by Tina Martin
Flowers remind me of life. Of love. Of true love. Flowers are innocent. Romantic. Flowers are beautiful and bountiful if they’re well nurtured. I was once that way – well-nurtured – when my father was alive. He died when I was ten. Fatal car crash took him from us – from me and mama. Mama was never the same. Our relationship slowly lost its closeness when she fell into a deep depression. The smidgen of a relationship we had left completely died when she remarried.
“Hey, chica,” Consuela says, walking over to me with gloved hands pushing a wheelbarrow full of mulch. She works for Chavez Landscaping & Irrigation – the company who does all of Mr. St. Claire’s landscaping and with such a wide acreage of land, they’re here at least four days a week. He’s their biggest account.
“Hey, Consuela. What’s up?”
“Just thought I’d give you a heads up—the boss is lurking, coming this way.”
“Who?”
“Who do you think? The head honcho. The green-eyed bandit. Your secret crush.” She waggles her brows.
“Montgomery?”
“Yes!” She laughs. “Mr. Montgomery St. Claire.”
I dig another small hole to reset a flower. She knows Montgomery is my crush since she caught me staring at him one day. I was staring when I didn’t even realize I was staring. That’s how you know you got it bad – when you find yourself in a one-way trance with a person who’s not aware of your existence.
“Whatever,” I say, fanning her away. “I know you’re lying. Montgomery’s never on the grounds.”
“Trust me, I know. That’s why I thought it was strange to see him out here. Seems so odd to see his fancy leather shoes walking on actual grass. I thought he was too good for that. Anyway, gotta run. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Wait…what makes you think he’s looking for me?”
“He just asked my brother if he’s seen you out here. Bye.”
I giggle at the way she’s haulin’ it with that wheelbarrow. Nobody likes to run into Montgomery, not even the groundskeepers. No sooner than Consuela is out of sight and safely behind some bushes, I see Montgomery heading this way, wearing the ten-thousand-dollar suit I picked out for him this morning. His hair is shiny and curly beneath the midday sun. He’s not wearing sunglasses, even though he has a wide selection to choose from. I’m low-key glad he doesn’t have his eyes hidden. I like how the sunlight bounces off of them, making it appear different shades of green and brown. His caramel skin has me reliving the moment I saw him in all his hairy-chested glory this morning when he had me hostage in his closet.
What a beautiful man.
A beautiful man with a flawed personality and the body of an Adonis.
Oh my soul – somebody help me…
Actually, he’s the one who needs help. All I want to do is save him, but there comes a point in time when you realize life is hard and you can’t help everybody – especially those people who don’t realize or think they need it.
My heart begins with the erratic beats again, same as this morning. Why? Because his mind-screwing pheromones greet me before he’s able to. A stream of wind guided his smell straight to my nose. I glance up again and see him taking more steps with a walk so sensual, it should be outlawed. Is he really heading this way, or is it so hot out here I’m hallucinating? Seeing visions and mirages? Maybe it’s time for a break. Some water. Some electrolytes. I must be dehydrated.
I continue minding my business, planting marigolds in front of the row of dark green hostiles I planted yesterday when he walks right up to me. I can literally look to my right and see his leather shoes beside my knee. I finish brushing the dirt around the plant and try my hardest to avoid him, but his feet are literally right there.
My eyes climb up his legs and torso until it reaches his face. He’s so tall it seems like his head is in the clouds. In a figure-of-speech kind of way, it is. His intimidating presence has me questioning his sanity. Why is he here? And how does he go from not talking to me for two years – two full years – to having two interactions with me on the same day? Is there a lunar eclipse on the horizon? A blood moon? Wolf moon? Did the axis shift? Are the earth’s plates breaking apart? Is the whole state of North Carolina about to physically break away from the country and become its own island in the Atlantic?
When I can’t take the dark cloud of his presence looming over me as well as the one-sided chemistry I feel (because I know he doesn’t feel anything for me with his mean, arrogant self,) I ask, “Is there something you need?”
“No. Not necessarily,” he responds.
He continues standing there. He slides his hands in his pockets like he’s micro-managing me. Studying me. Silently reviewing my work.
“Why are you not wearing any gloves?” he asks.
“I don’t want to wear gloves.”
“That’s not a reason. Well, it is, but it’s a little immature. How old are you?”
I roll my eyes, happy he didn’t see me do it. I’m raking dirt around the flower I just planted, making sure it’s stable and well-rooted when I ask, “What does my age have to do with anything?”
“It’ll help me determine why you can’t properly answer my question.”
“I’m sorry—I’m not a businessman like you, Mr. St. Claire. I don’t answer all of my questions like I’m sitting in front of the president of a company.”
“I am the president, CEO or whatever you want to call it and as your boss, it is my requirement that my workers answer questions with a certain level of confidence and maturity like they know what they’re doing.”
“I do know what I’m doing.”
“Good. Then tell me why you don’t have on gloves.”
I release an even sigh – one he can’t hear. Maybe it was a good thing I was invisible to him for two years because if he’s this obnoxious, I don’t want the attention.
