by Lyz Kelley
Courtney pressed shaking fingers to her temple. “This speech is important. Very important. And, it’s beautifully written, but I can’t get up in front of all those people. I’ll mess up, and the message about human abuse is so important.” She flipped through several typed pages and then looked toward the round table in the seven-hundred-seat hotel conference center. “Valerie, this is your area of expertise. You’ll deliver our message better than I can. And besides, you’re known in this community. People respect you.”
“Baby, this is your time. People will embrace your message, just like they did mine. Tomorrow you will get up on this stage and let your voice be heard.” Valerie’s bold, encouraging conviction made Courtney’s eyes sting.
“But I sound like Professor Crowley. Everyone fell asleep during his lectures.” She glanced down at the double-spaced page filled with words she couldn’t seem to decipher at the moment. “How am I ever going to get across these women’s heartbreak, struggle and triumph? I want to get them the help they need.”
“Why don’t you tell your story?” A baritone voice said from the back of the room.
Weston? Courtney squinted against the stage lights toward the figure cast in shadow. “Didn’t you have a meeting today?”
“The judge rescheduled Liam’s court hearing to have time to review the new evidence. The other meetings I canceled to be with you.”
What new evidence? The tape was submitted days ago, so that couldn’t be the new evidence he was referring to. Did someone else come forward? Not likely, since the gorgeous man in a gray tailored suit and blue pinstriped shirt seemed so calm. She shook her head and took a deep breath. “This speech. I—”
“Don’t do it. You don’t need to read what’s been prepared,” he suggested.
Valerie gasped. Linda glared.
“What?” she wheezed, uncertain she understood him correctly.
“I said, don’t give that speech.”
The voice in her head screamed, Nooo! If Valerie refused to talk, she had no choice. She needed to be the voice for the people. She must do this. Flaking out now wasn’t an option.
Weston walked to the side of the stage and up the stairs. “Don’t use that speech. Tell your story, instead.”
“My story?” The air in her lungs compressed. She sucked in a new breath. She tried to kick-start her brain.
When she looked up, Weston was by her side, taking her hand. “The only way you’ll connect with the audience is if you tell them your story. Tell them why the shelter is so important to you and the other women. Create an awareness of how the donors can help and why helping is so important.” He closed the binder on the podium. “You don’t need speaking notes. You know what you want to say, so say it.”
No notes? No preparation? That’s why I failed before.
She slipped out of his grasp. “I don’t know.” She touched the binder chock full of sophisticated words. Words meant for smart, worldly people with lots of money. How would the simple words spoken by a Jersey girl make a difference?
“This speech…,” she pressed her hand against the white notebook to push away the escalating fear, “…is inspiring. Help me talk Valerie into giving it,” she whispered.
“I heard that, sister.”
Oops. She hadn’t realized the mic was still on.
“I’m not going to do the speaking, baby. You are, so cinch up those bra straps, missy, and get on with the job. Weston’s got a good point. Just talk. You’re good at talking.”
She waved Valerie off and paced in a circle on the stage. “Are you sure telling my story will make a difference?”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely.”
“You go, girl!”
The confirmation came from all directions, yet the “yes” she needed had come from Weston. He stood there like an oak tree, his arm extended like a limb to grab onto in the gale force of emotions swirling around her. Every day he spoke to audiences of peers, staff, and reporters. If he believed her story would be helpful, then she would trust him.
She sighed, “Okay. Okay. I’ll try it.”
The crinkle at the corners of his eyes provided the lift of encouragement she needed.
“The audience will be filled with humans, like us,” he moved in front of her. She had nowhere to hide. “They may wear different clothes and speak different languages, but all of them experience a wide range of emotions. It’s what connects us. Reach deep. Feel the fear and hopelessness. Be vulnerable. If you can portray the raw, emotional side of your story, then you will connect with the audience.”
