Pound Foolish (Windy City Neighbors Book 4) (28 page)

     On the ride home, Greg appreciated that Harry let him wrestle with his own thoughts. At some point he might need to talk, but first he had to sort out what his questions were.

     He suddenly snapped his fingers.

     Harry jumped. “What?”

     “Oh, nothin’. I needed to talk to Ben Garfield about something this evening and completely forgot. I’ll give him a call tomorrow.”

Chapter 27

Just because Greg objected to accepting any favors that might obligate them to Lincoln Paddock, Nicole had to take the ‘L’ all week downtown to the AON building. She saw Lincoln only a couple of times in the office. He smiled and gave a friendly wave as he hurried to some meeting while she did the jobs assigned to her from various attorneys. However, after she picked up her check Friday afternoon and headed for the elevator, she saw him coming from the other direction, briefcase in hand. They met at the elevator, and he pressed the down button with his free hand.

     “Hey there, beautiful, how’s it goin’?”

     “Good. Everything’s good.” Nicole blushed as the elevator dinged and they both stepped in, pivoted the obligatory 180 degrees, and waited until the doors enfolded them into the already full car.

     Lincoln leaned sideways. “You ever wonder why we all get on and face the same way, even if there’s nothing to look at but blank stainless steel doors? Why not turn toward one another”—which he did—“and have a meaningful conversation as we descend from the lofty heights of Watkins, Ellis, and Katz?”

     She laughed. “Probably because”—she paused, facing him with an impish smile on her face—“you can’t start a meaningful conversation with someone when you don’t know where the person intends to get off.”

     “Today you’re in luck. There’s plenty of time because I’m headed all the way down to the parking garage. You want a ride home?”

     The door opened on the forty-third floor, and six more people forced their way in, pressing Nicole and Lincoln into a close dance. “Or, uh, maybe this is why everyone faces the doors,” he said, rolling his eyes. “What if I’d been talking to Ms. Krenshaw? I wouldn’t be able to breathe.”

     Nicole stifled a laugh. Delores Krenshaw was the section manager—Nicole’s de facto boss this past week while Lincoln was busy in court and having meetings with clients. Delores was huge, smelled of cheap perfume, and had refused retirement over the last six years every time the firm offered it to her.

     “Seriously, can I give you a lift home? Your husband told me you could take the ‘L’ when I offered to arrange a car, but today’s hot, and . . . where do you get off, at Jarvis? That’s gotta be over a mile walk from home, right?”

     “Yes, about that, but it’s okay.”

     “No, today you’re going to ride home with me.”

     They filled their rush-hour ride up Lakeshore Drive with work-related chitchat. Had HR put her on staff yet? No, she was hoping to mostly work at home as her husband had requested . . . did he think that was possible? No problem, he’d meant to speak to HR about it but had forgotten. Sorry. He’d be sure to take care of it Tuesday, right after the holiday. Were they going to take the kids to the fireworks Saturday night? No, she said, probably Sunday night, the actual Fourth. They usually went up to Evanston where the crowds weren’t so bad.

     Lincoln was so easy to talk to. She felt none of the tension that always seemed to develop with Greg. Before she knew it, the smooth-riding Town Car pulled to a stop in front of her house. She studied the front window. Was Greg watching? She didn’t think so but jumped slightly and turned when Lincoln touched her on the arm.

     “I just want you to know,” he said, his hand still on her arm, “how much I appreciate you, Nikki. Even if Ms. Krenshaw’s telling you what to do, you’re really working for me, and that means a lot.”

     Nicole felt goose bumps rising on her arm and for some strange reason, her eyes began watering. “Thanks. It’s been good for me too.” She opened the door and started to step out, determined to escape before her voice failed her.

     “Oh, Nikki, one more thing. I actually have a project right now you could do from home. It’s in my briefcase.” He reached into the backseat for his briefcase and rifled through it. “Oh, no. I only have part of it here. But tell you what, I can log into the office server from home and get the database to go with this.” He handed her a thick folder. “I’ll copy it onto a thumb drive and bring it down to you. That okay?”

