Paradise Found

by Mary Campisi

  “Look, lady, I don't care who you are. You're not a hooker? Fine. You're Mother Teresa's niece? Great. Just take your overblown outrage and walk your little fanny out of here.” He pointed to the glass doors. “Now.”

  “Jeff sent me.”

  “Jeff? What the hell does Jeff have to do with this?” When she didn’t respond, he swung his legs over the side of the recliner and said, “Start talking.”

  “It was Jeff s idea that I come,” she said, practically spitting out the words. “I'm a psychologist. He and I are partners. He thought I could help you.”

  “Help me? With what? The last lady doctor wanted to help me by having sex. For her case study. Is that what you're after?” He crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

  “Of course not.”

  “Good. Because you've got exactly three seconds to get out of here.” Damn, Adam. Damn Jeff. Another shrink. And a woman, no less. It took her a moment to respond. He imagined her licking her lips, even though he had no idea what she looked like. Blonde, brunette, bald, it didn't matter. He was through with shrinks, especially the female variety.

  “I think we should talk.”

  She was persistent, he'd give her that. “Talk? What should we talk about?”

  “Well, we'll talk about your condition and ways to deal with it.”

  “My condition?” He took two steps in the direction of her voice. “My condition?” Couldn't anybody say the damn word? “You mean my blindness. Say it.” He was close enough to smell her citrus scent.

  “Your blindness,” she repeated.

  “And you're going to show me how to deal with it, right?” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that.”

  “Of course not. Nothing is as simple as a snap of the fingers.”

  “But that's what you're after, isn't it? Acceptance with minimal fanfare.” He didn't wait for an answer. “Sure it is. You're all the same. Forget about the sunsets and blue skies. Don't think of the beautiful woman by your side. They no longer exist for you. Just shut up and accept your plight.”

  “That's your attitude. Not mine.”

  Oh, she was a cold one. Frozen over like a glacier. That low, throaty voice of hers might turn a man's head, but it was all a trick. The woman was an ice cube. He rubbed his jaw, determined to chip away at her frosty reserve. “Have you ever lost something dear to you? Something you took for granted, thought would be around forever, and then, poof, one day it's gone?”

  “We're here to discuss you, Matthew, not me.”

  There was a definite edge in her voice, buried beneath layers of composure. Matt plowed on, “And you keep hoping, and praying that maybe it's all a bad dream and you'll wake up soon? But it isn't, and deep down, you know it, even as you barter with God and the devil at the same time, promising to do anything, give everything, if only you could have this one thing back? Even for a little while longer? But you're talking to a blank wall because no one hears you?”

  The woman made a small, muffled sound.

  “You're in it all alone, your heart gouged with grief, bleeding the pain of your loss. And you want more than anything to die, but your damned heart keeps pumping away, pushing the hurt and anguish through your tormented body, until you think you'll explode. But you don't, and that's the hell of it.” He let out a ragged sigh. “You live.”

  He was so lost in his own misery he never heard her move until the sound of the sliding glass door caught his attention. He'd known she'd retreat once he let out his emotions. They were too honest, too real, too dark for her to handle. He shrugged as he found his chair and sank into it. It didn't matter. His tactics had worked. Rex was probably loading her luggage into the limo right this minute. Matt leaned back against the soft cushions of his recliner and heaved a sigh of relief.

  ***

  Sara jerked the sliding glass door shut and gulped air. Matthew Brandon's cruel words had punctured the surface of her carefully constructed world and broken open old wounds. She had to get out of here. The man was too crass, too full of anger, the deep, visceral kind that spreads like an insidious cancer, eating away the last vestiges of humanity until nothing remains but an empty shell.

  Have you ever lost something dear to you? Oh, yes, she had wanted to scream, she knew what it was like to stare at the ceiling for days, too weak and hopeless to crawl out of bed, too full of despair to care. She could probably teach him a thing or two about pain. But she'd kept silent because that was the best course of action, especially in a direct attack like the one Matthew Brandon had launched at her.

