On The Dotted Line (16 page)

Randolph
and the Hartfords discussion morphed into business, and she resolved to remain
quiet and allow the evening to play out. They made it through appetizers and
salad and at last the main course was served. Her husband ordered her an
amazing fish dish and she took a bite allowing the rich cream sauce to coat her
palate.

“I
suppose once you get married it’s fine to eat all the things you wouldn’t allow
yourself when dating.” Elizabeth leaned over and let out a laugh. “I can’t
remember the last time I had anything as decadent as that.”

“I
would rather eat a little of what I want than a lot of what I don’t want.” She
took another bite. “More isn’t always better.”

“Of
course more is sometimes nice as well.” Mr. Hartford lifted his fork and took
another bite of his food.

Peter
chuckled.

“So,
you never said how you and Randolph met.” Elizabeth put her fork down.

“Yes,
how did you meet?” Ms. Hartford stared down her long thin nose at her. “What
led to your sudden elopement?”

For
weeks her husband kept up the ruse in front of their friends and unwilling to
make one more error, she put her hand on Randolph’s shoulder. “I’ll let
Randolph tell you.”

Randolph
took his time wiping his mouth. “Willow owns a little shop.”

“What
kind of shop do you own?” The scowl took over Ms. Hartford’s face again.

“Isn’t
it like a voodoo shop?” Elizabeth leaned back in her chair as if trying to get
Randolph’s attention.

“Voodoo?”
Again, Ms. Hartford pursed those lips.

Mr.
Hartford sat up and grinned.

“It’s
actually a little metaphysical and holistic shop.” She spat out the correct
answer.

“What
exactly does that mean?” Ms. Hartford asked.

“You
know, hocus pocus stuff.” Elizabeth wiggled her fingers. “She even gave Peter a
tarot card reading and now he’s all freaked out.”

“Was
she accurate?” Mr. Hartford asked.

Ms.
Hartford only blinked.

“You
know that artist who goes around painting random murals?” Elizabeth leaned over
the table. “He or she painted one on Willow’s building and now Peter thinks it’s
a divine sign.”

Like
a freight train trying to outrun a boulder speeding down hill, there was
nothing Willow could do to stop the crash that was Elizabeth. Out of the corner
of her eye she glanced at Randolph. His pale complexion said everything.

“Divine
sign?” The woman shook her head.

Elizabeth
laughed. “I’m as shocked as you. Randolph doesn’t seem the type to fall for
that kind of stuff, especially after that two-bit elementary school art drawing
attention to it.”

Call
it the pressure, the heat of the moment, instinct to protect her temporary
mate, or whatever, she finally snapped. “How much do you actually know about
Randolph? I sleep with the man every night and never once has he mentioned your
name. No wonder Peter is looking for a divine sign. He’s probably looking for a
way to exorcise you from his life.”

“Willow.”
Randolph muttered her name under his breath.

“Seems
as if your wife needs to learn a little more than simply the right restaurant
and her last name.” Ms. Hartford reached for her wine glass.

“I
pray to any deity out there that this evening is the worst thing that ever
happens to you, but from the sound of some of your financial affairs my husband
is working on, I am wrong again.” She resisted the need to stand and stomp
away.

The
table took on an eerie, all-encompassing silence.

Elizabeth
lifted one side of her mouth in a sneer. “Willow.”

“It’s
time for us to go.” Peter stood and put his hand out to Elizabeth. “Thank you
for dinner.”

Elizabeth
followed Peter, leaving the four of them alone and everyone staring at Willow,
the outcast. She stood, causing Randolph and Mr. Hartford to stand as well. “If
you don’t mind excusing me, I need a little air, and I know you have business
to discuss.”

“Willow.”
Randolph widened his eyes.

“Please
take your time. I just want to take a little walk.” Uncertain what to do in
such a situation, she bowed, took her bag and her jacket and forced her head up
as she walked outside. Throughout her life she had seen real problems, people
without homes, money, food but these people acted as if the wrong vintage wine
would be the death of them.

Fresh
air did nothing to cleanse her. Every error she made replayed in her mind, down
to the horrified expression on Randolph’s face at her outburst. Maybe she should
have taken more than five minutes planning this nightmare. What seemed like a
simple dinner was obviously much more.

She
turned back toward the restaurant. Something about being human made everyone
want to fit in, and for the millionth time the flares went off. She would never
be one of them, couldn’t even fake it enough to make it, even for the year she
had to live Randolph’s life. For the life of her, she couldn’t go back in there
and pretend it mattered. Instead she decided to take a walk around the block
and use the fresh air to cleanse her energy.

* * * *

Randolph
stared at his secretary. Mrs. Avery had been with the bank since he was a
child. She used to work for his father, but in a life made up of contracts,
deals and negotiations, Randolph won Mrs. Avery when he finished graduate
school, a semester early. Good old Mrs. Avery left her desk in front of his
father’s office and took her post outside of his on the day Randolph claimed
his office.

Over
the years Mrs. Avery had been invaluable, doing everything from tending to his
social calendar to making sure he had the right paperclips. Hell, if Mrs. Avery
wasn’t married to Mr. Avery and a decade or three too old for him, he would
have asked her to go on his one year marriage extravaganza with him. Yes, the
sex would have been non-existent, and she wasn’t a gorgeous blonde, but in the
end she was a better match for him.

He
put his elbow on his desk and his head in his hand and gazed at the woman who
was going to play human mop.

She
shook her head, reached in her pocket and handed him a mint.

