All Who Dream (Letting Go) (9 page)

Her
laughing slowed as she shook her head. “It isn’t like that. I’ve known him a
very long time…he’s one of the best people this world has to offer. He’s just
going through
an
rough season-”

 
“Yeah, I’ve said that line
myself
.
I know all about ‘rough seasons’. Believe me.”

I stared
as her face sobered almost immediately.
What
was her loyalty to this guy?

Suddenly
I remembered all the times she’d come to his defense.
And
when I saw her straighten his tie before dinner last week.
How she
brings him a morning coffee without being asked, and laughs when no one else
finds him funny.

She was a
sweet-natured girl, but could it be more?

Could
Pippy
be in
love with Jackson?

She may
have been close to ten years his junior, but that wasn’t beyond the realm of
possibility…was it? Pressure built in my chest, almost to the point of
explosion. I opened my mouth to—

 
“Are you coming, Miss Flores? Cody and Mr.
Ross are waiting in the car for you.” It was Walt. Good old, sweet Walt who had
probably put up with years of ego-driven demands from Jackson Ross.

I narrowed
my eyes at
Pippy
. “We are not done with this
conversation. There is a lot more I feel I need to say to you.”

Her
eyebrows rose. “Oh…okay, sure.”

Her face
had guilt written all over it.

I shook
my head, heart reeling at the results of my detective work.

 
“You know, if your brow was any more furrowed,
I believe steam would be coming out your ears.” Jackson glanced at me for the
millionth time since I got into the car.

I ignored
him again.

The
longer I sat on the knowledge I’d uncovered, the more anxious I became. I cared
about
Pippy
—a lot. I felt a sort of loyalty toward
her that caused my inner-mama bear to awaken. I wanted to protect her, her
heart especially. Though I had never sensed any physical danger from Mr. Ross, his
personality type was dominant, one that could easily overpower her sweet spirit
and optimism for life—and her innocence.

I couldn’t
sit back and watch that play out. I wouldn’t. My fingers curled into fists.

 
“Mom, do you have the
grumpies
?”
Cody turned around in his seat.

 
“What? No,” I said quickly.

 
“It looks like you do. You’ve had a lot of
think time, and you still look grumpy.”

I shook
my head, “No, Cody—”

Jackson
leaned forward and grinned at Cody. “Hmm…what’s this about curing the
grumpies
, Cody?”

 
“It’s what mom and I do when one of us is
having a bad day. I just need to find the right music…”

“Cody,” I
warned through my teeth.

 
“Sorry, Mom, but you always say we don’t make good
decisions when we’re grumpy. Mr. Walt, can I search for the right station on
your radio?”

 
“Certainly, Mr. Cody.
Be my guest.” Walt laughed.

I closed
my eyes.
This is not happening!

Soon the
car was filled with a beat that could have roused the dead. Cody began his
signature car dance in his seat, and a deep laugh boomed from Mr. Ross. Soon
Walt was grooving, also. I bit the corners of my cheeks to halt my smile from
filling out my face, but soon lost the battle. When Mr. Ross joined in the
hip-hop with a roll of his shoulders, I had to surrender.

A giggle
spluttered from my lips. My whole body quaked with chuckles that demanded
release. Mr. Ross turned his head toward me and raised his eyebrows.

 
“It really works then, huh?
The
cure?”

 
“For the moment.”

 
“Ah, yes. That does seem to be the way of a
woman.” He shook his head and looked down at his phone.

 
“What is that supposed to mean?” I raised my
voice to compensate for the music. Walt and Cody were still dancing in the
front seat.

 
“It means you women never know what you’re
feeling. One moment up, the next moment down…pick one.”

 
“At least I have more than
one
mood to choose from!” I hissed.

He glared
at me, searching my face.

 
“Good to know.”

 
“What’s good to know?” I balked.

 
“What you think of me.”

 
“I…I don’t think of you in any way…I don’t
think of you at all.” I was digging a slow grave.

A crooked
smile painted his mouth. “Well, you might consider thinking about me a little
bit more the next time you accept a date while on the clock—a clock I help
provide payroll for.”

What? What was he talking about?

He held
my gaze, pushing me to remember a memory that I didn’t have. I never accepted a
date…wait…

 
“You mean with Brian? That’s not—”

 
“Please keep your personal agendas from
interfering with company time.”

 
“Unbelievable,” I murmured under my breath.

“What is?”
He said, leaning toward me.

“Your
attention to
personal
detail
within this company is quite
limited if you ask me, yet no one is willing to step in to protect the virtue
of a young woman who’s in way over her head.”
 

He
furrowed his eyebrows as his mouth turned down. “Excuse me?”

I leaned
in closer and spewed the words. “You know
exactly
what I am talking about.”

The car
lurched to a stop. Cody opened his door and stared up at the skyscraper in
front of us. I was much too distracted by the intensity of the man sitting
beside me to shift gears.

 
“I’m afraid I have no earthly idea what you’re
referring to, Miss Flores.”

 
“
Pippy
! She’s in love
with you! And you treat her like a groupie in your fan club, leading her on
without a care in the world.”

His mouth
opened.

Closed.

Opened.

Closed.

Then . .
.he
laughed.

Tears
poured from his eyes. It was the first light-hearted laugh from him I’d heard. I
refused to let my body warm and relax the way it wanted to at the mellow sound.
Instead, my cheeks heated at the nerve of this man—this man to whom I was so
physically attracted it was almost painful.

Bolting
from the car, I grabbed Cody’s hand and stalked to the building’s main
entrance.

At least
for once, I’d had the last word—sort of.
 
If you didn’t count the
laugh of an evil villain as a word.

