by Molly Wens
The camera zoomed once more, tightening on his face. Carissa could feel the heat of his gaze as if he were in the room with her. “Yes. I'd like to say that I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner. It took me a long time to find my way, but I'm here to stay now."
Bryce disappeared from the screen, replaced by Ashley as she read from the script on the prompter. Carissa sat frozen as the news show cut away to commercial, her heart fluttering in her breast as she tried to get her mind to translate the meaning behind his words and the messages in his eyes.
"Bryce,” she whispered in bewilderment. She turned to look at the amazed face of her mother. “Mama, what am I going to do?"
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 22
Carissa asked again, “Mom, what am I going to do?” She was still feeling the passionate heat she had seen in Bryce's eyes as they gazed at her from the television set.
The kids, fed and tucked in for the night, the dishes done, both women sat on the couch facing each other and discussing the day's events. Even though Bryce had been on television more than two hours before, Carissa hadn't heard from him. She kept reminding herself that she was unlisted, and it would be difficult for him to locate her.
After the way she had acted earlier at the station, she did not know if he would go to the trouble of trying to find her—but that was not what he had said on the news. With no way of knowing where he was staying, she had little hope of finding him.
"You could call Chris, see if he knows where Bryce is staying,” Alice suggested.
"I tried,” Carissa answered dourly. “He didn't pick up. Left him a message. I just know he's avoiding me. I'll bet he's afraid I'm going to chew his ass."
"I'm sure,” returned Alice, one finely arched eyebrow lifting. “Just keep trying to get hold of him. I think this might be where you reap what you sow."
"Thanks, Mom,” Carissa muttered. She flipped her hair out of her eyes and sighed, “I know I blew up at him, but I hate being used like this. Why did this mess have to be my fifteen minutes of fame?"
Alice was just about to respond when the phone rang—again—causing both women to jump skittishly at the sound. Checking the caller ID, she saw that it was a Baltimore number. She groaned, “Jesus, it's Mike Claire.” Carissa grabbed at the receiver before taking a deep breath, forcing herself to be calm. “Hello,” she snapped.
"Carissa James?” the demanding, masculine voice at the other end asked.
She felt her heart sinking with bitter disappointment, wishing it had been Bryce. “Yeah?"
She had become suspicious about answering the phone since her return from the mountains. Her unlisted number had somehow gotten into the hands of some members of the national media, their calls coming at the most unexpected moments. They used countless tricks to get her to answer, and she wasn't unsure if this might be one of them. It had been especially bad this evening, since Bryce had gone on TV. She was certain that the national media had the full story by now.
"Mike Claire, here. I'd like to talk to you about Tom Mavis,” the terse voice returned.
Carissa flopped back on the couch, irritation showing itself in the frown on her face. “I hope you'll forgive me, Mr. Claire, but I really don't want to talk to you or anyone else from Claire-Smith. In case you weren't informed, you people approved my dismissal. I don't work for you anymore."
"No, we didn't, Carissa,” he snapped. “That's what I wish to discuss with you."
Carissa's brows shot up, surprise registering in her expression a moment before a wicked smile danced across her lips. She caught Alice's eye with her sudden movement as she bolted upright. “Is that so? You mean he acted without authority? Why doesn't that surprise me?” She signaled to her mother to pick up the extension.
"Yes, well, I'd like to hear your side. What transpired today? What was the conversation you had with Mavis?” the man asked, his voice tightly controlled.
"Basically, he told me that I'm a whore and he didn't want me working in his station anymore."
"Did he actually use that word?"
Carissa let out a harsh laugh. “Oh, hell no. He danced around it, just as he always does about everything. I believe he said something to the effect of my being a distraction to my fellow employees in light of my recent ‘escapades’ with ‘a man of questionable morals'. I don't mind telling you, Mr. Claire, it really pissed me off, considering that those ‘escapades’ were the result of a trip that your company sent me on, and that the whole business nearly cost me my life.” She paused only long enough to catch her breath before rushing onward. “You people sent me up there, unprepared, without protection, with no one to meet me at the airport—just sent me off on a wild goose chase. I was beaten, almost raped, left to freeze to death in a mountain blizzard, separated from my family for two months—and then I come back to a firing squad."
