“What?”
“I know. I was surprised myself from what Chelsea told us, but they want to do a daily, an academic weekly, and a calendar with three different designs each.” Rhonda looked like she was about to have a stroke. “And their numbers are more than generous.”
Chelsea glanced at Missy, who was watching her with concern. “Well, it looks like we have some things to think about. I don’t want to make an emotional decision just because of the money.”
Rhonda’s eyes narrowed. “Are you still thinking about what that fool said? He doesn’t know the first thing about you.”
“You have a good heart for people,” Missy added, “but your decisions are based on the good instinct God gave you, Chelsea. Wisdom you prayed for and what you believe is the best thing to do.”
And Rhonda—the least emotional person Chelsea knew—was nodding. “That man took advantage of you. He lied to you. It could have happened to anybody. Whatever you decide to do with the company, we trust you. Now…” She turned in her chair and reached for the room service book. “We have a successful keynote to celebrate, pre-orders through the roof, a new baby. I’m going to call up something fizzy and something you can have too, Missy.”
Chelsea’s mind fought to process all of the landmines that had just blown up around her when her phone buzzed on the bedside table. New text message from Vivi.
Why didn’t you tell me that Nick could be a Hemsworth brother? A little warning would be nice next time. Again with the wink face.
She ran her fingertips over the shoes next to her, crisscrossing their laces as Rhonda ordered room service. Her adulting skills may be lacking, but her instinct had helped her choose her team and get Chelsea Scott Paper to where it was, hadn’t it?
A pair of silvery blue eyes filled her mind, belonging to the one she’d give anything to see right now, so she could tell him everything that had happened.
Had she consulted her instincts before sending Nick away—or God, for that matter?
She slid her hands into the Chuck Taylors and picked them up. If he’d bought them for her before he got on that plane, Nick had to still like her a little bit. If there was a chance she could fix things with him, she had to try.
So regardless of what Rhonda said, tomorrow, Chelsea was wearing the magic shoes.
“Hello again, Chicago.” Nick looped his arms through the straps of his worn canvas backpack that contained his laptop, a notebook full of figures and worksheets Vivian had given him to complete, and two changes of clothes. The weather had taken a spring-like turn in the few hours he’d been gone, a chilly mist settling over his shoulders in the tiny pocket between the plane’s door and the jet bridge. He ordered a ride with a few clicks of his phone and noticed a new voicemail.
“Hey, Nick.”
He stilled when he heard Chelsea’s tired voice.
“You’re probably flying back to Chicago, assuming you still want your truck. Heh. Anyway, I flew home with Missy this morning because I have a lot of decisions to make. So much happened while you were gone.” She paused for a breath. “But I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said and really hope we can talk when things settle down. Okay. Thanks. Bye.”
Which thing he’d said? When what settled down? A red Subaru stopped at the curb in front of him, and Nick tossed his backpack onto the seat, greeting the driver. When he looked at his phone again, a new text message had come through, a picture of Chelsea’s teal Chuck Taylors sticking out from the hemline of gray pinstripe slacks.
I took your advice and wore them in spite of Rhonda’s protests. They were the best gift. Thank you so much for everything you did this week, for the company and for me. I hope to someday show you how much that means to me.
Nick shut off his phone and paid the driver when they reached the convention center. Did she or didn’t she tell him that she didn’t want to be with him? And now Chelsea was talking about someday and when things settle down?
He checked on his truck before wandering through the exhibit hall, which was much barer and more industrial than it was a few days before. Chelsea’s exhibit was swept clean of her planners and product, a colorless skeleton that had fulfilled its destiny for the time being. Polished black heels stuck out from beneath the island storage area. Wasn’t everyone supposed to be gone?
“Rhonda, hi,” Nick said when she emerged.
The older woman sighed and heaved a stack of planners onto the island structure. “She’s gone. They flew out this morning.”
“She told me.”
Rhonda bent again and mashed an empty cardboard box onto the surface. “Help me pack these up, Nick Pearson, will you?”
He began layering the few leftover spiral-bound planners into the box. “So, how did the last few days go? Did Chelsea think it went okay?”
“She’s doing fine.” Rhonda’s eyes held a knowing glimmer. “She got an offer from Carter & Fritz, so she has a lot to think about right now.” Her voice softened. “And you have been quite the distraction for her.” The slight curve of her thin mouth said she didn’t necessarily disapprove.
“Is she going to sign it?” He closed the flaps of the box, and Rhonda cut a strip of packing tape.
A jagged sigh slipped through her mouth. “Your guess is as good as mine. She has another offer on the table she’s considering, too.”
“Do you want her to sign it?”
“Well, I certainly don’t want her signing anything that makes her feel like she’s signing away her soul.” Rhonda sealed another strip of tape on the box. “It’s a good opportunity, but I want our girl to love her job. If the boss isn’t happy at work, then we’re all in trouble.”
Some of the tension released from Nick’s shoulders. Chelsea must be warring over this decision, but at least she didn’t have to face undue pressure from her team.
“I heard you met with my daughter—she was Chelsea’s roommate at school.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He ran his hand over the top of the box. “She set us up with a great plan. You must be very proud of her.”