Though
he didn’t really want it, he took the candy anyway and popped it in his mouth. Lately,
he couldn’t help himself from being fed things he didn’t want from old ladies.

“Yes,
thank you, I will get Mr. Van Ayers on the phone.” With the expertise only Mrs.
Avery possessed, she pressed the buttons on the phone, transferred the call to
his desk and stood.

Randolph
put his hand on the phone. “Where are you going?”

“Back
to my desk.” She wagged her finger at him.

“I
need you.” He swallowed practically choking on the mint, though if he did, Mrs.
Avery would save him.

“What
you need, I can’t give you.” With a shake of her head, she walked out. “Your
wife will be here soon, ask her.”

“Traitor.”
He didn’t remember when Mrs. Avery met Nan, but they needed to stop taking
lessons from each other. Rather than wallowing, he lifted the receiver. “Millicent?”

“Randolph,
are you coming to me with your tail between your legs?” The battle axe
snickered.

“A
Van Ayers only whips his tail to cut through the air.” He spent the last twenty-four
hours making sure he was phone call worthy and the woman would be squealing for
him by the time he was done.

“Well,
you said the word whipped, not me.”

He
pounded his fist into the desk. “I called to get your approval to transfer some
money between your investment accounts.”

“Don’t
tell me I’m overdrawn.”

He
leaned back in his chair and chuckled. The family had enough money in their
bank to power a small country a couple of times over. “Not quite. I just managed
to secure an investment that will net double the yield of the last project, and
I thought we may want to add a little more. The funds will remain fluid.”

“Is
this supposed to make me forget about that travesty you called a dinner?”

“No.
It’s called doing my job. What
is
supposed to make you forget the dinner
are the men entering your office right about now with a gourmet lunch, carrying
the invitation to my wedding celebration on a silver platter.” The ruckus in
the background told him everything arrived on time. He stared up at the ceiling
and waited.

A
little breathless, she returned to the phone. “Randolph.”

“Yes,
Millicent?”

“I
am sending in my RSVP now, but I want you to remember something.”

“I’m
listening.”

“Remember
who your client is,” she snapped. “Now transfer that money.”

“Yes,
ma’am. I will talk to you soon.” He hung up the phone and crunched down on his
mint. The Hartford Corporation account was saved, but his wife was another
story.

As
if on cue, a light rapping at the door indicated the arrival of the next
situation he needed to handle today. “Come in.”

Mrs.
Avery opened the door. “Mrs. Van Ayers is here.”

He
motioned for her to bring it on.

With
her huge bag in tow, Willow entered. If she were anyone else he would have
sworn she hired people to follow her around with a wind machine to give her
that perfect ethereal presence with the way the skirt of her sky blue dress billowed
and her hair wafted around her.

Since
their unsuccessful meal of the previous night, they hadn’t really spoken to one
another. He hated the way his heart sped at having to confront her. He confronted
confrontation. “Good afternoon.”

She
took a breath and made her way to the chair in front of his desk. “Hello.”

He
strummed his fingers on his leg waiting to give her the opportunity to speak
first. Possibly an apology was in order, or at the minimum an explanation.

She
settled in the chair and put her bag on her lap.

Once
more he found himself with his elbow on the desk and his head in his hand,
taking in the woman he married yet didn’t know anything other than her
occupation and the secret to making her squirm in bed. What motivated her? What
did she want?

They
stared at each other.

He
glanced at the small antique clock on the corner of his desk. The second hand
went around once, twice, and then started its third revolution. He tensed.

Once
the second hand went for its fourth time around, he hit his desk. “Willow!”

She
jumped. “Yes.”

“Do
you have anything to say to me?” He picked up a rubber band and stretched it
between his fingers.

“Yes,
I do.” She pressed her back to the chair.

He
exhaled. “I would love to hear it.”

From
her bag, she pulled out a little pouch and placed it on the edge of his desk. “I
brought this for you.”

“What
is this?” He didn’t touch the gift, if it was a gift.

“It’s
my Serene-tea.” She pressed her back into the chair. “I thought maybe Ms.
Hartford could use it to calm down.”

Filled
with a rush of adrenaline, he shot up out of his chair. “You know what you
need?”

She
looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Insani-tea!”
He turned his back to her and looked out the window overlooking Century City. No
one else in any of the tall buildings was having such an inane conversation at
this moment. He would bet on it. With a huff, he faced her once more. “Maybe
you already drank some while planning that dinner and that’s how we ended up at
some bar with food rather than a real restaurant.”

Willow
swiped her hair out of her face. “Did you ever think that your account should
have just been happy having a meal out on your bank’s dime?”

“Everything…”
He swiped his arm around the room. “Everything that you see, this office, the bank,
the house, the cars, everything has been brought to us courtesy of clients like
Ms. Hartford.”

She
opened her mouth, but he held up his hand. Perhaps she would understand his
argument in her terms. “Do you know that we have several assistants who only
work on that account? Do you know that if we didn’t have them I would have to
fire those employees? They have wives and children who need their salaries.”

She
put her hand over her mouth.

He
sat at the edge of his desk. “What may not seem like a big deal to you, an
account like the Hartfords takes as an insult, a slight. They have trusted me
and my bank and my family with their fortune and to show up at an unplanned,
inappropriate restaurant with other people who had no business being there, could
hurt everyone.”

“Randolph.”
She barely whispered his name. “I didn’t know.”

“Did
you not know or didn’t care?”

Her
silence answered his question.

He
returned to his chair and sat down.