by Kimber Chin
"I don't want you to."
Cara wouldn't listen to him, not before she said this, “I'm a saleswoman, remember? You said so yourself. I love you, but I live in the public eye. And you can't live there with me, can you?"
There was no need for words. His face said it all. Eyes blank. Jaw dropped. A hurtful silence.
Cara straightened her shoulders, ignoring the band of pain tightening around her chest. “I didn't think so.” She turned on her heel. “Goodbye, Richard."
* * * *
Richard watched Cara from his seat in the third row. She loved him, that wonderful woman. He should have said something. She had expected him to, but hearing those words from that pretty mouth, there was only so much a man could take before his brain shut down.
His chair was bumped and Richard glanced back.
"Sorry.” It was Wendy, the assistant broker, twinned by an older version of her, settling in behind him. “Oh, Mr. Thompson, you, here, I didn't expect.” Her face flushed.
Richard eased the awkwardness. “I didn't expect you here, either.” This wasn't agency business.
The girl's chin jutted out determinedly. “Well, I am. We managed to get the house, my dad granted an advance on his salary, thanks to Cara.” Richard suspected the source of that advance, his caring, generous girl. “And no thanks to you.” Her mother glowered, supporting her daughter.
Why was she so? Oh, Lord. The winnings. A family's down payment. Not any family's, Wendy's. “The auction."
"Bailing without a word,” Wendy huffed.
"I never.” But then he stopped. What would telling the agent-in-training that he never signed up for the auction solve?
"If Cara knew earlier what you planned to do, or rather not do, Blake Rexdall could have flown in.” Blake Rexdall, the-between-wives-slick-talking movie star? “He said he would, even though he's on a shoot in Africa. As a special favor to Cara."
Flying in from Africa, Richard frowned, the man was a bit too eager to return that favor. “I'm sorry.” For being a complete ass.
"You should be.” Wendy wasn't letting the topic go. “Unlike some people...” Him, he gathered. “Cara keeps her promises. She says it's a sign of a good saleswoman."
A woman of her word and she said she loved him. Why? He had no idea. “She's right."
"Cara waited for you, you know,” she said, a little less angrily. “She was so sure you'd do it. She believed in you."
And he hadn't believed in her. Richard turned away from Wendy, away from the thought of having hurt Cara.
Rexdall, a dashing young movie star, would have flown in from Africa for her. The Mayor, Richard almost growled as he realized the widower's eyes were following the twitch of a certain lilac skirt, the Mayor could give Cara any and all the public exposure she could ever desire. She could be the city's first lady.
And him? What did he have to offer?
Everything he had, including his heart. Was that enough?
Must be. She loved him. Cara turned and he savored the sweet face studiously avoiding him. There was no sense trying to figure it out. This woman loved him. Him. Not Rexdall. Not the Mayor. Him. It was a fluke, like someone buying a computer company for an outrageous sum of money. He shouldn't question why. He should merely consider himself lucky and leave it at that.
If he could.
"She got you too, Thompson?” A sledgehammer of a hand fell on his shoulder, interrupting his thoughts. A heavy set man in an expensive suit squeezed into the seat beside him.
"Peterson,” Richard acknowledged the influential developer.
"Cara is some saleswoman, huh?"
His eyes found her again, buzzing around the platform, clipboard clenched against her breasts. She was some woman. The calm in a storm of activity.
"I was all set to say no, the Mrs. and I had already given our allotment to charity,” the man rumbled, not caring that Richard's attention drifted. “But this isn't charity, the little lady tells me, I'll get my money back, she says.” He snorted an unattractive sound. “Sure I will."
There was a pause in the commentary as Peterson hollered to a passing fox-faced man, making the press section laugh and nudge each other.
"Damn, media vultures. Looking at us like we're roadkill.” Peterson yelled, “I ain't dead, yet."
"Let us know when you are.” A man sporting a ridiculous gray fedora yelled back. “And we'll squeeze you in on page two."
