by Gun Brooke
Her youngest sister always accused Lark of being too serious about relationships. The family was well aware of Lark’s sexual orientation, even if her mother wouldn’t address it openly. This sister on the other hand constantly tried to hook her up with her lesbian friends, or encouraged Lark to approach someone.
Lark opened her chat software and Debbie’s icon showed her status as online. Lark opened a chat window and typed a greeting.
Grey_bird: Hi Debbie. You around?
Sirensong: Lark! Why you up this late?
Grey_bird: Working late.
Sirensong: I’d say.
Grey_bird: And you?
Sirensong: Playing Scrabble with unsuspecting strangers and trying to pick up a cute woman or two.
Grey_bird: Two???
Sirensong: Interested? *wink*
Grey_bird: LOL! Trying me too, huh? You must be desperate.
Sirensong: No, no. Just going for gold.
Lark frowned at the last comment from Debbie. What was that about?
Grey_bird: What are you talking about? What gold?
There was a brief pause and then Debbie typed a reply.
Sirensong: You’re the gold.
Knowing full well she was in over her head, Lark rubbed the back of her neck as her mind raced.
Grey_bird: So what’s the plan?
She held her breath. Apparently so did Debbie.
Sirensong: *gasp* For real?
Grey_bird: Like you, I’m just testing the waters.
Lark didn’t know why she put it that way. Images of a naked, vulnerable Sheridan appeared in her mind, and Lark could feel the silken skin under her hands. She gripped the mouse and was about to just turn off the chat program and feign a computer crash, when Debbie wrote again.
Sirensong: Want to cyber hug a bit? No strings attached.
A hug. Apart from her family, Lark couldn’t remember when she’d last held someone closely. Some of her patients had done so out of gratitude, but that was it.
Grey_bird: I like hugs. *squeeze*
Sirensong: Mmmm. Me too! *hugging back*
Grey_bird: If I close my eyes, I can feel you. Strange. Cool, but strange.
The truth was that Lark imagined Sheridan embracing her out of gratitude, probably since that was the only reason Ms. Ward would ever embrace her. “God, what am I thinking?” Lark moaned out loud. She refocused on the computer screen.
Sirensong: I feel it and then some.
Grey_bird: Describe “some.”
Sirensong: I’m greedy and take my chances. I’m picturing you in a...let me see. A bikini. A black bikini.
Lark laughed and slapped her forehead.
Grey_bird: You horny devil. You’re such a brat!
Sirensong: That does it. Off with the bikini.
Grey_bird: LOL!
Sirensong: *hugging again* Now that’s more like it!
Grey_bird: Greedy is too mild a word. More like voracious!
Sirensong: Semantics. It feels good to hold you like this, in your birthday suit.
Suddenly Lark really did feel naked, no matter the tongue-in-cheek approach.
Grey_bird: Hey, we have to stop this. Feels a bit too real and I don’t want to wreck the friendship. You’re my best chat buddy.
Lark held her breath as she waited for Debbie to reply.
Sirensong: Oh, all right. Knew it was too good to be true. *pout*
Grey_bird: I’ll make it up to you.
Sirensong: You will? Really? *hopeful*
Grey_bird: Really. You know you’ve bugged me for a picture. I’ll send one later.
Sirensong: Pictures! *thud* Ow, I fell off the chair. Nudie pictures?
Grey_bird: Debbie!
Sirensong: Sorry, sorry. Force of habit. Really, I’d love a picture. Will be nice to have a face to go with the sexy character.
Lark rolled her eyes as she said good night to Debbie. She found a small head shot of herself in her pictures folder, which she sent to Debbie before she logged off. Just a little superficial fun. Nothing to be hung up about, so why did she feel guilty? She had gone further while chatting with other strange women and not suffered one single minute of remorse.
Lark put on her robe and crawled into bed. As usual she curled up on her left side and pulled the covers up to her nose. Safe and whole in her cocoon of bed linen, she allowed her thoughts to wander. It didn’t take them many seconds to roam back to Sheridan. Lark frowned and turned on her other side, in order to try to shake them. She had a long day ahead of her. Three hours’ sleep and then she was doing PT with Sheridan, before they went to the office where Sheridan had a meeting.
Sheridan. Lark’s eyes began to close and she didn’t fight sleep like she did some nights.
“Sheridan,” she murmured, already dreaming. “Let me help, okay?”
*
Sheridan sat at her Plexiglas desk, presiding over an impromptu meeting with a handful of her senior staff. Lark had literally taken the back seat by the wall to Sheridan’s right, not about to get caught in the line of fire. She had asked if she should leave, but Sheridan had insisted that she stay, claiming she wanted Lark to know what a day at the office could be like. As Sheridan regarded the man who sat across the desk from her, Lark could sense Sheridan’s anger simmer under a calm that was only skin deep.
“What are you saying, Dimitri?” Sheridan asked in a low voice, and Lark realized from studying the other people in the office that she wasn’t the only one who found Sheridan’s low register intimidating.