"Carissa,” Claire fairly snapped. “We didn't send you off at all. It was Mavis. I shouldn't be telling you this, but he was supposed to take that trip. Instead, he pushed it off on you. The man was already in trouble before you were found. I want you to know that this will be the last straw with him. We intend to take him to task for this."
"Oh really,” Carissa sneered. “I'll believe that when I see it. In the meantime, you should know that I'm considering legal action for the discrimination, and for putting my life in jeopardy."
"That is certainly your right, Carissa, and to be honest, I don't blame you. I only ask that you wait for the outcome of our actions. You will be taken care of, and so will Mavis. I want you to consider yourself to still be employed with the company, with all pay and benefits. Please, just enjoy the holiday with your family, and let us handle this mess."
"I want to ask you something. If you were in the dark about this, how did you find out about it now? It's not like anyone is in their offices at this hour."
There was a momentary pause before the CEO of the Claire-Smith Broadcasting Group answered. “The interview your young man gave tonight was broadcast live to all sixty-four CS stations, as well as CNN."
Carissa moaned, the sound ending on a frustrated growl. “That's just grand. I just love having my life slapped out there for the entire world to scrutinize."
"Well, we do appreciate it, Carissa. It's a truly amazing story—your survival against absolutely astronomical odds. Most would have given up, let alone, had the intelligence and tenacity to survive everything you did. There will be many, many people talking about your exploits. And again, I want you to know how sorry I am that you were put through all that."
"I'd thank you but I'm still pissed off at you,” Carissa retorted. She knew that she should watch her mouth since he had just handed her career back to her, but what she wanted was to tell him where to go.
Mike Claire guffawed loudly, the sound nearly puncturing Carissa's eardrum as she pulled the phone away from her head. “I can understand that,” he said, chuckling. “I spoke with your Mr. Matheney tonight. He's a good man, and I think the two of you have a bright future together.” He gave her no chance to respond as he added, “I want you to take a couple more weeks off, as well, to give us time to sort all this out. Don't speak to anyone about this conversation, and whatever you do, don't speak to Mavis. You let us take care of him."
"Trust me, talking to him is the last thing I want."
"Good. We might just borrow that dog of Matheney's to finish the job on Mavis. Were you really trapped with that beast?"
Carissa, laughing, responded, “Yes, and he's a sweet puppy. I agree with Bryce about his ability to judge character, though. He doesn't think too highly of your station manager."
"I may have to put the animal on the payroll in Human Resources. We might have better luck with our hires. You rest and take care of your family. I'll call you in a few weeks."
"All right, Mr. Claire, thanks for calling."
"Call me Mike,” he chirped. “Talk to you later."
The phone went dead, leaving Carissa to contemplate what had just
transpired. Unless she missed her guess, Mavis was about to be handed his hat, and shown the door. She allowed herself a moment as a mental image of the arrogant ass being told his services were no longer needed conjured itself in her head.
"Well, that was certainly interesting,” Alice said, standing in the kitchen doorway, her hands resting on her hips. “Seems your old station manager over-stepped his bounds."
Carissa grinned at her mother, reveling in the moment of triumph. If only all her problems could be so easily solved, she could relax and finally get some sleep. With a sigh, she sobered, thinking of all the hurdles yet ahead.
Where was Bryce? How was she going to be able to find him? Standing, she walked to the kitchen and pulled the phone book from a drawer.
"Who are you calling?” Alice asked, her curiosity evident as she poured herself a glass of water.
"Every hotel and motel in town. I have to find him, Mom."
"Why don't you try Chris again? If he still doesn't answer, call his wife."
"Good idea,” Carissa answered, pulling the phone off the wall hook.