"Page two. Why you insolent...” Peterson grinned as he leaned toward Richard, “Gotta give them their quotes, then they'll leave you alone."
They were only doing their jobs and that job didn't include embarrassing little old ladies. Even hardened newsmen like Fred, Richard found out, had mothers.
The developer yammered on. “Yeah, Thompson, thought Cara was selling me a shady bill of goods."
That got his full attention. “See here, Peterson.” Richard straightened at the implied insult. Cara was...
A hoarse laugh followed by a snort. “Calm down, young fella, didn't know that was how it was. You can't blame me for being damn cynical. Salespeople, including pretty little things like your gal, have had me in their sights since they first found out about my success decades back. Thought she was much the same ‘til I heard she put her own money on the line."
Her own money?
"Damn idealist fool,” Peterson muttered. “Mortgaged that shoebox of a place after she finally paid it off earlier this year, the bank showed me the papers to prove it."
"She wouldn't ask you to do something she herself wouldn't do.” Richard now understood fully. Why did she love him again?
"Gotta admire that. Even love it.” Emotion softened the big man's voice. “Thompson, I've only met one other gal like that Cara."
"And what happened to her?” Richard watched Cara as she kissed the Mayor on his cheek and smiled for a photo, the Mayor standing closer than needed to Cara.
He should be standing there, Richard knew. Beside her. The recipient of that upward glance.
Maybe then her smile would be warm, genuine. Not the brittleness now etched across her pretty face.
"What happened to her?” the real estate honcho boomed after a moment of contemplation, making heads turn. “Why, I married her, of course. I ain't no fool."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Step Seven
Following Up: Ensuring that the customer is satisfied with the product or service, addressing any problems that may have occurred, and thanking her for her business
He stayed.
Cara never considered this scenario. She had been so certain Richard wouldn't stay that she didn't know how to take it. What did it mean? Did he simply need to talk with her some more? If so, he could have sat in the back row, near the exits, out of the spotlight. Not front and center, crushed up against Big Harold Peterson.
He wouldn't stare at her as openly as he was doing. Drawing attention, interest from the press core. Including, the ever watchful and perma-crumpled Fred.
Cara was more circumspect, gazing at him out of the corner of her eye as she stood behind the podium at the edge of the stage. Yes, she might have projected her voice in his direction during her introductions, and yes, she knew exactly where he was, his mood, his stance, during the entire event, but she waited until now to study him directly.
The Mayor, the Shelter for Mankind representative, and a future tenant, posed for photos with their shovels full of new build dirt. The press snapped photos, getting their words, ensuring more coverage for the charity.
Only Richard's eyes remained on her, even as the Mayor ran out of the planted loose dirt, hitting sod. Peterson hollered at him to put his back into it. Even as the press laughed, cameras clicking, Richard in more than a few photos, his eyes were on her.
He gave no indication he noticed. Nothing that showed he minded the attention. He continued staring at her. The press distracted, Cara allowed herself to stare back.
Why? She asked him silently.
A semi-sm
ile tugged up the corners of his lips, a twinkle appearing in his brown eyes, his head tilted in clear question. Why do you think?
Why did she think? She could only fathom one answer. Her jaw dropped. But, why? Wasn't she a saleswoman? He wouldn't. Her? So soon? She shook her head slightly, in disbelief.
He raised both eyebrows and nodded. Then he mouthed something. It looked like...
I love you.
No, couldn't be. Cara bit her bottom lip. It wasn't right. She was seeing only what she wanted to see. Fooling herself.
Richard pointed to the pen in his shirt pocket. The Waterman. The one she hand picked for him, scoured antique stores to find. There in his pocket. Why?
Her eyes traveled to his face and he nodded, mouthing the words again.
He loved her. A warm flush spread up her neck, making her cheeks burn.
He grinned and winked. It may not last past the next press event, but today, at this moment, charming, sexy Richard Thompson thought he loved her.
