Authors: Sylvie Kaye
Tyler
cocked his head. “Are those your books from the dealership? What are you, his sugar mama?” His tone rose and his eyes bugged.
“I am not.” She shook her head and stroked his arm to calm him. “Max is a financial consultant.”
“And he makes house calls.” Tyler pulled his arm free and her fingers slipped from their gentle hold. “I’ve seen his type on TV.
A younger man taking advantage of an older woman’s trust for his own gain.
How stupid can you be?”
Suddenly, she felt old and hollow. All the light seemed to drain from her life. She reached out to touch Tyler, make contact so she could explain, but he shrugged further away.
“Please don’t call your mother names in my presence.” Max’s tone was polite but stern.
Oh, great.
“Don’t tell me what to do in my own house.” Tyler
raised
on the balls of his feet as if ready to strike.
“Please.” She grabbed his arm. “It’s my home. You share a place with Rachel. Maybe you should go there and cool off before you do or say something we’ll both regret.”
“I’ll come back, and soon. Get him out of here before I do.” He turned heel and strode out the door and down the sidewalk, calling out, “I’m having him checked out.” She heard the word ‘cops’ and ‘charges’ before he hopped into his SUV and slammed the door.
Once he drove off, she closed the front door and trudged back into the living room a lot less enthusiastic about the future. Max took her in his arms and kissed the top of her head.
“Do you still want to borrow my son when you feel the need to play daddy?” She stared up into his dark, magnetic eyes.
“With some space and time, he’ll get past it. Do you want me to go after him and try to force him to listen to reason?”
“No.” Feeling defeated, she said, “I’m sorry, but you had better go before he returns.”
“Whatever you think is best. He’s your son and I won’t interfere unless you want me to.” He met her stare. “Promise you’ll call me if things get out of hand.”
“I won’t need to.”
He grabbed his shirt and shoes, but halted and pointed towards her records. “If you’d like a little good news, your dealership’s in great shape. If you decide to break from the family business—which isn’t really family-run as you’re the sole working member—I could set you up with an investor.”
She shook her head. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“It’s what I do.” He slipped his shoes on and stuffed his arms into his shirt sleeves.
“I couldn’t take advantage of you.”
“I could charge you.” He raised an amused brow. “Seriously, if you choose to restructure, you could afford a manager to take over your duties.”
She walked him to the front door. “What would I do if I quit? I don’t play golf or tennis. My female friends still have husbands, which makes me the odd woman out for dining or dancing or shows.”
“You could travel with me.” His voice was low and luring.
“When we’re not travelling, and you’re back at work,” she said, “I’ll become restless at home.”
“You like to draw. I saw your sketch. You could take lessons if you like. Although I don’t think you need them.”
A smile lurked behind her lips. In spite of the dire situation with her son and the confrontation surely ahead of her, the idea of art lessons appealed to her.
“Think about it.” He took her chin in his fingers and kissed her solidly.
“And about going away with me.”
In all truth, she couldn’t concentrate on anything except her son and his anger.
Chapter Eight
Max slammed the phone down. Two weeks and Wendy still avoided him. She wasn’t even taking his calls. No voice urging him to keep trying, and no voice touching his emptiness. After the headway they’d made over the age and baby issues, her son’s anger had caused a major setback. Though he’d known her only a short time, he missed her and his usual patience was running out.
“You’re awfully grouchy.” Selma, a neighbour he hadn’t seen in a year, sat on a stool at his home bar with her legs crossed, wearing a skirt short enough to show off everything including her panties…if she wore any. He didn’t look. She’d barged into his condo only moments ago with the clichéd excuse of borrowing a cup of sugar.
He blew out a breath. “Sorry I’m gruff. It has nothing to do with you.”
“Business.”
She nodded at her own reply. He let it go. “What you need is something to eat.”
If she headed for his kitchen, he was going to choke. Selma didn’t cook, she ate out. She slipped from the stool and rounded the bar to slither her shapely, fake-baked body next to his. “Let’s go out.”
“Fine.”
He grabbed his car keys from the bar. “But I have to make a stop first.”
On the way to the dealership, he discovered why Selma had dropped by so unexpectedly. “I heard at the gym you’re planning another trip.
To Peru this time.”
He’d taken her on vacation once a long time ago. Once had been too much. And his personal trainer had a big mouth.
“It’s not cemented yet.” He’d asked Wendy to go away with him. Wanted to experience exotic places with her, delight in her reactions. Hell, he wanted to explore life with her. That part both scared and excited him.
“I’d love to tag along,” Selma said. “I heard the surfing in Peru is the best.”
Surf boards. He shook his head. Selma was so predictable. Forget the rainforest or the Inca trail.
Once he parked and strode into the dealership’s building, Max ran into Marsha, the woman from the movie. “Is Wendy around?”
“She usually is but she left early today. She has a dinner date.”
Whoosh
. That took the wind out of his sails.
“I can see if one of the other salespeople can help you,” she said.
He rocked back on his heels, took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice calm. “Her son and the make-up birthday dinner?” he asked. He hoped.
“Oh, you know her son. I thought you looked familiar.”
He nodded, at a loss for words. It wasn’t his place to tell Wendy’s employees about them. Besides, if she wasn’t dining with her son, Wendy might’ve moved on already.
Marsha shook her head and his heart dipped. “It’s not the make-up dinner with her son,” she said, “although her son did fix her up. I heard them talking on the phone.
