Authors: Dara Girard
Brenna glanced around the living room at the cream overstuffed sofa piled with pillows and a soft throw blanket. A mirror with a hand-painted frame sat on the mantle over the fireplace. Why couldn’t this be enough? He’d given her all that he’d promised. She glanced out the window. Then why did the land sometimes call out to her to walk away and disappear? What did she want?
He arrived late for dinner. She wasn’t surprised. He usually was. Brenna sat at the other end of the table as Mrs. Symnthon set his dinner before him. She had finished her own meal hours ago, but sat with him to keep him company. She didn’t usually sit with him, but the tired look on his face persuaded her to. He looked exhausted—worn. As though something was laying heavy on his mind.
“I came up with an idea to improve your scooter idea,” Brenna said after a few moments.
“I’m not interested in that anymore.”
“Why not?” she asked, trying to sound casual although the question was not.
“I have plenty of other things to focus on. My job is to help run a company, not waste my energy on ideas that will go nowhere.”
She tried not to sigh. “You’ve been speaking to your father again.”
“He is right.”
“What is he right about this time?” she asked, noticing he wasn’t meeting her eyes. “That a new computerized accounting system will be too costly to implement?”
“He just wants to make sure I head this company—”
“The way your grandfather wants you too. Have they approved any of your changes or do they continue to criticize all your efforts?”
“Sales aren’t improving.”
“At least they’re not falling,” she said annoyed. “I may not run a business as large as yours, but I know that a solid foundation is key. I don’t understand why they keep blocking your ideas. They are fantastic.” When he didn’t reply she said, “You’re not a disappointment.”
Hunter met her gaze, startled. “They’ve never said that.”
“They don’t have to. Have they threatened to use Doran?”
He reached for his glass and took a sip.
“Of course they have.” She sat back. “Hunter?”
He set his glass down. “Yes?”
“What’s really going on?”
He looked at her then glanced away. He couldn’t tell her until he was sure. But his father’s behavior had made him curious. Curious enough to check the books. Curious enough to wonder why things in accounting didn’t add up. Curious as to why inventory was disappearing and not being accounted for. “I just have a lot on my mind,” he said in a tone that allowed no further discussion.
She ignored it. “Like what?”
“Like business.”
“What you do in business effects me. I have a right to know.”
“I’m frustrated by the lack of progress.” His lie produced a smile of sympathy.
Brenna nodded. “Give them time. They’ll come around.”
Pleased with his deception he relaxed. “By the way, I want you to host a cocktail party.”
“Okay.”
He hesitated, surprised she didn’t argue. “I have a list of guests.”
“Okay.”
He pulled the list from his jacket pocket and set it on the table. “If you have trouble, Ruby can help you.”
She lifted the list and read it. “I think I can do very well on my own.”
“Good.”
They fell into silence, both not saying what they truly wanted to.
***
Brenna sat in her room, staring at her vanity mirror. She was beginning not to like the Randolphs. They most likely didn’t like her, although they were always polite. She was constantly aware of them watching her. Especially, his grandfather although she could never figure out why. Angelina had grown more distant in past months and Ruby more of an advisor than a mother-in-law. The sense of uneasiness still lingered though there had been little reason for it to. Until now. They threatened to destroy Hunter by forcing him to conform. He’d be nothing more than a puppet to them without his ideas and enthusiasm. She wouldn’t let that happen. They wanted sales to improve and she would figure out a way to do it. She looked down at her cane then began to smile.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Brenna stared at the door of the deli, sitting among the smell of pickles and pastrami. She saw Miles enter and raised her hand to greet him.
Miles took off his coat and sat. “So you’ve decided to use me as a substitute after all?”
“Something like that. How bad are sales?”
Miles grinned playfully staring at her uneaten sandwich. “Not so bad that you need to take up a hunger strike.”
“But bad enough.”
“It’s not necessarily bad, but not great either. Randolph likes to see big numbers.”
“I think I can help.”
“You don’t need to help. This is business.” His face grew somber. “What Doran said was completely—”
“Doran is an insensitive jerk, but he gave me an idea. Who better to help with ideas than someone who has been a customer for years?”
