Thursday, February 4, 2010
Friday, January 29, 2010
Champagne Books February Book Discussion
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Excerpt - Selling Forever by Kimber Chin
Prospecting: Initiating contact with potential customers and qualifying them as prospects who can and will buy within a reasonable period of time.
An uneasy buzz crisscrossed the room, speculation on everyone’s lips. The reason for this Monday morning meeting, no one knew. It couldn’t be good news, the resale numbers having been soft for the last couple of months. Although Cara hadn’t felt the slowdown, other agents had.
“Susie in human resources said they might get rid of the assistant brokers.” Wendy Lee, Cara’s assistant broker, chattered nervously beside her. “I don’t know what I’ll do if that happens. My parents are counting on my income to help with the rent and…”
“We’ve talked about this before.” Cara cut off her unproductive fretting. As long as the girl continued to perform, she would continue to receive her check, even if it came out of Cara’s own pocket. Although that would be more challenging as her project progressed.
“I know you gave me your word, but if all the other assistant brokers...”
If all the other assistant brokers were let go, only Cara’s exceptional position as the top agent would save Wendy’s job. “When was the last time I broke a promise, either to you or to anyone else?”
“Never.” The reply was immediate. No thought required.
And that was the way it should be. Despite the myth of sleazy snake oil salesmen, a saleswoman’s word was her most valuable commodity. Cara never gave hers lightly.
“Then stop worrying, Wendy.”
Cara worried enough for the both of them.
If Wendy lost her job, if Cara was ever unable to cover her salary, the Lee’s wouldn’t make rent. If they didn’t make rent, the landlord would evict them.
They would be homeless. Wendy’s father would blame himself. It would eat away at him, at his self-confidence. He’d never be the same, never laugh or smile and then...
No. Renting was too risky. If Wendy’s family owned their home, it would be different. They’d have equity to refinance if anything happened.
Cara was determined to make that ownership a reality for the family. She rubbed her neck, shoulders aching from self-inflicted pressure. Tonight, the first lot closed. Once that
took place successfully, all the moneymen would be fully committed and Cara could relax.
“Listen up, people.” The vice president hushed the crowd from his place at the front of the room. “Before you go back out there to sell, sell, sell, we have an exciting announcement to make.”
With the word exciting, a hundred plus agents and assistant brokers, Cara included, let out their collective breath. Exciting never meant layoffs or downsizing.
“As you are all aware,” the executive continued, seeming oblivious to the panic he caused, “We’ll be participating in the first ever handyman or handywoman auction benefiting Shelter for Mankind.”
Wendy gave her a relieved smile.
“To ensure that we get the very best participants, we’ve decided to hold a contest. We are allowing each agent to volunteer one participant. The agent whose handyman or woman has the highest winning bid will forgo paying any and all desk fees for the month.”
Cara’s ears perked up. No fees? The realty had been pushing them even more than usual recently, needing the commission money. Now.
“Cara?” Wendy asked, sounding hopeful.
“Your usual percent would apply, but on the total sale,” she answered and watched the young girl’s smile spread. Other assistant brokers only received the standard starting salary. Cara paid that as a base, but topped it off with a mini-commission, aligning Wendy’s goals with her own.
“Do you have anyone in mind?”
Any one. One. They only had one shot at this.
“What about the Mayor? He’d do it if you asked him.”
Her broker-in-training was in awe after the introduction to the politician last week. “Would you pay big money to meet the Mayor?” The politician was striving to be
the People’s Mayor, accessible to all, with his weekly public lunches.
Wendy’s face dropped. “No.”
Who would pay? The highest bids, Cara tapped her chin in thought, would come from either very wealthy individuals or corporations with large cash flows, like the media. They paid for interviews.
Wendy snapped her fingers, her face lighting up. “Blake Rexdall owes you for selling his house so quickly.”
The actor. Society matrons would plunk down cash for some of that Hollywood glamour, the paparazzi would also pony up for an exclusive. However...
“He has a two year shoot in Africa.”
“Oh, yeah.”
Cara liked the media angle. Recently Venture Magazine offered $250,000 for a one-hour interview with, yes, as if she could forget, the reclusive local billionaire, Richard Thompson. He turned them down, of course, like all the rest, but if he was approached again...
“That’s it.” There was a flutter in her belly. From the competition. It couldn't be from anything else. Could it?
“Cara?”
Right, Wendy, although good as far as assistant brokers went, was not a mind reader. “What do you know about Richard Thompson?”
The girl’s sweet brown eyes almost popped out of her head. “You know him?”
Cara shrugged her shoulders. They had never met, not officially. Okay, not at all, with the man harder to find than a penthouse overlooking the park, but after two years of talking regularly with Shirley, his assistant, she felt she knew him.
Well enough to know that while it would be a tough sell, it wouldn’t be impossible. If Cara framed the proposition attractively, he could solve one of her problems and one of
his at the same time. Shirley knew all of Richard’s business, and wasn’t afraid to share it with those she trusted. Shirley trusted Cara.
“Wow, Richard Thompson, I mean, wow. I’m on it, Cara.” Wendy shook with excitement. “By noon today, you’ll know everything there is to know, from his mother’s birthday to what he ate for breakfast.”
Cara knew all that already.
September 15th, an only son, he bought his mom yellow roses every year. As for breakfast? Today was Monday. That meant a white glazed doughnut with a cup of coffee, black.
There could be something she missed, something that could seal the deal. Wendy would find that something.
Wendy didn’t have the social connections, yet. She didn’t have anything more than her real estate license and a high school education. But she had a go-getter attitude, and she wasn’t lazy about doing the research.
Research, any good saleswoman knew, eased the way in even the harshest of sales climates.
~ * ~
Richard was battling his own harsh climate. “Sorry I’m late.” He shrugged out of his beat-up brown leather jacket as he walked. He hated being late, it threw his whole day off. “Had to drop the car at the shop.”
“Broke down again?” Shirley followed him into his office, her hands full of pink slips of paper. Messages. People wanting a piece of him.
Where were they when he was struggling?
“Yeah.” Richard plopped down on the black captain’s chair. “It broke down again.”
“My Bimmer’s working. Hasn’t broken down yet,” she said a tad bit too cheerfully. His assistant had purchased the BMW before the buyout check cleared.
Richard grunted as he flipped his laptop open and hooked it up to the network. “Why don’t you spend the repair money on a new car?” Another helpful piece of advice.
“I like my Jetta.” He scanned through his in-box. Most of the names he didn’t recognize, and those emails remained unopened.
