by Peggy Bird
The office phone rang. She looked frustrated at the interruption. Saying, “I’m sorry, I have to answer this,” she picked up the phone. “Good morning. This is Bella at Break Up or Make Up. How can I help you?”
He saw her eyes light up when the person at the other end of the call responded.
“Mrs. Pennington, I’m so glad you called. I’ve wanted to touch base with you ever since the planning commission hearing. I hoped we could try to iron out our differences so we can be a positive part of what’s going on in the neighborhood.”
Oh, shit. Jane Pennington was on the other end of the call. The woman he’d gossiped to who started the snowball rolling that almost buried Isabella and Summer in an avalanche. And Isabella wanted to talk to her. Double shit. He slammed the mug down so hard the remains of his coffee slopped over the edge onto his hand and the papers on the desk.
She continued, “Coffee would be great. Let me go get my calendar, and we’ll set something up.” She put the phone down and disappeared into the back.
He’d known walking into the BU/MU office, it wouldn’t take much to turn things into a real disaster. And now a simple phone call had done it. Isabella would think he only told her his secret because Mrs. Pennington was about to out him over a cup of Starbucks’s finest.
His last bit of courage was gone. He had to be, too. He wrote a note saying he’d gotten a call from his office and had to go and slipped out the front door before Isabella came back. The chance of explaining what he’d done in a way that didn’t look petty and stupid had been slim to begin with. On the slim-to-none scale, he’d now officially reached “none.”
Chapter Eighteen
He’d disappeared. Again. At least this time, he left a note. Summer was right. She was going to have to trap him in his office and force him to answer her questions. If he wouldn’t, she was done. This was absurd. It didn’t matter how attractive he was or how good he made her feel in bed. If he wasn’t willing to talk about what the hell was going on and why he kept disappearing, mentally or physically, she was giving up. Surely love shouldn’t be this difficult, should it?
Luckily she had a full day of meetings with former BU/MU clients to see if she could get testimonials from them about the services they’d received. She was looking forward to meeting the people she’d contacted, most of whom she’d only previously known through Summer’s descriptions.
First up was a woman who’d asked for a letter from her dog to the pooch next door, trying to keep the big dog from laying claim to the smaller dog’s domain. Apparently Bella’s letter, which she’d run through many drafts to make sure it was funny and not offensive, had done the job. The big dog had left the little guy alone after getting the missive. Then she was dropping in on a small business owner who had used them to negotiate an amicable split with a partner, followed by a meeting with the partner from whom the owner had split.
But the meeting after was the one she was really happy about. She was having coffee with Allison Lindberg, the ex-girlfriend of the infamous Dear John Ranter. She could hardly wait to find out what had happened with that unhappy guy.
• • •
Bella got a bit lost in Bellevue trying to find the office building where Allison’s engineering firm was headquartered, but she’d left plenty of time to get there because she was unfamiliar with the area, so she made it to the Starbucks where they were to meet on time. Allison was already in line, about to order her coffee.
“Bella, how nice to finally meet you in person. Welcome to Bellevue,” Allison said. “Did you have any trouble finding the building?”
“Not really,” Bella said, fudging the truth. “I wandered a bit but not too much.” She waved her Starbucks card at the barista. “I’ll get hers and a macchiato for me, please.”
“You didn’t have to treat,” Allison said.
“You’re doing me a favor. It’s my pleasure.”
They collected their coffees and settled at a corner table.
“So,” Allison began. “You’re opening an office for Break Up or Make Up in Seattle.”
“We are. And we’re contacting some of the clients we’ve served in the Puget Sound area to see if we can get testimonials for our marketing materials.” When it looked like Allison was about to interrupt, Bella said, “We’re not looking to use names, particularly for individuals. We’d use generic descriptors, like, ‘woman requesting love letter for boyfriend’ or ‘business owner trying to repair damaged relationship with partner.’”
“Good. Because I wouldn’t want my name out there as someone who broke up with her boyfriend with a letter someone else wrote for her. No matter how great I think your company is, I’m a bit embarrassed I had to resort to using you instead of doing it myself.”
“Like we always say, why do it yourself and use the wrong words when you can have the professionals find the right words.”
“And you did. You were wonderful.”
“So, can we get a sentence or two from you saying that?”
“Let me give it some thought. I have your e-mail. If I decide to participate, I’ll contact you.”
“Fair enough.” Bella sipped at her coffee. “Actually, asking you to give us a testimonial is only half the reason I wanted to see you. The other half is pure curiosity. I was in the office the day your ex came roaring in threatening Summer. I didn’t see him, but I sure heard him. Did he ever contact you?”
“No, he cooled off I guess. I haven’t seen him or heard from him since you delivered the letter. I don’t suppose Taylor ... uh ... Teej took my advice and used your services, too, did he? He’s a great guy, but he needs to figure a way to live life outside the straitjacket of his ambitions.”
She wasn’t sure she’d heard Allison correctly. “What did you call him?”
“Teej? It’s the nickname I called him. I addressed his letter that way, remember?”