He didn't love her. She immediately squashed that wild hope. Not really. He'd find that out once the novelty wore off.
Even knowing that, Cara couldn't look away. She didn't notice that the staged ground breaking had been completed, that the Mayor finished his long winded speech that silence hung over the event. All she noticed was Richard.
Finally Cara realized everyone was looking at her. Everyone. The Mayor. The press. The audience. Cara had missed her cue. Blushing deeper, she stepped forward.
* * * *
"You gonna sit there, Thompson, making googly-eyes at the woman?” Peterson's meaty hands almost pushed him off the chair. “Or you gonna join us on the stage?"
Richard tore his eyes away from Cara's beautiful face. Sure enough. All the principals in the deal were gathering behind her at the front. Group photo op.
"I'm not involved with the team.” He didn't want to give that excuse. He wanted to be up there with her, but he didn't have a reason to be. He hadn't even participated in the charity auction.
"Oh, you're involved, all right.” Peterson snorted. “Come on, sunshine. It's safer to feed the animals as a group. Less likely to lose an arm."
So Richard found himself where he wanted to be, on stage, inching toward Cara with each photo, Peterson covering his back. He tried to remember to smile, giving the press the same face Cara got out of him at the restaurant, but it was a halfhearted effort. Richard focused on his woman.
Standing there, cool and collected, determined to ignore him, and what he had told her while sitting out there in the audience. He wouldn't let her.
By the time the questions started coming, Richard was close. One step forward and his chest would rub against her shoulder blade.
He was about to close the gap, to wrap his arms around her when...
"Harry,” someone yelled above the din. “What convinced you to give to this charity?"
Damn. Richard had forgotten about the audience.
"Now see here, young pup.” Peterson scowled at the cameras and outstretched microphones. “You know ol’ Harry doesn't believe in charity unless it is his charity of one. This is an investment in the city, and I expect it to have a darn good return."
"Hear, hear.” And the rest of them were relieved of talking as the Mayor took the opportunity to push forward his political agenda.
Richard examined the top of Cara's blonde head. “You said you loved me. Why do you love me, Cara?” The thought nagged at him, he couldn't let it go.
Silence.
"Cara?” Had he heard her wrong? Had she not said she loved him? Was that his imagination?
"I don't love you for your money, Richard,” she whispered back, a fake smile fixed on her face.
"I know.” Rexdall was no pauper. “Nor do you love me for my good looks.” Richard was well aware he was no movie star. “That's why I'm asking. I can't figure it out."
A deep sigh. “Richard, remember when that family got burnt out of their home?"
A couple with two little blonde haired girls, they lost everything, even the family pet. The doomed dog, a canine hero, barking at the first smell of smoke, waking them only to lose his own life.
His assistance, compared to that sacrifice, was no big deal. Any person with a heart and the means would have coughed up the down payment on a new house. “How did you...?"
"I handled the purchase.” Pro bono, he suspected. That would be something she'd do.
"I love you, Cara.” The words he was holding onto escaped him. He couldn't keep it inside any longer.
Cara turned her head to study him, Richard barely registering Fred's camera pointed in their direction.
"You think you do now, but over time ... I'm a saleswoman, Richard."
"A very good saleswoman.” And he was proud of that.
"Thank you,” she said automatically. “No.” A slight shake of her head. “You don't understand. I'm a saleswoman. This is a regular day for me. Questions, the press demanding answers. Of me. And if you're with me, of you."
"Then I'll give them answers.” What was the big deal? As long as she was by his side.
"You won't have any secrets left."
Secrets? Hadn't she talked to his mom? More than once? “I don't plan to keep secrets from you, Cara."
"Not only from me. The world will know."
Another question was asked, this time of the Mayor. Fate smiling on Richard, buying him more time.
"Better the truth than...” How to explain? He ran a hand through his hair, searching for the words. “I never really talk to my Mom."
"I know. You like to keep things to yourself."