“You never liked it before.” Shirley placed his filled coffee mug down on the desk, using a piece of paper as a coaster. “You cursed that car up and down.”
She was right. He had. However, that was before everything else in his life changed.
“Posture, Richard.” He straightened, biting back a profanity. “Something else is wrong.” Shirley continued, studying him. “Isn’t it Monday? Where’s your doughnut?”
About time, she noticed. “Didn’t have time to pick it up.” Lack of breakfast wasn’t helping his bad mood. He couldn’t think with his stomach rumbling.
“Now if you had a car that worked...” Shirley leaned back in the guest chair, sipping her own coffee, unsympathetic to his hunger pains.
If he had a car that worked, if he had an employee that worked.
Didn’t she have a job to do? Wasn’t part of that job keeping her boss, him, happy? “Most assistants would run out and get their employer a doughnut,” Richard grumbled.
“Most assistants aren’t millionaires.” She sipped her coffee, watching him with a slight smile.
True. Richard patted his shirt pocket. Then, he couldn’t recall Shirley ever running out and getting him anything, even before the millions.
Why had he hired her again? Where was it? Shirley handed him the memory stick he searched for. Oh yeah, that was why. He’d be lost without her.
“Any messages?” Richard changed the topic of conversation to one he could control.
“The usual. Requests for financing, advice for young entrepreneurs.” Shirley flipped through the papers. What advice did he have? None. He got lucky, that’s all. “Oh, Cara Jones called.” She smiled fondly at her own handwriting.
Cara Jones. Over the past couple of years, Richard heard enough about that woman to fill a database. If he wasn’t sure Shirley was straight, he’d think she was halfway in love with the realtor.
“Her folks affected by the hurricane?” Richard brought up her bookmarked website, her toothy smile and curly blonde hair filling the screen. He liked looking at her picture
as they talked, despite Shirley's claim that she was prettier in person. Unlikely. Cara Jones had a face a man could spend a lifetime staring at.
“Nothing major. One palm tree pulled up by the roots, and they now have an extra barbeque in their backyard.” Richard smiled despite his grumpy mood. “No one has
claimed it yet. Cara’s dad hopes the next hurricane brings baby back ribs to grill on it.”
Baby back ribs, huh? Cara’s Dad would appreciate that new online meat supplier Richard had discovered. The best cuts, aged to perfection. His empty stomach growled at the thought.
He scribbled a note to himself on a Post-It, only to frown at the defective pen. He studied it a bit closer. Invisible ink? Did it say invisible ink on the side? Where was his assistant sourcing their office supplies? The CIA?
“Pen not working?”
Richard frowned at Shirley’s cheerfulness.
“Try this one.” A pen appeared out of nowhere, the plastic shell warm. “Writes like a BMW.”
Richard ignored the comment. “You’re not selling the house?” This was one of his standard Cara questions. Shirley first met the real estate agent when she considered upgrading her accommodations.
“We didn’t talk about it, but no, I’m not. I love myhome.”
“I love the Jetta.” He didn’t, not really.
“Hmmm…Anyway, she called for you, not me.”
“For me?” Now that was a surprise. Why would she call? Only one reason, it must be business. A house she wanted him to buy. “What’s with people trying to sell me real estate lately?”
There had been an ugly incident last week in his favorite Chinese restaurant. Some pushy slickster trying to hard sell him a penthouse while he ate egg foo young. One more restaurant he couldn’t go back to.
“Maybe they don’t like the dump you’re renting?” Shirley held a low opinion of his place, even before the money. “Oh, on that subject, she gave me the name of her favorite Chinese restaurant. Thought you’d like to give it a try, instead.”
Great, they talked about that embarrassing incident. Cara must think him a spaz and…
“I’m not buying a house from her.” He was firm. No matter how good looking the woman was, how charming she supposedly was, or how the second hand stories about her
made him laugh.
“Good. ‘Cause she doesn’t want to sell you one.” Shirley shook her head. “The realty is participating in a fundraiser, a handyman auction benefiting Shelter for Mankind.”
Lord. Another person with her hand outstretched. Always about the dollars. Richard glanced at the woman’s white, white teeth, disappointed. “You like Cara, don’t you?”
“I do. When I talk, she listens.”
“I listen.” Most of the time, when he wasn’t thinking about missing doughnuts or work or how to get grease stains out of his favorite shirt. That damn car. He thought he could fix it himself and...
“You do, but she...” She fiddled with her glasses. “She really listens, to more than the words. When we met, Cara knew right away I didn’t want to move.”
“That’s her job.” Though that impressed him. A good house in a good neighborhood, an older woman falling into a pile of cash, it could have been two easy commissions, both
buying and selling. The supper sabotaging agent would have pounced on the opportunity. “Send her a check.” If it made his assistant happy, he could overlook this morning’s lack of doughnuts.
“She doesn’t want a check.”
Where was this conversation going? “What does she want, then?”
“Well.” Again with the glasses. “They are one handyman short.”
“And?” How was that his problem? Try the yellow pages.
“She would like you to be that handyman.”
“What?” Richard rose out of his seat. “Is she serious?” Him, a handyman? He wrote computer programs, for Pete’s sake. “Where’d she get the impression that I’m a handyman? I’m not handy.”
“That’s what I told her.”
He frowned, insulted at Shirley’s ready agreement. He wasn’t completely inept. Richard plucked at the grease stain on his white linen shirt.
“Cara said it didn’t matter. You can bring a contractor as long as you show up.”
He sat back down, considering the situation. “She wants to auction me off as an unhandy handyman?” Part of him was horrified, another part flattered. If it wasn’t his handyman skills then why him? Richard glanced at his reflection in the laptop monitor and smoothed his brown hair down. Or tried to. It quickly returned to its natural state of sticking straight out. As persistent as a pop up ad.
He wasn’t bad looking, if a woman could overlook the hair.
“An unhandy handyman,” he repeated.
“Seems that way.” Shirley’s lips twitched suspiciously.
“Insane.” His protest was weaker.
“She must be.”
Richard glared at his assistant. Shirley’s expression was too innocent.
“Why me?” He was starting to like the idea. Richard Thompson, handyman; wearing a hard hat, one of those tool belts, driving a white cube van, and fixing leaking pipes for hot women. Maybe, he glanced at Cara’s photo, for a certain hard working real estate agent.
“Why you? Why not you?” There was a long, suffering sigh. “You’re a billionaire, Richard, remember?”
