Intensity (18 page)

When we got back, I had just enough time to take a shower and get dressed for work. Hectic as usual, the mad pace at which I prepared drinks left no time for conversation beyond “What can I get you?” I turned to help the next customer and ended up head-on with Mr. Miller. You’ve got to be freaking kidding me.

“Serena, is that you?” He set his arm along the edge of the bar and leaned in real close. First, examining my face and then sliding to my breasts, which overflowed from the single- banded strap molded to them, covering my nipples, but exposing the top and bottom mounds. Another birthday gift.

Determined to do my job, I responded in a deadpan manner. “Yes. What can I get you?”

“You work here?” He flung his suit-clad arm around the room while speaking.

Taken aback by the obvious question, I replied in monotone and drawn out, “Uh…
yes
.” It clicked then, why he was here, and my demeanor switched to snarky. “Drink,
Mr
. Miller?”

Face reddening, he stammered, “Umm…Uh…” In a jerky fashion, he peered around the room and must’ve figured out the repercussions of being seen at this club. “Look…is there somewhere we can talk
privately
?” he yelled over the music.

Just then, Linc appeared at Mr. Miller’s side. “Is there a problem?” He glanced between us.

Mr. Miller took a few steps back, jutting his chin toward me, and said, “I need a few minutes alone with her.”

“In my office, over there.” Linc pointed across the lounge, motioning him forward. Without missing a beat, he turned toward me and directed, “Get Paulette to cover you and come join us, okay?”

I entered a few minutes later. Linc sat behind his desk, as usual a dominating presence. I plopped down in the chair next to Mr. Miller, crossing my arms and aiming a quirked brow at him.

“What exactly is your concern?” Linc’s direct and to the point manner, although stated in a respectful and professional way, presented an air of no arguments.

Mr. Miller’s dressed for success style and CFO status covered the part that got him access to this exclusive place. Yet his shifting shoulders and sweat dripping from his brow showed a lack of confidence in this situation. He pointed at me and declared, “She-she knows my wife.”

Ha! He should have thought about that
before
coming here. Not that he knew I worked here, but still. Poor Mrs. Miller. She’d be crushed if she found out how he spent his free time.

Watchful and silent, I deferred the matter to the boss. No way in hell I’d speak now, because professional, nor respectful, would be in my vocabulary.

“As my employee she’s bound to confidentiality. You received the invite, therefore, you’re welcome to remain. However, if you choose to leave and not continue with the club’s benefits, I expect the same in return. Do we understand one another?”

Mr. Miller’s eyes closed tight, and when he reopened them his shoulders slumped, wiping out the last remaining bit of his executive stature and composure. “Yes. I understand, perfectly.” He turned toward me, a noticeable tic in his eyelid. “Do I have your word you won’t tell Nancy?”

Friggin’ jerk.
Not dignifying his question with a verbal response, I dipped my chin in confirmation, while in my mind I sneered and shot him full of daggers.

He extended a hand across the desk to Linc and left without a second glance at me.

Bound to erase the troubling encounter by drowning myself in work, I dashed toward the closed door.

“Serena.” His concerned voice stopped me in my tracks.

It sucked that the day ended like this. The afternoon had been so wonderful. Linc came up behind me and administered an understanding and deep-penetrating massage across my shoulders, down my arms, to the tops of my hands, and around each finger, weaving his with mine. Cheek to cheek, he pressed his chest with assurance to my back. Lips brushing my temple he whispered, “You okay?” Hands still clutched together, he wrapped his arms across my stomach and consoled me with a gentle sway in sync to the beat playing in the adjoining room.

Determined to put it out of my mind, I changed the subject. “You did good today.” I tilted my head back, so I could see him better, and clarified, “Sailing was amazing. Anytime you want to make my
dreams
come true, you have my approval.” My cheeky grin and batting eyelashes punctuated the affirmation.

His same unfettered and unmasked presence I saw on our trip radiated in grand magnitude from him. The humdinger he delivered proved it. “Told ya—I’m
exactly
what you need,
issues
and all.”

Mrs. Miller didn’t have to speak. My steps faltered at her flushed cheeks, moistened eyes, and catawampus mouth. Eight years working for this family dematerialized in seconds.

“You have to leave. I tried to call, but you didn’t answer.” Even with the kinked strands sticking out all over her messy bun, the full-guard mode she took at the front door contrasted with her despondent and frazzled persona.

“Please, can we can talk?” The more reasonable of the two, I hoped she’d at least grant me that.

She shot a distressed glance backward, and an instant later she stepped down from the brick porch, meeting me at the bottom. “Please, you have to go,” she said with urgency. “I can’t—we—I have to let you go.” She clutched her upper arms. Her sigh and strained send-off lodged a lump in my throat at the finality. “You can’t work here anymore.” She dashed up the stairs and came to a stop at the door. Without turning around, the low and soft farewell reached me in the noiseless, early morning hour. “You’ll be missed, Serena.”