Alice returned to the front room, settling on the couch, switching the stereo on to listen to the soft tones of jazzy Christmas tunes as her daughter dialed, disconnected and dialed again. After a few moments, she heard a frustrated growl from the kitchen, guessing that there was still no answer.
"Karen's not even picking up. I'm telling you, there's a conspiracy. He's punishing me, they all are, that's what it is,” Carissa muttered as she joined her mother on the couch, cordless phone and directory in hand. She opened the book, flipping through until she found the listing for hotels in the yellow pages.
"Would you like me to help you with that?” her mother asked sweetly. “I'll get my cell phone.” She left the room in search of her purse, returning with it in hand and pulling out her little phone.
"Thanks, Mom. I'll start with the ‘A's’ you take ‘B'.” They each dialed their respective phones, going down the listings in the book, and getting little cooperation from the hotels’ switchboards. The staff at all of them had refused to confirm or deny if the man was staying there, stating that she needed a room number in order to be privy to that information. She had finally started plainly asking to speak with a guest named Bryce Matheney by the time she had gotten to the letter ‘C'.
It wasn't until Carissa had gotten to the number for the Crowne Plaza that she found any measure of success. As she asked to speak with Bryce, the slightly nasal voice at the other end fairly squealed at her.
"Carissa, baby, is that you?” he asked.
"Yes, who ... Rodney?"
"Yes. Honey, I'm so glad you're all right. We all missed you at the station. When are you coming back? Hey, I saw that man of yours on the TV tonight. Man, is he in love with you. Did you know he's staying here? Damn, girl, he's hot."
Carissa laughed at her friend. In the years that he had worked mornings at the television station as a part time studio camera operator, she had never been able to get a word in edgewise. He worked four jobs, doing various tasks, and still had the energy of ten people. “Rodney, slow down. I need to talk to Bryce Matheney, can you connect me to his room?"
"Oh, fine. You disappear without a word for two months and worry us all sick, and then when you get back you don't have time to speak to me. Well, that's just grand, sunshine. Merry Christmas to you too."
Carissa rolled her eyes. “Rodney, sweetie, you know I love you, but this is an emergency. I really need to talk to him."
"You know I'm just playing with you. I'll put you through. Just hang on. You're so impatient.” There was silence on the line before he came back. “CJ, bad news. He's not answering. He must be out. You want to leave a message?"
Sighing, she shook her head, “No, Rod. Thanks. I'll give you a call tomorrow or something, and we can catch up."
"Well, I won't hold my breath,” he huffed. “If I had a man like that to keep me busy, I sure as hell wouldn't be calling anyone. Talk to ya later, CJ."
Carissa, disappointed and discouraged, turned back to her mother. “Well, I found out where he's staying, but he's not in. It's after 10:00 now, Mom. Where can he be?"
"I don't know, honey, but I'm going to bed. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and the kids will be heathens. I suggest you get some rest, too."
* * * *
"Not at this hour, son,” Donnan intoned, adamantly. “You can't go barging into a woman's house in the middle of the night. I raised you better than that."
"Pop,” Bryce sighed with a patience he did not feel. “I need to see her. I have to know ... if she's going to ... Look, I have to see her."
"Bryce, you're not thinking. She's got a family. Her friend, Chris says that her mother is staying with her. You can't mean to go in there and wake up an old woman and two small children. It's not right, and you know it."
Bryce let out another exasperated sigh, his breath curling out before him in a cloud of frozen vapor while he dragged his fingers harshly through his hair. His eyes trailed longingly down the road that led away from the parking lot to the highway that he was told would take him to Carissa's house. He was so close, he knew how to find her, and yet, she was still so far away.
"Let's just go up to the room, try to get some sleep and see her tomorrow. Tomorrow's Christmas Eve. It's a day for visiting and a day for fixing things-gone-wrong. C'mon,” Donnan urged, his arm out to lead his son.