He had almost forgotten. A billionaire. His fantasy world collapsed with that word. It always came back to that. While before, he had worn dozens of labels—businessman,
boss, friend, son, even lover—now there was only one, billionaire. A big smile full of white teeth mocked him for thinking otherwise.
“Tell her no.”
“I already did.”
~ * ~
“So what do you think?” At that moment, Cara was anything but distraught about Shirley’s answer, sitting in her comfortable Volvo sedan with Wendy in the passenger seat.
The girl studied the offer they, moments ago, received. “The dollars are in the ballpark.”
They were, Cara smiled, pleased that her assistant broker was good with the numbers. “Will they go higher?”
“It’s the first offer.” She chewed her bottom lip. “But I’ve noticed that Ken normally likes to go in with his best offer. He’s not strong on negotiating.”
She was good at reading people, too. Partially Cara’s training, partially instinct. “What about the closing date?”
“Thirty days is reasonable.”
It was, for a normal homeowner. “Mrs. Beadice has been in her home for thirty-three years.” This was where experience came in. “She’ll need more time.”
Slight shoulders slumped. “How much time?”
“That’s what you’ll find out.” The elderly lady was on board about being Wendy’s first close, flattered actually. Cara would be with her, every step of the way.
“Me?”
“Yeah, you. I’m riding shotgun on this one. It’s your sale. You’re ready.” Cara was counting on it. The build would take more of her time. Wendy would need to fill in.
“You really think so?” The girl’s brown eyes glowed with pride.
“I know so.” It wasn’t much of a risk. Cara had checks and double checks in place as she had with tonight, if Peterson, her financier, fell through…
“I won’t let you down, Cara,” Wendy assured her. “I’ll make it my first priority once we get back to the office.”
First priority? “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Wendy’s face went blank.
“The Thompson information?” Cara gave her memory a nudge.
“You still need that?”
Only if they wanted to win. “Of course, I do. Why wouldn’t I?”
“His assistant said no.” Wendy wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“Ahhhh…” The girl was green, and she considered the no a failure, for Cara, her hero. Oh, the injustice of it all. Cara almost chuckled. “The first no is only the beginning of a negotiation. Like a ‘Hi, how are ya?’”
Yes, Shirley said no. That was an expectation. It was common knowledge Richard Thompson didn’t make public appearances. His assistant would have that as an auto response. Shirley promised she’d run it by her boss, but she didn’t expect the answer to change.
Though she hoped, she was wrong and that was a great sign.
If Shirley, his trusted friend, thought Richard too secluded, Cara figured that it was merely a matter of time before he rejoined the rest of the world. What better venue than the Handyman Charity Auction?
None better. It was perfect.
Cara could hold his hand, figuratively, of course, she didn’t truly know the guy, but she could show him the ins and outs of working the press, ensuring that it was a happy, comfortable experience for everyone.
Richard would learn media management from a pro, the charity would benefit big time, and she and Wendy would get a few extra dollars for their troubles. Win-win, her favorite scenario.
Maybe Richard would treat her to some of that dry wit she was always hearing about. Maybe, when Richard finally decided to move out of that rat hole he called an apartment, he’d give her a call. Who knew?
“You think Richard Thompson is a possibility?” Wendy asked after mulling it over a bit.
“Very much, yes, and that reminds me, we have to swing by the condo to pick up a pie.” Cara kept a stash homemade, but frozen pie in her freezer. “For the Gumble open house.”
“Get rid of the lingering pet smell.” Wendy scrunched up her nose. “No time to air the place out properly.”
“Apples and cinnamon will do the trick.” Additionally, the apple pie, once baked, could prove useful elsewhere. “I wonder if Mr. Thompson likes pie,” Cara mused as she pulled
out of the driveway. It was a rhetorical question. She knew the answer, Richard’s citywide search for the perfect apple pie a Shirley story staple.
A dimple appeared in her cheek as Wendy grinned. “My research says he does.”
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Chapter One - Invisible by Kimber Chin
Chapter One“Promise.” Birger’s normally robust voice was reduced to a whisper, barely audible over the hum of the oxygen concentrator-compressor combo.
Maeve couldn’t hear the weakness, she wouldn’t hear it. This was Birger, strong, invincible, going-to-live forever Birger.
“No need. The reading doesn’t happen 'til you’re dead and you’re not dying anytime soon, so give it a rest. ” Maeve paced the master bedroom, her heels clicking decisively against the hardwood floor, her hands gripped tightly behind her back.
Blue eyes flicked back and forth, watching her.
“Englebarn.”
Englebarn, he always called her that. He was the only person who did. She didn’t even know what that blasted endearment meant because he wouldn’t tell her.
'Course she didn’t really have to know. The caring in the word was powerful enough to sway decisions. It wasn’t fair of him to use it now.
“I’m not listening.” She gave him her best glare, one that would have incinerated any other man into a heap of ash. The old fart merely smiled.
“Englebarn.” He straightened his frail body, preventing himself from sliding off the bed.
Her lips twisted. Stubborn fool. “Let me do that.” She grabbed the stark white pillow and gave the stuffing a few angry thumps before slipping it back behind Birger’s gray head.
“Thank.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I’m not done with you.” She sat back down on the side of the bed, trying not to notice that there was plenty of space, and picked up the small plastic jar on the antique bedside table.
“Not.” Birger feigned a grimace.
“Yeah, the ointment.” Maeve smoothed the lotion onto her palms, rubbing her hands together, the friction raising the temperature. “It might stink but it works. Deal with it.” Though the doctor had doubts about its powers, she was convinced the massages made a difference.
There was only the sound of the machines and her friend’s ragged breathing as Maeve rubbed her lubricated fingers over his chest. Blast it, he was getting thin, disappearing right in front of her.
“You have to eat more,” she grumbled. “Tomorrow I’ll make you some fish cakes, the family recipe, just the way you taught me with warm potato salad and remoulade sauce. You know you’ll like that.”
“Not.”
Maeve’s eyes narrowed. “Not another word, Birger Rayner. I don’t want to hear about it.”
Her obstinate friend wasn’t giving up. “Must accept.”
She fought the urge to pinch him, hard. “I don’t have to accept anything; especially not you talking nonsense 'til my ears bleed.”
“Tired,” he gave a deep heartfelt sigh.
Maeve knew he was tired. She was too, bone-crushingly, shoulder-achingly tired. At times she had been ready to give up but the only other choice was…no, there wasn’t any other choice.
“Fight, Birger,” she demanded, her voice breaking. “You can win this. You know you can. You’ve done it before.”
“No.” Birger’s fingers folded over hers, ignoring the stickiness.