     Nicole glanced at the house, thinking of Greg’s discomfort with Lincoln. She held up her hand, rejecting the folder. “Why don’t you just call me when the whole thing’s ready? I’ll come up to your place to pick it up. It’d be easier for you to show me what you want me to do without the kids underfoot. Okay?”

     “No problem. I’ll give you a call.”

     She closed the door and watched the Town Car cruise quietly up the street to the cul-de-sac. Did she really need to be away from the kids to get instructions for the project . . . or had there been another reason she suggested going to his house? Heading up the walk toward her own front door, she relived the tingle of Lincoln’s touch on her arm.

* * * *

“Arlo,” Greg said, “can you hold on a minute? I’ve got a bunch of noise here.”

     “No problem,
mon
,” Arlo said, like he’d just come back from Jamaica.

     Greg got up and went to the archway into the front hallway. “Oh, hi, Nicole. I didn’t realize you were home.” He hollered toward the kitchen. “Hey, Tabby! What’s going on? I’m on a business call here and can’t hear a thing. Can you keep the kids quiet back there?”

     “Don’t worry,” Nicole said. “I’ll take care of it.” She headed for the kitchen and used her look-out-kids voice. “Nathan! Rebecca!”

     Greg went back into the living room and sat down in front of his computer, putting the phone to his ear. “Sorry about that. Wife just got home and the kids . . . don’t know
what
was going on. Where were we?”

     “You were asking about getting SlowBurn into vending machines. And my answer is, do it if you can. It would be a real coup. But the big beverage companies have those franchises sewn up so tight we haven’t broken in anywhere. Still, give it a try. Who knows?”

     Greg’s call with Arlo was over within a few minutes, and he let out a big sigh. Nothing seemed to work out as easily as he first envisioned it. He got up and wandered into the kitchen, where Nicole was paying Tabby while the kids bounced around her like Ping-Pong balls.

     “Please, please, Mom. Can we have a push-up? Tabby said we had to wait until you got home.”

     “Oka-a-ay. Becky, you get them out of the freezer. Nate, you get first pick of the flavor.”

     “That’s not fair! I don’t get nothin’ out of that.”

     “Rebecca, you’re not going to get
anything
—the word is
anything
—out of it, either, if you don’t stop complaining.”

     “Oh, all right.”

     Greg waited his turn, having endured the whole day—no, the whole week—without her help mediating such squabbles. Usually, he just ignored them, which seemed to work surprisingly well.

     Once the kids ran out the back door, he gave Nicole a peck on the cheek. “You’re home early.”

     “That I am, and . . .” She picked up her purse from the counter and opened it. “I brought home the bacon.” She held up her check between two fingers, barely pinching the corner as though it were newly printed money she didn’t want to smudge.

     Greg reached out and took it. The amount read $1,440. “Wow. Did you work a full week?”

     “Yep. I stayed a little late a couple of nights, and they’re still not withholding anything.”

     “That’s good.” It
was
good. He had a stack of bills to pay and the checking account was getting uncomfortably low. And for the first time all week, Nicole’s attitude had perked up.

     “And I don’t have to go in next week, at least not at first.”

     “I should hope not. Monday’s a holiday.”

     “That’s not it. Mr. Paddock’s got a project I can do from home. I don’t know how long it’ll last, but at least that’s what I’ll start with.”

     “That’s good.” So Paddock had taken his request about Nicole working at home seriously. And Nicole seemed to be accepting it. “You’d still use Tabby, though, right?”

     “Of course—or neither of us would get any work done. Mr. Paddock’s going to call me a little later when he has the project gathered together. I’ll get it then.”

     Greg nodded. If she was going to work for that guy, doing it at home was definitely better. “Hey,” he said, pulling his thoughts back to the present, “should we go out to eat? You know, payday and all that.”

     A pained look flitted across Nicole’s face as she shook her head. “Only you can answer that, but I don’t have any problem making supper at home.”