A blind date.”
Selma
strutted over to them and clung to his arm. He’d told her to wait in the car, but she became impatient easily. “Are you ready?” She ignored Marsha. “I’m hungry.”
He smiled at Marsha and let loose a jealous demon. “Selma and I are looking for a place to eat. Where’s Wendy dining?”
Minutes later, they were zooming down the road following the directions Marsha had given him. He was hell-bent on eyeballing the competition for himself. At least with Selma along he didn’t look like a stalker.
* * * *
Having made tentative peace with Tyler, her only child and only living relative, Wendy avoided Max’s phone calls for the sake of harmony. Worse, she’d agreed to go out on a date arranged by Tyler and Rachel with a retired uncle of hers.
At age sixty-seven, Sonny was past being called son by anyone. When he rang her doorbell, he was wearing rumpled khakis and a Members Only jacket. Wendy guessed his sneakers, sparkling white with Velcro closings, were his date-night footwear.
Ouch.
She wore a conservative black pants suit and pearls. For her own inner sanity, she’d put a lacy, silk camisole underneath the buttoned-up jacket.
Sonny drove her to a local, down-home restaurant in his economy car, which needed a new exhaust system from the sound of the pipes.
Inside the restaurant, the atmosphere was pleasant—candlelit with linen, checkered tablecloths and napkins. Taking his lead, she ordered roasted chicken, not wanting to price him out of his much-needed car repairs.
Once the server had retreated to the kitchen, he asked Wendy, “Do you play checkers or bingo?”
Checkers or bingo
?
The man sounded like he was eighty-seven instead of sixty-seven.
“Sorry. Neither.” She smiled politely.
“We play at the senior centre after lunch. You should stop by sometime.”
“I’m not retired yet.”
Or a senior
.
She still had things to do and people to see. Max shot to mind, and her hormones took an upward surge.
Places to go.
Peru flashed on the globe spinning inside her imagination.
Plans to
fulfil
.
The sketch of Max and the many more depictions she’d love to draw. She hoped to stave off a sedentary lifestyle for at least the next two decades or more.
“I could’ve retired at fifty-five but stuck it out to increase my retirement benefits.” Sonny shook out his napkin and tucked it into the neck of his shirt. “In the end, the extra money went for meds that leave me tired and bloated. My dreams of biking cross-country are gone forever.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That’s sad.”
“Yep.
The folks at the centre have similar tales. Lola has retinopathy and Marty neuropathy. Diabetes got them both.” He shook his head. “Health issues and disabilities stop plenty of seniors from doing the one thing they waited all their lives to pursue. Don’t wait for retirement. Follow your dreams whenever you have the opportunity.”
“I’ll keep your advice in mind,” she said, thinking of Max.
Their dinners arrived and the conversation took a more pleasant turn towards the rosemary chicken, which tasted home-cooked and delicious. During coffee and a dessert of apple pie, Sonny amused her with a few stale jokes. Right before the next punch line, she heard, “Hello.”
A familiar voice thrummed through her. When she looked up, there was Max.
With a woman.
A young, shapely, stunning blonde.
Wendy introduced the men to each other and waited. Max’s lips turned up as if thrilled to meet Sonny, who was far less a rival than Max’s comely escort.
“This is Selma, a one-time travelling companion.” Max gestured to the young woman.
Selma
opened her slick, pink-glossed lips and purred, “I’m trying to convince Max to take me to Peru with him.”
Envy tightened Wendy’s throat. She couldn’t swallow or speak. As much as she’d dallied about travelling with Max, now that the decision had been taken from her she
realised
how much she wanted to go.
Fortunately, Sonny filled in the lull. “Passed through Peru,
“I meant Peru, the country.” Selma crinkled her pert nose.
“
Wendy had never been out West, and listened intently as the men went on about the Grand Tetons, each adding remembered details. Her fingers itched to sketch the ethereal mountain peaks and valley floors they described.
Selma
tugged Max’s sleeve. “Let’s eat.”
“The food is quite good. Have you eaten here before?” Wendy looked to Max, tall, handsome, sexy. Her heart tugged.
Selma replied. “I prefer gourmet, but some car saleswoman told Max about this restaurant. So here we are.”
Max shrugged. “She wasn’t a salesperson but she did work for an upscale dealership.”
“Was she talkative and named Marsha?” Wendy asked.
With a nod, he grinned.
His grin made her smile. He was so hot.
He’d tracked her down.
Flattering.
Marsha’s loose lips were another story. So was Max’s companion. Selma leaned on his arm while everyone exchanged polite goodbyes. The younger woman in the stiletto, fuck-me heels, wiggled her tight bottom as she edged away between the dining tables. Jealousy stabbed at Wendy’s belly.
When the bill came, Wendy and Sonny split it Dutch treat and called it a night. After eight o’clock, it was time for meds and bed.
She had her own worries. Max.
Her jealousy.
Tyler.
His anger.
And Marsha from the parts department, who’d felt free to blab away.
Something had to be done about that girl. But Wendy was damned if she knew what to do about any of them.
Chapter Nine
Wendy’s cousin Margo phoned. Wendy smiled, remembering how a snapshot from Margo’s wedding had helped launch Wendy’s affair with Max.
“I heard you’re dating much younger men.” Before Wendy could reply to Margo’s nasal-toned comment, she added, “And much older ones. What’s with that?”