On The Dotted Line (15 page)

Teresa
moved down to her hips.

“Well,
that is information I never needed to hear.” Randolph grabbed Willow’s hand and
interlaced their fingers.

“Maybe
there is something about the Van Ayers men.” Sam stood and elbowed him. “Whatever
you did netted you some altar.”

“Mother,
isn’t it time you get home?” He bent down and picked up Jeb, allowing her dog
to lick his face.

“Yes,
we must get going. We’ll leave and take Nanette home so the two of you can…”
She pointed over at the altar and took Jeb. “Well, it’s all set up for you.”

“Thank
you.” Randolph squeezed Willow’s hand.

Lillian
smiled and kissed him and then leaned over and kissed her. “Willow, dear, keep
my card and charge what you need for the lotion, you can give it back to me
later. Bye.”

In
a scurry of activity, they all gathered their things and left. Nan didn’t even
bother with a wave, leaving Willow a bit breathless with the man she married.

“So,
how are you?” He took both her hands. “Aside from your natural yet magnificent
chest?”

Heat
crept into her cheeks. “Your mother bought two hundred bottles of lotion from
me for one of her functions.”

“Good,
charge her double.”

She
closed her eyes. “I need business cards.”

He
let go of her hands and took her by the waist. “Give Peter the information. He loves
going to the printer.”

Her
plan of not going to him completely failed. It had to be the sex. Since their altar
creating extravaganza, the whole no sex thing sort of didn’t exist anymore.

She
opened her eyes to find Randolph staring at her. “How was your day?” Without
even thinking she reached up and grazed her fingers across his chin. A scant
bit of sexy stubble met her fingertips.

“I
have something for you.” He pulled her closer.

She
prayed for a bit of strength. Instead, he leaned down and kissed her. She wasn’t
even sure who opened their mouth first, not that it mattered, their lips, bodies
and hands moved in unison, their days together giving them a bit of familiarity
she never had with any other man.

He
wrapped his arms around her, leaning her back as if he couldn’t get enough.

In
turn, she snuck her hands underneath his suit jacket taking in his slender yet
muscular form hiding beneath his clothes.

“I
knew it!” Like a bomb, Jade boomed into her store with Argyle behind her.

“I
told you.” Argyle saluted them.

Randolph
shot up and away from her, holding his hands out like a shield.

She
gasped and, as if on automatic, hid behind her husband. Her mind didn’t belong
to her anymore. She never even heard the bell on the door.

Randolph
cleared his throat. “What is it that you knew?”

Jade
glanced behind her.

“Go
ahead.” Argyle nodded.

Jade
narrowed her eyes and stalked forward. She held a piece of what appeared to
jail bars in front of her face. “We are all putting up barriers in one way or
another.” She flipped the prop over to reveal what looked like a white picket
fence. “Are they the same? Are they different?”

“An
interesting question my little protégé proposes.” Argyle sauntered forward.
“Mr. Money, good day.”

Randolph
didn’t respond.

Willow
stared at Randolph’s back, her hand on his back. Her ring on her hand on his
back. No, she never took it off today, or yesterday, maybe the day before and
these people were all about truth and creativity. “Jade.” She came around
Randolph and held out her hand.

Before
she got the chance to utter another word, Randolph grabbed her hand and put
both their hands in his pocket.

“Yes,
we are seeing each other. Is that your big reveal?” Randolph put his other hand
in his pocket as well.

“No,
I knew it anyway. Argyle told me.” She trotted over, gave them both a hug, and
handed her an envelope. “I was practicing my art and wanted to give you the
receipt for your rent, you forgot it the other day.”

“Thank
you.” She took the envelope and fought the urge to hand it to Randolph.

“Speaking
of which I got a chance to study the gift of art you received.” Argyle’s gaze
traveled over her. “You must be a very special woman to be gifted with such an
offering.”

She
let out a little giggle. The man owned every room he walked into. Creative and
sure of himself, he possessed a different sort of confidence than Randolph’s
more subdued elegance. Of course his tall, commanding frame, picture perfect
features, clear golden eyes and flowing black hair didn’t hurt his cause.

“What
did you think of the work?” Argyle tilted his head to Randolph.

Willow
forced herself to have no reaction to the question. How would Randolph address
his own art?

“It
fits the store.” Randolph exhaled.

“Critiqued
like a true accumulator of art and a jealous beau.” Argyle bowed. “We must get
going. Jade isn’t nearly done with her lesson.”

“Yes,
sorry, we didn’t mean to interrupt any foreplay, so I’ll make myself scarce.” Jade
smiled and looked between them. “Too bad you didn’t get together a little
earlier. I always knew Willow rocked, and she could have saved you a bundle. Come
by the shop later!” With the words out, both she and Argyle left, the bell on
the door ringing loud and clear.

