by Jacie Floyd
Molly folded her hands demurely in her lap. “And maybe one or two others.”
“Right, well, let’s get back to this so-called spiritual—”
“Uncle Gabe, look! Granddad and I drew a picture of a dinosaur for you. A pink T-rex. She has really big teeth and a long tail. Pink’s a pretty color, isn’t it, Uncle Gabe?”
A little girl with long dark curls and the face of an angel bounced into the room, secure in her welcome—until she spotted Molly. The tyke skidded to a halt and then started back peddling. A solemn expression moved across her winsome features. “I didn’t know you had company.”
“That’s all right, precious. This isn’t business company.” Gabe’s eyes lit up with a genuine smile for the child. “Come and meet my friend. Molly, meet my niece, Chloe. She’s six. Chloe, this is Miss Webber.”
“Hi, Chloe.” Molly had enough experience with six-year-olds to know not to get too close and overwhelm the child. “I like your dinosaur. The polka dots are a nice touch.”
“Thank you, Miss Webber,” Chloe ducked her chin and gave Molly a wide berth as she hurried around the desk and climbed into her uncle’s lap. He scooted his chair back, making room for her.
“You can call me Molly, if it’s all right with your uncle.”
Chloe placed the drawing on the desk, and looked up at Gabe. “Is it okay?”
“Sure, pumpkin.” He admired the pink dinosaur with purple toenails and red eyes.
“Okay, Molly.” Chloe nodded before announcing, “It’s against the rules to have friend company at the office.”
“That’s your mommy’s rule, not mine.” Gabe tweaked the child’s nose. “But I’d make an exception for this friend anyway. She has some important news for Granddad. Do you know where he is?”
“Uh-huh, he’s washing his hands.” She dropped her voice to confide, “They’re messy. We got markers on him.”
“You did, huh? Would you ask him to come here when he’s done, baby cakes?”
“Kiss first?” She puckered up and leaned toward him.
“Kiss first.” The two smacked lips.
Chloe hopped down. “I’ll go tell him. He isn’t wearing his ears.”
“Remind him to put them on,” Gabe told her as she dashed from the room.
Molly sat up straighter while the pieces fell into place. “Your grandfather wears a hearing aid?”
“Only when he wants to,” Gabe said. “Which translates into not very often.”
“Were you talking to him on the phone the other day? And last night in Mom’s driveway?”
“I think so, why?”
“Well, you were yelling at someone on the phone.” She tried to keep the accusation out of her tone. “It played ‘When You Wish Upon A Star,’ before you answered it.”
“Definitely Granddad then.”
“Are you sure?”
He shrugged. “‘When You Wish Upon a Star’ is the family ringtone. Everyone but Harold uses it, but it was probably Granddad.”
Molly let her skepticism show.
“I don’t normally yell at anyone else. They can all hear, and they usually do what I tell them. Most of them do anyway. Most of the time.”
“You yelled at Terry.”
His fingers drummed on his desk. “Not really, not yelling. Just disagreeing. Disapproving, maybe. Objecting, definitely. Forcefully, but not yelling.”
“Since you brought it up, why were you objecting so, uh, forcefully?”
“Terry knows the office dress code.” He frowned. “We’ve had that discussion before.”
“Hello, hello, hello.” An elderly sprite wearing a bright orange Hawaiian shirt with yellow flowers and green-checked pants strode into the office, rubbing his hands together. Molly assumed the purple cat whiskers drawn across his cheeks were the result of Chloe’s artistic expression.
“The little princess says we have company. ‘Pretty company,’ I believe were her exact words, but I see she understated the case. Not merely pretty, but gorgeous, beautiful, heavenly company.” The old man didn’t just smile with his mouth. Every part of his face looked merry. Molly warmed to him instantly.
“Speaking of appropriate dress code.” Gabe shook his head over his grandfather, but she could see that the disapproval was all hype, not fact. “Molly, this is my grandfather, Elliot Shaw.”
The old man took her hand with a courtly bow and a distinct twinkle in his eyes. “My pleasure.”
“Mine, too,” Molly said.
