But somehow saying nothing makes his statement appear true.
Isn’t that what I want?
“Bristol and Darling are real, but they’re only ten,” he continues, his gaze still focused on the monsoon falling outside. “Other than them, I’m surrounded by people who are who they think I want them to be.” Now he turns to me. “Why do you think that is?”
Even with his rain-splattered shirt and wet hair, he makes a perfectly contrasted backdrop to the gray skies and falling rain. It’s almost like he’s too beautiful to be real, but he is real.
And he’s accusing his friends of not being real.
“I’m not qualified to answer that.”
Stepping away from the window he walks toward me. All of him, moving at a slow pace, giving me time to dwell on every step he takes.
Every inch of space that closes between us causes my heart to do strange things.
Like hope.
And beat faster at that hope.
The hope that one day I will love again.
He stops dangerously close to me.
Dangerous because we’ve only known each other a short time, yet he seems unbothered by the closeness.
Maybe he’s unaware?
No. His gaze says he’s not. Dark eyes in which the wall that was there at our first meeting seems to have had a brick or two knocked out of it. Like a sliver of light has entered into his eyes.
My face heats as he reaches out and tucks a strand of hair that has escaped my ponytail behind my ear.
“Thank you, Shelby. Thank you for being real and reminding me what’s important.”
The heat from my face quickly fades as the icy truth runs through me.
He has no idea who I am.
“DO YOU MIND IF I share this space with you?”
I look up from the files I’m looking through in Court’s office as I hear his voice. “No. It’s your office. Your meeting must have gone well if you are home early.”
My imposter self is sitting on the settee with my laptop on my lap and the papers, now in file folders, sitting on the coffee table.
Court walks around his desk and settles in his chair. “It did. Thanks.”
After a few moments, I realize I can sit here all day watching him work. That part of me is real.
Honest.
Maybe that’s what he’s picking up on. My realness toward him, because everything else about me is like those people he described that he surrounds himself with.
I wonder if he puts Jared in that category as well.
I would, but I haven’t been around long.
Still, there is a decisive fakeness I detect from Jared.
As I peruse the homeschool files, Court is busy working on his computer. After a few minutes, the printer starts, and I realize I’ve done more Court-gazing than perusing of the homeschool information in front of me.
Court’s cell phone rings, startling me. From his side of the conversation I learn the call is from his assistant, Susan. He asks her to hold on for a minute.
He turns to me. “I need to take this in the other room. Can you make sure these pages print okay? Sometimes if the output bin gets too full, they fall on the floor.”
“Sure.”
He nods his head and leaves the room, shutting the door behind him.
His conversation with Susan must be very private.
The sound of the printer jamming brings back memories of when I was trying to scan yesterday.
I set my laptop on the coffee table, lay the papers that have already printed on Court’s desk, and proceed to unjam the printer.
He’s printing on legal size paper, and the tray is empty.
I scour the credenza and finally find a ream of legal paper, so I load the printer and push the start button.
What looks to be a financial statement is printing, but when that finishes, copies of checks start printing.
Finding a paper clip on his desk, I clip the financial statement together, then deciding that wasting legal paper isn’t smart, I switch the paper back to letter size.
I see the checks are all made out to one vendor. Rajed Media. The checks are pretty hefty amounts.
Looking at the still-closed door, I perch on the edge of Court’s chair and pick up the financial statement.
Thankful for my financial background, I quickly find the account that is listed on the check.
Prepaid account.
Of course.
The printer quiets indicating it’s finished printing and I reach over and grab the rest of the papers.
All of which are still copies of the checks to Rajed Media. As I stack the checks, I realize the last check doesn’t have the same account number listed as the first couple of checks that printed.
No, this is another account, still a liability account, but this is an expense account.
Flipping to the expense page of the financial statement, I see the last check is cut to an expense account while some of the other checks are cut out of a prepaid account.
Strange.
Normally vendors who are set up as prepaid aren’t paid out of the expense. That might mean the expense is being charged twice. Especially if it is the same invoice.
I flip through the checks and find four more that are charged to the expense account. But there are no invoice numbers on the checks to reference back to.
Maybe that’s why Court is printing them. He knows something doesn’t look right.
A clicking sound turns my attention to the door knob, which I see turning, and I realize Court is coming back.
I scoot a away from the desk, acting like I’m straightening the stack.
He shoves his phone back into the case that is clipped to his belt and I can tell by his motions that the phone call wasn’t pleasant.
“Thank you for monitoring the printer.” His tone is clipped like he’s not thankful at all, but I’m not taking it personally.
Because he’s real.
And that’s much better than putting on an act.
Even if the act is truly how you want to be.
I stand and step back toward the window as he comes around. His agitated state doesn’t hinder the manly scent that surrounds him. I hope he doesn’t become more agitated that I changed the paper.
He picks up the stack of check copies as I scoot around and make my way back to the safety of the settee.