  What bothered her most was that his words blasted her defenses, ripping holes in the wall she'd constructed as though it were made of paper. No one got through, not even Jeff, though he never stopped trying. So why had a blind man succeeded?

  Because she was vulnerable. The situation with Jeff and Nina’s baby made her think of her own child—a little baby girl lying in a tiny white casket trimmed with gold. She'd named her Rebecca. She would have been three now. Sara swiped at her cheeks and willed the memories to stop, but they bombarded her. Brian hadn't cared what name she put on the death certificate. He’d been too busy packing so he could take up residence with his new girlfriend, which he did the day Sara came home from the hospital.

  The tabloids painted Matthew Brandon as a user and a manipulator of women. Like her ex-husband. Jeff had told her the man wasn’t what he seemed, whatever that meant. She needed answers to the biggest question of all—why hadn’t Jeff told her Matthew Brandon wouldn't talk to anyone but him? Sara grabbed her cell phone and punched out Jeff’s number.

  “Good afternoon, Doctor Sander's office. May I help you?”

  “Hi, Jessie. It's me.”

  “Sara! Hey! How are you?”

  “I'm fine. How is everything?”

  “You mean since ten hours ago, when you left? Well, let's see.” Sara pictured the young woman looking at the ceiling and twirling a strand of curly red hair around her index finger. “April called to say the job interview went very well and she thinks she'll get an offer next week. She said to make sure I told you the next time I talked to you, which I didn't think would be quite so soon.”

  “Let's hope things work out for her,” Sara said. “Anybody else?”

  “Heather called. Her husband's pressuring her big-time. Roses, cards, dinner. Says he'll never look at another woman again and she wants to believe this time will be different. But”—she sighed—“he's told her that six times already.”

  “I know. Just listen to her. That's all you can do until she's ready to make a change.”

  They spent the next several minutes talking about clients, reviewing strategies, discussing probable outcomes. None of it was necessary. They'd been through it all countless times in the past several days. Jessie might be young and her light-hearted style different than Sara's more conservative one, but she was smart, dedicated, and clients loved her. She didn't need Sara to check behind her like a doting mother.

  But Sara needed the familiarity of her work right now to bring back her focus and avoid hearing the inevitable disappointment in Jeff’s voice when she told him she was coming home.

  “So tell me,” Jessie said, the excitement bubbling in her voice, “is he as handsome in person as he is in his photos?”

  “Who?” Sara asked, marveling at the other woman's constant energy.

  “How can you ask me that? Matt Brandon. Super hunk. Every woman's dream!” Her laughter filled the other end of the receiver. “Is he as handsome as his pictures?”

  Oh, God, not Jessie too. “I haven't really noticed.” She'd been so annoyed with him she couldn’t get past his words.

  Of course Jessie couldn't let it go at that. “You haven't noticed?” she squealed. “How could you not notice? He's so incredibly handsome. And sexy. And beautiful.”

  “I think I'm going to be ill.”

  “Be serious, Sara. How is he?”

  Now, there was a question. “Difficult.”

  “Really? Hmm? Wel
l, I'm sure it'll take him some time to adjust to his situation, but if anybody can do it, he can.”

  Matthew Brandon was right. Nobody could say the damn word. “You mean his blindness?”

  “Yeah.” Her tone grew serious. “What a bummer.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Those beautiful silver eyes,” Jessie said. “Looking at you, into you, through you.” She sighed. “Every picture of him makes me feel that way. Are they as breathtaking in real life?”

  “I don't know. He wears dark glasses.” This conversation was ridiculous. Jessie was too intelligent to get reeled in by a handsome face with a glib line. And a pair of silver eyes. “Jeff said he might stop by late in the day to get a little work done. Is he there?”

  “Nope. Haven't seen him.”

  “Everything okay with Nina?”

  “Yeah. The ultrasound looked good and no more bleeding.”

  “Great. Thanks, Jessie. I'll catch him at home.”