“Now, I have one warning for you.” He leaned in close. “Don’t listen to a thing Gabe says when it comes to his family. He’s definitely prejudiced. And sometimes, in the wrong direction. Nothing about me is inappropriate, least of all my clothes. I’m just colorful.”
“Orange is one my favorite colors,” Molly said. “You’d brighten up anyone’s day.”
The enchanting Mr. Shaw took the liberty to wink at her behind Gabe’s back, his handsome eyes a mirror of his grandson’s. The features were older and sported a few lines and wrinkles, but they obviously shared a gene pool. “And you smell delicious. Are you here about the provenance for the Sleeping Lotus?”
“Yes. I think I’m finally on the right track. Look what I brought with me today. My grandmother—”
Gabe’s desk phone buzzed. He raised the receiver and did some more of that forceful disapproving-disagreeing-objecting he’d admitted to. “What! He’s what? When? For God’s sake, Terry, get away from the lobby. I’ll send someone up to replace you.” He turned to his Granddad. “Where’s Sierra?”
“Physical therapy.”
“Where’s Uncle Harold?”
“Uh, he’s not here.”
Gabe narrowed his eyes. “Where is he?”
“You don’t want to know.”
He sucked in a deep breath and continued naming names. “Lenny?”
“At the hospital.”
“Okay, stay calm.” He dragged his hand down his face, erasing whatever emotions threatened to emerge. “Who else is here?”
“Besides you, me, Terry, and Chloe? Dominic just came in.”
“I guess it’s too much to hope he’s not dressed like a serial killer, isn’t it?”
“He’s not wearing his black trench coat, but he does have on a lot of black leather and heavy metal. The strip of green spray paint in his hair adds a cheerful touch, but I’m guessing that’s not the look you’re going for.”
At Gabe’s pained expression, the grandfather stepped up and placed his hand on Gabe’s shoulder. Gabe took a second to brush his strong, young fingers over the older gnarly ones. The simple gesture of solidarity between the two men touched Molly’s heart.
“Don’t get bent out of shape, son. Whatever’s happened, we’ll handle it. Tell me what’s up.”
“Quigley’s on his way here. Now.”
Elliot Shaw’s mouth turned down in a grimace—made comical by the purple whiskers. “That airbag?”
“Who’s Quigley?” Molly asked.
“Our biggest client. Our newest client.” Hints of panic frayed Gabe’s calm tone. “And he’s a real pain in the elbow.”
“He didn’t have an appointment?” Granddad asked.
“No, he was in the area and decided to drop in. He told Terry he’d be here in about ten minutes.” Gabe paced and glanced at his watch. “More like five, now.”
“Good thing you stayed up all last night restoring the program that crashed,” Granddad said. “Is everything back in running order?”
“It’s as good as it’s going to get in the next two minutes. But you know what a dry old stick he is. I don’t want him seeing Terry dressed in that Marilyn Monroe getup.”
Molly had watched their exchange from the sidelines. It wasn’t her place to speak up, but she guessed Gabe might be overreacting. “Are you kidding? Leave Terry exactly where she is. Quigley might be as tight-laced as a Victorian corset, but if he’s a man, he’ll salivate when Terry bats her eyelashes his way.”
“That�
�s all good,” Gabe said, “as long as Quigley’s not tempted to touch anything he shouldn’t.”
“What are you worried about? Sexual harassment?”
“No, I’m worried about the conservative old blowhard coming up with a handful of the wrong thing.”
“Wrong thing?” Molly blinked, trying to imagine how anything about Terry could be the wrong thing when the realization washed over her. Tall. Big hands. Big feet. Low, husky voice. Heavy makeup. “Like what?”
“Like hairy chest or male genitalia.” Gabe looked pained as he spit the words out.
“Terry? Glamorous, voluptuous Terry is a—a—” Molly’s mind drew a blank on the appropriate politically correct description.
“Transvestite,” Granddad provided.
“Cross-dresser,” Gabe confirmed.
“Jiminy, that’s amazing. He’s really good at it.” Molly laughed at how completely she’d been fooled. But she could see from the tension in Gabe’s face and shoulders that he found the situation humorless. “And I wondered what you were mad about.”
