers, hoping not to be seen.

  Candace’s voice rose above the crowd. “Anyone see Mandy?” Several people answered. Candace found her and tugged on her sleeve. “They have got to see your sign.”

  “No. You show it. Do you see who drove up?”

  Candace looked over her shoulder. “Why, it’s the man himself.”

  “I’ve got to get out of here. Where is your car? I can’t do another week like the last one and being on TV with him.”

  “I came with—Oh no. Too late. He’s taken an interest in your car, and now he is scanning the crowd. He isn’t smiling.”

  Mandy wished the boot off. The only way she could get lower was by sitting. “Get away from me so he won’t notice!” She pushed her roommate and the sign away.

  A reporter, microphone in hand, came to stand beside Candace. “Miss, I understand you’re the organizer of this rally?” Candace moved several yards farther away and grinned into the camera.

  The blonde reporter flashed a smile and asked her first question. “Why do you feel saving this old house is important?”

  “This house is a work of art. It deserves to be more than a photograph in an archive or a crumbled-down ruin. I was inspired by a project my roommate is creating called ‘If Only …’” Candace lifted Mandy’s poster and showed the picture of the beautifully restored mansion. “See, like this, repaired and beautified, the estate could become a great asset to our community.” Candace flipped the sign over. “But this is what a refinery would be like here.”

  Mandy wasted no time working her way to the far side of the crowd, keeping low. There were some trees on this side of the fence if she could get to them.

  The reporter studied the picture. “Where did you get this photo?”

  “My roommate created it.”

  Mandy dropped as close to the ground as her boot and skirt would allow.

  “Is your roommate here?” The reporter scanned the crowd.

  Don’t look at me, don’t look at me, don’t look—

  Several people in the crowd pointed Mandy’s direction and moved away.

  “Young lady?”

  Mandy looked up from her crouched position. When the reporter addressed her, Mandy mouthed a silent “me?”

  “Yes, you. Are you her roommate?”

  Mandy stood up and dusted off her skirt. The camera was aimed at her face. “Found my keys.” She held her key ring up. Lame.

  Candace tried to step between the eager reporter and Mandy. “Yes. It’s her MFA project. Let me tell you—” But the reporter stepped around Candace.

  “Impressive work, miss.” The reporter turned to the cameraman. “Get a shot of the sign.” She turned back to Mandy. “Why do you want to save this house?”

  “I … um … I lived near here when I was a child. And I hate to see another piece of our history morph into a parking lot or concrete structure. There are few buildings left of this style.”

  The reporter tapped the piece in her ear. I have just learned Mr. Crawford is here and will speak to us.” She turned her attention to Daniel crossing toward them through the crowd. Someone spit on him. The saliva dripped down his shirt, but he walked with purpose, giving heed to none of the jeers and insults flying around him.

  The reporter shoved the microphone in his face. “Mr. Crawford, what do you have to say about this protest?” A reporter from the other network joined her.

  Daniel focused on Mandy as he answered. “I think the protesters need to do their research and not rely on erroneous newspaper articles.”

  “Are you saying you have no intention of selling this land?”

  “The statement C & O put out Friday afternoon clearly stated I have no intention of selling this property to see it marred by a refinery. C & O is no longer conducting any business with the company credited with starting the rumor.”

  The color drained from the reporter’s face. She’d obviously neglected her research too. “Are you looking to sell your ancestral home?”

  “I have been entertaining several proposals for the future of this property, but no final decision has been made. And anyone who thinks I would sell this to make a refinery doesn’t know me very well. I already gave my word that parts of the estate would remain intact.” He dipped his head slightly in Mandy’s direction.

  The reporter whirled back to Mandy. “Aren’t you that plain Jane who enjoyed a romantic meal with Mr. Crawford last week?”

  Mandy felt the heat rise in her face. Most of the protesters stood stock-still, their signs lowered. Backed nearly to the fence, Mandy had no place to run, even if she didn’t have the boot on.

