Misfortune: Christmas With Scrooge (7 page)

Turning abruptly, he marched back into his
office. His reaction was so swift it completely took her by
surprise. Floundering for only a moment, she felt a surge of
irritation and swiftly followed him into the interior of his
office.

“Do you mind?” she promptly demanded.

“Yes, as a matter-of-fact, I do,” he snapped.
“It looks as if we're stuck with each other for the time being, so
the sooner we get started the sooner we can finish.”

Shut inside the small interiors of his office
with only herself and an overbearing and unpleasant Dexter
O‘Reilly, suddenly had Laura feeling utterly vulnerable.
Unconsciously, she lifted her chin defiantly. “Listen, I think
there's been a mishap—”

“Virgil doesn't deal with this portion of the
business. That's my usual post.” he rudely interrupted. “I wasn't
sure how this meeting got messed up and landed on his desk. But now
that I realize it was you—”

“I didn't set up this meeting with you on
purpose. As a matter-of-fact, it's Mr. Britten I would rather see,
so if you wouldn't mind—”

“Believe me, I wouldn't like anything more.
However, as running businesses go he does a grand job, but for
investing his company’s money, he's lousy.” He dropped his large
weight in the swivel chair behind his desk. “So sit down and let's
get this over with, shall we?”

She frowned at his curt manner. Yes, it most
definitely was what she remembered most about Dexter O'Reilly.

Sighing heavily, she dropped her own weight
into the wide cushioned chair opposite him. Folding her hands over
her lap, she suddenly had an attack of nerves. Asking for money
from all those other faceless companies had been comparatively
simple when confronted with the possibility of closing down her
shelter. Yet sitting here across from Dexter, preparing to do just
that, was the hardest thing she ever had to face.

“I need some money.” She felt direct approach
was best, but immediately hated the way the words spilling from her
mouth sounded. “I mean, I need your company to invest in me—in my
organization. It's just small and fairly new, but I desperately
need the backing or I'm afraid I'm going to have to close my doors.
Permanently.”

He frowned as he listened to her skittish
splutter of words. “And what exactly is this organization?”

Laura knew this was when the look of interest
on their faces turned to disinterest, and swallowed hard. “A
homeless shelter for teenage girls.”

He fixed her with an unyielding frown, then
scraped back his chair and got to his feet. “I hardly think
so.”

“That's it? You won't even hear me out?”

“I don't need to hear anymore. We are an
investment and financial group. Where is the return in this? The
profit? There is none. It would be foolish to put money into
something that guarantee's absolutely nothing in return. We don’t
invest in charities.”

Her eyes grew angry as she stared up at him,
then proceeded to get to her own feet. “Not everything in this
world is marked by dollar signs. There are other things to
consider, like the lives of these young adolescents—”

“They don't concern us—”

“You mean they don't concern you! How stupid
of me to forget what a pompous cold-hearted individual you are. Not
everything has a price tag above its head Dexter, and not
everything is guaranteed.”

“In the world of business that's exactly what
you deal with. If you don't like the rules, don't play the
game.”

“Is that how you see these young people? As
pawns in a game? They have names, faces, they are flesh and blood
who feel hunger and pain.” Her gaze grew hard. “Just like you
Dexter, they are human.”

His cold gaze held hers, and then with a jerk
he turned away. “I can’t help you. You’ve come to the wrong
place.”

She felt a startling pang of hurt, knowing
instinctively, it had nothing to do with the shelter but with this
heartless man instead. Closing her eyes from the affliction he
conjured, she turned away.

At the door, he unexpectedly stopped her.
“Look, Laura, we’re looking to expand our high-tech portfolio. If
you had a new software program that needed financial backing, maybe
then—”

“But I don't. I have a homeless shelter full
of teens needing to be fed and kept warm this winter. A computer
program just won't do the trick.” Then as professionally as she
could, she walked out of his office.