Maeve looked down, startled by their unnatural coolness. His tanned skin was almost paler than hers.
“So tired,” her elderly friend repeated.
Their gazes met, his sunken blue eyes pleading for her to understand. He was tired, tired and in pain. Her dear, dear friend was in pain. Pain that she was selfishly prolonging by insisting that he fight.
He had been through so much already: decades without his Rosie, recurring bouts of cancer, the soul-sucking treatments, and he had never given up, never once suggested it. Not until now.
What that meant, she knew.
He was ready.
Well, good for him. Maeve wasn’t, but then she didn’t think she’d ever be. And it wasn’t up to her. It was his life, his choice. She should respect that choice. She should let him go.
“Okay.” Acceptance was one last gift she could give him. “Then die, I don’t care.” But she didn’t have to be gracious about it.
Birger squeezed her hand. “Promise,” his voice was a whistling rasp.
That blasted morbid promise. He was insisting on it. “Enough already,” Maeve’s short burst of laughter was borderline hysterical, “I promise. I promise, but I’m not going to cry for you, you ass.”
This earned her another smile. “Don’t disa…”
“I’m not going to disappear.” Though Maeve wanted to, badly, even now. “Not 'til I attend your stupid melodramatic reading, hear how you’ll squander your millions saving the common cockroach, proving to the entire world that you’re a complete crackhead.”
“Heartless.”
Heartless? If she was so heartless, why did she feel like she was breaking in two? “I’d have to be, wouldn’t I? To deal with you? You torture me daily for years and now you’ve got the gall to up and die on me. Lord, I’d be a fool to be anything other.”
Pale blue eyes danced. “Fool.”
“Yeah, I’m a fool.” Maeve looked away, her eyes stinging. Must be that ointment, the sharp smell made her eyes water.
There was a thumping on the front door. Maeve ignored the sound. If it was important, one of the nurses would get it. If it wasn’t, the person would go away. It was important. The door was opened, there was a loud bang as it slammed shut, raised voices, and heavy steps on the staircase.
“The cavalry’s here.” Maeve’s light comment didn’t quite conceal her bitterness.
Unwarranted bitterness. Enough fantasy land. Time to face reality. She wasn’t family, not truly, and she wouldn’t be with Birger when he died. She hadn’t that right, despite the long days spent by his side, nursing him.
“Uncle.” The door burst open, making Maeve jump. A shadow fell over the bed. This, this was family. The first arrival would be the absentee grandnephew, Hagen, Birger’s beloved golden boy. Her lips curled into a snarl at the interruption.
As Maeve turned to dart the stranger a squelching glance, her eyes widened at the sheer size of him. His height didn’t surprise her. Birger was taller than the average man and she knew from Birger that his brother, Hagen’s grandfather, had been as tall. So height was expected.
The width was not. Where the older man was willowy, the nephew was pure brawn. Monstrously broad shoulders. And very fitting. Their last name translated to warrior in Danish, Birger had told her, and Hagen Rayner did resemble a blond Viking warrior.
A scowling Viking warrior.
Disapproving of an outsider’s intrusion, with Maeve being the outsider. She wasn’t welcome. It was time to go.
“Birger.” Maeve rose and then leaned over to kiss his sallow cheek. “Love you.” The words slipped out before she could hold them back. A moment of weakness.
“Love too.” He rested his warm, weathered face against hers.
It wasn’t a private moment, not at all. Maeve could feel the nephew staring at her, the interloper, with open and hostile curiosity, wondering who she was. She couldn’t face him.
She couldn’t be civil and introduce herself. Do the polite thing. Swallow her resentment and pretend like she was pleased to meet him. Say “Hello, I’m Maeve Delaney and you are?”
Why lie? She wasn’t pleased to meet him, this much discussed grandnephew, Birger’s shining star, not when the reason was losing her closest friend. The tears dangling at the edge of her eyelashes threatened to fall, and Maeve tilted her chin up. No, she wouldn’t let him see her cry. Instead, she gave this younger Rayner her best glare as she closed the door behind her.
~ * ~
She didn’t leave. She should have, but she couldn’t bring herself to go.
Maeve sat rigidly on the William IV period, carved recamier, her trouser-clad knees primly pressed together until they hurt, mindlessly twirling the simple gold band circling the middle finger of her right hand.
She stared at the front door. Yeah, she should leave. Maeve wasn’t needed. She wasn’t wanted. She wasn’t even noticed. Not a word had been spoken to her, the relatives wrapped up in their own bubble of grief.
At first, she stayed to ensure Birger died in the company of loved ones. It had been only the grandnephew then and, despite Birger’s glowing recommendations, he was a stranger. Maeve didn’t have faith in his reliability, couldn’t trust him to stay by Birger’s side.
Now, Birger dying alone was no longer a possibility. Dozens of people, tall, aggressive fair-headed people had arrived since; so many that they spilled out of the bedroom into the hallway, even into the sanctuary of the downstairs living room.
Elderly women talking fish cake recipes with all the gravity of state secrets. Men discussing business deals as though Birger wasn’t dying in the bedroom upstairs. The inane conversations made Maeve want to scream. Didn’t they know that a man was fighting for his life?
Then less than a minute ago, there had been a flurry of activity, adults filing out of the room leaving Maeve alone with her rising panic and lip-gnawing worries.
This was it. Was he in pain? Was he scared? Was someone holding his hand?
She wouldn’t cry. She had told him, she wouldn’t.
Maeve closed her eyes, trying to regain control of her emotions, concentrating on her breathing, on her heartbeat, on the small hands on her knees.
Small hands?
“You got green eyes?” A girl was peering intently into her face, so close that Maeve could feel her breath soft on her cheek. She had Birger’s defined chin, giving her an overly determined look for a, Maeve guessed by her height, five year old.
She blinked, confused. What did eye color have to do with anything that was happening today? Not that it mattered. Maeve had no reason not to answer. “Yeah.”
This satisfied the kid. She hustled her little body, skirts flouncing, back to her not-so-much older brother and stage whispered smugly, “I told you so.” Maeve then had the unique and uneasy experience of having two individuals under four feet tall watch her intently.
What was she a circus monkey? Green eyes were rare, sure, but not rare enough to excite children.
“I’m Natty.” Before Maeve could unravel the mystery, the girl was back.
Short for Natalie, she’d bet. “Maeve.” She tried to smile. It hurt her cheeks.
“Mayff.” That the child butchered her name didn’t surprise Maeve. Adults did the same. Birger never had though. Not even the first time.
