Humbled (16 page)

Joel should have been devastated that one of his few remaining ventures had been taken off the table. There wasn't a company for him to buy or one for him to run. He was out of luck. Joel rested his elbow on his bent knee, remembering a nugget of wisdom his father had once shared. Joel had to rely either on luck or on God, not both. His weakened spirit cried out for him to continue pursuing a solution through the Lord. He was growing weary and didn't want to continue beating his head for a lost cause, but his determination wouldn't allow him to become sidelined. There had to be more he could do before completely surrendering to faith. He just wasn't ready to make a comprehensive return to God, not yet, not while his plans were in disarray. Admittedly, he had created his problems and had to be the one to fix them. When he was able to put the pieces back together and embark on a path to success, then he could seek restoration from God as a winner.

He attempted to clear the flurry of revelations and the chaos from his mind. There had to be something he was missing. If he could just think clearly, he'd see it. While laboring over the matter, he kept thinking about Zarah. She was it. Somehow acquiring control or ownership of her division really was the way forward. He poked out his chest, feeling much more confident about his success rate with her than with Uncle Frank and his partners.

Shrouded in confidence, Joel went to his car. He would go home and plead his case directly to his wife. Joel was prepared to cash his chips in on the strength of one hand. Right and wrong seemed to be waging a minor struggle within him, but he wasn't going to let doubt overcome necessity. He needed this deal. Zarah had to understand. As concrete as his plan appeared to be, honestly, he couldn't forget the church mother's comments. She'd given him crucial advice in the past, several times, mostly warnings about his decisions. He hadn't heeded her wisdom then, and his whole world had crumbled.

He tried at each turn to forget her words from Sunday morning, but he was unsuccessful in shaking himself free from that encounter with her. He zipped down the highway, reaching his exit in about thirty minutes. A whole host of scenarios played out in his head. He had to develop a cohesive strategy before approaching Zarah. In the past, he could roll in with a grin and a lullaby. Since she'd taken on a new persona, he didn't want to underestimate her. He'd give her the same professional courtesy others got.

He whipped into a coffee shop situated off the highway. Inside, Joel ordered an espresso and grabbed a stack of napkins.

The waitress gave him a wide smile. “I haven't seen you in here before,” the young lady said.

Joel guessed she was around seventeen or eighteen, certainly not in his twenty-six year old league. She was flattering him, and there was a time when he would have played along. Today his priority was business. She set the espresso on the counter.

“Thanks,” he told her.

“Anytime,” she replied, leaning against the counter and maintaining the wide smile.

“Can I ask you a favor?”

“Sure,” she said immediately. “What can I do for you?”

Reacting was enticing, but he would pass. He had more important matters to handle. “Do you have a pen I could use?” he said, sealing the request with his signature grin.

She blushed and quickly fumbled for a pen underneath the counter. She surfaced with the writing utensil, appearing proud about her accomplishment. Joel winked as he took the pen, and his hand touched hers. She giggled.

“Joel Mitchell,” he heard someone call out. He turned to find an old acquaintance, Samantha Tate, standing nearby. “I saw the canary-yellow Lamborghini in the parking lot and wondered if it could possibly be your car. And what do you know? It is. Well, well, well, how long has it been?” she asked.

Joel turned toward the counter to get his espresso. The waitress's smile had converted to a bitter-looking snarl, and she stomped off. “I think it's been about a year. What's been going on with you?”

“Still working at the TV station.”

He'd met the reporter during a local talk show interview several years ago. They had connected before he got married, and had spent a considerable amount of time together. She was tall, thin, and quite pleasing in the looks department. Her milk chocolate–colored skin, with a generous portion of cream, blended well with her brown hair.

“Let's grab a seat. Do you want anything?” he asked, spilling a few drops of coffee onto the counter.

“I'll have what you're having,” she said, letting her dimples punctuate the statement.

Joel tried getting the waitress's attention. She wasn't eager to respond. “Excuse me, miss. Can I place another order?” he called out.

The waitress schlepped over to him without exhibiting any of the courtesies she had extended earlier. He understood and chuckled. Her interest was fleeting. He hoped Zarah's interest in his offer wouldn't suffer the same death.

“Can I please get another espresso?”

“Yeah, sure,” the waitress said.

Joel was glad to see the coffee machine in plain view. Otherwise, he might be concerned about Samantha drinking a cup of coffee made by his new admirer. When the order was ready, he grabbed the cup and hurriedly led the way to a table. He didn't need any more disgruntled women on his list.