* * *

The windshield wipers flashed back and forth
as the rain continued to fall heavily outside of Laura's van. She
had been grateful to have the vehicle back so quickly from the
garage, but groaned when confronted with the bill. Indeed the
problem had been the alternator—as well as the fuel pump, a leak in
the radiator, and the watcha-ma-callit the mechanic tried
unsuccessfully to explain to Laura's lame-brain. But she was
pleased she had a means of transportation to Huntsville, a town
some sixty kilometers north, for her appointment with yet another
investor.

Her pleasure, however, was short-lived as her
request for financial backing was, once again, refused. Turning off
the provincial highway she headed east past a small harbor and
followed a deserted township road leading back to her home in
Bracebridge. Their explanation had been the same, if not more
pleasantly put, than Dexter O'Reilly's. Their company just didn't
have the extra surplus to invest in Laura's new, somewhat
uncertain, organization.

She scoffed at their choice of words. What
they really meant was they found her to be a risky, insecure
investment in which they wouldn't give a solitary dollar to help
out. At least Dexter had been honest and up front, if not rude and
to the point.

The rain began to fall faster and heavier
causing Laura to increase the speed of her wiper's. She had just
rounded a bend when she noticed a lone vehicle parked alongside the
shoulder of the road. The hood was up and the occupant was outside
peering into the engine as the rain hammered down around him. He
was obviously not immune to the cold climate surrounding him, as he
was not properly dressed for it. Even from her point of view, she
could see his dark trench coat and thick brown locks were
completely drenched.

Without even seeing his face, recognition was
swift. She slowed her vehicle and pulled up beside Dexter
O'Reilly's black Volvo. He looked briefly relieved at the
assistance in the form of Laura’s approaching vehicle, but frankly
more disturbed as he reached for the handle and swung the passenger
door open. Immediately, the pouring rain blasted the interior of
the van before Dexter seated himself and slammed the door shut
behind him.

“Thanks for stopping. I'm grateful for—” He
turned in his seat and gave the driver his full attention for the
first time. Large hazel eyes grew bigger in anger. “You again!”

She grinned. “Yep,”

She took in his damp appearance, from the wet
heavy mop of his dark hair down to the genuine leather waterlogged
shoes at his feet. An unexpected pleasure lifted her spirits. At
least some good would come out of the day.

Infuriated, he turned back to the door and
began to grope unsuccessfully at the handle, reminding Laura
repairs on the passenger door handle were still needed. “For pity's
sakes, don't be foolish.”

“Damnation! How the hell do you open this
thing?” he spat out angrily, his temper, obviously beginning to
rise.

“You're being ridiculous. It's pouring
outside.”

“I'd rather wait for the next vehicle,
thanks, so if you wouldn't mind opening this door!”

“I will not. There are barely any cars out on
the road today because of the rain. You could be waiting for hours
before the next one stopped.”

He growled a negative response.

Determinedly, she crossed her arms over her
breast. “Dexter O'Reilly you are being childish. You won't even
accept help from another.”

“Wrong. Just you.” He fiddled harder with the
knob.

Laura sighed. “Do you have CAA?”

Disgruntled, he replied, “Generally no need
for it.”

She shrugged. “Well, seems to me you have no
other options.”

“Just let me out and I’ll walk to the closest
farm and call a garage.”

“What’s wrong with your cellular?”

Slightly abashed, he shifted in his seat and
answered shortly, “Dead.”

Exhaling what little patience she had left,
she said “Look, call it even. You rescued me from the side of the
road, more or less, and now it's my turn. It's the least I could
do, considering you wouldn't accept my thanks.”

With an angry thrust he punched the paneled
door before slumping back exasperated into his seat. “Just drop me
off at the closest phone booth.”

“Fine,” she agreed, before turning the
over-sized van back onto the road. A quick glance at his appearance
once again, had her saying, “You better get out of those wet
cloths, or you'll catch—”

“Keep your eyes on the road and mind your own
business.” He grumbled before reaching down and slipping very
expensive but very wet Dockers from his feet. “With your track
record, I would appreciate not landing in a ditch somewhere.”