Casting a last glance down the long, darkened street, Bryce turned away reluctantly, following his father to the building. Inside all was quiet, with few people milling about, and the shops closed as a testament to the hour.
"It's not really that late, Dad. Carissa may still be up. It's only 11:15.” He stopped in his tracks, swearing under his breath, “Dammit. Why didn't I think to get her number from Davidson."
He heard his father's amused chuckle. “Because your big head isn't doing the thinking. Your little head is,” the man tossed at him, pushing the button on the wall.
The two men waited, hearing the elevator ding, indicating it had landed on the bottom level of the hotel. It carried them twelve flights to their floor without stopping. Bryce heard his big shoes as they stomped down the silent hall that led to their rooms, wishing he could turn and run to her. It was going to be a long, restless night waiting for the sun to come up.
Bryce had been correct, the night was long and sleep was a fleeting thought held at bay. By the time he finally gave up, pacing his room around the disheveled bed, the urge to go to her was nearly overpowering. It was all he could do to keep himself from throwing caution to the wind, snatching his father's keys, or calling a cab and heading out.
He stared through the window as a fine, powdery snow began to fall in the darkened world outside. He had to fight down the dread of being snow-bound, reminding himself he was no longer in the mountains, but in the Midwest where snow seldom proved to be so confining. Even so, he continually checked the weather's progress as he resumed his pacing. When the first streaks of dawn climbed reluctantly over the horizon, the flakes that drifted down from the sky had changed to large, feathery clumps, and the ground had been covered by at least two inches.
He did not wait for his father to wake, but jumped in the shower and rushed through his shave, nicking the scar tissue on his jaw and cursing. The elder Matheney was just tossing the blankets aside when Bryce stepped out of his room, fully dressed and ready to face the day, whatever it held.
Donnan grinned widely as he took in his son's appearance. “Are you going to a funeral?"
Bryce had dressed in a black, cotton/silk blend shirt, black jeans and black leather shoes. His face held a grave expression, as if he were about to face a firing squad. “Funny, Dad,” he snapped. “Why don't you stay here until I get this over with? No sense in both of us dealing with this shit. I'll come back for you after the fireworks are over."
Donnan stood, the amused grin replaced with a stern frown. “No way, boy. I got a right to watch that little, bitsy woman t
ear you a new one, and that's what I'm going to do."
A grumble near his leg told Bryce that Skoll was in complete agreement with Donnan; both would accompany him and witness his folly. “If you're going with me, you better hurry. I want to get going,” he snarled as he returned to his own room.
"Just slow down,” his father called after him. “That Davidson fellow and his wife are supposed to join us for breakfast downstairs. They won't be here until 8:00. It's only 6:30 now."
Standing in his room, rubbing viciously at his forehead, Bryce felt as if he would go mad. “Does the whole world have to witness this?” he grumbled under his breath.
"Yep,” his father answered, hearing him even though he had been speaking to himself.
Bryce thought of Carissa, could think of little else but the little, spellbinding elf of a woman that had so changed his life. He could still feel the way her heart beat against his, and the touch of her warm breath on his skin when she sighed out his name. The craving for her silken skin pressed under his body was so strong as to cause him physical pain. Her eyes, brightly burning with passion, flashed into his mind, causing him to stifle a groan of frustration.
"You look like you could use a drink,” his father laughed. He had come out of his room after dressing to find his son in the sitting room, on a chair, clutching his head in his hands. Donnan was reminded of himself in the waiting room of the maternity ward the day Bryce was born. He shook his head in begrudging sympathy for what the man was going through. “Hell, Bryce, if this is how you are just waiting to see if the woman will have you, how bad are you going to be the day she gives you a baby?"
Bryce raised his head, giving his father a withering glare before standing. “Let's go, Pop,” he muttered as he grabbed his coat and headed for the door. Skoll danced at his feet nervously, indicating his need to leave the rooms. “Shit. I have to walk Skoll first,” he said as he reached for the leash.