“So, what brings you to this neck of the woods?” he said, as they found a table and sat. He drank from his cup.

“I had an interview with Zarah Bengali.”

Some of Joel's coffee spurted out of his mouth, and then he gave a series of heavy coughs.

“Are you all right?” Samantha asked.

Joel snatched a handful of napkins he'd taken from the counter and began wiping off the table.

“You okay?”

Joel cleared his throat. “I'm good. Thanks for asking.” He wiped up the remaining coffee. “Did you say Zarah Bengali?”

“Yes—”

Joel wondered if it was Samantha or Zarah who had chosen to use the last name of Bengali instead of Mitchell. The omission bothered him. “You know she's my wife?”

“I do, and your marriage is intriguing.”

“Really?” he said, wiping the table although the coffee was gone. “How so?”

“You have to admit it's not every day when a prominent executive from Detroit takes a wife from India and combines two multimillion-dollar companies. This is big news for us.”

Joel didn't want to be in the middle of a media circus because Zarah was venturing into the corporate sector and nosy spectators wanted details. He was nervous as he thought about what kind of information might have been revealed under the guise of getting the scoop. He cringed, thinking about the possibilities.

“What did you talk about?” he asked, afraid of what was coming next.

“She's very intriguing. I didn't realize just how stunning your wife is,” Samantha said. “We did a ten-minute segment on women in the corporate sector.”

“I'm surprised you picked her. She's new on the scene.”

“You'd never know. She was poised and very articulate,” Samantha said after sipping her coffee. “Other than her accent, of course.”

He was irritated by watching people flock to Zarah in droves, each with their own agenda. They might not be living as husband and wife, but he wasn't going to tolerate people taking advantage of the predicament. Not his family and certainly not members of the press, even if they were as enticing as Ms. Tate had been in the past.

Fifteen minutes evaporated, and Joel was anxious to get moving. He had urgent matters to handle.

“It was nice seeing you,” he told her, wrapping up their conversation.

“You too,” she responded. Samantha reached into her purse but kept her gaze locked on Joel's. “Here's my card, in case you lost the other one. Perhaps we can do dinner sometime and reminisce with a bottle of wine instead of an espresso.”

Joel took the card, and they parted. He pulled off in his car right after balling up the card and stuffing it into his pants pocket. He'd toss the card at the first opportunity, harboring no desire to pursue the invitation. If he didn't know what to do with Zarah, there definitely wasn't room for another woman. Those days were behind him or, at a minimum, on hold. Intrigue, passion, and a boatload of women had each contributed to his demise, as they'd scarfed down his attention. Pursuing prior indiscretions was too much torment. He had to move forward.

During his two-mile ride to the house, God briefly entered his mind. He hadn't forgotten his desire to establish a connection with Him, but he was realizing that fully committing to the Lord's approach for restoring his life wasn't easy. Giving up total control to anyone wasn't his way. Doubt and a mixture of emotions took over, leaving Joel wandering. He needed a breakthrough, just one glimmer of success on the business front, and the rest would work out naturally. He accelerated, eager to see Zarah. She was the key.

Joel was more relaxed during this visit than he'd been during the one last week, but he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that Tamara was going to be waiting at the door, posing an inconvenience to him, as she typically did. He reached the house, parked, and forgot about Tamara. She was incidental in the grand scheme of what had to be accomplished during this visit. He approached the front door and paused, choosing not to use his key. The house was 100 percent Zarah's for now, until he figured out how to organize each piece of the chaotic puzzle that was his life. He rapped on the door, and the housekeeper opened it.

“It's good to see you, Mr. Mitchell.”

Greetings were exchanged, and Joel was directed into the kitchen, where he found Zarah leaning against the counter in her gown and robe.

Zarah fumbled with the cup she was holding and spilled some type of liquid onto the floor and her clothes. “Joel, I didn't realize you were coming for a visit,” she sputtered.

Joel was tickled but didn't want to embarrass her. “I was in the area and wanted to stop by to see you. Is this a good time?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, rushing to him, beaming with glee.

He had only a few seconds to decide how far to go with the physical contact. Tossing caution out the window, Joel embraced Zarah. An unexpected surge of passion overcame him, and he opted to hold her longer. She offered no resistance. Joel eventually pulled away, took her by the hand, and gently guided her through the foyer, the family room, out the French doors, and onto the patio. Several times he felt her tense up, but he didn't stop. Joel wanted to speak with her privately and in a different setting than they normally chose. This could possibly be a new start for him and them as a couple, and he wasn't going to let up until Zarah understood the sincerity of his appeal.

