“When is this field trip?” she asked.
“Friday. No school. Teacher in-service. Perfect opportunity.”
She released a sigh of relief. Whew! Good. She had vacation time coming up, and unless a global crisis or a medical emergency was involved, she had a hard and fast rule about business interfering with her personal time.
Jen glanced at the closed doors and came to a quick decision. “Deal. Only you don’t tell him he’s going until that morning, okay? He’ll get an ulcer if he has too much time to fret.”
Ryan chuckled. “I’m not telling him. He’s your problem, cupid. I’ll take care of Samantha and Chelsea. You figure out how to pry him from this unbearable tower and get him over to the museum. We’ll see what happens after that.”
She agreed and was working out some minor logistics when it occurred to her that he really was doing his brother—and her—a huge favor by getting involved. It was only fair that she return the gesture.
“And don’t worry about Quinn. I’ll squelch Connie and Grace. It’s the least I can do for your help with John.”
He fixed her with a meaningful look. “I love my brother, Jen. He’s the best man I’ve ever known next to our father. I want him to be happy.”
She almost reached out and touched him. Almost.
“Come on,” she said with a jerk of her head as she turned toward the building. “Let’s see what’s behind door number one.”
Ryan gave a bellowing chuckle and wrapped her arm through his. She could have pulled away, but she didn’t.
“Spoken like a true spokesmodel.”
The retort on the tip of her tongue faded to silence as he led them inside. Despite the tacky Hawaiian shirt and casual appearance, Ryan Lloyd had a touch of gallant gentleman going on that Jen found hard to resist.
Chapter 6
It was another morning in corporate paradise as she walked John through the daily meet. Today, however, would be different. In a little over two hours’ time, Ryan expected her to show up downtown at the museum with her boss in tow.
And she hadn’t come up with a plan yet for how to make that happen.
John was finishing up a simple hello when Jen honed in on Monica Corbet as she approached from the periphery of those milling about. Dammit. The woman was getting on her nerves.
“Mr. Lloyd,” Monica bleated.
Bleated was Jen’s new favorite word. It covered a lot of ground and not in a warm and fuzzy way.
“Good morning,” Monica continued.
Jen’s jaw clenched, and she stopped walking so John could go through the formalities with the obnoxious marketing executive. For a second, she considered putting her foot out in the hopes that the pushy professional face planted on the cold marble floor.
She felt John’s gaze, and without looking his way, she murmured what he needed to know.
“Monica Corbet. Marketing.”
That was all she said, but when she looked at him, her boss’s raised brow let her know she’d used a less-than-friendly tone.
She gave John mad props for reading the signal because he frostily responded with a terse, “Ms. Corbet,” and nothing else.
Feeling a great deal of satisfaction, she watched Monica’s face freeze when he summarily dismissed her attempt to jockey into a one-on-one position with the boss of all the other bosses.
Atta boy, she thought as John fixed the prowling woman with a cold stare.
No need to prod John further because he ended the awkward encounter by doing what he did best. Without another word or gesture, he simply turned and walked away.
Jen shrugged at Monica as if to say, “What can ya do?” and scurried after him.
“Nicely done, John,” she muttered when she caught up.
“You don’t like her,” he grumbled. “Why?”
When she took a moment too long to reply, he came back with an uncharacteristic snarl.
“Don’t manage me, Jen.”
He stopped walking. She stumbled to a halt and eyed him questioningly.
“Is that how I come off? Like all this is”—she waved her hand—“managing you?”
He frowned. “No. That’s not what I meant.” John sighed heavily and checked the button on his impeccable suit to stall.
“Then what did you mean?”
His expression reminded her of Ryan—minus the smirk—when he turned thoughtful. She wondered if their father had the same trait.
“You hesitated when I asked why you didn’t like that woman. I know you’re not a puppet master, but at that second, it felt like you weren’t going to be truthful with me.”
Jen broke into a smirky smile and assured her boss with a genuine chuckle that he was actually quite perceptive.
“Oh, John.” She laughed. “That wasn’t an employee managing her boss. I did hesitate and high five for picking it up!”
She offered her hand at shoulder level. John shook his head but laughed and tapped her palm with half-ass effort.
“My reaction was one hundred percent the result of a female talking to a male and nothing more. I was simply parsing my words to suit the situation.”
Watching him translate her words was quite amusing. She compared John’s thought process to a ladder. Straight lines leading up or down with side-to-side bullet points along the way. She was trying to get him comfortable with the occasional squiggle or curvy line he’d need to handle in a relationship outside the boardroom.
But lord almighty, it wasn’t easy.
“You were going to deflect with a business assessment when I asked something personal? Do I have that right?”
She smiled and winked. He looked shocked for half a second and then offered a practiced smile.
“Nail on the head, boss.”
Taking a step away as she continued their morning walk, Jen stopped and looked back when he didn’t follow.
“What?”
“Aren’t you going to finish that thought?” he asked. “Pointing out that I read the signals correctly isn’t answering the question. Why don’t you like whatever her name was?”
