You Called Me-ARE and Apple epub (5 page)

Jonathan shot her a glance. Biting her lip she fought the heat spreading across her cheeks at the chest-thumping going on between the two men. Jonathan gave Randall a deeper look, sizing him up and she hoped that ended the posturing.

Readjusting herself on the sofa, she got their attention. “Thank you, Jonathan, for everything and send me a bill for the ride.”

He ran a hand along the doorjamb as if his thoughts carried weight before he spoke.” Thursday four a.m. is your bill, Pretty Lady. Call, Cedric, my driver, will pick you up.” Under the door's threshold, he sank into his shoulders, and without turning around, said, “I'd just buried a friend when we met, Kenya. He was only twelve. Not an excuse for my rude behavior...just the cause behind it,” he offered, pulling the door shut behind him and Kenya knew she hadn’t seen the last of this controversy in tailored clothes. She smiled.

The sofa cushions enveloped her shoulder as she thought about his words. He’d came from a funeral for a teenager when they’d met and she’d caught him in mourning. Who was Jonathan Blakemore?

His scent lingered under her nose an hour after he’d left her apartment. Randall sat across from her, eating out of a Chinese take-out box. “I know you said he didn’t hurt you already, but that kind of stuff only happens on TV.” He eyed her then dropped his chopsticks in the box, setting it on the low coffee table, and pushed up from the sofa to go to the window. He stood with his back to her and leaned against the windowsill, shoulders tight. “Kenya, you know nothing about this guy.” He paused. “But you’re going, aren’t you?”

“I’m going to work tomorrow that’s where I’m going, Randall.”

His footfalls were intent across her carpeted floor; he perched on the edge of the sofa and sat with his arms out over his knees. Stabbing the remaining sesame chicken in the box as if the words he searched for were in the bottom. Kenya’s heart twisted.

“You okay?” she asked a little saddened their friendship had a limit on its closeness. No romance.

“I asked you to go to the Bahamas and you turned me down…”he reminded her then picked up his glass of water, downing it in one drink. His Adam’s apple bobbed under the thick swallows and no matter how irritated he became she couldn’t change the situation between them.

“We live in the same building and you’re my employer’s client. I’m close to making Accounts Manager. How would that look if I started dating the marketing director of one of our biggest clients?”

Ducking she missed the pillow he threw over the table hitting the back of the sofa. That lightened the moment; he could always do that when it got heavy.

“I said go to the Bahamas not get married in the Bahamas.”

“He asked me to go, but I never said I considered it.” She caught his tilted gaze and raised eyebrow. “Whaaat?” she drew out.

He started in on her sweet and sour pork, dipping a piece into the box of extra sauce. Pointing the juicy meat in her direction, he said, “What did you say he did?”

“Why are you so suspicious? You left me here with him.”

“I left the door open while I went down stairs and paid for dinner. I slept on this chair last night. Lover boy went home around two a.m. and came back about five,” he told her. “Where does he make his money? Bentleys aren’t company cars down at the Friend of the Court.”

“He runs a driver service, helping the Friend of the Court. Don’t ask me, it sounds circumspect. I’ll look it up tomorrow on the Internet. I have a “Surprise Tour” at work tomorrow from one of our bigger clients. I need to wash my hair and see if Donna at the shop can get me in and give it a good flat iron.” Pushing up from the sofa, she padded to the kitchen and washed the few dishes. Wiping off the counter she rinsed down the sink then emptied the trash and set the bag beside the door. Popping in a new bag, she said over the noise, “If Mr. Blakemore doesn’t check out then I’ll know.” In the living room she asked Randall to take the trash out on his way out, picked up the blanket off the sofa, and headed down the short hall to her bedroom.

Hearing Randall's voice, she stopped. “Check him thoroughly, Kenya. We aren’t dating, but you’re still my girl and I care what happens to you.” She winked at the man some good woman needed to have on her arm, just not her.

“I hear you, Randall.”

“No more driving with a high fever either.”

Kenya pushed open her bedroom door, tossed the blanket on the hamper and leaned against the wall. Jonathan Blakemore, who are you really? And why does she even care?