Birger, was he…
“Do angels have names?”
Angels, and death, and Birger, must be scary things for a little girl to handle. Maeve had been only twelve when her own parents…yeah, it was scary. She swallowed her other concerns. “What else would you call them?”
Her new friend thought about this a bit, leaning trustingly against Maeve’s knee.
“Is God big?” Was the next question.
Is God big? Big as in all powerful? No, somehow she suspected the girl meant physically large. How was Maeve supposed to answer that?
She didn’t have to. A tall blonde woman appeared at the foot of the stairs. “Come kids, we’re going home.”
So like that, it was done. Birger, her friend…
“Not yet.” Natty wasn’t going anywhere.
“Now Natty.” The mom’s voice was firm.
“No, I’m staying with Mayff.” The little girl pouted.
Great, now the kid was going to have a tantrum. A crummy ending to a crummy day. “I’m going also.” Maeve stood up. Her leaving would prevent the tears and there was
no reason left to stay.
“Are you going home?” Blue eyes darker than Birger’s looked up at her without blinking.
Home? Was her sterile, lifeless apartment a home? “Yeah.” It didn’t feel like the truth.
“Ohhh,” a small thumb slipped into her mouth.
“Natty, don’t suck your thumb.” The mom pulled her hand away. “You’re a big girl now. Big girls don’t suck their thumbs and please stop bothering the nice lady.” Maeve was spared an apologetic glance.
“It’s okay.” She turned towards the door. Her hand was again tugged. “Yeah?”
“Do angels live in Heaven, Mayff?”
Maeve shifted her black pumps. “I suppose.” She felt awkward talking about the afterlife to another person’s kid, but it was logical that if she believed in angels and she believed in Heaven, she’d believe that angels lived in Heaven.
“Is Granduncle in Heaven?” The girl’s innocent question pierced Maeve’s thick skin. Tough ol' Birger in Heaven. White robes and wings. The thought was ridiculous.
“Is he, Mayff?” A tiny head tilted, a perfect imitation of her elders.
Natty was waiting for an answer. Maeve glanced at the woman and got a sad nod of confirmation.
“Yeah.”
A little forehead scrunched in thought. “Then you should go too.”
“Natty!” The woman was aghast at the straight talking.
“No, she’s right.” Maeve didn’t look up. Kids had a talent for calling it the way it was. She should go. She didn’t belong here, even a five year old could see that, “I’m leaving.”
~ * ~
She was a damn good actress, that freckle-faced gold digger; Hagen Rayner shot a glance across the table. Although he knew her mercenary heart must have been disappointed, she faked a convincing expression of gratitude upon hearing of the few worthless trinkets Uncle Birger had left her.
She didn’t cry though. And she damn well should have. After the two months it would take to settle the estate, his coveted millions would help save the rain forest.
What had the lawyer called her? Miss Delaney? Some damn thing like that. Sounded Irish.
And could he blame his Uncle for his weakness? Hell no. The woman wasn’t Hagen’s regular style but he understood the attraction. He’d felt it himself. All piss and vinegar, made a man want to kiss the sass right off her face.
Physically, the Delaney creature was a tasteful little piece with dark curls and a pale pixie face. A bit petite and way too damn short, Uncle Birger was more sophisticated than to be seen with some voluptuous tart. Shit, she must have made him feel damn young, the fifty-some years age difference was glaringly obvious, her with that firm body, perky breasts, and tight little ass.
The woman had earned the baubles too, staying with Birger to the bitter damn end, disappearing only when the family arrived.
Unlike some wives he knew.
Hagen’s gray-eyed gaze slid to Dag. When was the last time he had seen his cousin alone? He couldn’t remember but today he was. Isabelle? No-damn-where to be found. Dag’s excuse for her absence thin and weak.
Very damn intriguing. Must be trouble in paradise. Hagen squashed the smirk, so inappropriate at a loved one’s will reading.
Not quickly enough, apparently. That emerald-eyed witch was watching him like she had seen, like she had known what he was damn-well thinking. Impossible. Bimbos weren’t noted for their perception.
“And finally to my grandnephew Hagen Rayner, I leave my Chicago home and contents.”
Damn straight. Hagen relaxed, allowing himself the smile now. The house was his. The antiques were his. All was as it should be.
The trustee was not done yet.
“On the condition that he locate the original deed for said house within fourteen business days, the fourteen business days starting the Monday following this will reading.”
“Pardon?” Hagen barked. Had he heard that right? It was not his free and clear? He had to find the documentation first? What sort of damn lazy bookkeeping was that?
There was a buzz in the room. Others as surprised as he was. What the hell was Birger up to now? Pulling the damn strings from the grave.
The elderly retainer held up one arthritic finger, signaling for silence. “Hagen is to have no assistance other than that offered by Miss Maeve Delaney. Neither Hagen nor Maeve will pay in cash or in kind for additional assistance from any other person or entity. Nor shall Maeve receive financial assistance from Hagen for this matter.”
“No.” The outburst came from both sides of the table.
His Uncle’s floozy would have no involvement in his damn inheritance. This was his business and his business alone. “Damn it.” Hagen’s look at Maeve silenced any comment from that source.
“Hagen,” his mom protested his use of profanities.
“Not now Mom.” He understood her distress. Although Hagen’s thoughts might wallow in the mud, he prided himself on his clean mouth.
Any other day, but not today. Today, he felt too damn angry, and raw, and hurting to filter his words. And damn it, was that witch laughing at him now? Shit, she was. Her green eyes were sparkling, emeralds in firelight.
So Hagen did what any man in his situation would do, he growled at the damn woman. That would have frightened a sane person. Not this nutcase, the corners of her full lips jerked upwards.
Shit, he was so close to ripping his hair out in frustration. Hagen raked his fingers through it instead, ignoring the crazy woman, and trying to calm down and apply himself to the situation at hand.
“And if I refuse?” Not that he planned to but he wanted to know his damn options.
“If Hagen fails to do so as determined by the trustee—that would be me,” the solicitor clarified. “Ownership of the house will then pass to Hagen’s cousin, Dag Rayner.”
Like hell it would. Hagen could see the light burn from Dag’s money hungry eyes. Dag had made no secret of what he would do with the lovingly restored Edwardian home if it
were his. Hagen would be dead his own damn self before he allowed that to happen.
~ * ~
If he hadn’t already been six feet under, Maeve would have killed Birger. How dare he mix her up in this? Her promise was to attend his Hollywood-style will reading. That was it; that was all. She hadn’t signed up to be Bonnie to that big, angry man’s Clyde.