“Please, don’t misunderstand, Ms. Ward,” the CFO said, “but it’s obvious that your, eh, illness has affected you. It’s only human. Easy to make mistakes and lack judgment when you’re not well.” He coughed, probably to hide his awkwardness when Sheridan put him on the spot.
Sheridan seemed to ponder Dimitri’s words. “So, you would argue that it’s easy, inevitable, even, that a person who has recently suffered a serious illness would make mistakes?” she asked slowly.
“Yes, ma’am,” Dimitri said, sounding relieved. “Completely human, of course.”
“Of course.” To Dimitri’s left, two men covered their eyes, shaking their heads. Sheridan went in for the kill. “Well, considering I hired you for the job as CFO only two weeks after I came out of the coma, then might that prove to be the biggest mistake of all?” She raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
Dimitri was several shades paler now. “That wasn’t what I was…I mean, I didn’t…” He stopped talking, probably realizing that he’d painted himself into a corner. “Point taken, ma’am.”
“Thank you.” Sheridan relented. “So, we’re in agreement, ladies and gentlemen? The stockowner festivities commence as usual in October?”
“Aye,” the assembled group of people said in unison.
“Meeting adjourned.” Sheridan released the brakes and backed the wheelchair away from the table. “See you in two weeks. Lark, come with me. I have a working lunch and you might as well tag along.”
Lark sighed inwardly. “Nothing like a cordial invitation,” she muttered and walked up to Sheridan’s left side. She had learned the last few days that Sheridan was more comfortable with people standing on that side. Lark had filed the point for future reference, since it might be helpful information to factor into how she planned Sheridan’s physiotherapy. “Where are we going?” she asked out loud.
“Hotel Valencia.”
Lark had never been to the large, contemporary hotel on the famous Riverwalk. “Sounds nice. Posh.”
“It is. I stayed there for a few months when my quarters at the mansion were being renovated. I enjoyed it. Great location.”
A few months at the Valencia was bound to cost more than most people made in a year—before taxes. The casual tone in Sheridan’s voice annoyed Lark. To spend that amount of money so casually, just because you can’t stand some hammering at your house…Lark kept her facial expression neutral. It wasn’t her place to criticize her employer.
“What?�
�� Sheridan said when they sat in the luxurious minivan. “I can tell there’s something.”
“How could you possibly? You don’t know me.” Lark wasn’t going to be baited like that Dimitri fellow. “I’m fine.”
Sheridan looked at her from where she sat, strapped in, wheelchair and all. “One thing that the meningitis didn’t take away was my inner radar,” she insisted. “I can tell something’s bothering you.” Looking genuinely interested now, Sheridan leaned forward, obviously not about to drop this subject. “You were fine until I said…that we were going to the Valencia. What’s the matter, not your kind of place?”
“The Valencia is a beautiful building.”
“But?”
Pretty sure that Sheridan would pester her with questions until she screamed, Lark pursed her lips before responding. “Well, I just think places like the Valencia, expensive hotels, represent a life that most people never see, other than on TV.”
“So you think it was a poor choice for me to stay there?”
“Poor isn’t the word I’d choose.” Lark wrinkled her nose, trying to make light of a conversation that was quickly turning into a Q&A session.
“What would you call it then? Did you have the same issues with all your wealthy employers? Your dossier indicates that you’ve mostly worked for the rich and sometimes even famous, although no names were mentioned.”
“Am I being accused of anything here?” Lark asked, her voice sharp. She was angry now, for Sheridan to put her on the spot like this.
“Not at all, but you have to admit, if money is an issue with you, I have a valid reason to question if you’re suitable for your position.” Her dark gray eyes cold and calculating, Sheridan didn’t look away once.
“You yourself deemed me suitable for your needs by examining the exact documents that you’re quoting now. And surely you went by my well-documented expertise as a physical therapist?” Larked fumed, but fought to remain calm. “I have no problems with money as long as it’s not in only one person’s pocket.”
“Then you ought to be happy that I take my business to the hotel and restaurants as often as I do, considering that many of the Hispanic citizens of San Antonio and its surroundings work there, at all levels.”
Lark felt her cheeks color. What was I thinking? Going against a strategic thinker like Sheridan who had fought off much harder resistance. “I guess.” She quieted and tried to sort her thoughts. Knowing better, she had to try again to get her point across. “The truth is also that nobody who works as maids, waitresses, or bellboys at these places can ever afford to stay there.”
Sheridan looked oddly pleased. “True,” she admitted. “I think the same goes for the ones who work as janitors, receptionists, etc. at Ward Industries. That’s why I send my staff on cruises or vacations at the small chain of hotels I own in Puerto Rico, when possible. Like a bonus of sorts. God only knows how much I shell out to the brass in bonuses every Christmas.”
Game, set, and match. Winner, Sheridan Ward. Lark realized that she should have checked her facts, since Sheridan hadn’t stopped surprising her since the day she began this assignment.
“You’re right, however,” Sheridan continued. “Most people never see the inside of a hotel like the Valencia, unless there’s a major discount or they work there. The question is, does the yearning for such glamour inspire people to excel, or does it leave them feeling hopelessly behind? Who knows?”