“Before you called him Teej, you called him something else.”
Allison scrunched her face up. “Oops. Slipped, didn’t I? I said his real name. It’s Taylor. I called him Teej because he always signed his e-mails and texts to me with his initials: TJ.”
“Taylor J?” Every instinct in her body was at DEFCON One. The roaring in her ears was louder than the sound of the Air Force scrambled for an imminent attack. “What does the J stand for?” she asked, sure her voice was quivering.
“I’m not sure I want to say. I’ve tried to protect his identity in all this with you.”
“If I guess right, would you confirm it?” She hoped she was wrong, but she had to know.
“I suppose so. As long as you’re not planning to ask him for a testimonial.”
“No, that’s not the reason I’m asking.” She was clutching her pen so hard it hurt her fingers. “Is the J for Jordan?”
She couldn’t tell from her face if Allison was surprised or suspicious. She supposed it could be both. “Yes. Do you know him?”
“Assuming he’s the Taylor Jordan who works for MBA Consulting, yes, you could say I know him. Summer hired his firm to develop a marketing plan for us. They’re the ones who suggested we collect testimonials.”
“Oh, my God. Taylor’s not working on your account, is he?”
“No, Nate Benjamin is. But I’ve had contact with Taylor. Run into him a few times, in the office, I mean.” She was afraid she was blushing at the way she was presenting her acquaintance with Taylor. “He knows his firm is working with us. I wonder why he’s never said anything about getting one of our letters?”
Allison shrugged. “Maybe he was embarrassed about it. Or maybe it was his male ego not wanting to admit to being dumped by mail.”
Or maybe his goal was to embarrass BU/MU, and being honest wouldn’t achieve his goal. “Well, anyway, I’m glad it turned out okay for you.” She closed her small notebook and put her pen back in her purse, hoping Allison would take it as a sign the interview was over. Now that she had this bombshell information, all she wanted to do was have a chance to process i
t. Alone.
Allison checked the time on her phone. “Sorry to cut this short. I have to get back upstairs. Big project coming to an end, and we’re all running around trying to tie up loose ends.” She put out her hand. “I’ll give some thought to writing up a sentence or two for you to use and get in touch.”
Bella sat at the table after Allison left trying to sort out what she’d learned. Was this the big secret Taylor was hiding from her and the reason why the shutters came down over his eyes every now and then? Shouldn’t he have told them when they hired his firm? Shouldn’t Nate have told them? Maybe he didn’t know. That had to be it. Not only had Taylor kept the secret of how Allison had broken up with him from her but he’d kept it from everyone.
She couldn’t help wondering if this was some part of Taylor’s—no, Teej’s—threat to get even. Was he playing with her so he could hurt her like he’d been hurt? Was he spying on Summer’s operation by flirting with her?
On the other hand, he did try to tell her something on Saturday night and this morning in her office. Was it this? It better be. If there was something else and he intended to continue to keep this a secret ...
No way was he escaping one hell of a conversation as soon as she could arrange it. In the meantime, she had to get back to her office. She had one more coffee date this afternoon—with Mrs. Pennington, the neighborhood association president. Unlike the others today, it was not a meeting she had been looking forward to. But after the coffee date with Allison, it began to look better and better. How much worse could meeting with the Dragon Lady of the neighborhood association be?
Chapter Nineteen
Bella had invited the neighborhood association president to come to the BU/MU office, wanting to show her how carefully they’d renovated the building, fitting their office into the space with little change to the distinctly Victorian touches in the living room and dining room. Only in what had been a library were there any substantial changes—shelves had been converted to file drawers with fronts to match the existing wood and a storage closet added where none had been.
She was slightly nervous about this meeting. Mrs. Pennington hadn’t been particularly friendly on the phone, although she hadn’t put up any argument about meeting. Busying herself with making a fresh pot of coffee, she tried to take her mind off what the conversation might be like.
At four sharp, Mrs. Pennington appeared at BU/MU. Bella had left the inside door open so all her visitor had to do was open the screen door and come in. Instead, Mrs. Pennington paused on the porch, then knocked, as thought she were visiting a friend’s home, not a business office. Bella went to the door to welcome her.
“I’m Isabella Rodriguez, Mrs. Pennington. Please, come in. You’ll have to forgive the mess. We’re still in the renovation stage. The workers are beginning in the kitchen this week while they finish the earthquake upgrades and the storage in the back.” She led the older woman to what had once been the living room and would soon be the reception area. “I’m afraid a desk chair and a desk for our coffee is all I can offer you. The other furniture won’t be here for a week or so.”
“A desk chair is fine,” Mrs. Pennington said. “And I take my coffee black.”
Her guest settled herself on the visitor side of the receptionist desk. Mrs. Pennington was probably in her sixties with beautiful pure white hair in soft waves around her face. She was dressed in designer casual clothes and had the self-assurance and composure Bella recognized as coming from a life of privilege and security.
She fixed two mugs of coffee and returned to the desk. “I didn’t really have a chance to meet you at the planning commission hearing.”