Get a grip, Maeve told herself. She had no commitment to the search. None at all. She stared at the heavy oak boardroom door. Yeah, nothing was stopping her. The will was read. Her duty was done. She could walk away right now.
Dooming Birger’s pride and joy to guaranteed failure, a tiny twinge of guilt whispered. Not her fault, Maeve ruthlessly squashed the thought. That was Birger’s call. He knew her. He knew if he’d asked her, she would have refused. Why would it be any different after his death?
“Why fourteen damn business days?” was the giant’s next question.
His mom sucked air through her teeth and Maeve almost giggled at the absurdity of it all. Imagine that, a big man like Hagen Rayner having to watch his language.
The sickly looking retainer scanned the papers anxiously. “That is not explained. No stated reason for the fourteen days.”
Maeve knew the reason. Why fourteen business days? Because Birger had been paying attention. He’d always paid attention. Fourteen business days was the perfect length for a month-long assignment. Fourteen days to settle the case, one day for paperwork, followed by a one week holiday. Perfect.
There was no blasted way Maeve was going to volunteer the information, not in front of that grumpy ignoramus. She kept her mouth shut.
His chair creaked in protest as Hagen leaned back, seeking counsel from his parents seated at his right hand, and his brother-in-law and sister, the cutie Natty’s mother, seated at his left. Family—he was surrounded by them. She, on the other hand, was seated alone, apart from the others, not knowing another soul in the crowded stuffy room.
She didn’t need anyone else. Maeve was perfectly fine flying solo, unencumbered by anyone else’s baggage. Yeah, that was what she was used to.
Her would-be-partner, deep in a private discussion, was not. Likely couldn’t wipe his butt by himself. Pansy, Maeve thought with derision. Not that one would call him a pansy, at least not within his hearing. That would be foolhardy judging from his face.
She took the opportunity to study his solid profile. His nose looked like it had been broken more than once, the type of nose a boxer would have. Yeah, it wasn’t a pretty face, not like his cousin Dag’s, but all strength and bluntness.
“Damn it all to hell.” There came another deep voiced curse. He was cursing a lot, Maeve noticed, much to his mother’s dismay, his whole body radiating rage.
Though Hagen did get more and more interesting as he got angrier, watching him was like staring into the mouth of an active volcano. All that pent up power waiting to explode. Not a safe scene. Maeve had seen how the lava flows in Hawaii destroyed everything and everyone foolish enough to be in their path.
Yeah, if she was interested in self-preservation, it was best not to be near when Mount Hagen erupted.
The gray haired lawyer nervously pushed his glasses further up his pinched nose. “This is an unusual request, and the bequest is of minimal monetary value for someone of your generous considerations, Mister Rayner. It would be understandable if you declined to participate.”
Maeve straightened up. She hadn’t thought of that possibility. He could decline to play Birger’s perverse little game. Yeah, that’s right. Maeve warmed to the idea. Why would this challenge even interest him? It wasn’t like he needed the house. His auction business and the investments funded from those revenues could easily buy him equivalent real estate. Hagen Rayner had earned his place as the golden boy.
But then the cousin put both feet in it. “There’d be no shame in walking away, Hagen,” the good looking man taunted.
Wrong move on this Dag-person’s part if his goal was to inherit. Maeve didn’t know what the deal was with the cousins. She suspected it had something to do with the stunningly gorgeous wife she’d met at the funeral. Whatever it was, they were clearly competitors.
“Kind of you, Dag.” Yeah, very sarcastic. “I won’t be walking away this time.”
This time, a strange choice of words. Like they’d been through this before. With the bigger, more aggressive man walking away. Interesting. Maeve watched the two men with open curiosity.
“In that case, I suppose you and Miss Delaney are going to become awfully close,” was the next idiotic comment. If Hagen had any hope of finding the deed, he had to be smarter than pretty boy.
Though awfully was a very good descriptor. Being close to that beast? Maeve opened her mouth to protest her involvement. Turned out, she didn’t have to.
“I’m damn well doing this alone.” Boy oh boy, the man’s cockiness impressed her. He couldn’t even fathom the possibility of failure, could he? So very confident. Her admiration was short-lived as Hagen continued, “I have no need of Miss Delaney’s…” His cold eyes flitted over her scornfully. “Special talents.”
Now wait a blasted minute. Yeah, it wasn’t a great situation but he didn’t have to be so nasty about it. It wasn’t her choice to be named. Her pride almost prompted an automatic response before Maeve remembered that this was exactly what she wanted. No way did she want to be part of this mismatched team. “Fine with me.” She inclined her head only a fraction.
This seemed to amuse him. Laugh lines crinkled around silver eyes. Arrogant ass. “Can I have the keys and security code for the house?” he asked the solicitor.
“Unfortunately, Mister Rayner, the rules are clear. I am not to assist you.” The man’s eyes were full of regret.
That knocked the big man’s confidence on its butt. Hagen looked around the room at his relatives. What did he think? He’d get help from that direction? Good luck there. Maeve had the irrational urge to laugh out loud. She didn’t know why. Must have been the stress of a trying day.
Hagen’s trying days were only just beginning. It wasn’t going to be that easy after all, at least not for him. She, however, had both the keys and the code. Stormy gray eyes narrowed at her unconcerned expression. Maeve pursed her lips together, trying not to smile.
“I understand,” Hagen ground out, “and I’ll figure it out. Damn it.”
Maeve couldn’t resist shaking her head in wonderment, her dark curls bouncing around her face. Stubborn like his granduncle, that one. A pity she wouldn’t be around to watch him fall on his not-so-handsome face.
Time for her to disappear.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Interview with Kimber Chin
Kimber: Sure thing. (Sips my drink) Ohhh… I luv me's some Cosmo quizzes.
'Course when I take quizzes, being a true Gemini, I'm usually at both
sides of the spectrum. Either 1's or 10's for me!
Tami: Let's see if you are a bad girl Kimber! Mmmm.....well if you say that you're a 10 already I have a feeling this is going to be an interesting ride! Here you go! OK, question number 1: Have you ever wound up flirting with one of your friend's boyfriends? Now if you don't feel comfortable answering for yourself, you can always answer for one of your characters. :)
Kimber: Supposedly I flirt with EVERYONE (male or female). (eye roll) I prefer
to think of it as making the other person feel good. As I'm not a
poacher (you can get shot for that, one hears), my gal pals know their
boyfriends were and are safe with me.
I have been known for making boyfriend referrals though, telling men
'you're not the guy for me but I do know a woman you might be interested
in.'