Rhonda gave a curt nod. “I was happy when she decided to go the consulting route. But, you know, sometimes women don’t want to end up like their mothers, and they do things because they’re afraid.” The tilt of her chin asked him if he understood what she was really saying.
Chelsea.
“Roommates talk, Nick Pearson.”
And it suddenly made sense. Chelsea’s parents had divorced because her father felt threatened by her mother’s career. Because her mom was always working and didn’t want to back down. While she was going to night school, he was seeing another woman on the side, and just when the long hours her mother had spent rising through the ranks of her career paid off, he left. Started a new family.
No wonder Chelsea was afraid.
“Well, I think that’s everything I need.” Rhonda scanned the shelving one more time.
“Sounds good.” If only the exhibit came with a self-deconstruct button so he could be on the road to Chelsea, to see her as soon as possible.
The older woman gave him a little salute. “The rest is up to you.”
Chapter 10
After a busy day of final meetings and travel, Chelsea declared the office closed for the rest of the week. Yet after a failed nap attempt, she put on real pants, grabbed her workbag, and started walking. The walls of her apartment had bred a cold silence, the perfect environment for overthinking to multiply like a bacteria colony. She had to set a productivity lock on her phone because it was taking the overthinking to epidemic status.
There was the future of her company to decide, especially after the follow-up call she’d received that morning from Jack Myers himself. Not one of his lackeys, just a good ol’ boy eager to make a deal with her.
And Nick.
I’ll call you when I get home. After the messages Chelsea had sent him, that was Nick’s only reply. Surely he was home by now. The crates that contained her exhibit materials had been left hours ago i
n the warehouse, according to Miranda.
This was a place Chelsea had put herself in by falling for him, by letting him remind her that their history of sparks could turn into something that could light up the night and then sending him away—again—because she was afraid. Yet it was his shoes she’d laced up that afternoon, ones that reminded her of baseballs sailing over boys’ heads, of melty, mile-high celebration cones, and the stumbling dance of kicking off shoes while running full-speed down a dock. Nick had known they would make her feel like she could do anything, and they did.
Chelsea trekked up the steps to her office with a giant coffee in hand. The door she expected to find locked was open, the lights on, every desk occupied with women entrenched in work.
“You all are supposed to be in your pajamas watching Netflix and eating donuts right now!” Chelsea planted a hand on her hip.
“Brandon went fishing.” Missy shrugged. “And I’d rather be here than staring at my laundry pile. It was giving me a guilt trip.”
“I’ve already binged all that Netflix has to offer anyway.” Miranda added. “So, why don’t you tell us why you’re here?”
Three expectant pairs of eyes landed on her. Missy’s gaze slid to the blond floor planks and then caught on Chelsea’s shoes.
“Face it.” Her second-in-command saved her from a half-hearted explanation. “You have a team that actually enjoys being at work. It’s your own fault.”
You built this company. It was you.
Hope’s enthusiastic nod about broke Chelsea’s ability to speak, but one tight swallow later, she was back in business.
“Well as long as we’re all here, can someone get Rhonda on the phone, please? I have something I’d like to share with y’all.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, there was no doubt in her mind—not that her instinct was right or wrong, but that she and her team would be okay no matter what decision she made. God could do important work in every outcome. For the first time since she’d finally agreed to put her name in the company branding a few years ago, Chelsea felt like a legitimate CEO because God had trusted her with that work.
“Rhonda’s here,” Miranda announced a few moments later.
“Okay, I’m not going to take the deal with Carter & Fritz.” How was she this calm? “But I am working on one with Myers Distribution that will bring in a considerable amount of revenue while letting us maintain more control and keep our existing designs. And more importantly, they will put our product directly into college bookstores, right in the hands of one of our biggest target demographics.”
“Who will fall in love and continue using Chelsea Scott planners into their professional lives,” Missy supplied.
Chelsea pointed at her. “Exactly.”
“Then it’s settled,” Rhonda’s voice came over the speaker of Miranda’s phone. “Sounds like a wise move.”
Chelsea nodded even though her adviser couldn’t see, cheeks aching from her wide smile. “It will keep us the way we are for now, with more resources to pursue other collaborations when the timing’s right. I’ll send you the numbers.”
“I like that a lot,” Hope said. “This is so exciting!”
“Whatever you say, boss.” Missy winked. “We trust your instinct.”
“Okay, is that it, then?” And with Rhonda’s signature impatience, the conversation was over, the next step in the Chelsea Scott business plan decided, and a new list of action steps ready to be created.
Chelsea had never been more excited to sit at her desk, sipping mercifully still-warm mocha and filling out a worksheet template she’d created for this very situation. There were cost analyses for shipping and printing to figure based on the new demand, a few more staff members to hire, and marketing expertise to enlist.
Her worksheet was half-populated when Missy peered at her over their laptops.
“Hey, Chels, do you have your phone? Brandon’s been trying to reach you.”
Chelsea reached for it in her bag. “I had to lock myself out of it. What does he need?”
“He said there’s something you need to see—something on Nick’s profile.”