Miles clasped his hands together. “Hunter wouldn’t want that.”
“Hunter wants to succeed. We both know that.”
Miles sighed heavily. “He wouldn’t want you involved with the company.”
Brenna shook her head. “That’s where you’re wrong. Why do you think I’m here? Because he needed a wife because management should be composed of family men. And that’s what he wants. To be in management so he can become CEO. I can help him with that.” She halted at the expression of sadness on Miles’ face. It was too close to pity. “I don’t mind. Truly. I’m his partner.”
“He cares about you.”
“Yes,” she said waving a dismissive hand. “Just as someone cares about their stock options. That’s not the point. I can help. I’m good at this.”
“No, you don’t understand what—”
She picked up her sandwich ready to take charge. “When we come up with a plan, we’ll go to Curtis first; Hunter won’t be able to argue with him.”
“I’m not sure—”
“We could do print ads maybe even a commercial one created for TV and one to go viral.”
Miles frowned although her idea intrigued him. “We’ve never done a commercial. We don’t know anything about that. And the cost—”
She began to smile. “Don’t worry, I know someone who can help us.”
***
“Sure I can make this work,” Sara said. “But you’ll have to trust me. I’ll want information about the company, the clientele, goals etc...”
“Miles can get it for you.” Brenna said.
He glanced up from taking lint off his trousers and shrugged. He hadn’t said anything since they’d arrived.
“That means yes. The focus will be this cane. It has a spring and adjusts to one’s weight, compensating for one’s gait. It doesn’t make a sound on hard surfaces which is a relief. It’s a revolutionary design.”
Sara glanced at the cane then Brenna. “I had an announcer in mind for this but I know someone else.”
“Who?”
“You. You’ll look good on camera; you’re eloquent and know the product. And the fact that your husband created it will be a great angle.”
Brenna inwardly rebelled. She’d spent her life behind a desk to hide that part of her and now they wanted to use it—use her—to sell products.
“It will be perfect.”
“I don’t know.”
Miles stared. “You want Brenna to be the spokeswoman?”
“She’s the best choice.”
He groaned. “I can’t allow this.”
“Why not?”
“Hunter will kill me.”
“When you’re selling a warehouse load of canes and other products he won’t mind.”
Brenna nodded. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
He shook his head with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man, but remained silent. He stood and looked around the office at pictures of successful campaigns and awards.
Sara whispered. “I’m glad he at least has a pulse. I was afraid he was in a stupor.”
Brenna leaned forward. “Interested?”
She glanced at him. “I never thought I’d go for an older man.”
“He’s in his mid-thirties, early gray.”
Her eyes trailed the length of him. “Not bad looking.”
“And smart, considerate. I can find out more.”
She twirled her pen uncertain. “I may not be his type.”
“You are,” Brenna said.
“How do you know?”
“It’s my job to know. Besides he kept trying to ignore you. You’ll have to make that hard.”
A masculine voice cut in. “She doesn’t have to.”
Both women turned to Miles who leaned against the desk. “I usually prefer pretty women, but I think you’ll do.”
Sara narrowed her eyes. “I don’t like gray hair.”
“So? I like red heads.”
“I like brown eyes.”
“I prefer gray.” He grinned. “Free for dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Here’s my card.” He straightened, winked at Brenna then returned to looking at the awards that lined her walls.
Sara frowned at his card. “What just happened?”
“I think you just met your match.”
The two women shared a smile.
***
Two weeks later Brenna, Miles and Hunter sat in the conference room while Curtis beamed at them. He closed the marketing plan. “Hunter, it’s an excellent idea. I’m very pleased.”
Hunter gripped his hands under the conference table, but maintained an impassive expression. He didn’t glance at Miles or Brenna.
“Using Brenna as our spokeswoman is inspired.” He flashed her a smile. “Thank you, dear.”
She returned the expression.
He shifted his gaze to the man next to her. “And Miles I didn’t know you had some hidden marketing creativity in you.”
Miles tried not to look ill, uneasy by the silence of his friend. “It’s nothing.”