“Speeches are meant to influence. What if they don’t connect with me?” she wrapped her arms around her waist. Her father hadn’t believed her. Even her brothers disputed the facts. Making a room full of strangers accept what happened when her own family had refused to support her seemed like an uphill battle. She closed her eyes to prevent him from seeing her inner wispiness.
A fighting voice pushed back her doubts. Since when had she become a coward? She fisted her shaking fingers, despising the show of weakness.
“People will see the truth.” He lifted his arm and rotated his hand palm up, offering her his calming strength.
She accepted his gift of comfort. “And the truth shall set you free…is that what you’re saying?”
“Something like that,” He embraced her hand. “What do you say we get out of here? It’s a nice day outside. We can go over the details of your speech in the park, or at my apartment.” His eyebrows did a silly dance.
The funny expression tickled, and she laughed. “Are you playing hooky from work again, Mr. Carver?”
“Experts say the creative mind is most effective when at play.”
“Is that so?” She leaned in closer. “Do you like to play, Weston?”
“Okay. That’s a wrap.” Valerie said from the seating area. “I need to get out of here before I embarrass myself. My toenails are already painted red. I don’t need for my cheeks and ears and everything else to match. I read that Fifty Shades book. Um-hmm. Baby, I need not see a demonstration. No, sir. And it looks like you two are headed in that direction.” She hoisted her oversized bag up off the floor, plunked a hat on her head, and tapped Linda on the shoulder. “Are you coming?”
“I have several things to discuss with Mr. Carver. And we—”
“Later.” Valerie handed Linda her business tote. “You’re not gonna get anything out of those two, other than a lot of goo-goo eyes and touchy-feely stuff. How about we visit that new bakery that opened down the street? Rumor has it their croissants are scrumptious.”
Linda studied them and then tilted her head back to look at Valerie. “You’re right. Going to the bakery is a marvelous idea.” Linda’s hardened expression changed to delight. “A pastry sounds lovely.”
“And I can help you with your seating chart.”
“I’d love your help! I’m having an especially hard time with the last-minute additions. I’m hoping you know some of them and can help me arrange the seating so we aren’t responsible for starting a world war.”
Awe replaced Courtney’s embarrassment. The two women, strangers not more than four weeks ago, walked out of the auditorium arm in arm. How quickly life shifted.
“I wonder if Linda knows what she’s getting into. Valerie can talk a person’s ear off and extract information out of them before they realize what they’re saying.”
“In that case, Valerie’s the medicine Linda needs. She lost her husband a few years back, and since then she’s been working too many hours, and not getting enough sleep or eating properly.”
Courtney ran her hand down the silk of Weston’s purple tie. “You’re a watcher, aren’t you? You see people in ways no one else does.”
His eyes sparkled under the lights. “Understanding people, what drives them, what motivates them, helps me influence a conversation, and be successful at the negotiating table.”
“I’m not just talking businesspeople. I’ve seen you with Mike
, Haley, and Joe. You understand every little nuance about their lives. You care about them. Not solely as employees, but as friends. Yet you strike me as a person who doesn’t have many friends. There are lots of people who believe they might be your friend, but you don’t let them close. Why is that?”
“I’m a busy guy,” He pulled on the lobe of his ear, a sign of deception. “I don’t need a lot of friends, and I’ve always surrounded myself with real people who go after what they want. It makes for a much simpler life.”
She touched the roughened skin on his jawline. “Am I a friend?”
He moved in closer and bumped his nose against hers. “I hope more than a friend. I like the way you challenge me. You help me see the sunshine, even on cloudy days.”
A thrill spiraled up and out to all her extremities. She loved the way he was the calm in the center of her storm. “And you make me see possibilities where none previously existed.”
He pressed his mouth against hers. He tasted of toast, and she loved the buttery, salty flavor. She inhaled the normality of him. If she had met him in line at a cafe, she would have fallen for his charm and quick wit in an instant.
She pulled back. “You are delectable.”