Leaning back in his chair, he flips the copies of the checks just like I did a few minutes ago. His expression doesn’t change, which means he’s not giving me any indication of his understanding of what he is reading.
He clips the check copies to the financial statement.
The gray of the day has crept into the room, into the atmosphere. In fact, it might be stormier in here than it is outside at the moment.
Court stands and lays the papers on his desk. “I need you to come with me.”
It must be my crazed expression that has him add a “please” to his request.
“Please? I’ll explain in the car.”
“Okay.”
Closing my laptop, I follow him out of the office.
Within minutes we are heading down the main road of the subdivision, neither of us saying a word.
As we turn right out of the subdivision, I see a car that looks like Jared’s pulling into the subdivision.
“Hey, isn’t that—”
Court guns the engine as he turns right, and I hesitate before finishing my question.
I point my thumb toward the back of Court’s SUV. “That looked like Jared’s car.”
“It was.”
Court’s answer makes it more than clear why we are leaving his house. The empty roadway in front of us apparently gives him the license to drive fast, but then he mutters something about the rain and slows his speed to a respectable pace.
All of these driving skills have me questioning why he doesn’t drive on the racetrack.
My other question?
Why are we avoiding Jared?
WE PULL INTO AN almost empty parking lot by the water. Rain is still misting as gray skies hover. All of which appear to match Court’s mood. We sit in silence in the parking lot for a minute, the SUV still running, cranking out the cold air that is fogging the windows.
Or maybe it’s the heat from Court’s anger.
Or whatever emotion it is that has us acting like runaways.
Runaways from our own home.
Even though it’s only my temporary home, it’s still my home.
“You probably think I’m crazy.”
His voice slices through the frosty air, not really demanding an answer, but not rejecting one either.
“Not crazy. Just bothered by something.”
His hands still grasp the steering wheel. It’s as if letting go would indicate he was ready to let go of whatever emotion is driving him.
No pun intended.
But something has to give and I’m not sure he even knows what that something is. “Do you want to get out? Walk around a bit? The air might do us some good.”
I say us like this is our problem.
“It’s still raining,” he says, his grip still tight on the wheel.
“I won’t melt. And neither will you. You proved that this morning.”
His knuckles shift slightly, like he might be considering my suggestion. His right hand pushes the button that turns off the engine. “Come on.”
We exit his ride, the air thick with humidity. He shoves his hands in his pocket and it’s only then I realize he’s still in dress clothes.
Expensive dress clothes I’m sure.
My jeans and blouse will recover from the wet.
I hope his clothes do the same.
They’re probably dry clean only.
His dress shoes look like they are in a foreign country as they traipse over the wet gravel lot. Specks of wet gravel dust quickly splatter across the black shine, but I doubt he even notices.
I wonder why I do.
Because I’m doing everything I can to keep from looking at his face. Looking into maybe more bricks being pushed out of the walls that are his eyes.
The more his eyes reveal, the more I become drawn into who he is and what his hurts are.
It’s evident to me Court is a man of hurts.
“It’s complicated.”
I know he’s talking to himself as well as to me. “I’m sure.”
“You’re so very different from her.”
I almost misstep as I walk. Me? This emotional upheaval he’s dealing with has to do with me?
Impossible.
We step onto a boardwalk. An almost deserted boardwalk. There are a couple of people hanging in the mist like we are. The wind is blowing, providing relief from the thick air, and I’m glad I have my hair pulled back.
Benches to our left beg to be sat on, but their seats, damp from the rain, stop any thoughts of sitting. Court’s dress shoes thump against the wood of the boardwalk, probably a sound not heard much here.
“When MaryLeigh died, I thought that was it for that part of my life. I didn’t want to marry again, didn’t want to fall in love again. I thought Bristol, Darling and I would have a great life together. Just us three.”
Now I wish I had something to hold onto. “You guys do have a great life together, don’t you?” Did he say fall in love?
“I don’t know about it being great. I know I work a lot. I know the girls miss me, because I miss them.”
“You are running three businesses. It is three, isn’t it?”
He nods. “Yeah. Three.”
“That’s not easy. Don’t be too hard on yourself. I’m sure the girls understand.”
“How can they when I barely understand it?”
At least we have left talking about his love life. Or the promise of him never having another one. Whew. That was a scary topic there for a minute. “On some level they know you have to work. Money doesn’t grow on trees.”
The breeze continues to blow, making his shirt ripple, accentuating his abs.
Now that I’ve seen them with my own eyes, I have no trouble imagining what’s inside his shirt.
“That call I received? It was from Susan.”
“Susan your secretary?” Dale had a secretary.
Dale.
I haven’t thought about him in a while.
Could it be? Am I healing from his crazy words which brought me heartbreak?
“She called to tell me Jared was on his way over.”
“So why did we have to leave?”
His expression looks pained at this point. So much so that I blurt out, “You don’t have to tell me. I’m being nosy.”