     It was an hour and a half later before the meal was on the table, partially because it had taken Nicole at least forty minutes to walk up the street to get her assignment from Lincoln Paddock. Greg wondered whether she could include that time on her time slip, but he kept his mouth shut, knowing that was a stupid question. Besides, by that time, the kids were cranky enough he didn’t want to add any more fuss to the mix. Hard as it was to accept that he wasn’t supporting his family right now, he needed to be grateful for Nicole’s help.

     That night when he crawled into bed, Nicole was turned away from him again, but he wasn’t going to allow that to deter him. He reached out and touched her shoulder, allowing his hand to slide down her arm in a gentle stroke that he repeated again and again.

     After a while, she flopped over to face him, and for a moment he thought he’d done something terribly wrong, but she reached out and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him to her fiercely, kissing his face and mouth as wild and awkwardly as a teenager. And she didn’t stop. They hadn’t experienced anything like it since their honeymoon. Only better—a honeymoon’s pent-up passion but the confidence and skill of experience.

     It was out of this world!

     However, later, when it was all over, and he was lying on his back in the dreamy afterglow, he realized Nicole had turned away again. He listened and thought he heard a sob and a few moments later, another one.

     “Nikki, you okay?”

     “Yeah.” Her voice sounded hoarse.

     He reached out and laid his hand on her shoulder, but she shook him off.

     “I’m fine, Greg. Just . . . go to sleep.”

Chapter 28

When Greg awoke the next morning, Nicole’s side of the bed was already empty. He rolled over and squinted at the digital clock: 6:24. Why was she up so early on a Saturday morning? They usually tried to sleep in a little on the weekends. He stretched and tried to go back to sleep, but reruns of their lovemaking the night before danced through his mind, chasing away any chance of more sleep.

     He padded to the bathroom, dashed some cold water on his face, and then wandered out to the kitchen in search of Nicole. He found her in the living room, sitting in her rocker, reading her Bible. The table lamp beside her was still on, suggesting she might have gotten up while it was still dark.

     “Hey, hon,” he said, slipping up beside her and massaging the back of her neck. “Last night was somethin’ else, huh?”

     “Hmm.” Her tone sounded noncommittal.

     “We shouldn’t wait so long.”

     No response.

     Greg retrieved the newspaper from the front porch and came back in to sit on the couch. He stretched out using the full width of the couch like a chaise lounge, but a movement from Nicole caught his attention. Had she just wiped a tear from her eye? Maybe she was just brushing away a sleepy.

     “Whatcha readin’?”

     “A psalm.”

     After last night, Greg expected everything to be smooth between them. But her short responses suggested a chill still lingered. He knew there were still issues—probably having to do with money. Maybe she was still questioning Pastor Hanson’s teaching on prosperity, and she was probably upset that she wasn’t up to speed on their financial situation. But did that have to create a barrier? He didn’t mind her knowing what they had in the bank. He’d just prefer to wait until the bottom line looked a little better before trying to walk her through it. And the fact was, he didn’t know how they were going to make it if his business didn’t take off pretty soon.

     Still, it wasn’t his fault they were close to the bottom of the barrel. He wished Nicole could understand that. Chuck Hastings was the one who shut down Powersports. If Chuck hadn’t pulled the plug, they’d be doing fine! Greg never would’ve taken that way out. He’d have found some way to make it work.

     He watched Nicole for a few more moments. Maybe he was reading too much into her mood. Could be PMS, or just groggy from waking up too early. He opened the
Sun Times
and read an article about the Deepwater Horizon/BP oil spill. “According to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, there is a 61-80 percent probability prevailing winds and ocean currents will deposit significant amounts of oil on Florida beaches and the Keys . . .” Blah, blah, blah. That was someone else’s problem.

     The rest of the day passed without any disagreements flaring up between him and Nicole. And the next morning, the same assistant minister preached again because Pastor Hanson was still on his Holy Land tour. It was a patriotic message for the July Fourth Weekend based on Romans 13, which started: “Everyone must submit himself to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established. The authorities that exist have been established by God. Consequently, he who rebels against the authority is rebelling against what God has instituted . . .”

     Greg frowned.
I’m supposed to be the authority established by God in my own house. Why can’t I make it work?