“So are you. How about we go play at my apartment?”
His hand slid around her hip and grabbed her butt cheek. He pulled her closer, and his enthusiasm became even more apparent. For the first time since college she experienced freedom. The euphoria of being with someone she trusted. The giddiness. The excitement. She wanted to hug him. Laugh at his jokes. Sigh at his touch.
Her breasts hardened against his chest. “Do you promise to feed me? All this nervous energy makes me hungry.”
“Me too,” but when his arousal grew again, she understood again he didn’t mean food.
She leaned and whispered against his lips. “Maybe lunch can wait a little while.”
His head dropped back, and he laughed. “See why I like you?” His arm wrapped around her waist. “Shall we?”
“I’m always ready for you.”
“Courtney.” His voice turned husky. “Be careful. You might regret that statement, especially when we’re in public.”
Oh, yum.
Chapter 20
Six hours till kickoff.
Courtney stood in front of her dresser mirror, doing her best to like the polyester sequined gown that hung loose at the waist, stretched tight across her hips, and sagged at her boobs. The dress reminded her of her middle school dance and the thrift store dress her mother hadn’t had time to alter.
She wished now that she hadn’t donated her favorite special occasion gown as a wedding dress to a woman leaving the shelter. No, wait a minute, not true. She still would have donated the dress, but it meant there were few options left in her closet, and this dress was the best of the bunch.
Maybe she could get a lady at the shelter to pin the waist...but what was she going to do about the top? Maybe she could hide it with a shawl or a big fake flower.
Ugh. She slumped onto the edge of the bed. “So much for a fairy tale beauty.”
“Do you need help to get ready?” Valerie asked from the other side of the door.
Yes, she needed help. Lots of help. But there wasn’t much that could be done.
She wanted tonight to be perfect. An unwanted sting behind her eyes made her blink and blink again. She willed away the irrational emotions. Life wasn’t a fairy tale.
“I’m…” her voice hitched, “I’m good.”
She took a long, deep breath, got up, and went to the mirror again. “I can do this.” She smudged a lone tear across her cheek. “No more crying or you’ll ruin your makeup,” she chastised her reflection.
Her door inched open and eyes peered around the edge. “Baby, what are you getting all emotional for? This is your big night.”
“You don’t need to remind me.” She tugged at the dress. “I wish this dress fit better, and that my hair wasn’t so short. I can’t get it to lie down. What am I going to do with it? I should have gotten some of those designer bobby pins all the ladies wear these days, but I got busy and forgot. The last thing I want to do is embarrass you or Weston.”
“There’s no way you could ever embarrass me.”
Courtney turned to give Valerie a hug. “You are a sweetie, but seriously, look at this dress. It’s a mess.”
“Then it’s a good thing Linda and I put our heads together and came up with The Plan.”
The shining look on her friend’s face made her wary. “What plan?”
“You’ll just have to come downstairs and see.”
Tiny hairs on her arms raised in alarm. “What have you two been up to?”
Valerie grabbed the handrail and started down the steep steps. “We’re taking care of the details, since that’s our job.”
Several of the residents were standing in the hall at the bottom of the stairs, looking like minions who were bursting to spill the secret. Brutus barked and wagged his butt. “Are all of you ladies in on the plan as well?”
Stacia hefted her wiggling two-year-old higher on her hip. “No, but all of us want to know what that van is doing out front.”
“What van?” Courtney wove through the crowd of bodies in the hall and opened the front door.
And nearly choked. “What is all this?”
Linda was on the sidewalk surrounded by a group of strangers. The twenty-five-foot truck parked at the curb had a logo that read, “Day of Pampering,” in bright turquoise lettering, and it stuck out like a diamond in a bowl of ordinary rocks.
Valerie took Courtney’s hand and led her down the stairs. “This is your day, princess.”
“What have you done?” she asked in a shaky voice.