As she twisted the knob, the door flew open. Mr. Miller, fit to be tied, yelled, “Get in here now!” He snatched her arm and tossed her into the entryway, slamming the door behind her stumbling body. “Don’t make me
escort
you off our property.” Fury and disgust filled his tainted order. The higher-than-mighty executive on display failed to scorch the crud off his doorstep.

Pride swallowed, my shaky plea revealed a crushing disappointment. “Mr. Miller…Stan, I love your kids. Please, I’d hate for last n—”

“
Get-out!
” Barreling down the stairs, he came nose to nose, even though I scrambled backward, his harsh warning stalked me. “
Don’t
open your mouth.” The impending death threat clear.

I turned tail and sprinted the hell away.

Chains twisted from bottom to top, the swing sprung me in a twirl, compounding the dizziness already unsteadying me. Adult mallards guided ducklings in an effortless, casual glide across the pond. Robins and starlings hopped and flitted about, portraying a picture-perfect, carefree existence. If only my journey through life could be that simple.

Croton Point Park, a home away from home, had become a mandatory route and preferred place to exercise. Images of Gram’s power-walking and rapid, pumping arms brought a brief smile to my not-so-happy face. The warm and sunny day should have been enjoyable, but my depressed, beat-up condition made it hard to delight in the serene setting.

Tainted thoughts battered me into a slouchy pulp. Mr. Miller’s high moral ground and irrefutable stance, insinuating my influence could somehow corrupt his kids, made him a hypocrite. Either he thought I would tell his wife, or he thought my job involved—yeah, not going there.

I kicked my feet on the ground, shoving the swing back and forth. The motion didn’t bring the soothing effect it used to. Instead, my insides twisted more and the gurgle in my stomach said it was time to go. I bent over, stretching my palms flat on the grass and bouncing on the balls of my feet a few times. Arms stretched above my head, I reached toward the sky, wiggling my fingers and rolling my shoulders, relieving a tiny bit of tension. Setting a pace that mimicked Gram’s when she came along during my jogs, I took a detour onto Willow Street. Weeds and grass higher than my last visit, my longing gaze examined every square inch of my childhood home. Gram’s spirit occupying my mind and heart.

Japanese maples surrounded the lot. Each included wooden bird feeders and houses I’d painted myself. Twenty-one for every birthday and as many as she could buy before her death. I should’ve wrapped them and taken them with me, but I couldn’t. I didn’t have the heart to remove them from their special resting place.

Two fingers sealed to my lips for a kiss, I extended it toward heaven in a wave.

I remember. Always. Forever.

Memories of her gentle smile, wheezy-whistling laugh, and sea-green eyes brought happiness to me and everyone she came in contact with. Her selfless acts were treasures she shared with each individual, offering affection and encouragement no matter the situation.

In a blur, my position changed from a Cape Cod house to a brick apartment building.

Home, for now.

Linc jumped up from the sofa, frowning as soon as I entered. “What’s the matter?”

I shuffled over to him and dropped my head on his broad, supportive shoulder. “The Millers fired me.” Disappointment evident in my mumble against his neck, my arms wound around his ribs for added consolation.

“Dammit, I’m so sorry,” he murmured against my cheek, scooting me onto his lap and shielding me in a protective embrace. His awesome bear hug soothed the direct hit and gouging remarks remaining from the earlier altercation. “Want me to call Stan?”

“
No
.” My quick reply and stiff body must have clued him in to my discomfort. An instant image of Mr. Miller storming after me produced the knee-jerk reaction.

He shifted me back and examined my face. His narrowed eyes attempted to mind meld the truth out of me. “Did something else happen?” Although a question, his gruff tone and flexing muscles promised retribution. Ha! Second time today. The ominous technique must be taught in boy’s-only classes.

Reluctant to cause more problems and ready to put it behind me, I told him a little white lie. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.” I glanced at a photo of Gram and back at him, willing an extreme calm into my voice. “I’m disappointed, that’s all.” Instead of indifferent, my lips trembled, and my overwrought body slumped against him, sure he’d support me and not let me fall.

Note to self: when depressed—don’t consume Ben & Jerry’s—devour a hunk of Linc. Low fat and does a body good.

Several minutes later, he dashed down the hall and came back holding a book out to me. “Read. I’ll make you breakfast and we’ll chill.”

“Uh, don’t you have work to do?”

He raised my palm and plunked the book in it. On my right side, he propped a couple pillows and swept my feet from the floor, sprawling them on the cushions. The swift out-of-the- blue move had me falling back and inclining flat. “Rest.” He dashed into the kitchen, speedy-fast as Flash Gordon.

I cupped my hand at my temple and saluted his back. Aye, Aye Captain. No fuss. No muss. No arguing.