CHAPTER EIGHT

With the feeling of excitement laced with some anxiety building in me, I arrive at work at half past eight like I usually do, determined to do my best to run this company as Mark would have wanted me to do.

“You’re late,” a voice calls out from behind me in the break room.

The plastic spoon in my hand stops its swirling motion, and I look up from the cup of coffee I’ve just prepared. I lift it to my lips and take a small sip before turning my head to address him. “Wait, you were serious about 7 o’clock?” I press my lips together, suppressing my laughter.

Closely shaven and dressed impeccably in a fitted navy blue suit, Andrew follows me out of the small room as I motion with my hand to the ghost town which is our office. “People will trickle in soon.”

“Things are going to change around here effective immediately,” he says, sidestepping me to block my path.

I look up at him and fight a smile from emerging. “You look like the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. We’re all a little more casual...” My eyes travel up and down the length of his tall frame. “No one dresses to impress.” But God does he look delicious.

His eyes mimic mine as he ogles my body. “Clearly.”

Glancing down, I consider the outfit I’ve chosen to wear—dark jeans, a white, long-sleeved linen shirt tucked in casually, a chunky silver necklace and my favorite ankle booties. I grab the end of my hair and sniff the freshly washed wavy strands.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I ask, feeling slightly insulted. “It’s a little less tomboyish, don’t you think?”

Andrew follows me into my office where I set my coffee down and turn quickly, catching his eyes on my ass.

“It’s not appropriate for the workplace.”

“Like you would even know what the,” I air quote, “‘workplace’ is.”

“What does that mean?” he demands as he leans over and splays his big hands across my desk.

“From what I’ve gathered, your life has been handed to you on a silver platter. Have you ever even worked a real job?”

“I have something for you!” Cara sings, stepping into my office with a box of donuts in one hand and napkins in the other. Andrew straightens his body to its full height, resuming a commanding posture.

Her stride stops when she spots him standing there with his arms now crossed. “Sorry.” She grimaces and widens her eyes that are coated with varying hues of purple eye shadow. “I didn’t realize you had an early meeting with a client.”

“Cara, this is Andrew...Mark and Diana’s son.”

Her lips form an O and she can’t mask the look of surprise from spreading across her face.

“Hi. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m so sorry about your parents. I can’t believe they’re gone. They were such good people. I remember one time—”

“Cara!” I interrupt. “Andrew’s going to be here for a while so you’ll get a chance later to chat. Right now, he and I were in the middle of something.”

Nervously, Cara smiles to hide her awkwardness. “Oh yes, I’m sorry. I tend to ramble when I get nervous. Death is such a hard thing. I really wish you had come to the memor—”

“Cara!” I widen my eyes, suggesting she stop talking immediately.

Reaching into the white cardboard box, Cara removes a glazed donut with a napkin and places it on my desk. “Your favorite.”

I smile in thanks and then sigh in relief when she finally excuses herself.

“Is she always like that?” Andrew asks with a scowl on his freshly shaven face.

I shrug, appreciating Cara for who she is. “She’s a bit quirky, but she’s a hard worker.”

Lifting the donut, I take a bite and moan in pleasure. “You should try one of these. They melt in your mouth. Most of us go back for seconds.”

Andrew’s throat rolls with a forced swallow when I take a second bite.

“Send out an email. I want a meeting at nine with everyone who works here,” he barks.

Polishing off the sweet breakfast treat with one last bite, I nod my head vigorously and clap my hands together to discard any remnants of sugar before saluting him.

“Yes, sir. Nine o’clock sharp,” I say, following him out of my office.

I slide two fingers into my mouth and curl my tongue, whistling loudly to obtain the attention of whichever staff members are present. Andrew jumps and turns to face me; the fury on his face is evident.

“Spread the word. Quick meeting at nine forty-five in the break room.”

“What is wrong with you? Jesus Christ, you really are a tomboy.” Andrew says as he shakes his head. “I said nine.”

Several employees give me a thumbs-up while others nod or say “sounds good.”

“I’ve got your email covered. See you at nine forty-five.” I turn on my heels and return to my office.

“Why aren’t we meeting in the conference room?”

I look back and smirk. “Because we don’t have one.”

A few minutes later, my email pings and I read a message from Andrew, telling me to read over the agenda.

Agenda?