Tami: Well don't try to hook me up girl, I'm quite happy over here with my little cabana boy! Now on to question number 2: Do you play hookie from work? And since we are on the topic, what do you do besides write wonderful fiction like Invisible? And tell us something about the book while I've got my mind on it!
Kimber: I prefer to call them mental health days. If I don't take a break,
it'll be bad news for my co-workers (as in hospitalization bad news). I
now work on contract. Either I get paid by hour or by project so taking
a mental health day doesn't hurt the company any. Usually it helps them
as I come back refreshed.
My gigs are in new business development. That includes product
development, systems implementation, and just about any special project
you can think of. Right now, I'm helping an entrepreneur with a
business plan. He's looking for $20 million dollars in angel funding.
Challenging in the current environment.
Tami: "Mental Health Days"....sure.....whatever you say darlin'. So.....is that when you take time to write? Are you going to be a doll and share some of your latest work with us? I got to have some.....I'm a bookaholic and that's going to keep everyone from being hospitalized! Come on, save the world, one world at a time.
Kimber: I usually take summers off to write (unless I get talked into doing a
business plan 'cause the entrepreneur is hard up for financing).
My latest release, Selling Forever, is a nod to the bachelor auctions of
the 1980's. Remember those? I thought they were very liberating. If
you like a guy, all you had to do was buy him. Doesn't get simpler than
that.
I wrote Selling Forever for my dear, sweet Mom. It is a sweet read (for
me) without the angst of Invisible or my February 2010 release Flawless
(with the F-Bomb flinging Tavos Santos, my knife wielding vigilante).
Body count in Invisible is 4.
Body count in Selling Forever is 0.
Body count in Flawless is off the charts (I lost count).
Tami: OK, I know that Kimber is too nice to do something like this, but what about a character.....tell us; What is the naughtiest move that you or a character has made on a first date! Inquiring minds want to know, I know I want to know. **leans in closer**
Kimber: My heroines are take charge business types (similar to myself) so they
don't believe in wasting time. Anne, my heroine in Breach Of Trust,
gets frisky with Philippe in the front seat of his Maybach (they have
lots of legroom – take my word on that).
That's the scene a buddy of mine claims likely got my manuscript an
auto-reject from Harlequin as… well… lets say, Philippe finishes
before Anne even starts. Yeah, SO not category.
Tami: **BURST OUT LAUGHING** Yeah, OK, definitely an auto reject for them, but a auto win for us! Since we are talking about bad girls.....I read on your blog that your characters cures a lot. I found your response just kick ass funny. Talk about it please! **holding my sides**
Kimber: Because when you put highly charged control freaks in highly charged,
out of their control situations, you're going to get some profanities.
Do you really expect a CEO about to lose his company to say "oh, gosh,
darn"?
Ironically, I don't swear at all. Well, maybe, I'll say 'sugar' or
'shaving cream' but I don't use any of the well known profanities. Why?
Because I am the second eldest of six kids and I used to babysit
constantly. Nothing will get your a$$ fired faster than a little
trooper repeating a cuss word and then proudly telling the world (as
little troopers tend to do) who taught him that word.
Tami: OK, I've recovered. I think. OK, now what else have you got going on your writing plate that I have to know about? You know that I have to know it all. I'm nosey girl. Fill me in!
Kimber: I'm happily exploring the business world in Breach Of Trust and
Invisible. I finally found a girl for Gregory (my trouble making lawyer
in Breach Of Trust) and she's a buddy of Nikolay's (the Russian mobster
in Invisible). I never really planned for the worlds to converge but
when Tavos (in Invisible) needed funding for his jewelry business,
Philippe (in Breach Of Trust) couldn't pass up the quick return.
It ties into real life though. Most of the big fish know each other.
They deal through referrals so it tends to be an insular group. One of
the reasons, I suppose, that it used to be called the old boys club.
Tami: You want another question? Fill in the blank: Rules are made to be ________!
Kimber: Ignored, which is funny (or not) coming from a trained accountant.
Rules are guidelines. For lack of better knowledge, I'll adhere to
them, but if I think I'm the exception (and doesn't everyone think
they're the exception?), I'll ignore them.
Tami: Accountant? Girl, that's what I am going to school for. I have a couple more classes and I am done. Whoo, I think I need another drink thinking about that. Getting back on track.....I've had a blast with you here, and I can't wait to have you back. When did you say you were coming back?
Kimber: Fellow Bean counter Padawan, if I could, I'd never leave.
Thank you so much for having me over
for apple martinis… I mean, for the interview. I had SO much fun!
Tami: Ssshhh....you weren't supposed to tell them about that. Now everyone is going to expect drinks and Cosmo quizzes. Well you are welcome to come here any time! Just make sure to let me know so I don't have too much to drink! Whoo, I've got to go y'all. But make sure you come on back next week when we have Jim Woods being interviewed by our very own Julie Eberhart Painter! Bye y'all!
Friday, May 22, 2009
July Releases
Betraying Chase By Donica Covey
Romantic Suspense
ISBN: 978-1-897445-44-0
172 pages
$4.99
Promo Logline: She was hired to kill him, but fell for him instead--ain't love a bitch?
Back Cover Blurb: Chase Willet, DEA agent, is destroying the business of high dealing drug lord, Ramiro Gonzalo Sancho Rivera. It’s not enough that they’ve already put a large chunk in the import train. They have to take Rivera out.
Brandy Montgomery is the red head that swept Chase off his feet. She’s sexy, smart and has a secret. She’s is a hired gun for Rivera and is spending time softening Chase up so that he won’t be prepared for the kill.
The problem with Brandy’s plan is that the more time she spends with Chase, the more she falls for him. How can she do her job if she’s in love with the man? And when Chase finds out what she’s really up to he feels completely betrayed until Brandy offers to help him take down Rivera. But she’s fooled him once before. Can Chase trust her this time?
Excerpt:
He grabbed her into an embrace. “Are you cold?” He pulled the covers up close and squeezed her tight. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll die first.”
He grew quiet and the time seemed to drag. She knew he wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep. She also knew sleep would avoid her like the Black Death.
He pulled away. “I’m going to take a shower.” The mattress shifted and the comforting feel of his body left a chill in its place.
He disappeared into the bathroom and once more she trembled. The only way to keep both men off her was to do the job. She’d collect the bounty, leave enough evidence to destroy Rivera for good and disappear.