Reluctantly charmed by the way Sheridan, with unexpected grace, handed over an olive branch, Lark said, “My mother has said often enough that she wouldn’t want to be caught dead in such a place. I guess she influenced my opinion.”
“Where do your parents live?”
“My mother and stepfather live above their store in Boerne. We moved there from Houston when I was fifteen. Not a moment too soon. The neighborhood we lived in was more or less taken over by gangs back then. I don’t know what it’s like now.”
“San Antonio has more than its share of gangs. It’s a big problem, but our police force does a lot to keep track of them.”
“Wish that had been the attitude in Houston twenty years ago.” Lark pressed her lips together as she felt them tremble.
“What happened in Houston?” Sheridan asked mildly. “Did you get in trouble?”
“No, not me. My sister, Fiona, however—”
“We’re here, Ms. Ward,” the chauffeur’s voice said over the intercom.
“Thank you, Ned.” Sheridan said and smiled regretfully. “We’ll finish this later.”
“All right.” Lark doubted Sheridan would even remember what they talked about ten minutes after she wheeled out of the car.
Sheridan stopped just below the ramp that allowed her to maneuver the wheelchair in and out of the minivan, looking apprehensive.
Lark slipped into her professional role. “What’s up, Sheridan?”
“Nothing.” Sheridan still didn’t move.
“Want me to push you, ma’am?” Ned asked after rounding the vehicle.
“No!” Sheridan cleared her voice. “No.”
Lark realized something and spoke quietly, so Ned wouldn’t overhear. “This your first time here after the illness, Sheridan?”
“Yes.”
“First time doing a lunch like this, too, perhaps?”
“Yes.” The short word emerged through gritted teeth, and Sheridan’s hands trembled where they rested on the hand rims of the wheels.
“You’ll be fine. For what it’s worth, I’ll walk right next to you when we go inside.”
At first it took so long for Sheridan to answer that Lark thought she was going to prevent herself from taking this step. If I had memorized more from her charts, I might have realized this. Instead I let my pet peeve make her have to justify her actions, which are her business, not mine.
“Thank you.” Sheridan gripped the rims hard enough for her knuckles to grow whiter. “Let’s go.”
Lark strode next to her as Sheridan rolled in through the main doors.
Chapter Seven
Sheridan slumped back in her wheelchair, still on an emotional high after the lunch meeting. She knew she had pulled it off. Her success today was key to maintaining her image as the Sheridan Ward, corporate shark and indisputable financial tycoon of everything worth owning east of Austin. Her position among the industrial leaders in Texas was vulnerable right now, and she couldn’t afford to slip, not for a second, while she dealt with the other wolves. It would be an unforgivable lack of judgment if she thought they’d cut her any slack for having been ill.
“You’re trembling.” Lark’s soft voice reached Sheridan through her musings.
“What?” Distractedly, Sheridan looked at Lark, who rode across from her in the minivan.
“You’re low on sugar. You didn’t touch your food.”
“What are you talking about?” Sheridan looked down at her hands. They were trembling, a faint, barely distinguishable tremor. Trust Lark not to miss anything. “Okay, I’ll have a Mars bar at the office.”
“At the office?” Lark frowned. “We have an appointment with the massage bench and then a relaxation exercise.”
“Oh, that.” Sheridan waved her shaking hand dismissively. “I thought I told Erica to change our plans. I have contracts to go through.”
“Erica understood when I told her that you can’t change anything about your schedule if you want to be in the best shape possible for the stockholders’ meeting.” Lark leaned back in her seat in the minivan, looking calmly at her.
“Erica understood?” Sheridan closed her hands into tight fists, willing them not to betray her anymore. “Erica is my assistant, and what she understands or not doesn’t matter. I have a job to do and—”
“—and you won’t be able to do it as well as you’d like if you don’t give yourself time to heal by sticking to an exercise plan.”
“You saw how well the luncheon went!” Furious at being questioned like this, Sheridan glowered at Lark who, to her dismay,
didn’t even blink.
“I did. You were fantastic and they were very impressed.”
The immediate concurrence threw Sheridan off for a moment. “They were?” she asked, wanting Lark’s honest opinion. Not quite sure why hearing it from Lark meant so much, Sheridan drilled her gaze into the other woman again.
“Yes, they were. That said, this fire and enthusiasm aren’t going to last if you run yourself into the ground. If you ask me, your business contacts will find it more reassuring to deal with someone who knows how to take care of herself and create the best possible circumstances for them.”
“And what do you base that on?” Sheridan heard herself snarl.
“You said it yourself. I’ve moved in the world of the rich and famous for a decade now. Italy, Crete, Russia, Sweden, Germany, and recently, Dubai and Abu Dhabi. You have no idea how much the staff, not just me, but also butlers, maids, housekeepers, and nannies, pick up. Just because I don’t have a business degree, I’m not dense…or deaf.”
Sheridan didn’t detect any anger in Lark’s voice, only a faint trace of resentment.
“I never said you were. But you haven’t moved inside the boardrooms where big corporate sharks eat smaller baby sharks, as well as old, weak sharks.”
“And you see yourself as an old, weakened shark?”
