On The Dotted Line (11 page)

“The
Magician.” The familiar man holding up his wand with the infinity symbol above
his head represented the ability to speak about ideas, being charming and
clever. Of course on the other end it told a tale of a con man or a trickster. Something
told her that her husband hid something. The cards never lied. Neither did her
gut instincts.

* * * *

Van
Ayers First Capital Trust. The large gilded letters in the lobby spelled out
the name of her husband’s bank, but instead of a bank with ATM machines and
tellers, she was led into a business building in a skyscraper in Century City. Peter
quickly nodded to the receptionist behind a huge gleaming oak desk and led her into
the office.

Wood
paneling, huge pieces of artwork depicting different historical banks lined the
walls. Heavy, dark furniture defined the separate workstations. The office was
absolutely quiet except for the subtle clicking of computer keyboards and the
employees blended into the stoic background with their neutral business suits. The
entire office dripped with authority. Everyone was either here to make money,
get money, or keep from losing the precious commodity.

She
glanced down at her outfit, a bright orange short hand-dyed halter dress with
some jewel embellishments she and Nan added after they found the little frock and
a matching sweater at a thrift store.

As
she made her way through the office, another noise joined the soft typing, that
of hushed tones and whispers. She didn’t need to read minds to already know she
was the topic of conversation.

Peter
opened an imposing dark wood door and motioned for her to go ahead.

She
tiptoed inside to find Randolph behind a massive mahogany desk. He didn’t as
much look up from his computer when she entered.

Peter
tapped the top of an oversized hunter green leather chair and joined another
older woman at a long table with piles and piles of neatly stacked papers. Yes,
the man loved his documentation.

With
a smile to no one, she sat. Although her husband was only across the desk from
her, he seemed miles away.

Randolph
continued to clink away on his computer without glancing her way.

She
waited, picked a string off her dress, moved her hair out of her face, swung her
leg and tapped her foot.

No
one acknowledged her. She took in his office. The shelves of books, the art on
the walls, Randolph’s framed degrees from college, had all the makings of
perfectly planned success.

Once
she finished studying the office, she turned her attention back to Randolph. Still,
he didn’t even bother peeking over at her, give her a friendly wave, or a tilt
of the head, nothing. His desk was as neat as everything else about him, no
life, no personality, simply the required computer, a clock, a blotter, some
pens and stacks and stacks of file folders. He continued to stare at his
monitor, his face devoid of any emotion, but the man still had the looks of a
gorgeous teen idol, only one who grew up and had to get a real job. Her thought
wandered to the tarot card again. What did he hide that he couldn’t even take a
glance at her?

Lost
in watching him, she put her elbow on the arm of the chair and rested her head
in her hand.

“I
finished the documents for the Hartfords.” At last Randolph spoke.

As
if he issued a command, Peter and Mrs. No Name stood.

“Get
the signatures, and I want no further interruptions while I meet with my wife.”
He pushed his chair back from the computer.

With
military precision they both walked out of the office, the woman taking a long
look at her before leaving.

Only
when the door clicked closed did Randolph turn to her. “You really shouldn’t
slouch like that.”

“Hello,
how are you? No, I don’t mind waiting, thank you.” She forced herself to remain
in her position.

“As
an executive’s wife you are going to have to get used to waiting sometimes.” He
rocked his chair back.

“Did
you call me here to teach me that lesson?” Her back ached from her funky angle,
but she refused to move.

“No.
I called you here to review a few of your responsibilities, starting with some
questions on your business.”

At
the mention of her store, she sat up, her back popping in relief. “What is it?”

“First
and foremost,” he opened his drawer, pulled out an envelope and pushed it
across the desk toward her, “get your rent caught up. Make sure Jade gives you
a receipt. I don’t like to make it a habit of paying in cash, but until we get your
accounts and such straightened out, its necessary since this is so time
sensitive.”

“Thank
you.” The man remembered everything. She reached across the desk.

Before
she took the envelope he put his hand over hers. “Willow.”

“Yes?”
She said thank you, was there something else?

“Where’s
your ring?” He glared down at her empty finger.

“Oh.”
She slid her hand away from his. “I put it in my bag while I’m at work.”

“Our
contract clearly states that you are to wear the ring.” He strummed his fingers
on the desk. “I don’t think you should keep something that expensive tumbling
around in your purse.”

“I
didn’t leave it tumbling.” Even with the room at the ideal temperature, she
broke out into a sweat and jammed her hand in her bag in search of the ring. “People
from the gallery visit my shop every day.”

“And
you still have a contract with me. Contracts are binding agreements.” He grunted.
“The ring needs to be on your person at all times, especially in situations
like this where you are at my office, it needs to be on your finger.”

“Okay.”
Her heart sped up and she took a long breath as she continued to search her bag
and tried to figure out what he meant by ‘on her person.’

“May
I ask you to put it on now?” He leaned forward.

“Yes.”
Her fingers made their way through her yarn, past her wallet, around the papers
and frame she brought for him, and hit the leather bottom of the bag where she
traced the edges. No ring. An unfamiliar weight settled on her chest. She
jumped out the chair, got down on her hands and knees, and dumped the bag on
the floor.

“Willow!”
In an instant Randolph came around his desk and joined her.

