Authors: Alexandrea Weis
She placed
the bill in front of him. “I’m sorry you won’t be staying longer.”
“So am I,” he mumbled as his eyes
perused the room charges.
“Seems we have had a lot of hasty check outs lately. You, Ms. Delome….”
“Yes, I heard Moe left.”
“Did you two have a nice dinner?”
Tyler grabbed a pen on the side of the counter and hastily signed his bill. “We caught up on old times,” was all he offered.
“So I gathered. You ever get to New Orleans, Mr. Moore?”
Tyler crinkled his brow at the young woman’s question. “No. My company doesn’t do business in New Orleans.”
She took the bill and placed it to the side of the desk.
“I’ve read on the Internet that Ms. Delome has one of those lovely old houses in the Garden District of the city.”
Tyler shook his head, feeling a bit confused. “May I ask why you are telling me this?”
“When the two of you returned from dinner last night, I got the impression you were very good old friends. After Ms. Delome checked out so unexpectedly this morning, appearing rather upset, I might add, I wondered if perhaps your friendship had hit a snag during the night.”
“A snag?
” Tyler took a breath as her blue eyes stayed on him. “What do you mean?”
“It’s a hotel, Mr. Moore. There are cameras on every floor. We see all kinds of comings and goings, if you know what I mean.” She
pushed a piece of paper across the desk. “I figured you might need this sooner or later.”
Tyler picked up the paper. “What is t
his?”
“Ms. Delome’s home address. In case you ever get to New Orleans.”
He chuckled at the young woman in the blue blazer, feeling that he had finally met his match. The perceptive desk clerk was better at reading people than the best executives Tyler had ever tangled with.
“Missy, if you ever want a job in the oil and gas business, you come and see me. I think you have a gift for figuring out just what it is your clients need.”
Missy nodded her head, appearing pleased. “I just call ‘em as I see ‘em, Mr. Moore.”
He pocketed the slip of paper. “You’ve gone above and beyond for me. Thank you for such stellar service.”
“I’ll have the valet bring your car around front for you. Good luck, Mr. Moore,” she winked at him, “with everything.”
Carrying
his bags, Tyler made his way to the lobby entrance. The slip of paper felt like a ten-pound weight in his jacket pocket. But now that he had Monique’s address, he questioned what was stopping him from picking up the phone and arranging for his company jet to take him to New Orleans.
As h
e stood outside beneath the shaded portico and waited for his car, a multitude of excuses swirled in his head. But by the time his black Cl550 Mercedes pulled up, he knew he would head straight home and never go near Love Field Airport. Somewhere in the pit of his gut, he had to wonder if there was really anything to pursue between them, or if last night had just been the result of the accumulation of twenty-one years of pent-up frustration.
After tipping the valet, he
eased behind the burl walnut and leather steering wheel of his car. Pulling away from the hotel, he edged on to the road and closer to I-45, heading out of the city. It was time to put Monique behind him. The road ahead may not have been as alluring as the past, but it was all he knew, and the best that he could hope for.
Chapter 8
Monday morning, Tyler arrived early at his downtown office in the Energy Center on Bryan Street. Designed by I.M. Pei, the glass and concrete high rise was created using three triangles to produce its unique shape, making it the ninth tallest building in the Dallas skyline.
When he entered in his wide corner office on the thirtieth floor, he paused and took in the scenic views of the Dallas Central Business District through his widows. Arching his back, he could still feel the nagging tightness in his shoulders from the night before.
He had spent a little extra time in his gym at home to get rid of
his nervous energy, but pushing himself harder on the expensive weight machine Hadley’s trainer had talked him into buying did nothing to relieve his tension. After his workout, he had settled down in front of his wide screen television with a tall glass of orange juice, but all the channel surfing in the world could not distract him from thinking about Monique. Thoroughly frustrated, it had been well past two in the morning when he finally stumbled into bed.
As he stood in his office, facing a long day of meetings and monotonous phone calls, he d
ebated if this was what he had truly wanted for his life. Suddenly, the challenge of his business paled in comparison to holding her.
“Mr. Moore,” his devoted secretary, Lynn Stallmaster, called from his office doorway. “Mr. Harper from accounting is on line one. He says he needs to speak with you right away, and don’t forget you have a ten o’clock in the conference room with the engineers on that new development in the Gulf.”
Lynn’s lively green eyes stood out against her yellow and blue-checked pantsuit. Always the fastidious dresser, the attractive, sharp, and tireless middle-aged brunette had been part of the reason for Tyler’s successful climb up the corporate ladder.
“Fine, Lynn.” He walked over to his desk.
“Are you all right, Mr. Moore?”
“
It was just a long weekend.” He pulled out his leather desk chair.
Lynn took a step into his office.
“Did the guy from Nagle Engineering wear you out?”
“Among other things
,” he slyly remarked, taking a seat at his desk.
“I’ll get your coffee started.
I’ve got some new stuff in with chicory in it. You know, how they drink it in New Orleans.”
Tyler froze at the mention of the city. “New Orleans?”
“Yeah, when Ed and I travelled there last year for our anniversary, we went to Café Du Monde and had beignets and coffee with chicory.” She waved her hand at him. “It’ll perk you right up, trust me. Ed had a caffeine buzz for two days after a cup of that stuff.”
Tyler traced his finger over the antique mahogany Napoleon desk his stepfather had left for him in the office. The intricate carvings of laurel wreaths and olive branches reminded Tyler of his stepfather’s fascination with all things related to the emperor who had ruled France so long ago.