Scents of fried food from the faithful vendors mingles with the mist and Court’s angst as our steps slow. Court stops then turns to me.
“Jared has always wanted everything I have. And now it seems he wants my nanny.”
MINISTRY
“WHAT?” THIS MIST has turned into a light sprinkle, and I wipe my eyes.
“Susan said he spent half the time he was at work today singing your praises and talking about how beautiful you are and bragged how quickly he landed a date with you.”
“It’s not a date.”
“Perception is everything.” His tone is matter of fact.
And he’s right. I didn’t think or care how Jared viewed my acceptance. I might have to unaccept.
That would be awkward.
Awkward like standing here in the rain with Court.
“I’ll tell him I can’t go. I don’t want this to interfere with my job or the man who hired me.” I smile as I say this last part, even though I still don’t understand why Jared talking me up to Susan would cause such a reaction in Court.
Unless it’s a pattern Court is tired of. I decide to find out. “Do you always feel like you’re having to defend what’s yours? Not that I’m yours. Geez. That came out all wrong.” I turn away from him and slowly start walking back toward his SUV.
“Shelby, wait.”
The way he says my name makes me like my name. Or maybe I just like my name said with all the angst that’s brewing inside Court. But I do as he says.
I wait.
It’s only moments before he’s next to me. His face searches mine. “This is crazy, isn’t it? Us standing here in the rain like this?”
I laugh. “It is.”
“The Jared thing. I’m used to it. I’m used to him. What I’m not used to is the way I feel right now.”
“Meaning?”
“Jealous. For the first time in a long time, I feel jealous.”
Court’s revelation heats my face.
“I know, it’s crazy. You think I’m crazy.”
“I don’t know what to think.”
“Think on this. Let’s have dinner.”
I want to ask him if he’s asking me on a date, but I don’t dare. Date? Confession time? I’m confused.
But I’m there. “Okay.”
I’VE SHOWERED, MY hair is in big curlers that I brought on a whim and I’m standing in front of my closet wishing I had brought other clothes on a whim.
Bristol’s words play through my mind. That’s ugly.
The ten-year-old was right and has impeccable taste in clothing, I’m now thinking.
Fun. What did I bring that is fun?
Then I pull a cease-fire on all these thoughts. This whole dinner thing is crazy anyway. Court probably asked me to dinner simply to make Jared angry.
Great.
I’ve come six-hundred-plus miles to escape heartbreak only to become a pawn in a power struggle between two best friends.
In a move that I know is defiant, I pull out a plain black blouse and a gray pair of slacks. Pulling everything on and buttoning everything up I look in the mirror.
Perfect.
Absolutely nothing sexy or flirty with this outfit.
I pull the curlers out of my hair, embarrassed that I even put them in to begin with. Brushing as hard as I can, I finally put my h
air up in a bun when I realize a couple of strands have escaped, proof that the curls refuse to be totally tamed.
Pawn indeed.
Slipping my feet into black ballet flats, I think about toning down my makeup, but the clock reveals I don’t have time.
I gaze into the full-length mirror, satisfied with my attire and look. If Court was looking for a sexy date to make Jared mad, he’s going to be disappointed.
If he asked me out for me, well, this is who I am.
Or rather, who the world thinks I am.
COURT ISN’T IN the kitchen. I look into the living room, and he’s not there either.
Glancing at my phone I see it’s six o’clock. The time he said we would leave. My soft-soled shoes don’t make any noise as I walk to the office. The door is open, so I peek in. Court is staring at his desk with a perplexed expression on his face.
He’s holding the stack of papers he had printed earlier.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
Setting the papers down on the desk, he starts toward the door. “Yes. I thought I remembered leaving the papers on the left side of the desk, but I guess not.”
I can tell he’s talking more to himself than he is to me, but that doesn’t stop me from responding. “You did. They were right by your mouse.”
“That’s what I thought. But when I came in here just now they were sitting here.”
He points to where the papers are sitting.
“That’s weird.” It’s then I notice Court’s attire. He’s in a beige, loose button-up shirt, that’s got a wrinkled-on-purpose look, brown shorts, and brown slip-on shoes.
Totally casual.
And as I’m checking out his sportswear, he’s checking out my non-sportswear.
Tilting his head to the right with a glimpse of his smile emerging, he nods. “I like the outfit. Very classy. But since the weather has pushed out, I thought we might have dinner on the boat. My bad. Sorry I didn’t mention that when I asked. If that’s not to your liking we can do something else.”
I run my hand down my slack-clad leg. “No. Dinner on a boat sounds fun. I’ll, uh, I’ll go change. Be right back.”
Quickly scanning my wardrobe through my mind, I’m wondering what I brought that would work for this dinner. I did bring a couple of pair of shorts, so I pull them out. I slip on the denim pair and a white tank top, then pull on a long-sleeved white sheer cover up. I also kick off the ballet flats to slip my feet into a worn pair of flip-flops.
Rich in Faith (Richness in Faith, Book 3) Page 8