He wasn’t going to budge until he got an answer, so she stepped close and kept her voice low.
“She’s prowling.”
He made a grunting sound and urged her to continue.
“Yeah,” she said over the clearing of her throat. “And she’s not fussy.”
“Define fussy.”
“Maybe exclusive is a better word,” she grumbled. “You, Ryan ...” She shrugged. “Monica isn’t picky about whose monogram is on the wallet.”
John’s gaze swung behind them where Monica continued to admire herself by manipulating whoever’s poor soul was nearest.
“Has she met my mother?” he snarled.
Jen chuckled and motioned him to keep moving. “Constance Lloyd would filet that bitch for lunch and use the bones to pick her teeth.”
He came to a complete halt, crossed an arm, and put his other hand over his mouth. He looked deep in thought, but Jen could see he was covering up a laugh.
She consulted her iPad and bit her lip to stop from joining his chuckle. “Making a note to put that little gem in the company newsletter.”
John whirled around and faced the wall as his shoulders shook with laughter. She’d hit his funny bone without trying!
When he recovered and turned around, she smiled innocently as he adjusted his tie and gave her a dirty look.
Their zig-zagging walk across the executive floor continued. As they approached the reception desk in the middle of everything, she sensed his mood lift.
Then the lifting stalled when someone who wasn’t Samantha Matthews stood to greet them. She felt bad for the temp whose face turned ashen when the Lloyd CEO barked at her.
“Where’s Ms. Matthews?”
Jen put her hand on John’s arm. He glanced her way just long enough for her to issue a stern warning with her eyes.
“This is Allie Chen. She’s covering for Samantha today.”
“Why
?” he barked.
The temp grew even paler, and Jen sighed. Fine time for him to ignore the basics of polite interaction.
“A scheduled day off,” she informed him with a suggestion of reprimand evident in her tone.
Luckily, he was paying attention.
“Good morning,” he grumbled to the panicked receptionist. Then to her, he said, “My office, Ms. Carlton.”
She arched a brow at his imperious tone and use of her formal name but didn’t react further.
The door to the executive suite had barely closed before he launched into an unglued tirade.
“Where’s Samantha? Why didn’t you tell me she wouldn’t be here? Is she all right?”
His free-falling and completely charming panic provided Jen with the perfect way to handle how to get him to the museum at the appointed time.
He was pacing in front of the window wall like an expectant father in a hospital waiting room.
“John,” she began. “Relax.”
He stopped pacing and searched her face. Once she had his full attention, she explained.
“School calendar. Chelsea has a day off. No big deal, okay?”
Thinking that nothing much shocked her these days, Jen was nonetheless flabbergasted when he told her to add the days off in the school calendar to his schedule.
He checked his watch after this stunning pronouncement, and she shot a cupid arrow and wondered how he’d respond.
“Seventy-two hours.”
His eyes focused on hers.
“Seventy-two hours until she’s back at the front desk.”
They stared at each other for a good minute.
“Oh,” he finally griped.
She let the weight of those seventy-two hours work on his last nerve before lining up a bull’s-eye shot.
“Or ...” she calmly replied.
He picked up the suggestive note in her voice and asked what she hoped he’d ask.
“Or?”
“You can join me in two hours for a little outing. There won’t be any problem clearing your schedule.”
“Why would I do that?” he asked.
“Because your brother has arranged a docent tour at the museum for Chelsea.” She lifted her wrist and noted the time. “Wouldn’t it be lovely if we caught up with them?
“At the museum?”
For a smart guy, he was sometimes unbelievably thick.
“Yes, John. At the museum. If you want to see Samantha, that’s where she’ll be. With Chelsea.”
His eyes darted around the office as he considered her offer. Jen was curious about his reaction to Samantha’s mothering role and whether he’d balk at the prospect of spending time with a seven-year-old.
Gently reminding him that he’d met the girl, Jen started dropping a bread crumb trail.
“Chelsea took second place in her age category at the company bowling tournament. You handed out the trophy, remember?”
She was nothing but proud of him when he scowled. “Yes. She wore a Lloyd t-shirt, and Samantha took a million pictures. Instagram mostly.”
Jen’s brows shot up. Was he saying he followed Samantha on Instagram? Holy fried bologna! This was huger than huge. John Lloyd and social media did not have any sort of relationship. He only had an Instagram account because his aunt forced the issue so he could stay in the loop with what his cousins were up to.
John’s interest in Samantha was obvious, but he was such a social mess that Jen worried it’d take forever to get him on the right page. But this thing was further along with him than she realized, and suddenly, church bells clanged in her head!
Oh, the possibilities! John and Samantha were perfect for each other.
His frown took her by surprise. “Why is Ryan involved? Is there something I should know?”
The ah-ha moment as she picked apart his weird mood shift was quite the eye-opener. He was jealous of his brother. Best that she take all the air out of that worry.
“He’s not interested in her, John. You know how Ryan is. A friendly conversation uncovered a shared passion. Chelsea is crazy into science and stuff like that, and he has a connection in every dusty library and exhibit coast to coast.”