“I would have prepared for your visit if you'd told me you were coming.”

He lifted both her hands and extended his arms. “You look amazing, no matter what you're wearing,” he said and twirled her around slowly. She looked like she was going to burst with elation. Joel was glad she was in a good mood. The more positive she felt going into their conversation, the better his chances of getting a favorable outcome. His request had to work; there was nothing else left for him.

“You're doing well with the pregnancy, right?” he asked, taking a seat in one of the patio chairs. She followed his lead.

“I am well,” she replied, laying her hand on her stomach.

“I want you to get plenty of rest and not to work too much.”

“I am very pleased about your concern. You will be pleased to know I'm getting my rest and taking very good care of our baby. This baby will have the best chance to be born healthy and strong, just like its father,” she said and reached over and touched Joel's hand.

More chitchat might be warranted and might be a wiser approach, but Joel didn't have the patience. He was exploding with anxiety and wanted to say the right words. He would rely on the premise that in a marriage there was mutual support, mutual help, and mutual sacrifice. He was willing to help Zarah and had to believe she was willing to return the favor. He'd soon see.

“How's the presentation coming along for the DMI board of directors meeting?” he asked.

“I am ready, except for a few more questions,” she said, rubbing her stomach.

“If you need any more help, just let me know.” He paused. “Speaking of DMI, I have been giving more thought to the West Coast division.”

“You don't have to worry. I have not spoken to Don about the division since you were here last week,” Zarah stated.

“That's good, real good, but this isn't about Don.”

She wiggled to the edge of the chair; a distressed look was on her face. He had no intention of letting her stew. He wanted this over and done quickly.

He went on. “I'd like to put in an official offer to buy the division from you.” Her distress didn't appear to diminish, but he wasn't going to let that sway him. This had to be done. “Zarah, you have no idea how important this is to me,” he said, kneeling in front of her with her hands nestled in his. “I have run out of other ideas. You're my lifeline. The West Coast division would allow me to get reestablished in the corporate sector. Please don't say no. I'm serious. This is the most important priority in my life right now.”

He didn't care about the legal technicality blocking his ownership. They could hire a team of lawyers to dissect the clause Zarah's father had included in his will. Worse case, they could sell the division to his mother and she could transfer ownership to him. There were ways around the obstacle. Nothing could dissuade him.

Zarah pulled her hands from his grip with force. Tears filled her eyes. “I am very tired. I must go for a nap.”

“Why? Are you ill?” he asked.

She'd been fine a few seconds ago. Unless the baby was in duress, he needed her to stay and finish the discussion. He was absolutely certain his chance to buy the West Coast division was fleeting with sharks like Tamara and Don circling. If he could convince her to stay outside with him, Joel was fairly sure she'd have compassion for his plight and agree to sell the division. He refused to accept any other outcome. Yet he had to confirm that Zarah and the baby were okay.

“Why don't you take a deep breath and rest here?” he said. “There's no hurry to go anywhere or do anything. I'm here. I can take care of you and the baby.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I will be fine after a nap. Please excuse me. I must go.”

Relieved that there wasn't a problem with the pregnancy, he instantly resumed his appeal. “Before you go, can I get an answer about the division?”

She didn't answer. Instead, she whimpered as her tears flowed freely. He rose to get out of her way. She didn't utter another sound, didn't say “Good-bye” or “See you later,” not a word. He stood there, unable to move, as she retreated into the house and slammed the door on his future. Stunned, he gathered up the dignity to walk out of the house without letting the depth of his rejection show. Joel moseyed through the house, and when he opened the front door to leave, there stood the knife in his backside—Tamara. He was a wounded lion seeking a secure place to lick his wounds. He didn't have the heart to go a fresh round with a formidable opponent. He prayed she'd offer him a way to escape.

“I didn't expect to see you here,” she said. “It's about time you started checking on your wife and baby, especially since Zarah doesn't have any other family in the United States except for me and your trifling behind.”

Joel decided to take a lesson from Zarah and walk away without speaking. Any other day it would have been difficult not to spar with Tamara. Fortunately for Tamara, she'd caught him on a day when he didn't care. He stepped around her and went to his car, speeding off to nowhere in particular, so long as it was away from there.