“I’m not wearing gloves because I’m a country girl at heart. I like to feel the soil on my hands. Is that a good enough answer for the boss?”
“Better than the first one you gave me. And, FYI, I don’t want those dirty hands on my clothes. You better make sure those hands are squeaky clean when you find yourself in my closet again.”
I better? Who does he think he’s talking to?
“What do you think? I don’t wash my hands?” I ask.
“I don’t know what you do. I really don’t know you.”
“Well, I don’t know you either, especially not enough for you to be invading my personal space while I’m trying to work.”
“You mean like you invaded my personal space this morning while you were in my closet.”
“Again, I was working.”
He doesn’t move. The heat of his eyes bearing down on my back is more fierce than the blazing temperature of the sun. “I can see that you’re working, but you’re not a gardener. I have landscapers. This—playing around in dirt—isn’t in your job description.”
“So what? Half the stuff I do around here ain’t in my job description. I just do what needs to be done and then me and my dirty hands go home.”
He’s quiet for a moment. I feel like it’s an eerie calm before the storm. His presence bothers me to the point that the chemistry I thought I felt when I’m around him has completely withered. All I feel now is his bad energy and it’s not something I want to be around. He’s not a nice person. I knew that already, but in my mind, I made him a nice person. The mind has a way of making you believe things you know aren’t true. Like a woman in an abusive relationship who’s getting beat up by her husband – he says he won’t do it again. Her mind wants to believe him – even convinces her that this time will be different – but deep down, she knows it’s only a matter of time before the abuse starts happening again.
That’s how my mind works with Montgomery. I look at him and see decency and that’s probably only because he’s so attractive. Society tells us that attractive people are naturally nice. False! My mind tells me he’s a good person and he’ll come around
one day and actually be a nice human. But when he opens his mouth and starts spewing out all this garbage, snapping and yelling at people, calling his mother Mrs. Hawthorne instead of Mother and treating his brother like a second-class citizen – like Major is one of us – I know what I believe isn’t true. He ain’t coming around. At this point, I’m not sure if he’s actually…human.
“I want you to come find me before you leave.”
“Why?”
“Because you work for me and I asked you to. Have a good day, Cherry.”
He walks away with a smirk on his face, satisfied, I’m sure, that he has completely pissed me off and disrupted my day. All I can do is watch, smelling the fading, glorious scent of his cologne as he moves across the healthy lawn heading for the west entrance of the house.
Now, I have to work with a sour stomach for the remainder of the day, wondering why he wants to meet with me before I leave. Is he going to fire me?
Great, Cherish. Just great. You should’ve kept your big mouth closed.
* * *
It’s four-thirty.
I’m sneaking all around the house in stealth mode trying to steer clear of everybody and by everybody, I mean Montgomery. When I’m sure he’s in his office, I go up to his master bedroom, make sure everything is still tidy. It is. The room is clean. Bed still made. I go to his bathroom and switch out the bath towels. They smell like him. Smell so freakin’ good I consider throwing them in a plastic bag and taking them home with me. Instead, I take them to the laundry room, a room about the size of his kitchen. It has two washers, two dryers, a washbasin, laundry sorter, two folding tables and two drying racks – a little overkill for me, but hey – people with money do things differently than us common folk.
My stomach growls. I usually don’t eat lunch. I try to tame my hunger with water most days. Today, I couldn’t eat or drink a thing, especially after the closet incident. Plus, I’m ‘bout to be out on my tail soon. What am I going to do if he fires me? Why did I engage in a back-and-forth exchange with Montgomery? What was I thinking? No one wins against him. It’s why he’s the CEO.
I throw the manly-smelling towels in the wash, add some detergent and flick off the lights as I leave the room. I close the door and was about to walk to the bathroom down the hallway when I hear a voice behind me yell, “Boo!”
“Eek!” I screech, convinced I’ve wet my jeans.
Meanwhile, Major, the current source of my anxiety, is cracking up laughing. “Did you really say, eek?” He folds over and laughs more.
“Major, I’m going to kill you. Why are you sneaking up on me like that?”
“Why are you yelling like somebody’s after you? Oh, wait, somebody is after you. I heard Monty’s been at you today. Said you were lurking around in his closet.”
“I wasn’t lurking around in nothing. I was picking out his suit like I do every morning.”
“I know. I know. I’m just teasing, but for real, though—why don’t you pick out my suits? I’m much nicer than he is.”
I grin. Major is more down-to-earth than his brother. Don’t get it twisted – he’s about his business, too, but he’s not as rigid. He actually smiles. I know what his teeth look like. He’s handsome – has the same green eyes as Montgomery, but it’s something about Montgomery that draws me in. Maybe it’s the bad boy appeal and his blasé attitude like he doesn’t need anybody. They say good girls always fall for the bad boys. For two years, I’ve been falling.
“I don’t pick out your suits because I’m not your assistant, Major. Why don’t you have an assistant, anyway?”
“Mother tried to hire one for me. I refused. I’m not ready for all that yet. When I get to the point where I feel like I can’t handle any more additional tasks, then I’ll hire an assistant. Right now, I’m straight.”