Linda walked up two steps and opened the door in the side of the trailer. “It’s all here. Your special day of pampering, courtesy of Weston Carver.”
Weston. She should have known. Her pride wanted to refuse, but her more practical side refused to reject the help.
“I’m Jason.” An adorable thirtysomething, decked out exclusively in designer labels greeted her. “I’ve brought several dresses for you to try on. You can select the dress you want to wear, and I’ll make any alterations needed while you have your hair and makeup done.
A perky blonde with purple spiked hair stepped forward. “Hi, I’m Amanda, and I’ll be your hair stylist today.” She pointed over her shoulder. “That’s Nikki. She’ll do your makeup.”
Courtney leaned to the side, wondering about the gentleman carrying a briefcase and was flanked by two hulks.
Linda leaned closer and whispered, “In case you’re wondering, Mr. Walsh is from Cartier. He has a selection of jewelry Weston thought you might like to borrow for the night. And if none of them appeal to you, he sent along this.”
The white-wrapped box with a red bow seemed too pretty to open, but all eyes were on her, eager to see her reaction. She untied the red ribbon and pulled the white paper back to expose the red box with the Cartier logo and gold lettering. Opening the lid, she touched the white silk insert.
“Oh, my,” she glanced up at Linda, then looked again at the simple diamond pendant and matching earrings.
“These are yours to keep,” Linda said.
Courtney closed the lid. “These are beautiful,” she extended her hand to Linda, “but I can’t accept them.”
“Weston anticipated you might reject his gift,” Linda reached in her bag and pulled out another red box. “He selected these as an alternative.”
Linda opened the new box to reveal the diamond and sapphire necklace which most likely cost three times what she made in an entire year.
“You misunderstand. I’m not saying the pendant and earrings are not good enough. They’re perfect. But, I—”
“Can accept them?” Linda’s hand landed on her arm. “I have orders to give you one box or the other, but I’m not allowed to return both. Please don’t make me tell Weston I failed at my job.”
Oh, th
at’s not fair. “Both you and Valerie are evil—pure evil.” She opened the box in her hand again. “I’m more of a simple kind of gal. The pendant and earrings are beautiful.”
“Glad you like them.”
“Mr. Walsh can help you select something more grand to wear tonight if you like.” Linda glanced over her shoulder to the stuffed suit standing behind her with a scowl a mile wide.
“No, I’m good with these.”
Who was she kidding? The brilliant, sparkling diamond pendant took her breath away, and made her worried about wearing something so valuable in terms of both sentiment and cost.
Linda turned and patted Jason’s cheek. “Now, handsome, do your magic for Ms. Kramer.”
“My pleasure.” Jason slid his hand around her waist. “This way, sweetie. How do you feel about wearing peach?”
Chapter 21
“Hey, Sophie,” Weston dropped a bundle of mail on the counter, then leaned down to stroke the cat under her chin. “I’ve missed you, fuzzy butt. Where’s your mom?”
He finally took a lung-filling breath and let it all the way out, and then let the muscles in his neck relax. His lower eastside apartment had a way of whispering “welcome home” with its exposed brick, rustic wood floors, and vibrant, colorful art.
The door on the other side of the kitchen opened, eyes appeared through the crack, and then the door opened wider.
“I didn’t expect to see you this week,” Angel stepped into the hall. “Isn’t your big shindig today?”
“Yep.” Weston pointed up the stairs. “I forgot my bow tie collection is here, and I’m waiting to hear what color my date is wearing so I can match her outfit.”
“Ahh,” she nodded. “The word on the street is you’re in love.” When Angel slid onto the kitchen stool, he could tell she was stiff today. The skin around her eyes drooped and made her appear sad, although Angel couldn’t hide the burns covering ninety percent of her body.
He quickly stashed his pity away, because he’d promised himself Angel would never see him feel sorry for her. She didn’t want negativity in her life, and he worked hard to make up for her father’s past sins.