Her pulse thumped in her ears as she walked around to Missy’s computer. “What is it?” She leaned toward the screen as her sister-in-law clicked to the website. Miranda and Hope huddled next to them seconds later.
The GoBroncs314 feed was filled with the usual things. Links to different college sports articles, a picture of a great burger he’d eaten, commentary about football recruits. But the most recent update—from thirteen minutes ago—was a picture of a very familiar landscape bordered at the bottom by very familiar legs draped over very familiar worn wooden planks.
Here’s hoping this place still has a little magic.
”Is that Lake Greencliff?” Miranda squealed. “Is Nick here?”
“I don’t know if he’s here, but that’s our spot.”
Missy turned her in the direction of the door. “Then get your booty over there!”
The sun was setting on one of the longest days of Nick’s life. After his early flight to Chicago, he’d driven the truck all through the night, unloaded Chelsea’s exhibit in the early hours of the morning, and then drove back to Oklahoma City to turn in the truck and steal a few hours of sleep.
But he’d awakened with urgency, showered, and thrown on clean clothes before taking off in Chelsea’s direction with a large vat of coffee. Now that he knew what it was like to have her back in his life, every inch of highway, every minute that ticked by felt wasted.
He’d walked the streets of Greencliff to the place they always seemed to find each other, where he’d wait as long as it took. She’d know the significance of his social media clarion call instantly. The peace that rested deep in his bones told him she would.
The lake blended into the gray of the sky, the water’s surface shrouded by thick fog. It was a welcome reprieve from the heat wave that had almost melted him into his truck’s upholstery. He lay with his back flat on the dock’s smooth planks, watching birds slice through the fog. Their cries mingled with the splash of lake lapping against worn beams and the fish and turtles breaking the surface of the water.
The peace of the lake had taken the edge off of his urgency, replacing it with stream-of-consciousness prayers and the overwhelming response that whatever happened when Chelsea eventually found him would be okay.
Thump thump thump thump. His eyes shot open as a new sound interrupted the lake soundtrack, at the gentle shake of the boards beneath him. He sat up, twisted his torso. And what he saw pushed him to his feet, teal Chuck Taylors connecting with the dock in long, fluid strides. Attached to Chelsea’s pumping legs and arms, her long, strawberry blond hair whipping behind her. Those dark eyes steeled with determination and then softened as she stopped several feet in front of him and bent to catch her breath.
Nick closed the distance in a few long strides, crouching to her bent level. “Hi.” He squinted up at her as the waning sun broke through the clouds. “Did you run all this way?”
She nodded and straightened, pulling him to his full height. “I saw your picture. What—are you doing here? I thought you were going to call.”
“I needed to see you, Scotty.” He reached to smooth a rogue strand of soft hair behind her ear, and she leaned into his palm. “Driving home without you from Chicago was summer ending all over again, and I don’t want that to happen this time.”
The line between Chelsea’s eyebrows softened, and she threw her arms around his neck in one of her patented hug-attacks he loved. “I don’t want that, either,” she said into the neck of his T-shirt.
“I’m not your father, Chelsea.” Nick framed her face with his hands, the skin covering her jaw and neck softer than anything he’d ever touched. “I want to help you be successful—to never let you forget how valuable you are, no matter how much work we have to do to get there.”
“And I don’t want to play like I have two strikes. Not with you, Nick.” Her eyes shi
mmered in the setting sunlight. “So how do we make this work? You in Oklahoma City, me in Greencliff?”
Nick grinned. “Your roommate may have helped me come up with some ideas, and we can make it work in the meantime—as long as I know the next time I’m going to see you.” He slid his hands along the curve of her waist. “And as long as it’s soon.”
Chelsea angled her gaze toward him, and he pressed his lips to hers. “I’d say this place still has the magic,” she whispered against his mouth, her voice low and luscious. “But are you sure you wouldn’t prefer one of those girls who can walk in heels? Someone more ladylike?”
He pulled away, blood whooshing in his ears, so he could see her face, so she could see the certainty in his. “I’d much rather have a Scotty.”
And the playfulness in her eyes melted to gorgeous severity, her breath catching in her throat, as she, no doubt, transported back with him to the moment on the softball field where they’d found each other again. Where he’d fallen for this woman—game over—and things would never be the same again.
“I love you,” she whispered.
Nick turned, taking a sprinter’s stance as if he was running away, but Chelsea caught his shirt and pulled him back, her shoulders shaking with laughter. “I think you already know that I love you, too,” he said.
“When did you know?” Her hands pressed against his chest. “That you still did?”
“The minute you slid into second base and I saw it was Chelsea Scott in that cloud of dirt. That’s when I knew.”
She reached on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “You love my mess.”
He answered by kissing her, at first tenderly, and then answering when she pulled him closer for more. Until her foot slipped and she was inches from sending them both into Lake Greencliff.
They shook with laughter from the deepest parts of their souls, as they had hundreds of times before, sweetened with the promise of one hundred more times.
“I think we’ll be safer on dry land.” Chelsea tugged him inland.
Love at First Laugh: Eight Romantic Novellas Filled with Love, Laughter, and Happily Ever After Page 67