Her gaze flickered to the desk where the gun was locked away. Inhaling a deep breath, she left the bed and opened the drawer. Once more, she pulled out the box holding the gun, unlocked it and hefted its cold weight in her hand. Leaving the desk, she moved to the bathroom door. The sound of the water running muffled through the wood she placed her hand on the knob.
You just have to open the door, shoot him and get out... The door slid open with a quiet creak. Steam filled the room and through the haze, she could see his silhouette on the curtain. Raising the gun, she aimed it at him and her finger applied slight pressure against the trigger.
Selling Forever
By Kimber Chin
Contemporary Romance
ISBN: 978-1-897445-56-3
82 pages
$2.00
Promo Logline: Can Cara close the deal on love?
Back Cover Blurb:
The Best Sales Plans…
Real estate agent Cara Jones needs a celebrity handyman for her charity auction. Reclusive billionaire Richard Thompson is the perfect choice. All she has to do is find his trigger and trip it, without becoming emotionally attached.
…Sometimes Go Awry
Richard wishes to be valued for himself, not simply for his money. He certainly isn’t going to fall in love with a pushy, pie baking saleswoman, no matter how sweet she tastes.
Excerpt:
“Want another beer?” Cara partially opened the fridge door, concealing her collection of week old takeout.
“No thanks, two’s my limit.” He held up his empty bottle. “I’m driving.”
“Interesting.” Cara grinned at the outright lie. “The taxi driver letting you drive tonight?”
“One of the perks.” His face reddened. “How come you know so much about me?”
Cara wasn’t about to answer that loaded question. “How come there was a message from my very excited father on my machine?”
His head bent a little more over that cupcake he was mauling. “How should I know?”
“Something about a delivery of baby back ribs ring any bells?” He was thoughtful to send her dad, a complete stranger to him, the gift. He certainly didn’t deserve the stingy label smacked on him by the press. But then, she already knew that. One of the things that first…
“Sorry, Quasimodo.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“Came from the account of one Richard Thompson,” Cara prodded. “Meat lover extraordinaire.”
“Damn identity thieves.”
Cara had to laugh. The goof. She concentrated on her cupcake, suppressing the wild impulse to hug him. Him. A complete stranger.
And do other things, much less innocent. The few photos Cara found on the internet, horrid candid shots, hadn’t prepared her for Richard’s subtle good looks, his long, lean body. He wasn’t movie star handsome, but somehow she found him more appealing, more virile, and more male.
Combine that with his personality. Oh, sugar. The media had it all wrong there, too. Richard Thompson wasn’t sullen and silent, but witty and engaging.
“Shit.”
Maybe not so witty. She glanced up to find him folded behind the island, that butt of his sticking in the air.
When The Ocotillo Bloom
By Linda LaRoque
Contemporary Romance
ISBN: 978-1-926681-14-6
245 pages
$6.00
Promo Logline: Lynn Devry and Seth Williams challenge old fears and issues to find self-renewal in life and love.
Back Cover Blurb:
Teacher Lynn Devry, eager for a kid free summer, finds herself working at a camp for problem children in West Texas. Psychologist Seth Williams is still in love with his ex-wife yet finds himself inexplicitly drawn to the prickly woman. As they help youngsters improve behaviors, wills and attraction collide.
Excerpt:
The rowdy hum of children’s voices replaced the clatter of trays and cookware. Evidently, Seth believed meal times were for socializing as conversations and laughter flew around the room. Her eyes sought their fearless leader. He sat amid a group of teenage boys, laughing at the antics of one. Her respect for him grew a notch. She admired a man who enjoyed the company of kids.
Seth watched his new bread cook. Her face flushed from the heat of the ovens and the hard work of rolling out biscuits. If she were tired now, she’d be dead when she finished kneading bread dough.
He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest, and looked around the room. It was going to be a good day. The wranglers were well fed and happy. Lynn’s face lit with pleasure at their compliments. She deserved every one. Her biscuits were some of the best he’d eaten. He considered going back for two more, but didn’t want to experience another glare like the one she’d shot him as he went through the line. Probably because of the big grin he had on his face. Flour smeared her cheek, and a glob of dough clung to a strand of her bangs that had escaped the bandana she wore to hold her hair back. Damned if she didn’t look cute.
Lynn finished her breakfast. When she glanced up to see him watching her, she stiffened. Ignoring him, she stood and walked back into the kitchen.
Love Comes Blindly
By Marie Higgins
Historical Romance
ISBN: 978-1-926681-20-7
100 pages
$3.99
Promo Logline: If love isn’t blind to past indiscretions, can absence truly make the heart grow fonder?
Back Cover Blurb:
Lord Gregory Fielding has been wounded when he travels to Scotland to find the next big story for his London newspaper. Now blinded, he relies on the soft, comforting touch of one of the nurses at St. Mary’s Abbey. He thinks she’s a novice, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to make her sigh in passion.
Madeline O’Neil cannot believe her misfortune. The man she had almost married three years ago is back in her life. Gregg doesn’t know who she is and she doesn’t dare tell him. Not until she makes him like the new Madeline. But as each day passes and her heart grows fonder, she fears he’ll hate her for certain once his eyesight returns. Especially when he discovers the secret she’s been keeping from him for three years…
Excerpt:
As he talked, his voice softened, and familiarity struck an odd chord in her memory. Where had she heard his voice before? Had she met him once? Or did he remind her of someone she’d known?
While growing up, she lived in London and Essex. Since she left that area almost three years ago, all ties to her past severed. She couldn’t bring shame to her family. These good Sisters needed her here. Now Madeline’s life had meaning. But what were the odds she’d known this man before?
When he ended his dictation, his voice tightened. Her eyes misted again. Obviously, he loved his family and his life at the newspaper. She prayed he would see again. Only God knew the outcome.
“Sir? I will send this letter as soon as possible, but I need your name first.”
“Oh, forgive me. I suppose my brain isn’t functioning too well.” Slowly, he lifted his hand again to his bandaged head. “My head is throbbing and it’s hard to concentrate.”
“I understand.”
Once his hand dropped to the cot, he breathed deeply. “My name is Lord Gregory Fielding.”
The name from the past hit her like a physical blow to her chest. She gasped and quickly covered her mouth with her hand. Gregg?
She jumped to her feet as her heart hammered. Dizziness threatened her vision, and she feared she would swoon. No, she mustn’t. She had to remain strong. After three years and being this close to starting a new life, how could fate throw into her path the one man she’d wronged so badly?
No matter what, she couldn’t let Gregg know who helped him. He hated her. Thankfully, he couldn’t see. Her identity must stay a secret.
As must her other secret that he must never discover.