  “Sure. Keep me posted on the hunk. Okay? And if you can get him to take off those shades, look at his eyes. Real good. I bet they'll blow you away.”

  “Right. Good-bye,” With responses like Jessie's, no wonder the man had such an overblown ego. She dialed Jeff’s number and he answered on the third ring.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi, Jeff. This is Sara.”

  “Sara. Hi.” He didn't sound at all surprised to hear from her.

  “Why didn't you tell me Matthew Brandon wouldn't talk to anybody but you?”

  He ignored the question. “Is there a problem?”

  “Oh, I'd say there's a problem, all right. He kicked me out of his house. In less than fifteen minutes.” She didn’t tell him how he mistook her for a hooker. Some things were better left alone.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Worse. Why did you send me here when you knew he wouldn’t want me?”

  “Because right now Matt doesn't know what he wants. But he needs you there, irrespective of what he says or does.”

  “Would two weeks really have made that much of a difference? Couldn't he have just waited for you?”

  “No. He’s on the verge of shutting down and then nobody will be able to reach him. I need you to spend time with him, encourage him to talk. But don't let him know it's a form of treatment because if he suspects you're playing psychologist, he'll shut you out faster than you can blink.”

  “You're asking an awful lot, considering we didn't exactly hit it off.”

  “Be patient with him. He'll come around.”

  “Right. Patience.” She needed three truckloads right about now.

  “And, Sara? Thank you. I know this trip wasn’t your first choice but I really appreciate it.”

  “Just take care of Nina.” She hung up and glanced at the sliding glass doors that opened to the mystery man on the deck. Thirteen and a half more days and she could go home.

  Chapter 3

  Matt tried not to dwell on the latest casualty. He'd been pretty tough on her. It wasn't his style to be rude to women, but he’d had it with doctors expecting him to open his mouth and spew out acceptance. Well, she was gone, probably several thousand feet in the air headed due east for Pittsburgh.

  The sliding door scraped open. He really needed to have Rex put an extra lock on the door. And he would have the only key. Who was it this time? Rosa again, laden with a fresh tray of fruit or a basket of salsa with chips on the side? Or Adam, come to chew him out for scaring Little Red Riding Hood away?

  “I'm back and I'm not leaving, so save your scare tactics.”

  It was her. He lay very still, not moving a muscle.

  “Don't pretend you're sleeping either,” she said. “I've been watching you from the window and I saw you adjust your cap less than a minute ago.”

  Matt flipped his cap up and turned his head in the direction of her voice. “I thought you flew home on your broom.”

  “How could I when you so obviously need my help?”

  Her throaty voice was low. Sweet. Full of sarcasm.

  “I decided to stick around and see if I could help the lion find his courage. Or are you the tin man?” She paused. “Of course, you could definitely be the scarecrow. Yes, that would probably be you. But then again, you just might be a combination of all three. No courage. No heart. No brains.”

  He'd heard enough. “Get out.”

  “Sorry,” she said, “but I'm staying until Jeff gets here.”

  “Like hell you are.” Who did she think she was, coming into his home and telling him what she was going to do?

  “The sooner you accept the fact that I'm going to be here for the next two weeks, the better it will be for both of us.”

  “Stop treating me like a goddamned child.” He pushed himself up from the recliner to a standing position, a safe distance from where he thought she might be. “I run this show. Me.” He jabbed his thumb at his chest. “Not you, or Adam or anybody else. If I want you to leave, you leave. Got it?”

  Metal clanged against stone as the chair clattered to the ground. That unique citrus blend filled his nostrils. She was close. And most likely pissed. Good, maybe now she'd get the hell out of here.

  “Do you really think I want to be here ‘Mr. I'll do what I want to do’? Don't you think if I had a choice I'd be on my way back to Pittsburgh right now?” Her words fell out in choppy breaths but she plowed on. “Are you so arrogant that you think I would actually want to stay and help a man who hasn't an ounce of interest in helping himself?” She didn't wait for an answer, most likely didn't expect one. “Well the answer to all of the above, with the exception of the one regarding your arrogance, is an emphatic no.”

