Morgan's Chase 1 (Power Play)

by Lucy St. John

Chapter 16

  It wasn’t yet mid-morning, but Morgan already felt defeated and drained. Instead of being the businesswoman who authored her own opportunity, events were happening to her now. Away from the office, she felt unmoored, unplugged and adrift. A bobbing buoy to be buffeted by whatever direction the tides happened to be running.

  This wasn’t Morgan.

  But what could she do?

  With both her ex-husband and a reporter sniffing around her exploits at the office, she had no choice but to stay away from the one place that had been her anchor for the past two tumultuous years. And as reluctant as she was about it, Morgan would have to trust Linden. She realized now that it was in her boss’s own interest to protect her. Doing so would safeguard the company’s IPO, which would rain money into all of their pockets.

  Clad in a terrycloth robe and slippers – a rare luxury on a weekday midmorning -- Morgan lumbered down the steps of her house. Her alert nose followed the delicious aroma of fresh-brewed coffee. And by now – hours behind her typically high-octane schedule – Morgan’s very soul craved caffeine.

  She padded into the kitchen to find a fresh pot underneath the coffee maker. A mug and spoon were laid out nearby. Morgan so honed in on the coffee, she didn’t immediately notice Travis surveying a sheaf of plans, sketches and materials catalogs at the kitchen table.

  Morgan poured and sipped at a steaming mug before her slowly sharpening eyes finally rose beyond the cup’s brim. She wasn’t surprised at all to see Travis there. In fact, she had been looking forward to seeing him.

  With both hands wrapped around her warm mug, she padded over to the table.

  Travis’s brow was furrowed in concentration as his eyes surveyed the array of documents. Morgan didn’t disturb him, merely padded up behind him and peered over his shoulder.

  She sipped from the cup, and as the mind sharpening properties of the caffeine pumped through her system, she began to realize what she was looking at.

  It was her kitchen. The kitchen she had imagined. The classic warm, country hearth that in her mind smelled of fresh baking bread and bacon sizzling on a griddle, along with that wonderful foundational undertone of good, strong coffee.

  “You did all this in one night?” Morgan whispered.

  Travis still didn’t look up at her.

  “This house has a lot of potential,” he said, still studying the drawings. “I guess I couldn’t get it out of my head.”

  He finally turned to her. His sharp, blue eyes found hers. She felt inadequate in his gaze, what with her wet hair and her face free of makeup.

  But his kind, comforting eyes held no judgment of her. Only warmth, just like the kitchen he had imagined for her.

  “Besides,” he said. “I knew you’d be around the house for a couple days. And I know that isn’t always the case. So I figured I’d better take advantage of the fact that I have a captive audience.”

  “So, I’m your captive?” Morgan playfully asked. She could get used to such things.

  Travis raised one side of his mouth in an amused grin.

  “Let’s just say I was worried that once you got back into your usual routine, I’d never get you to stand still long enough to make a decision.”

  Morgan raised her gaze to her pathetic kitchen’s ceiling, as if considering this. Then, she dipped her chin in agreement. Travis had a point there.

  “Maybe I’ve changed,” Morgan allowed.

  “I go by what I see,” Travis answered. “You’ve lived here going on two years. And while it’s a great old house, it could use some work. It’s not like money is a problem for you. So I’m thinking it must be time. You’re just too busy to sign off on a project to fix your own house.”

  “Money’s a problem for everyone,” Morgan pointed out, cynically.

  “Not me,” Travis countered. “Never was high on my agenda.”

  “That’s not a very good opening position from which to negotiate your rate.” Morgan smiled devilishly. “A woman in my position could really squeeze you for all you’re worth now.”

  “Only if I let you,” he said. “But I don’t negotiate. My rate is what it is. I know what I’m worth, and that’s what I charge. I haven’t had many complaints.”

  “That, I do believe,” Morgan said, raising her mug with both hands, and gently sipping from it.

  “I do like what I see,” Morgan said.

  She meant the drawings, but her comments could have applied to Travis himself.

  “It’s like you read my mind.”

  “No,” he said, narrowing his eyes and considering her. “That would be a fool’s errand. I just listened and took my best swing.”

  Morgan sat down at the table, and rested her cup on its surface. She picked up a catalog showing various cabinet styles and materials. She moved the booklet to one of the drawings, as if attempting to see how Travis’s sketches would come to life.

  Travis watched her comb through the appliance catalogs, circling her favorites, and comparing them against the sketches. He was quiet, jotting occasional notes and figuring up prices.

  The two sat together like this for most of the morning, until nearly everything was decided.

  “So what do we do now?” Morgan brightly posed.

  “Well, you write me a check, and I order all the materials and appliances,” he said. “The cabinets themselves could take up to three weeks, so I’ll hold off on the real demo work until I get the delivery dates firmed up. You’ll want to keep a working kitchen as long as you can. Believe me. It’s going to get pretty ugly around here, before it gets better.”

  “You wouldn’t be one of those contractors who leaves a girl hanging, would you?” Morgan was playing with him again, randomly poking and prodding, looking for buttons on this calm, centered man whom she found so intriguing.

  “Haven’t yet,” Travis said. “But to be honest, there’s not a lot I can do around here until the orders start coming in.”

  “So you’re going to just sketch and run?” Morgan asked, disappointed.

  “Actually, after I get these orders in, I was thinking about taking in a ballgame,” he said. “There’s a businessperson’s special this afternoon.”

  “I’m a businessperson,” Morgan pointed out. “You tell me, am I special?”

  Travis broke into a full grin.

  “You’re special, all right,” he agreed. “Is that your way of inviting yourself to the game?”

  “A guy like you wouldn’t want to drag a mother and two kids to a ballgame,” Morgan tentatively stated. “Would you?”

  “You’re clients now,” Travis pointed out. “I can write it off.”

  “Oh, I know,” Morgan excitedly said. “I can call the office and see if I can get us seats in the corporate skybox.”

  Travis frowned for the first time that morning.

  “That’s not baseball,” he said. “I’ll get the seats. Just have the kids ready. And bring your mitt. I have a feeling we’re gonna catch one today.”

  “My mitt?” Morgan said, dumbfounded. She hadn’t taken a mitt to a game since she went to old Three Rivers Stadium with Big Al.

  They sat way out in left field. Terrible seats by any standard. Big Al drank beer, ate peanuts and got sunburned. And Morgan hadn’t had that much fun at a baseball game since. She had had plenty of better seats and much better food – yet not nearly as much fun.