Her
stuff scattered over the Persian rug and she clawed through them. “Oh my God!” She
tossed Randolph’s family heirloom into a bag like a pack of gum for her own
strange pride, never mind how much the gem was worth or what it meant.

“Did
you lose my ring?” He sifted through her belongings, lifting her ball of yarn.

A
flash of yellow caught her eye. “The ring!”

“Stop!”
He held up the mess.

She
lunged for the yarn, landing with her face basically in his crotch and froze. Actually,
she hadn’t noticed the slight pinstripe on his navy suit before.

“Willow.”
His voice tensed with restraint.

She
turned away from the pinstripes up to his face and the yarn with the ring
dangling from it. “There’s the ring.”

He
plucked the bauble off the yarn and held it out to her. “If you don’t mind.”

She
pushed herself up, returned the jewelry to her finger and glanced down at the
disaster. Everything about Randolph seemed orderly and pristine while she came
off as a one woman hurricane. “Let me clean up this mess.”

Without
a word he helped her pile the things back in the bag, lifting the frame.

“I
found my business license.” She sort of wanted him to say something.

He
reached up, put it on his desk and pointed at the file folder. “May I?”

She
nodded, thankful he spoke.

He
opened it and with two fingers held up her chart. “Is this your rental
agreement, insurance papers or checkbooks?”

The
man had amazing memory. “That is my astrological chart. We can do yours if you
like.”

“I’m
good, thank you for the offer.” He handed it back to her.

Along
with his memory, he also had impeccable manners.

They
returned the rest of items to her bag and he held out the little silver
canister of her tea. “Calama-tea?”

“I
brought that for you.” She tried to smile. “It’s for stress. I think I’ll make
some for me and my customers when I get back to work.”

He
stood and helped her up.

They
reclaimed their opposing sides of the desk.

The
silence stretched out, the only noise the tapping of his fingers on the tea
canister. At last he nodded. “You serve tea at your store?”

“Yes.”
Though she wanted to slump down again she sat up straight. “We also serve
little nutritional crackers and herbal remedies.

He
held up the tea. “Where do you make this?”

“Nan
and I make it in the small kitchen at the store.” She snuck her hand in her
purse. “Sometimes she makes candy, in fact, I may have some.”

“You
serve people food in your store?” He put the jar down.

“Am
I on trial?”

“I’m
asking a question.”

Unsure
of the right answer, she nodded. “Just what I told you.”

“Do
you have a license to be serving food out of your store?” His question came out
more as an accusation. “Do you have the proper permits?”

“It’s
just some tea and baked goods.” They needed permits and licenses for a few
little snacks?

“You
know what that is legally called?” He threw his next question out before she
fully understood the one before.

She
ground her teeth together.

“That,
my dear, is called a restaurant, and if you are caught serving food without the
proper licenses you will have some huge issues.” He pointed at her. His finger
may as well have been a gavel hitting her in the head and giving her a guilty
verdict.

Her
mouth opened, but no words would form. Restaurant?

“Until
we figure this out, no more food service and you are making everything at home.”
He doled out his ruling. “How did you even get insurance?”

She
folded her hands in her lap. “Nan always said we had nothing to lose.”

He
blinked and stared at her as if she spoke a foreign language. “Did you ever
think you might? Did you ever think if something happened you needed to not
only protect yourself and Nan, but the person making the claim? What if they
were really hurt?”

With
no words, she covered her mouth with her hand. She never gave the insurance a
second thought, thinking it was there to protect her and Nan, she never
realized it protected others.

“I
will take care of this. Just don’t do anything or kill anyone until I have a
chance to decide the best course of action.” He hardened his jaw.

Yes,
she married him, and yes, she agreed for help, but she didn’t agree for him to
take over her life or treat her like a toddler. “I can handle my business,
thank you.”

“Not
when what you do can negatively impact me.” He stared right at her. “Read your
contract.”

Her
mouth dried out and she licked her lips. “While you are fixing my business,
what am I doing?”

“I
do have something for you.” Once more he opened his desk drawer.

Not
wanting any more gifts or help, she pushed her back into the chair.

He
revealed a rich brown book with a little brown ribbon to be used as a bookmark,
at least his offering held potential. “Here you are.”

She
took the book. “A calendar?”

“You
are in charge of our calendar as a couple.”

“What
do you mean?” She flipped through the pages and noticed some entries already
written inside.

“Part
of why my father felt I needed to get married is I need to take over some of
the social duties of the bank. My wife handles those arrangements.” He picked
up one of his pens and twirled it between his fingers. “My secretary will
update you on any events that need to be arranged. You will need to become
familiar with the restaurants and venues.”

“I’m
not doing this.” She shut the book.

“I
beg to differ.” For the third time he opened the drawer. He took out some
stapled sheets. “According to our contract you will perform all duties of a
wife including managing our social calendar and attending all events with yours
truly at your side.”

“I
signed away my social life?” She grabbed the document from him.

“Fourth
paragraph down.”

She
scanned the page, finding the said paragraph. “I thought we were only supposed
to get married and sleep together.” At her own words, she threw the contract on
his desk.

“You
put the kibosh on that.” A wide know-it-all smile took over his face. “Do you
think for all that I’m offering on my end that would be the only things
required? Good business is when both parties do well. It can’t be all one
sided. I would have thought you would want balance.”