“Ms. Claiborne will finish the account meeting. Any questions she’s more than capable to answer in my absence.” Ms. Reinhart directed passing out the new bank privacy policies every employee must get to know. Kenya slid the paper under the flap of the envelope and stared at her boss. Reinhart said, “I have a plane to catch, and, Kenya, I don’t want you to stay too late. It would hurt me to know you relapsed filling in for me. No backsliding because you didn’t take care of yourself.”

If the conference table could scream from pain, the walls would be rocking from the vibration of the sound. Kenya flexed her fingers after seeing her knuckles bleaching out from the death grip she had on the poor table. Reinhart's loving caring tone left Kenya's jaw slack and assuredly. Her eyes were huge seeing the woman brag about Kenya and be concerned for her health. Who is that woman posing as her boss? Kinder than she'd remembered her being. Did Reinhart like knowing a man was at her house?  

Kenya watched her boss, Mrs. Reinhart, moved from the conference room into the outer hall. Waving at Kenya over her shoulder, she slipped into her office behind the glass wall.

Crossing down to her office, she felt Julia come up behind her. “You haven’t been to your office yet, have you?”

“Why?”

“Who is he?”

“Who?” Angling a sideways glance at her friend, she had no idea who Julia referred to.

“Whoever sent four dozen white roses, that’s who!”

Stepping into her small office, Kenya froze as vase after vase dotted every surface. The largest white roses she’d ever seen stood on tall stems out of real crystal vases.

He was Mafia. That’s the only way he could afford this and have them delivered at night. These flowers must’ve cost him a small fortune. She’d signed her mother up for Flowers of the Month Club and that was close to sixty dollars a month to have a small plant delivered to her mother’s house. These had to be shipped in from somewhere…Chile or Guatemala or Africa.

“Each one has a card,” Julia said, nose buried in the scented beauties.

Kenya reluctantly pulled all four cards. Slipping them from the little envelop she read each one aloud. “Just. Four. Days. Kenya.”

Julia cleared her throat behind Kenya, grabbing Kenya’s attention. Julia's pencil skirt clad hip, propped on the corner of Kenya's desk, and her arms crossed, a question ready to explode from her mouth. Under a leading smile, Julia said, “Okay, I have precisely ten minutes to get to my meeting three floors up. Don’t make me wait till lunch to find out who this man is sending you flowers. Moreover, what does ‘four days’ mean?”

Kenya crossed the four feet to the door, stuck her head out and glanced up and down the hallway. Pushing the door up, she padded over to the beautiful flowers filling her office. Holding her hair back from spilling over her shoulders, she inhaled the rich spicy aroma rising off the amazing roses. The man has impeccable taste. The sound of a heel tapping her desk roused her.

Julia said, indicating toward her watch, “Nine minutes, that's all I have. Who is your admirer? Think it’s one of the financial officers from the fifth floor? Or Brian in accounting, he always leaves you notes when he replenishes that crystal vase of imported chocolates on his credenza.”

Kenya fluffed the flowers in the vase repositioning them around the office. She placed a dozen on her desk. “He's just some guy I met the other day, asked if I'd help him out. Apparently, he chaperones kids on wilderness trips and one of his parents had to cancel at the last minute. It's a ski weekend.”

Julia frowned and crossed her long legs, wiggling her one foot out over the floor.” Wait a minute...the same guy you told me about, Mr. Limo, the guy with the penthouse? You were serious, Kenya.” She jumped off the desk and Kenya hugged her. “A chill just ran down my spine...and now he's sending flowers and expects you to go away for the weekend under some flimsy chaperone favor?” Julia purred with suspicion.

“Actually he turned out to be a nice guy. Even Randall met him.”

“Randall Hassle...your neighbor?” Julia gasped, holding a hand to her chest.  Kenya nodded, picking up the files from her desk she squatted to the low cabinet and slid the Manila’s in the bottom drawer. “If Randall met him and he's walking without a limp, he can't be too bad.” Julia looked at her watch. “Oh, Kenya, this is perfect. Honey, do some background checks, make sure it's a legitimate operation, and get your volunteer hours,” Julia said, drifting around the room like a butterfly sniffing the perfumed roses.

“I don't do well with kids, you know that and—”

“Our counselors barely saw each other. And if he's Mr. Big Wig, you might not even see him. He could have a luxury cabin off to himself,” her tone dismissive. “He probably just needs an adult to sleep in the girl’s cabin, hold ski poles, or take the kids down to the lift. You’ve never helped out at summer camp?”