“Wait—how did you know about the closet incident this morning?” I ask.
“Monty called a business meeting this morning and he brought it up.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Wish I was. He wanted to know if you were supposed to be there. He thought Paige had been picking out his clothes all along. Wanted to confirm it was supposed to be you. Mother confirmed it, but he was still pretty ticked off.”
“Well, unfortunately for me, he requested I meet with him before I leave today. So, I gotta imagine today is my last day.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because he was bothering me today. He never talks to me, like ever. Today, he came outside and was asking me crazy stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Like why I was working in the flowers…why I didn’t have on gloves. Ugh...”
I sigh. Collect myself. “Look, it was nice knowing you, Major. Now, if you would excuse me, I have to go finish peeing.”
He laughs. “I didn’t scare you that bad, did I?”
“You did. You didn’t hear me scream?”
“You call that a scream. You said, eek.” He chuckles while following me to the bathroom. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone scream like that.”
“Welp, now that I’m about to get canned, you’ll never have to worry about hearing it again. Goodbye, Major.”
“Whatever, girl. You’re not about to get canned. Monty would never fire you.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because he likes you.”
I laugh and step into the bathroom. “Bye, Major,” I say before closing the door.
“I’ll see you later.”
“Don’t count on it.”
Chapter Four
Monty
It’s two minutes ‘til six. Cherish has yet to come see me, so here I sit, at the dining room table alone, wondering if this girl is going to challenge me. She gets off work at six. I know this because I watch her leave every day. She doesn’t know this. I doubt if anyone does.
I usually eat alone. The way my father had this place built was for every wing to be a separate residence. Therefore, I have a private kitchen and dining room. So does mother and Major. If or when we all eat together, we meet in the main dining room on the ground floor in the common area. That’s where I am now – in the main dining room, my patience dwindling, waiting for Cherish. I can’t recall the last time I had dinner with my mother in this room, just like I don’t know the last time we saw eye-to-eye on anything. That’s mostly my fault.
When my father died three years ago, a part of me died with him and I’m not saying that to emphasize how much he meant to me. I really mean it. A part of me died. I was close to him. I was his shadow. I studied him. Believed in him and his vision. I wanted to be just like him. So, I went to college. Studied business and didn’t stop until I got my masters. I picked my father’s brain, was with him all the time – then stomach cancer claimed his life.
During that time of the diagnosis, he grew bitter. He had all the money in the world, could afford every treatment there was to be had, but nothing could stop cancer from spreading. Money couldn’t save his life.
That reality manifested itself in the form of anger and bitterness. He lashed out a lot – at me, mother and Major. He pushed everyone away, especially my mother. She took offense – I just learned today she wanted to divorce him. I hope that wasn’t during the time he was sick. He was a jerk, but I think it was his way of protecting her. He didn’t want her to see him slowly waste away to nothing. He stopped taking medicine when he accepted his fate. He wouldn’t accept the care of any nurses. He only wanted me by his side.
One of the last things I remember him saying to me while he was still well enough to speak was that money wasn’t everything. Told me to take care of mother and Major. Told me to find myself. My purpose. Wanted me to fall in love and be happy. Said, in the end, love is all you have.
I watched my father cry that day. I’d never seen my old man shed a tear before then. That was the day he asked to see my mother. A few days later, he was gone. The life – the breath – went out of him as I held his hand.
&
nbsp; His death rattled me to the core. It’s one of those things you think about but can never really prepare for. I didn’t cry. Didn’t shed a single tear at his funeral. I was bitter. My heart, hardened. A year later, I’m the exact same way. It’s like I’m holding my breath, swimming up toward the light, but I can never find the surface of the water. I know I’m going to drown. Drown in my own misery.
In this hold-my-breath stage, I don’t know who I am, but I know I’m not fulfilling my father’s last wishes for me. He told me to find myself and I haven’t done that. I don’t know who I am without this company attached to my name. I’m the CEO – the top boss that everyone hates.
He told me to take care of my mother and Major. I’ve failed. My mother despises me for being bitter like my father. I can’t have a normal conversation with her without it turning into an argument.
Major turned out a lot better than I did, probably because he has a life outside of work. He doesn’t have the same responsibilities I have. He doesn’t have to make sure hundreds of people get their paychecks on time. Am I jealous of him because of that? No. Not at all. My problem with him is, he used to look up to me. Now, I can feel him looking down at me. He hates the man I’ve become, but he won’t say it. His actions say it, but he won’t verbalize it.
“You’re eating in here today, Sir?” Naomi asks.
I automatically glare at her. “I’m sitting in here, aren’t I?” I hate it when people ask obvious questions.
“Yes, Sir, you are. I’ll start bringing your food.”
“You do that.”
I glance at my watch. It’s 6:02 p.m. Naomi brings in a bowl of dinner rolls, a salad and another dish that she explains as being mozzarella chicken. It looks good – something I haven’t tried before. She brings dressing in a stainless steel gravy boat and places it on the table.