I don’t bother replying but walk out at quarter to ten just in time to meet everyone in the break room.

Andrew is the last to walk in with a stack of papers. “Take one and pass the rest,” he commands, making brief eye contact with Cara.

She nods and begins the task assigned to her.

“Good morning,” Andrew begins quite seriously. “My name is Andrew...Andrew Darling and I’ll be taking over the company since my parents’ untimely and unexpected deaths.” He is completely detached from his words and devoid of any emotion.

An awkward silence passes over the stunned faces of the nearly twenty employees.

“Miss Montgomery will remain on staff for the time being, but all questions, projects and proposals should be directed to me. Is that clear?”

My blood begins to boil not only at his insinuation that I might be out of a job, but that he’s suddenly in charge. I’ve run this company for years and I’m not about to surrender control to him just because of his last name. He knows nothing at all about this company or how to run it. How entitled can one person be?

I raise my hand and interrupt his monologue as he details changes in company policy set forth in his agenda.

“May I have your permission to use the ladies’ room?” I ask sarcastically. His face reddens when a few younger employees chuckle. “My office. Now. The rest of you are dismissed.”

Andrew turns left toward the office once occupied by his parents, but I veer to the right, walk into my own office and close the door, ignoring his calls and the flood of emails.

Just before lunch, my email pings with yet another message from Andrew.

Come to my office.

I ignore his command.

Fully expecting to see Andrew when I hear a knock at my door, I hide the disappointment when I see Toni.

“Lunch?” she sings.

“No. I’m not hungry. I’ve got a lot of work to do,” I lie.

“Are you pregnant?”

“What?” I screech. “Sex is usually involved when you get pregnant.”

She laughs. “I thought maybe Andrew impregnated you when he was glaring at you. You didn’t notice?”

I shake my head. “Nope. I was too busy checking Twitter.”

“You don’t have Twitter!”

Chuckling, I thank her but again decline the lunch offer. Toni rolls her eyes at me and sighs.

“I’d like to be the maid of honor when you marry him.”

My face scrunches in response. “You’re delusional. He’s a manwhore. Goodbye.”

Avoiding Andrew the Ogre, I scurry out of the office at the end of the day before he does and draw the curtain on the front window of the pool house, creating a barrier between us.

The following morning I arrive at work as usual and head into the break room to make a cup of coffee.

“What the hell?” I mumble when I realize the Keurig is gone.

I stomp my way into Andrew’s office, place my hands on my hips and demand to know where it is. Tapping the toe of my caramel colored wedges, I wait for his reply.

“Did you not hear me?” I huff.

Impeccably dressed in an exquisite gray suit which complements his dark hair, Andrew slowly drags his eyes up to meet mine. His jaw is set and his expression firm; it’s clear that exhaustion weighs heavily on his otherwise handsome face. “That belonged to my mother,” he says before looking back at the computer screen.

“And?” I screech. “Your mother put it there for everyone to use. What’s your problem?”

Andrew’s attention snaps up, and he glares at me. “Is there anything else you want to complain about?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do.” My lips stretch into a hard line and I exhale. “Could you be a little quieter when you pull into the driveway at midnight? And turn down the music. That racket kept me up almost all night!”

I march through the door, grab my purse and take the elevator down to the main level. A quick ride in my car brings me to Target where I purchase a new single cup coffee maker, several boxes of regular and flavored coffee along with a variety of creamers. By the time I get back to work, the employees are like ravenous animals, disgruntled and disappointed about missing their caffeine fix.

“Sheesh!” I laugh. “The other one broke. Relax!”

I kindly delegate the task of setting up the machine and putting everything away to Cara.

Andrew walks by and stops for a moment. “What’s going on in here?”

“I replaced the Keurig that broke.” I toss him a look which carries the implication to keep his mouth shut.

“But it didn’t br—”

I glare at him, hoping he understands my tone. “It broke so I replaced it.”

A small sniffle calls my attention to where Cara is busy putting things away. I walk over and put my arm around her shoulder in comfort. “I know.”

“I miss them so much even after a month. Things are so different around here. I miss Diana and her colorful canes. It’s not fair!” she cries into the balled up napkin.

With a glance over my shoulder, my eyes connect with Andrew’s and I can see the perplexed look on his face. For a moment longer, he stands there watching our interaction. Overwhelmed by her emotions, Cara turns into my embrace, buries her face in her palms and sobs quietly.