I heard
Jackson—
Mr.Ross
—behind us. He was still cackling as
he walked into the building. He laughed in the elevator, and all the way down
the hall, composing himself only when we reached the doorway to Peter’s small
office.

 
“Hey, there!”
A
masculine version of
Pippy
stood before me: charming,
slim, handsome. He shook my hand and waved us inside, greeting Cody with a fist
bump.
 

 
“You must be Angela Flores,” Peter said. “
Pippy
has told me so much about you—she really likes
working with you.”

 
“Well, I have really loved working with your
sister as well. She’s a special girl.” I glanced behind me at Mr. Ross, who had
started laughing again.

“Tell…tell
Peter your diagnosis of
Pippy
,” Mr. Ross said.

 
“What?” I scowled at him.

 
“What diagnosis?” Peter’s lighthearted
attitude showed through his question. He was just like his sister, smiling like
the world was made of gumdrops and mint patties.

 
“Mrs. Flores has just informed me that
Pippy
is
in love with
me
. Weren’t those your words?” His gaze gleamed amusement.

Peter
gaped at me and then scratched his head, cheeks reddening. I was so confused.
What is going on here?

 
“Uh, that’s not possible.” Peter’s face
quickly went from embarrassment to pure pity.

 
“Why’s that?” I asked softly, already feeling
the weight of my body pressing against my knees. I wasn’t stable. This wasn’t
going to end well. I braced my hand against the wall.

 
“Mr. Ross is our Uncle.”

Oh Gosh…Oh Gosh…Oh Gosh…

I’m an idiot…I’m an idiot…I’m an idiot…

 
“It’s okay…he’s only ten years older than us,
so I could see how…well, maybe…” Peter started then his voice trailed off.

He was
trying to make me feel better—very
Pippy
-style—but it
wasn’t going over well. If I could melt and slither away between the seams of
the wood paneling, I’d jump at the chance.

 
“No, I’m so sorry. Gosh, I’m so very sorry.”
The lame words stuttered from my lips. “Is there a restroom nearby?”

 
“Sure, right down the hall next to the
elevator. Want to meet us on the second floor in the café? It’ll get too busy
if we don’t secure a table soon.
Pippy
is on her
way.”

At the
sound of her name I wanted to vaporize. Why—oh, why—couldn’t I control my
thoughts and mouth around Jackson Ross?

 
“Sure. Cody, stay right here with Peter.”

 
“I will, Mom.”

My black
slacks swished around my legs and ankles as I rushed to a stall in the restroom
and closed my eyes.

 
“Stupid, stupid, stupid…” I chanted to myself
under my breath. “This is why you shouldn’t make assumptions!”

I went to
the sink and ran the cold water over my hands in an attempt to bring down my
body temperature, which seemed to be roughly the same as molten lava.

I cannot face him again—ever.

I opened
the door to the restroom and turned in the direction of the elevator, took a
step, and smacked right into the fancy dress shirt of one Mr. Jackson Ross.

 
“There you are.”

I glanced
up at his face, and then immediately wanted to die.
Again.

Shaking
my head, I searched for the words to make this right. “I…can we…I’m so sorry—”

 
“
Ah,
and there it is.
I had a bet going with myself that I would hear one of your famous apologies.”

I took a
deep breath, no anger left within a hundred miles of me. I was far too ashamed of
myself to feel angry. “Well, I mean it. I was wrong to make an assumption like
that. I feel so stupid.”

The
atmosphere shifted, almost like there was a physical charge in the air around
us.

 
“You aren’t stupid. The idea that my niece
could have feelings like that is fairly disturbing and downright comical, but
you aren’t stupid.”

Though
the inflection in his voice was unchanged, his overall demeanor seemed…softer.

 
“I don’t know why I’ve felt it my place to be
so outspoken with you, but you have my word that it will stop. I am not usually
like this—that’s a lame excuse, I know, but it’s true. I hope we can move on. I
can be professional. I
will
be
professional.”

He stared
at me, and a sensation like fizz bubbles floated throughout my body.

 
“Please, don’t,” he said, softly.

 
“Don’t what?”

 
“Don’t stop. No one ever tells me what they
really think anymore. I like your thoughts, and I like your words—even if
they’re not always accurate.” A lopsided grin teased at the corners of his
mouth, and in that moment, I wanted nothing more than to feel those lips pressed
against my own.

My
heartbeat went staccato as my eyelids blinked in echoing pattern. He stepped
closer.

 
“That’s…surprising,” I said, his minty breath
wafting in the narrow space between us. I bit the insides of my cheeks.

“What’s
surprising?” he asked.

 
“I didn’t think you noticed much of what I
said or did.”

His gaze
roamed my face intently as I swallowed. “I notice everything, Miss Flores.”

At the
simple, heartfelt tone of those words, the bottom dropped out of my stomach
like the elevator had just shot upward a dozen floors.

Pinkerton
Press in NYC was a mirrored replica of the branch in Dallas that I had visited
a month earlier when I met with Dee Bradford. The only difference was, this
time,
I was walking next to Jackson. People seemed to stop
what they were doing to greet him.
 
Why
was a man who didn’t seem
interested in the pleasantries of
life so popular amongst this crowd, but it was as if the Prom King himself had
just made his entrance into the café.

His facial
expression had changed a tad since we entered—it was softer, and for the first
time I could see how much he cared about these people.
This
company.
I watched the transformation, intrigued. The café was buzzing
with people, tables full of lunch trays with a large variety of food to choose
from: Chinese, American, Indian,
Greek
. Several chefs
along with a gourmet salad bar were stationed at the far end.