Chapter Thirty–Two
Running Is Cheaper Than Therapy
Jordan started out at a fast pace, pushing himself out of the garden and onto the street in record time. He was burning away his frustration and anger and, yes, fear. He was frightened he’d screwed things up. He was frightened Charlotte was going to walk away. He was frightened he might lose her just as he’d realized how much he needed her.
He ran faster, trying to shut up his mind and get his body exerted to the point that it matched with his already thumping heart.
He didn’t think he misread her completely. Yes, she was an escort and yes, it was her job to make every man feel like the center of her world. He understood that. But he wasn’t stupid. The way her body reacted to his, the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. That wasn’t scripted. That was Charlotte Jones, the real Charlotte, not the working girl, he was sure of it.
And yet, he was also sure something behind her eyes had shut down like a shutter when he’d proposed to her. He had become so overwhelmed with love he couldn’t hold back the words and he knew he’d overwhelmed her in the process. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
But that didn’t explain the look in her eyes. If she wasn’t immediately sure, that was one thing, but she looked awfully damn sure, actually, that he’d said the wrong thing completely. Something or someone had hurt her, he was sure of that, and somehow, he had reopened the wound. And what did he know about her, really?
He cursed his impetuousness once again. George was right, he needed to slow down.
As he turned the corner into the main street, he saw Mrs. Butrey walking Bitsy to the park. He jogged over and walked alongside her for a moment, catching his breath.
She gave him a sidelong look. “Well, young Lovett,” she said after a few moments. “Are you running from or to?”
He didn’t follow. “I’m just running around town.”
She shook her head. “No, young man, I’ve seen you running around town since you were a teenager. This is the first time I’ve seen you really run. I just can’t tell if you are running away from something or trying desperately to catch something. Where’s that young lady of yours?”
Mrs. Butrey always did see straight through him. “She’s at the house.” He sighed. “I asked her to marry me.”
“After the engagement party?” She laughed at his embarrassment and held up a hand. “Don’t explain, I knew it wasn’t what it seemed. Well, well, well.” She barely glanced at him. “And her response wasn’t quite what you expected, I guess.”
He stretched and kept walking, carefully dodging the Pekinese running in circles around him, trying to trip him up with its leash. “Not really. No, Mrs. Butrey, not at all.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised. You probably overwhelmed her. You always have been very intense when you want something, and you tend to take things too fast.”
He winced at that and got ready for a lecture on how he should wait to get to know her and not rush into big decisions. “George keeps telling me,” he said, hoping to head her off. “He thinks she’d make a better mistress than wife.”
“Oh, George. Never you mind him. He’s wrong. And he just hates not being in the center of things. It’s not like he’d let anyone else run the company, just let him complain. You are right to keep it on the straight and narrow. There are plenty of people who wouldn’t mind taking the Lovetts down a notch.”
Since when did she know about the company business? She didn’t give him a chance to ask what she meant by that.
“Even as a boy, you tried to be three steps ahead of everyone else. Knowing you, you probably planned out the next ten years of your lives and announced to her exactly how it was going to be.”
He chewed his lip. In retrospect, that was, in fact, exactly what he’d done.
“This young lady of yours, even I can see she’s used to doing things for herself. You can’t just make decisions and expect her to fall in line. You are going to have to learn to work with her.” She smiled at him. “If you think she’s the one for you, that is.”
“I think she is.”
“Then, you need to stop assuming you have to be in charge all the time.” She patted his arm. “That young woman will make you a good partner, if you let her. But if you’d rather have one of those plastic beauties on your arm who will always do as they are told...”
“No, that’s not what I want.” That he was sure of.
“Well, then, maybe you need to stop proving how clever you are to have solved everything in advance and ask her what she wants. She might surprise you.”
They walked in silence to the far end of the park, while Bitsy yapped at a fallen leaf.
“You’ve got a good point,” he said.
“I know.” She smiled. “Do send me an invitation to the wedding if you manage to get it right.”
“Oh, Mrs. Butrey, I will.” He gave her a one-armed hug and turned to head back to the main road.
“Now he’s running to catch something, Bitsy—or rather, someone,” he heard her say as he jogged out of the park. She was right. He started running faster.
He was just heading around the paddocks when his phone rang. He pulled it out to check, in case it was Charlotte. Lauren. She would wait. He dismissed the call but it rang again almost immediately. Scowling, he swiped to decline it again. When it rang the third time, he got nervous. Maybe there was something wrong with Dad.
“This better be important.”
“Jordan? You have to come home immediately.” She was whispering into the phone.
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s a burglar in the house.” Her voice was frantic. “Maybe more than one. He’s got a crowbar. I’ve called the police but they’ll take forever to get here. Please hurry!”
The line went dead.
Jordan sped back towards the house at rocket speed. He threw open the front door, panting, to see Lauren there, holding her finger to her mouth.
“What the—” If she’d called him for a joke, he really was going to kill her.
“SHHHH!” She closed the front door as quietly as she could. “There’s one in the office. I think he’s searching for the safe. I don’t even know if George locked it after putting my jewelry back last night after the party. There may be others in the house. Jordan, we’re being robbed!”
He wiped his brow. “Where’s George? Where’s Charlotte?”
“Your dad is golfing and not answering his phone. I have no idea where Charlotte is.”
“Ok.” He crept to the corridor. Sure enough, he heard the sound of a closing drawer in the office. Someone was in there.
He needed a weapon. The axe from the wood pile? Too unwieldy, and too far away. Maria’s big chef’s knife? He didn’t want to get that close to someone. He grabbed the poker from the hallway fireplace. “Stay back. I’ll deal with this.”