“Did you like New Orleans, Lynn?” he queried, never looking up from a swirled olive branch on his desk.
“
Of course, but you already know that. I thought I never shut up about the place.”
He s
cooted his chair closer to his desk. “Never been there; not on vacation anyway. Went for a few conferences, but never saw much of the city.”
“You should go back and take it in as a real tourist. It’s a hell of a place
.”
He lifted the receiver on his phone. “Just make my coffee black this morning, Lynn. I think I’ll need all the boost I can get from it.”
She reached for the brass handles on his black leather-covered doors. “Sure thing, Mr. Moore.”
Tyler waited for her to shut the doors to his office before he
took the waiting phone call. He went to put his finger on the blinking white button on his phone, and Monique’s dark gray eyes floated across his mind.
A
knot spurred to life in his chest. “Shit,” he mumbled. He pressed the white button. “Hello, Harry. What’s wrong now?”
***
He had been to four meetings with assorted staff and the legal department, trying to put out fires on future projects. It was a little after one and his stomach was rumbling after three cups of coffee and no food. He was sitting at his desk, reading through the same budget proposal for the fourth time, when Lynn beeped in on his intercom.
“Fred Bishop is on line two for you, Mr. Moore.”
Tyler sat back in his chair, a little surprised to be hearing from his divorce attorney. “All right, Lynn.”
After t
aking a second to gather his thoughts, Tyler answered the phone. “Fred, is this good news or bad news?”
A deep rolling chortle greeted him. “That depends on how you feel about being divorced, buddy. Hadley was in my office first thing this morning.”
“Hadley came to see you?” Tyler leaned forward in his chair. If Hadley had visited his divorce lawyer, it could not be good.
“Yeah, she came in my office and threw the final divorce papers at me. Not handed, mind you, threw them across my desk.”
Tyler let out a pensive breath. “Why?”
“She signed them, Tyler. She
accepted all the terms and signed the papers. Congratulations, you are now divorced.”
“She signed them?
But last Friday night she was telling me how much she liked being Mrs. Tyler Moore, and had no interest in ever settling the divorce.”
“Well, this morning she marched in here, madder than a donkey in pig shit
, and hurled the papers at me. She apparently wants nothing else to do with you.” Fred paused and Tyler could hear another phone ringing in the background. “Whatever happened last weekend must have convinced her to sign the papers.”
Tyler smirked and
picked up a pen on his desk. “I doubt that.”
“Well,
now you’re free of her. I’ll file all the paperwork at the courthouse and send you copies for your records.”
Tyler tapp
ed the pen against his green blotter. “Thanks, Fred.”
“No problem, Tyler. Just call me before you marry the next one so we can work out a prenup.”
He slapped the pen down on the blotter. “I don’t know if there will be another Mrs. Moore. I think two times is my limit.”
“Nonsense,” Fred balked in his baritone voice. “You just found the wrong women, that’s all. Find yourself a good woman who gives a damn about you and not your money for a change.”
Tyler thought of Monique sneaking out of her room while he was sleeping. “Already found one of those, Fred. But I don’t think she wants me.”
“I find that hard to believe. Every woman you meet wants to be the next Mrs. Moore. Maybe she needs further convincing?” Fred’s mellow laughter came pouring through the phone speaker. “Don’t ever give up on good woman, Tyler. Took two years for my Rita to agree to go out with me on a date. A year later, we got married, and we’ve been that way for twenty-five years. The good ones always take a lot of convincing.”
Tyler mulled over his words. “How did you convince Rita you were the right one?”
“I hounded her morning, noon, and night until she went out with me. I never let up. When she finally did go out with me, she realized I was a pretty great guy. Yours will figure it out, too. Just keep on her. Good luck, my friend.”
“Thanks, Fred. I’ll let you know what happens.”
“Just call me when you’re ready for that prenup.”
After Tyler hung up with his divorce attorney, Lynn stepped through his black leather-covered doors, carrying a pile of manila folders in her hands.
“I need these back this afternoon before you go. They’re for the Jennings Refinery contracts, and beneath those are the new specs on the projected outputs on our gas wells in the panhandle. Elliot Winters needs those back from you by tomorrow.”
Tyler sorted through the folders she placed in the middle of his desk. “Does it ever end?” He selected one of the folders and opened it.
“Only time things slow down around here is when you go on vacation, and you haven’t done that in three years
, Mr. Moore.”
He
flipped through the paperwork in the folder. “Sounds like I am overdue.”
“I’ll say.” Lynn placed her hands on her ample hips. “I could use a break myself.”
“You just got back from vacation two months ago, Lynn. You were gone over a week and everything was a mess without you.”
“Yeah, but a girl can always use another vacation. I could head back to the Big Easy and hit a few of the restaurants I missed.” She patted her hips. “I still need to lose the five pounds I gained last time I was there,” she muttered as she walked away.
Tyler put the folder down on his desk. “That sounds like a hell of a good time, dining your way across New Orleans.”
Lynn stopped at the office doors and turned back to him. “You should try it. Great place to just get away. I loved that town.”
Tyler recalled Monique saying something very similar. He sat back in his black leather chair and eyed his secretary as an idea simmered in his head. “I guess I could leave after I finish this paperwork.”
Lynn furrowed her
creamy brow as her green eyes became like two small marbles. “Leave? You mean go home?”
“No, I mean leave Dallas. You did say I needed a vacation.”
Lynn slowly approached his desk. “You do, but a vacation for you usually revolves around something related to the company, like a conference or going to check out a new drilling site. You never just spontaneously take off without a set itinerary of things to do.”