She clamped her mouth shut from retorting
something crude back, refraining from lowering herself to his
level. Instead, she asked, “Is that why you didn't want me to pick
you up? You think I'm a bad driver?”

He removed his socks and was ungraciously
twisting water from them over the van floor.

“Hey!”

“Send me the bill,” he snapped, before
turning next to his soaking trench coat. “It's about the only money
you'll get from me.”

“So, it was personal!”

“As I said, it's not a worthy
investment.”

“You would actually allow seven young girls
and a baby to freeze and starve because of your dislike for
me?”

“It has nothing to do with you.”

“Hah! You could barely accept this ride. The
other day in your office you would have liked nothing more than to
throw me out on my backside.”

“Now that would have been a sight.”

“What is it with you?” she demanded angrily,
receiving a scowl from her companion. “What is it you don't like
about me? Ever since we first met, you've had it against me.
Why?”

“I don't particularly like people.”

Laura frowned. “Me in particular.”

He didn't respond. Laura's frown only
deepened. She was caught off guard by the sudden pain in her chest
this revelation brought on. She had been able to recognize from the
start his dislike for her. However, his silence now only confirmed
it. And it hurt.

Shortly, he asked, “Do you always pick up
strangers?”

“I happened to recognize you.” Muttering
under her breath, she added, “And I still picked you up.”

He shot her a sour glance indicating he had
heard, but decided to check any retort, not wanting to get into
another heated wrangle. It was what he remembered most of the
woman, and what more than likely caused his dislike for her. Her
irksome ability to protract maddening emotions from him, for that
matter any emotion. Her bewitching amber-green eyes had his insides
doing funny things. He scowled out the window. Yes, it was best if
he simply did not look at her.

It was while he stared at the downpour on the
opposite side of his window that it dawned on him they had not yet
exited the township road and entering city elements. “Where are you
going? Any one of these side roads will lead us into town.”

“I know where there's a phone you can
use.”

“Laura.” The tone of his voice was every bit
of a warning as it was a threat. “Where are you taking me?”

She swallowed, not sure what possessed her to
keep driving straight home. But the opportunity had presented
itself, how could she turn a blind eye to it? He was basically her
prisoner, even for a short period of time, and she would be a fool
to miss the chance to try and prove to him her shelter was worth
the investment. Her only excuse was she desperately needed the
money. At this point, she was capable of doing anything.

“My home's not far out of the way. We'll be
there in no time.”

He glared at her. “I have no intention of
stepping foot into your house.”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “Your phone call
won't be made that way.”

“I'll walk—”

“To the nearest station? About 4 kilometers
and it's still raining dreadfully hard out there.” And when he
would have barked at her, she added, “You could use the opportunity
to dry your clothing and warm up. We've a wonderfully huge
fireplace—”

A picture of himself down to his boxers with
only a blanket to separate himself and Laura Witherow had him
interrupting swiftly, “No thanks.”

“Suit yourself.”

As promised, she pulled into the driveway of
her family home-turned-shelter only minutes later. He looked up at
the building through the drizzly windshield and gave it more
attention than his previous visit. The home was over-sized for its
structure indicating it must have been built at the turn of the
century along with the neighboring homes. Its red bricks and white
eaves trough desperately needed restoring, in addition to the
shutters that swung from loosened hinges, were also in urgent need
of repair and repainting. The slopping peaks forming the roof
indicated rotting shingles, which evidently were decaying faster
with each passing rain day. More than likely, in its time, the home
had been very beautiful. But time and neglect obviously took its
toll.

Laura noticed his disapproving frown and knew
he judged her responsible for the deterioration. It hurt to watch
her family home lose its once lustrous appearance, but time and
cost Laura had little of both. Dexter's grimace only reinforced her
guilt, yet at the same time her determination for financial
backing. Whatever it took, she would have his investment before he
left today.