“This is the kind of thing I like to see. You three understand that Randolph is about teamwork, helping each other, stretching boundaries. I am proud.” He stood. “Feel free to leave early today. You deserve it.”
He left; silence fell.
Hunter’s quiet voice slipped through. “I ask you to take my wife out for lunch and the next thing I know I’m being congratulated for an idea I never had.”
Miles cleared his throat. “Hunter, I—”
“It’s a great idea,” Brenna said, prepared to stand up for him.
Hunter took a deep breath, resting his arms on the table. “I didn’t marry you so that you could sell our products.”
“Don’t worry. I know why you married me.”
He shot her a glance, but said nothing.
“You don’t have to agree,” she continued, hoping to convince him of the plan. “This is all out of your hands now. You should be thanking us for caring enough about your job to save it.”
“You think it needed saving?”
Miles spoke up. “We wanted to help.”
“I was handling things.”
“You were drowning and everyone knew it,” Brenna said. “No amount of late nights in the office and meetings were going to fix it. Now you can sulk if you want to or be gracious and give us credit.”
He picked up a pen and stared at it. “I was handling things,” he repeated softly. “I had plans that I wanted to put into practice. Do you think I’m not qualified for the job?”
She tilted her head to the side. “Is this Hunter speaking or his ego?”
Their eyes locked in ready battle. “No, it’s your husband,” he was pleased with how cool he sounded although the voice didn’t sound like this own. “I need you to trust me.”
There was a flicker of surprise then weariness. The expression pleased him. “I do trust you.”
He continued in the same cool tone. “That’s why you asked me first?” he said sarcastic. “So that I wouldn’t have to sit in front of my father like an imbecile. You respected me so much that my opinion was of utmost importance to you. Correct?”
“That’s not—”
He held up a hand. “You don’t need to defend yourself. Your plan is excellent. You both make a great team.” He shot Miles a glance. “Congratulations.” He stood and gave a mocking bow. “However, I had plans of my own and you two got in my way.” He let his gaze fall, but the silence kept them still. “A fact that I find irritating.”
“We didn’t mean—”
His voice deepened. “This will never happen again.”
Brenna spoke up. “Hunter—”
His gaze captured hers with such fury she nearly bit her tongue. “This will never happen again,” he repeated.
“No,” Miles said.
Brenna shook her head.
“Good.” He left.
Miles groaned. “I think I would have preferred a fatal beating.”
Brenna covered her eyes defeated. “He doesn’t understand. He always comes from another angle I never think of.” She let her hand fall. “We’re helping him and he sees it as a lack of respect.”
Miles paused then said, “Did we respect his opinion?”
“We didn’t ask for it.”
He nodded grimly. “Exactly.”
***
Stephen stared at the row of drain cleaners with growing anxiety. He needed something fast or the bathroom would flood. He could still hear Fiona shrieking after the toilet had overflowed. He selected one then set it back down. Out of the corner of his eye he saw an old man wearing worn tan slacks and a tweed jacket, ask a young man where the crackers were. He rudely brushed him aside. Stephen pretended to look at a can of cleaner hoping the man would ignore him. He didn’t.
“Excuse me,” he said in a surprising baritone for man of slim build and many years. “Do you know where the crackers are?”
He sighed. Did he look like he worked there? He glanced up at a sign and pointed. “Crackers are in aisle six.”
“Six?” He looked at him with blank gray eyes. Not blind just unsure.
“Yes. Six.”
“Thank you.”
He saw the man leave and head in the wrong direction.
Stephen groaned, grabbed what he needed then went after him. “Wait, it’s this way. Come on.”
Once in aisle 6, the man looked at the row of choices like a startled animal. Stephen picked up a box. “What brand are you looking for?”
“I’m not sure. I’m looking for something to go with this cheese.” He lifted the block of Brie out of his basket.
“Oh. Well, my sister likes these. She puts ham and avocado and paste stuff on it.” Yea
paste stuff
that sounds really clever.
But the man smiled. “That sounds good.” He put the box in the basket then looked at his list.
Stephen tried to inch away. “Glad I could help. Enjoy your meal.”