“He can dress however he wants on his own time, but not here. When you work in an office, especially this office, you never know what’s going to happen. And I do not want a man who holds my financial future in his chubby little hands disapproving of or drooling over my all-male cousin,” Gabe went on. “Either response is bound to get my butt fired from the best-paying job we have this month.”
“I’ll replace Terry,” Granddad volunteered. “I’m better than Terry if you’re worried about making the right impression on old man Quigley.”
“Perfect. You always come through for us.” Gabe hustled him toward the door. “Go wash that ink off your face, pronto, then send Terry home before Quigley gets here.”
The old man clapped his fingers to his cheeks and felt around. “Ack! I forgot. I already tried to wash it off, but it’s indelible.”
Gabe closed his eyes and cursed. “Okay, out of options. It’ll have to be me.” He pulled a tie off a coatrack in the corner and tossed it around his neck before retrieving a blazer from the closet. “Quigley may think it’s odd, but at least he won’t think we’re crazy, kinky or depraved. When God knows, all of us are at least one of the three.”
“Wait.” Granddad stopped Gabe as he moved toward the door. “What about Molly?”
“Yeah, what about me?” Molly perked up, willing and eager to take that panicked look off Gabe’s face.
“It’s weird to be saying this, but I don’t have time for the Sleeping Lotus now.” Gabe threw her an apologetic look. “You’ll have to wait, or come back later.”
“No, I mean, what about Molly taking Terry’s place? Quigley won’t know she doesn’t work here.”
Gabe looked torn.
Molly took offense at his lack of enthusiasm. “Hey! Your grandfather’s right. I can do it. I may not look my best, but I’m presentable enough and resourceful enough to fake being a receptionist for a few minutes.”
Gabe took her by the shoulders and looked her over, slowly. The smile reached his eyes before it reached his mouth. But before long, his lips followed suit. “God knows, you’re more than presentable, but I hate to drag you into the family circus.”
“I’m offering you my help.” She met the look in his eyes straight on. “If I were you, I’d accept it, and say thank you.”
He hesitated for not more than a second. “You’re right.” He surprised them both by dropping a quick kiss on her mouth. She licked her lips, savoring the brief taste of him. “Thank you.”
Then, he took her by the hand to lead her to the reception area. “Terry, hurry and show Molly what buttons to push, then take a hike.”
Gabe hovered while Terry gave her a thirty-second crash course in receptionist and telephone etiquette. Molly had a pink cardigan in her tote. She slipped it on over her T-shirt. Gabe ducked out of sight, and Terry swept out of the office just as two men in suits entered. And just as Molly had predicted, the old man’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head as he watched Terry strut her—er, his stuff out the door.
“Of course, Mr. Quigley.” Gabe ushered the man and his nephew out of his office a half-hour later. “Great to see you and Roland, too. Drop by anytime.”
“Good thing you’ll be able to install the new programs by the end of the next week,” Quigley growled. “I expected you to balk at moving the launch date up.”
“No problem. We’re very flexible here at Contact Communications.” Gabe stayed calm and steady on the outside, but his ulcer burned a hole in his gut. It wasn’t like the wealthy old tyrant had given him any choice. Next week, or forget about it, he’d said. Gabe was all-too tempted to go with the forget-about-it option, but his gaze had landed on Chloe’s dinosaur picture. Knowing he’d do anything in his power to keep that little girl safe and happy with a roof over her head, he caved in to the unreasonable demand.
Sleep was overrated, after all. He hadn’t gotten any the night before. No point in getting any more than the minimum daily requirement during the next week. “I would have suggested it myself, but I wasn’t sure your people would be ready.”
“They’ll be ready if I tell them to be ready.” The old man’s gravelly voice sounded like a foghorn belching out a warning.
“I’m sure they will.” As they reached the waiting room, Molly’s presence behind the reception desk gave him a jolt of unexpected reassurance. And pleasure.
“This is a nice young lady,” Quigley said to Gabe, before turning to Molly. “What’s your name, missy?”