"Good in theory, but in practice...” In practice, it almost lost him the woman he loved. “Cara, my Mom thinks I'm a spy."
A strangled noise came from her. Was that a laugh? Or a muffled scream?
"She told the entire town."
"Richard.” Cara's blue eyes danced and he relaxed.
He hitched a thumb toward the photographer. “Including our fearless reporter, Fred."
"Oh, that's not good.” A chuckle escaped her. The Mayor paused. Heads turned. Richard appreciated how Cara managed to look innocent even while her face was rosy and her body shook.
He paused. Should he? He couldn't resist. “She thinks you're one, too."
That set Cara off, she covered up her face, turning away from the crowd, coughing.
Would anyone notice if he scooped her right off the stage, took her back behind that dumpster and...
They would. The next question was his.
"Thompson, Thompson.” A blonde-haired lad yapped from the back. “You've turned down so many requests from charities, what sold you on this project?"
So many requests? Shirley was right; he should have signed his name to some of those anonymous donations.
Only Cara, now solemn faced behind the podium, knew. She knew and she still loved him. Loved him, complete ass that he sometimes was.
"Hmmm...” Richard took his time answering, noting how the shoulders next to his stiffened. What did she think he was going to say? “There were many solid selling points, but I'd have to say the parkette, yes, definitely the parkette."
"Thompson,” the voice at his right boomed. “Are you telling me I'm paying for a parkette? What the hell good is a parkette?"
Richard could have hugged the big man. A board member who also happened to be a Professor of Urban Development stepped forward, explaining the good of a little bit of green space. Giving him time to make it right with Cara before...
"You remembered.” A breath on the air.
"Everything.” Richard brushed the back of her hand with his. What would she do if he held it? Here, in front of the whole media world? “About you, I remember everything."
"Richard, you think—"
"No, I know. I know I love you now, and I know I'll love you tomorrow. This isn't going away. I'm not going away."
"Thompson."
Richard groaned softly, resenting the interruption, rec
ognizing the voice. This question wouldn't go away either. “Fred."
The other media people looked at the newsman with new respect. Fred stood up straighter. “I don't see your name on the contributor list.” The program was waved in the air. “What exactly is your involvement in the project?"
Richard knew this would be asked. He was banking on it. Prompted it. By blatantly devouring Cara's face during the entire presentation.
If it were solely his decision, he would make his involvement clear. Clear to the whole world, including a super slick politician and a too-good-looking-for-Richard's-piece-of-mind Hollywood star. Leave no doubts in anyone's mind where Cara belonged.
But it wasn't all his decision.
"Cara?"
* * * *
She blinked out of her very pleasant, naked Richard-filled reverie. Why was he looking to her for input? This was a simple question to answer. All Richard had to say was he wasn't involved.
There was no need to consult her. Unless ... The media chaos, the spotlight. He couldn't be ready for it, could he?
Yes, it had to be faced sometime, but not now. She wanted one day, one night of happiness with Richard before the press tore that apart. Was that too much to ask? “Richard, no."
"Yes, Cara,” he whispered back. “Trust me.” The resolute set of his chin reflected his commitment to this announcement. To her. To them.
She braced herself for impact, nodding. If this was what he wanted, she would support him.
He smiled at her, her cocky man, not having any clue what he was about to unleash, and turned back.
"Ms. Jones said there was no use feeding you any false stories, Fred; you're too good an investigator.” The way Richard pumped the newsman up guaranteed a friendlier write up. “And you've, yet again, proven her correct. I'm not on any thank you list."
There was a buzz in the press galley. Peterson sounded like he was coughing up a fur ball beside them.
Stop Richard. Cara mentally pleaded. You don't have to tell them more.
Richard didn't leave it there. “Then what is my involvement in this project, you're asking?"
He paused, every eye in the audience on him, the expectant silence adding to the drama.
The realization slammed into Cara's gut. He is a complete and utter ass.