He accepted her explanation and explicitly added, “I think his interest lies elsewhere.”
Her eyes lifted. What was he referring to? For the briefest moment, she suspected he was messing with her, but John wasn’t socially skillful enough for something like that. Or was he?
She ignored the fact he was studying her like a microscope slide and got down to it. Next Wednesday couldn’t get here soon enough. Two important meetings and a critical conference call would force her into work at the start of the week, but then she had ten days of glorious, uninterrupted vacation time lined up.
Loving her job and caring about John were admirable qualities, but she was human too and needed some goddamn downtime.
On or off? John wondered as he checked his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Leaving his tie on felt stuffy, but it felt weird to take it off during a workday.
What did someone wear to a day at the museum? Was he overdressed?
Didn’t matter. Pfft. It wasn’t like he owned a pair of jeans. Plus, all his work clothes were standard power suits. Casual wasn’t his thing.
“No tie it is then,” he murmured to his reflection.
Back at his desk, he spun toward the windows in his big leather chair, brought up a search window on his phone, and typed, ‘What interests a seven-year-old?’
Most of the search results focused on gift giving, but he found one about child development with the information he was hoping for. Presumably, a kid Chelsea’s age was curious, had a long attention span, good language skills, and enjoyed creative pursuits. All things considered, it seemed to him like a day at the museum was tailor-made for a second grader.
My god, he was nervous.
By expecting Samantha to be at work, he found a surprising truth inside his disappointment. He just didn’t liked things to be the same every day—where Samantha Matthews was concerned, he had a more personal interest and corresponding letdown to her absence.
He liked her.
A lot.
Why else was he so eager to ditch work on a Friday and prowl around a museum with a kid? A kid who might not like him.
“Are we ready?” Jen asked when she snuck up on him.
“This is a bad idea,” he grumbled.
“No, it’s not,” she replied.
John almost chuckled. Her answer was standard. She’d never ask why. Not when he was being a complaining jerk. That approach wasn’t her style. In a lot of ways, Jen was the anti warm and fuzzy person. She didn’t care much for nonsense and wouldn’t cater to it.
“Come on,” she snapped. Making one of those ‘get moving’ hand gestures, she prodded him toward the door.
Was it weird that he obeyed?
Oh, most definitely.
Was it even weirder that he displayed a case of the sulks as he moped his way to the elevator?
Absolutely.
He waited till they were alone in the elevator to say anything.
“What if the kid doesn’t like me?”
“John, she’s seven. Hardly a menace.”
“You’re missing the point.”
Jen examined her reflection on the shiny elevator wall and wiped a finger on her teeth. “No, I’m not.”
Her nonchalance exasperated him. He was trying to focus on the heart of the matter, and her refusal to let him bellyache cut him off at the knees. She also wouldn’t argue the point.
Great.
In the limo, she chatted with his driver and made a bunch of sports references that flew over his head. He kept touching the buttons near his collar, wishing he’d left the tie on.
His cell phone rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket, but she snatched it from him before he could answer. She looked at the screen.
“Who’s Arthur?”
“My dentist.”
She
turned the phone all the way off and handed it back.
“Rule number one.”
He blinked and held his breath.
“When you spend time with a woman—”
“Samantha,” he cut in. “Not any woman. Samantha.”
Jen nodded and appeared to manage a smile. “Yes, Samantha. When you spend time with Samantha, you don’t multitask. Understand?”
“No phone?” he asked.
“Now see,” she replied with a bit of a bite. “That’s such a guy response. Right away, you made it about you. And the phone.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Yes, I know,” she drawled. “Which is why you must pay attention, John. It’s not about you or your damn phone. It’s about Samantha. If she’s a priority, then you have to treat your time with her accordingly.”
He frowned and worked on the meaning of her words.
“You wouldn’t order a steak dinner in the middle of a business deal.”
“Oh,” he confessed with an apologetic face. “I get it. Thank you.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Lloyd. Now, let’s discuss Chelsea.”
His heart did a crazy rumba in his chest. The kid made him nervous.
“Rule number two. The kid knows more than you do. Accept it and make the most of the situation. And above all, don’t forget that if you want her on your side, how you treat her mother is key.”
“She’s never had a father,” he murmured.
“No,” Jen replied.
“And they’re very close.”
His comment required no answer.
They continued in silence while he took everything he knew, squished it together with what he didn’t know, and tried to find his way. His goose would be cooked without Jen.
The traffic around the museum was a nightmare. The driver explained it was always a mess when the schools had a day off. He never thought about stuff like that and realized how rarefied his life was when they pulled up to the V.I.P. entrance with no problem.
His brain flooded with a million questions. Did Samantha have a car, or was she a subway and bus rider? Where did she live? And how about childcare for Chelsea? He helped raise funds for an after-school program last year and remembered the stories of families with working parents who jumped through all sorts of hoops to accommodate school schedules and care arrangements. He’d set up a sponsorship to support the program’s stretched budget.
Enduring (Family Justice Book 8) Page 51