“I’m not a kid person. We met hitting each other with leather straps while making belts. And you seem to cruise past the part where I said I just met him.”

“Find out where the skiing is. Then check the company database. If it’s one of the company’s on the list to volunteer, there you go. Safety in numbers,” Julia suggested. “And you hit me first.”

“You took the last blue piece of leather. Julia, you know I don’t mind helping if it were the elderly or painting abandoned homes or something. I don’t know...Maybe Running for the Cure, anything but kids.” She scrunched her nose. “I’m so not a kid person.”

“Kenya, that’s perfect. You should do it.” Her boss’s voice whipped around the room and the aggressive tone about knocked Kenya over. 

“Mrs. Reinhart, I thought you had a flight to catch?” she asked, hoping to get her boss to leave and pushed the vase back on the desk. Where had she come from?

“I am. Did I hear you say you’re volunteering?” She paused. Kenya trailed her boss as she set her Kate Spade tote, on her desk. The woman had every pattern they sold. Kenya just wanted one and if she got this promotion that would be her splurge. She pulled her mind from mentally standing at the store window when she heard Reinhart’s voice. “Let me know ASAP. I want to recommend you for the accounts manager position opening on the day shift. You’re perfect for the position, and you know most of the accounts.”

Wow, that was a shock. What’s come over her boss?

Kenya crossed her ankles, then said, “I’m flattered, Ms. Reinhart, but I haven’t decided. I don’t know the person well enough. Don’t worry, I'm searching for a cause or event to volunteer my time for—”

“This same person sent the flowers?” her boss asked, sniffing the thick roses.

“Yes,” she said disturbed by Reinhart’s casual conversation. The woman was a pit bull most of the time, now she was purring like a kitten.

Julia said, “Kenya, if he were a criminal, I doubt he’d have sent flowers you could trace back to him.”

Reinhart cupped the thick flower, burying her nose between the petals. Julia finished, “The man’s got excellent taste…expensive taste. You’re helping kids not having his. What’s his name?”

“Jonathan,” she said, wanting to take it back the second his name crossed her lips. Nosy people Googled everything and everybody and Jonathan didn't need to know the Google habits of her friends. 

“Does Jonathan have a last name?” Julia asked brows jacked up high on her forehead.

“Blakemore,” slipped out before she could close her mouth.

“The name's not familiar,” Julia observed.

The two of them startled. Reinhart stood at attention as if the company president came through the doors. “Is this the same man that answered your phone when I called?” Excited, her eyes widened like saucers. “Jonathan Blakemore of Blakemore Incorporated asked you to help him for the weekend?”

“Yes, you know him?”

Greed swam the breaststroke over the woman's angular conservative features. “Not personally, although I would love to have him as a client,” she gushed fingering her earring in a distracted fashion. “He owns a number of businesses in the state and overseas. I wouldn’t pass up this opportunity, Kenya.” She stroked a thumb over her bottom lip and Kenya waited to hear a moan escape her boss’s mouth. She was in ecstasy talking about the man. “You don’t brush off men like Jonathan Blakemore. His economical reach circles the world and this is a prime opportunity to pad your resume and land an account this size.”

And her's as well being Kenya's boss. She didn’t like her buddy-buddy attitude today, or the fact she had no problem pimping her out to get Jonathan's business.

She peeled her attention from the weasel in the room to glance at the clock on the wall. “Julia, you have three minutes to get up stairs.”

Julia sucked in a breath.

“Meet me in the cafeteria for lunch. Google this guy…I gotta go.”

She took a deep breath and put on her corporate face. “Aren’t you going to miss your flight?” she asked Reinhart, verbally shooing the woman out of her office.

“Kenya, I don’t mean to be in your personal business, but I really want to recommend you for this position. I can’t if your profile folder is short thirty hours of volunteer time. We represent the community and build accounts on good relationships. As the retail division, opposed to the wholesale division, a good standing in the community is very important to moving up in this profession. Monday they start interviewing for the position for two weeks.” Reinhart closed her hand around her tote and touched Kenya’s hand. “Thirty hours, Claiborne. Jonathan Blakemore is a brand and a conglomerate. If he asked you to go, consider it a compliment and pack a bag.”