“He seems so angry and lost. I don’t know how to help him,” her soft voice murmurs.

Rubbing small circles onto her back, I close my eyes and shush her before asking to whom she is referring.

“Andrew. I feel so badly for him. He’s so angry at the world. He doesn’t seem like the same person Diana used to talk about.” She hiccups. “She used to talk about him all the time. He was a really great baseball player and a talented musician. He was the apple of her eye.”

I pray when I reopen my eyes that Andrew isn’t still standing there.

Thank God for small miracles I think to myself when I realize we’re alone.

“He’s going to be okay, Cara. We all are.”

I spend the rest of the morning designing a brand and logo for a new record label in Connecticut.

Again I decline Toni’s offer for lunch as I hold up the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I packed earlier. She raises a suspicious, perfectly waxed eyebrow.

“Close the door,” I suggest and wait until she does before speaking again. “I’m worried about Andrew. Cara noticed how angry he is and there was such clattering and banging coming from the house, you would think he was taking a sledgehammer to the furniture or walls.”

“Have you asked him if he’s okay?”

I tsk and shake my head. “Of course not. I mean, he hardly talks to me, especially after Vegas.” I realize I neglected to tell her about the kiss by the pool.

Shaking her head as if she disagrees, Toni reminds me that he probably just needs time to deal with all of this.

I shrug. “Yeah maybe, but I get the feeling he’s hiding something or I’m missing something important.”

“Well, while you figure it out, I’m going to grab lunch. I’ll be back in an hour. Text me if you change your mind.”

Stepping out of my office, I slow my pace then turn in the direction of the main office where the door is slightly ajar.

“Knock, knock,” I say, peeking my head through the door. A smile appears on my face when Andrew startles and lifts his head up quickly from the back of the leather chair, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “Hey,” I say quietly. “Are you hungry? Want to grab some lunch?”

“No.” His response is curt.

No? How about “no thank you.” I want to chastise him. I adjust the belt on my cotton dress, wondering how this rude person is the same sweet son Diana always talked about or the guy I hung out with at the beach.

I walk further into the office and sit in the same chair as I had done a thousand times before when I met with Mark to discuss strategies. I glance up at the few photographs on the shelf and realize I’d never really paid attention to the people in them. The larger frame is an older picture of Mark and Diana with their arms around an adolescent boy wearing a baseball uniform, holding up a trophy. Smeared eye black extinguishes the details of his face, but his dirty blond hair peeks out from beneath his red ball cap. Their smiles are bright and proud. A smile graces my face when I think about how much they loved their boy.

“What are you doing? I didn’t give you permission to come in and sit.” he says rudely, pulling my attention away from the photograph.

“Well, you never said not to either.” I offer a tiny fragment of a smile then smooth out my face to a more serious expression. “Andrew, I’m worried about you. In fact, we all are.” The soft tone of my voice reveals my level of concern. “I know a little about the grieving process and I don’t think you’re allowing yourself to grieve the loss of your parents.”

His stoic masks slips for a split second before he exhales quietly then continues to stare at me. “Funny, I don’t recall your resume mentioning anything about you having a degree in counseling as well as graphic design.”

Ignoring the unnecessary jibe, I continue in my futile attempt to help him.

“Look,” I place my hand on the desk and look down at my finger as I run it horizontally along the wood grain. Slowly, I drag my gaze upward. “Life isn’t fair. I don’t know why your parents were killed in that helicopter crash. I don’t know why my oldest brother died on my birthday, but the fact is they did. They’re gone.”

Andrew’s mouth opens then closes. For a brief moment, a small flicker of sympathy mingled with pity flashes on his face before he clears his throat and quashes any traces of emotion.

“I’ve made peace with God about my brother.” I slide my hand closer to his. “I’m not sure if you’ve accepted what’s happened yet. It’s not easy, Andrew, but you need to know that you have people around you who are willing to help.”

“Are you done?” he inquires brusquely, rising to his feet and walking to the window that overlooks a small pond.

Flabbergasted by his response, I expel a deep breath, readjust my hair and stand, leaving the room without another word.

Son of a bitch I mumble under my breath when I notice the blue and white realty post being pounded into the grass by the mailbox. What happened to a few weeks?