Gabe fought the urge to place a proprietary hand on Molly’s shoulder. Only notions of proper office etiquette and political correctness compelled him to keep his hands to himself while he introduced them.
“How long have you been working for this operation?” Quigley barked at Molly.
“Not long,” she said.
“How do you like it?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Best job I’ve ever had.”
“Are you married?”
“No, sir, are you?”
Red suffused the grump’s cheeks at Molly’s sassiness, but he sputtered out a laugh. “Yes, ma’am, I am. For nearly forty years now. But my nephew Roland here is single.”
Gabe nearly choked to keep himself from objecting, but Molly looked down demurely.
“You two should get together.” Quigley issued the suggestion like an order.
Gabe stepped up to disrupt the heavy-handed matchmaking. But Roland, who hadn’t spoken ten words since their arrival, rose to the occasion. “Don’t put her on the spot like that, Uncle. I’ll find my own woman.”
“You haven’t so far.”
“I haven’t been in town that long. Give me a chance to settle in. For all we know, Molly’s seeing someone.” He raised his eyebrows at her, inviting confirmation.
“Yes, I am. It’s very serious.” Her eyes twinkled. “I’m expecting him to pop the question any day now.”
“Bah! Should have known.” Quigley made a negligent wave of his hand. “Might want to keep Roland in mind if it doesn’t work out.” The old man turned to go and plowed into Sierra and her wheelchair entering the office.
“Blast!” Quigley jostled Sierra and the carryout containers in her lap. When he straightened up by bracing his hands on her shoulders, the sacks slipped to the floor. Cardboard lids came off aluminum containers, spewing pasta, cheese, and meat sauce at his feet. “I didn’t see you standing—er, sitting—er, rolling in. Shouldn’t you have a horn on that thing to let people know you’re behind them?”
Gabe went to Sierra’s side while Roland steadied the old man.
“You all right?” Gabe asked his sister.
“Sure.” She shrugged, but winked at Gabe. “I shouldn’t have been sneaking up on Mr. Quigley. Sorry to bump into you like that, sir.”
“Hmmph.” He adjusted his jacket and leaned forward to check his shoes for marinara-spatter. “Come on, Roland. Let’s go.” He stepped over Sierra’s dinner without a second glanc
e.
The nephew appeared less clueless than old man Quigley. “Just a minute, Uncle.” Roland picked up one of the dripping containers and looked to Sierra. “Your dinner’s ruined.”
“Put it in here.” Molly brought out a trash can from behind the desk. The younger Quigley dropped the mess in it. He wiped his hands on the paper towels she handed him, but his attention never wavered from Sierra.
Gabe found it interesting that his sister’s cheeks took on a glowing shade of pink he hadn’t seen there before.
Sierra demurely dropped her eyes. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”
Gabe helped Molly remove the rest of the carryout from the floor while Roland leaned against the desk and chatted with Sierra. “It smells delicious. Did you make it?”
“Not hardly.” Sierra’s bangle bracelets tinkled in merry accompaniment to her laughter. “It’s from Mamma Leone’s Authentic Italian down the block.”
Roland smiled at her with a glint of more than fleeting interest, and Gabe scowled, not certain what he thought of that. He’d encouraged her to develop a social life, sure, but it was entirely different when the possibility stood right in front of him. He’d never stand in the way of her dating again if that’s what she wanted, but was Roland Quigley the best the world had to offer her? The shadow of an obnoxious toad with no personality of his own?
“Do you work here?” Roland asked.
“You could say that.” Sierra looked to Gabe for an introduction.
“She more than works here. Sierra’s my sister and business partner. Sierra, meet Roland Quigley.”
“Good Lord,” Sierra said, “that’s really your name? It sounds like a mechanical part. The winkel sprocket. The rotating widget. The roland quigley.”
“That’s right, make fun of my name. I’m used to it. You’re not the first to suggest my mysteriously essential qualities should come with a patent.” He slipped his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “But coming from you? Someone named Sierra? I’d say you don’t have room to talk. What’s your last name? Nevada? Madre?”