  Candace tried to step between Mandy and the reporter. “It appears we were mistaken. Our deepest apologies to Mr. Crawford. Come on, people, move out!”

  The other reporter cornered Daniel. “Mr. Crawford, do you have anything more to say?”

  Mandy felt his eyes on her, but she didn’t look up.

  “I don’t have anything to say that anyone would listen to.” He turned and walked off.

  The tenacious reporter came back to Mandy’s side. “Mandy, can you answer the question every woman has been asking all week? How did you end up on a date with Daniel Crawford?”

  “It wasn’t a date. It was a good-bye.” Mandy ducked her head and hurried after the crowd.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Daniel slipped back through the gate and into his truck. If only he had called Mandy this weekend or even texted her, he could have prevented this entire thing. He had planned to be here hours ago, but a fuel-line problem had forced him to wait for another plane. Not being able to reach Colin, he couldn’t get Candace’s number, and Amanda had been working, so he hadn’t even tried.

  He knew she’d called over the weekend, but the façade he’d worn for the dates would have cracked if he spoke to her as he wouldn’t have been able to go on the next outing or the one after that, and the “overload the paparazzi” thing was a necessary step in countering Summerset’s advances for his upcoming testimony. But from the look on Amanda’s pale face, he knew the act had cost him what might have been real.

  From the cab of the truck, he saw her sitting in the still penned-in car. He dialed her number.

  Amanda answered on the second ring. “I’m sorry. I should have stopped it.” Her voice wobbled—whether from poor reception or tears, he wasn’t sure.

  “No, I should have returned your calls. I just—I should have called.” The sound of the news van starting up echoed through the line.

  “Thanks for the bodyguard and paying my hospital bill.”

  “Not a problem. I caused both messes.” He watched her little car spring to life.

  “Good-bye, Danny.”

  His phone beeped to indicate the call had ended. He watched until the Golf drove out of sight.

  Mr. Alexander met him before he got to the door of the caretaker’s house. “You don’t want to go in there. Channel 5 is replaying the feed now. I know I am speaking out of turn here, but I have followed her all week now. I have seen her put up with a bunch of crap she didn’t ask for. Not once has she fallen apart. She spent most of Saturday an
d Sunday checking her phone for a call she never got. I’ve had several assignments as your bodyguard, sir, and I will tell you this. She is better than ten of those society girls you paraded about with all weekend. Those were real tears in her eyes, not some crocodile job the cameraman caught as she unlocked her car.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you would take me to the airport.”

  Mr. Alexander mumbled something.

  “If you called me an idiot, you have things about right. And you aren’t fired.” Daniel leaned back in his seat and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  Candace didn’t bother knocking. She just walked in and sat on Mandy’s bed. “I am sorry, Mandy. I finally found the press release buried in the financial section of Sunday’s paper. He did issue a statement.”

  “It isn’t all your fault. I could have tried harder to check too … Each new photo of someone clinging to him … I let my personal feelings cloud my judgment.” Mandy turned to hug her roommate.

  Candace pulled back from the embrace. “You need to come to the living room. Mr. Alexander is here, and they are putting through a video call.”

  “I don’t want to see him.”

  “Mr. Alexander?”

  “Daniel.”

  “Okay. Let’s go talk to Mr. Alexander.”

  Poor Mr. Alexander. Candace’s furniture was not built for his overly large frame. “Miss Fowler, I know you may not want to hear it, but I am back on bodyguard duty until Colin and Bonnie determine I am off.”

  “Did he ask you to?”

  “Yes. While we hope the news story doesn’t generate new threats, Mr. Crawford agrees it is better to be proactive this time.”

  “Do you have to go to school with me?”

  Mr. Alexander nodded. “I know my presence is distracting in the classroom. How about I check your room in the morning and hang out in the teachers’ lounge? You have your alarm, and I can be there in seconds.”

  Mandy gave a half smile. “I may call you in for my third-hour class. They behaved better on Thursday and Friday than they have all semester.”

  “Sure, I can come in if you need me. And I will be there whenever that coach might be around.”