Mrs. Pennington sipped at her coffee and said nothing.
“So, I’m happy you agreed to talk with me. I’m hopeful we can get a few misunderstandings straightened out.”
“I was surprised when the woman from the city called to tell me you wanted to talk. I can’t imagine what we have to discuss. I lost. You won.” She shrugged her shoulders and sipped more coffee.
“I prefer to think, however you view the outcome of the planning commission hearing,” Bella said, “we both care about the future of this neighborhood. I hope you agree with that even though we might not agree on the details of how it would all play out.”
“That, my dear, is an understatement.”
There was some more coffee sipping and a bit of silence before she tried again to engage her visitor in conversation. “I was hoping you’d be willing to work with us, instead of against us, as long as we’re going to be in the neighborhood.”
“And do what exactly?”
“I’m not sure yet. But clearing the air would be a good first step, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so. How would you propose we go about clearing the air?”
“Maybe, if you’re willing, you could give me some more details about why you were so adamantly opposed to our being here. I might be able to ease some of your concerns.”
Mrs. Pennington said nothing for several long moments. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to tell you. It’s moot now, since the hearing. There were several reasons. The general one, the one we stated at the hearing, was that I’m opposed—the neighborhood association is opposed—to rezoning any residence for commercial use. We’ve already seen a great many of our older homes converted, and it’s my goal—the goal of the neighborhood association—to stop any more conversions before we lose the character of the neighborhood. This is a very special residential area, and the creeping commercialization of our side streets is of concern to us. Commercial uses belong on main arterials. But on the side streets, we’d prefer to see it remain completely residential.”
“I understand. It’s the same problem in almost every city experiencing growth. My family is in the real estate business in California, and we deal with the issue all the time.”
“Is your family in the residential or commercial end of the business?”
“Both. One brother heads up the residential side, another our commercial activities.”
“You must have some interesting family dinners.” For the first time, Mrs. Pennington seemed to soften up, her mouth fighting hard not to smile.
“Mrs. Pennington, I have four older and extremely bossy brothers. Even without the obvious business conflicts, we have interesting family dinners.”
The older woman actually laughed. “I don’t envy you four brothers. I had a hard enough time with only one.”
“Well, fortunately, I’m in Seattle and they’re in California so it’s easier than it was when we were all in one city.” She pointed to Mrs. Pennington’s now empty mug. “Can I freshen your coffee?”
“Yes, thank you.”
When she’d refilled both mugs, she went back to the subject of the rezoning hearing. “You said there were several reasons for your position. Can you tell me what the other reasons were?”
“We heard your company had created problems with their neighbors in Portland.”
“Who told you that, if you don’t mind telling me?”
“Someone from another neighborhood association who had done some research on your company. He wasn’t impressed with what he’d found.”
“Did he give you any specifics about the so-called problems with our neighbors?”
“Well, one of the problems was parking.”
She had a hard time controlling herself so she didn’t laugh. “I’m afraid problems with parking are endemic to Northwest Portland where our office is.”
“It was from all those people coming and going at all hours.”
“Actually, we don’t have people coming and going, even during regular business hours. One of the reasons the four-person limit on staff in the rezoning for this building isn’t a problem is we only have a full-time staff of two in our Portland office. The counselors, social workers, and attorneys affiliated with the business are on a consulting basis and meet with our clients in their offices, not ours. Not even our freelance writers come into the office
very often. They do most of their work electronically.”
“That was certainly not the impression my source gave.”
“What else did your source tell you about us?” she prodded, hoping for more details.
“It wasn’t clear exactly what your business was. From the little we heard, it frankly sounded sordid, and we didn’t want an undesirable business in the neighborhood under any circumstances. If I remember correctly, Mr. Jordan said you were involved in some questionable activities related to sexually explicit communications. Something akin to the sleazy personal ads in the tabloid newspapers.”
DEFCON One reappeared, this time twisting her stomach into a knot and starting a blinding pain in her head. “Mr. Jordan? Not Taylor Jordan, by any chance?”
“Yes, do you know him?”
In every sense including the biblical. “We’ve met, yes. But he never mentioned he’d had contact with anyone about us.”
“It was only one conversation. And he did, now that I think about it, call me later to say he was sure your company was a reputable one. But by then, we’d already officially objected. Even if he hadn’t warned us about your business, we would have asked to testify at the hearing because of the reason I stated earlier, but his opinion made it even more imperative that we intervene. So we did, both with the city and in the press.”
It took all the mental discipline Bella had to stay in her chair and say, in a rational tone of voice, “Given what you’ve told me, I understand why you might wonder about what we do. Especially since I’m not aware of any company like us anywhere else to compare us to, although I’m surprised Mr. Jordan wasn’t a bit more knowledgeable. Can I tell you something about us to see if I can set your mind at ease?”
When Mrs. Pennington nodded, Bella described for her, in a few sentences, what they did and how they did it. She used examples from the list she’d pulled out of the client files and assured the woman their work was above board and, according to their clients, a needed and much appreciated service.