  It was obvious she didn't think much of him. Good, the feeling was mutual. Curiosity won out and he asked, “So why do you want to stay?”

  “Because I gave my word.”

  A woman with honor. How unique. Most of the ones he'd known felt honor-bound only as long as his wallet stayed open.

  She cleared her throat and said in a more even voice, “Jeff’s wife almost lost her baby. He’ll be here in two weeks, so until then, you might as well get used to me.”

  Matt rubbed the back of his neck. Damn. “I don't like you.”

  “At least we have that in common.”

  He laughed. A real laugh, not the short, fake ones he used to emphasize his irritation or the crude cynical ones he saved for the doctors, but an honest-to-God laugh. And it felt good. “Okay, let's negotiate.”

  “Fine. I promised Jeff I would stay until he can get out here. Probably two weeks, give or take a day or two.” Matt said nothing. The key to negotiation was waiting out the silence. The person who spoke first lost the edge. So he waited. “And we've got to get along.” Silence. “Or at least try to get along,” she amended, her voice lifting a notch. She was waiting for his response, but he kept his mouth clamped shut. He was actually enjoying her mounting frustration. “Matthew?” Nothing. “Aren't you going to say something?”

  She was about two seconds away from losing her cool. “Yeah. I've got something to say. The only people who ever called me Matthew were my mother and my fifth-grade teacher, Mrs. Peterson.”

  “That is not funny. Now are you going to cooperate or not?”

  “You can stay.”

  “I knew that”

  “But not as my doctor.”

  That threw her. “What do you mean?”

  He rubbed his chin. “Just what I said, Sara. You can stay, but not as my doctor.”

  “Well. Exactly what would I be staying as?”

  Man was she prickly. “Relax. I may be blind but I'm not desperate.”

  “Of all the—”

  “Hold on.” He held up his hands and backed up a step. “That didn't come out right. What I meant was that when I go to bed with a woman I have to at least like her.”

  “My, such high standards.”

  “So you have nothing to worry about.”

  “Good. Good,” she repeated in a strong
er voice. “Because I find the very idea revolting.”

  Revolting?

  “If you don't want me as your doctor or bed partner, what's left?”

  “How about just plain old Sara?”

  You would have thought he'd asked her to turn into a zombie. “I don't think I can do that. You're…” she stumbled and finished with, “my client.”

  “No, I'm not. You can stay here until Jeff comes. But you won't be following me around with a pad of paper asking questions like, ‘Tell me more,’ or ‘Would you care to expand on that?’ And definitely not, ‘How does that make you feel.’ No prying into my childhood either or asking questions about the accident or my blindness. Unless I bring it up.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?” That had been too easy. This woman didn't seem the type to give up precious bargaining ground without a fight…unless she was planning a sneak attack.

  “Yes, I won't pressure you into telling me anything you don't want to.”

  Now he was certain she was up to something. She sounded too smug, too unconcerned with his ultimatum. Let her play her little games. He had a few of his own. There was more to her than she let on and his brain needed a challenge. Who was the woman beneath the buttoned-up persona? He'd dig around, scratch the surface, maybe excavate a few old skeletons. What the hell. He had nothing else to do.

  Matt smiled. “Let's shake on it,” he said, extending his hand.

  Seconds later, cool fingertips touched his palm, flitting around like a butterfly refusing to land. Matt clamped his hand over hers, capturing her in a warm grip.

  The next two weeks might prove quite interesting.

  ***

  Sara had just enough time to unpack her clothes and freshen up for dinner. The guest room was decorated with plums and grays and splashes of cream. Classic. Rich. Perfect. The delicate scent of roses drifted to her from a large vase in the corner. Everything she'd seen so far spoke of understated elegance, from the fresh-cut flowers that adorned each room to the modern artwork that graced the walls. Even the carpeting spoke of wealth.