Kisses
and sex was one thing, but she could never forget why she was here. Even
without knowing everything, Jade knew the role of Randolph’s wife, which was
why she couldn’t reveal her true status. “Well, at least I managed to save you
a bundle.” She returned to the counter to gather her items.

Randolph
joined her. “I thought we would go grab something to eat.”

“Sure.”
She picked up her calendar.

“How
is the planning going for the dinner?” He moved her hair off her shoulder. “I
need to make a good impression for this client. They are very big for my company.”

She
shivered at his light touch. “I’ll do my job.” It was a dinner not a wedding or
a party, at least the kind his mother threw.

“Is
everything okay? Did my mother upset you? Was it that so-called artist?”

She
shook her head. Of everyone at the moment his mother was her favorite person. Lillian
thought they were truly married and in her own way tried to accept her. “Your
mom was great. Argyle is eccentric.”

“Whatever.
I said earlier I have something for you.” Randolph reached into his magic suit
jacket pocket and handed her a thick envelope.

She
opened the flap and took out a burgundy leather checkbook from the same
designer as Jeb’s new collar, a far cry from her cracked blue plastic one. “What’s
this?”

He
opened the checkbook to reveal a deposit slip. “I got your account all set up
and deposited your monthly allowance. Since you are a Van Ayers, you don’t have
to pay any monthly fees.”

In
her whole life she never saw that sum of money in one spot. Her cheeks heated
and she dropped the checkbook on the counter.

“Are
you all right?” He put his arm around her.

The
numbers stared her down, his arm weighed her down, and the calendar tied her
down. “I’m doing my job.”

“Willow.”
Peter drove into the parking lot behind the restaurant and twisted around to
face her. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

From
the backseat, she nodded. “The Vines of Los Angeles.” Except for an occasional
treat or sometimes when bartering, Willow rarely frequented restaurants. Instead
she chose to eat what she and Nan cooked when they were lucky enough to have a
kitchen, or would pick up little items at local farmers markets.

Since
her marriage, Randolph had taken her out several times to quiet restaurants where
everyone seemed to know him and all were the kind of places where she could
taste the money more than the food. Afraid of embarrassing him and with luck on
her side, Randolph was the ultimate gentleman and seemed to get a kick when she
asked him to pick something for her, and he always seemed to get it right. What
made her blush and swoon only accentuated the way she stood out from his world.

The
way Peter asked his question put a spotlight on her issues about the
responsibility Randolph gave her when he presented the calendar. All the paranoia
and planning about exactly the right outfit and food seemed silly when his
clients were discussing gaining or losing huge sums of money or other life-altering
deal. Her gut told her she didn’t belong. She needed to renegotiate her
contract, or break it or get thrown in jail for wayward, paid off wives.

“This
doesn’t look like the kind of place where Randolph would eat.” Elizabeth Glick,
Peter’s apparent girlfriend, also turned to her. “Aren’t we supposed to be at
The Vines of Beverly Hills?”

Probably.
“They didn’t have reservations for tonight, but helped me get a table here.” She
inhaled. The people at the restaurant in Beverly Hills explained that their Los
Angeles location had the same delicious menu in a trendier, up and coming
location. It wasn’t as if she asked them to meet at the local drive-thru. These
people needed a little lesson on perspective. She did her job, made the
reservations, got everyone the address to the restaurant, and put on a dress.

“Did
whatever plebian you spoke to at the Hills location know who you were?” The
woman narrowed her eyes.

Unsure
how to answer Elizabeth’s question, she shifted her focus to Peter. “The Vines
was on the list of restaurants Randolph’s secretary gave me.” She chewed the
inside of her mouth. On the other hand, she didn’t want to mess up any business
for her husband.

“I
bet his secretary would know how to get into the one in Beverly Hills.” Elizabeth
plopped forward in her seat.

“Do
the Hartfords and Randolph know where we’re meeting?” Peter smiled at her.

She
nodded, but all the questions only amplified her doubts, and magnified what she
didn’t know about Randolph’s world. Was there more to what she needed to do
than make a few phone calls and don some lipstick? The Vines in Los Angeles,
The Vines in Beverly Hills, couldn’t be that different. The two places were
only a few miles apart.

“Well,
as long as we all end up in the same place, that’s half the battle.” Peter
finished parking the car.

“I
don’t think Randolph will like coming to a place with no valet parking.” Without
waiting for anyone, Elizabeth got out of the car.

Peter
shook his head and exited as well.

Ivy
took a moment and with a frown opened her own door. Since Randolph found her in
the alley on his birthday, she hadn’t touched a car door. She slid on her coat
and watched Peter practically sprint to Elizabeth.

After
Randolph’s secretary called and told her he was running behind and to meet him
at the restaurant, she went to call the house driver. When Randolph texted her
and told her to entertain his client in case they arrived before him she admitted
she panicked. Not knowing who these people were, and not wanting to be their
entertainment committee, she called Peter at the last second and invited him. She
never gave a second thought to him bringing his girlfriend. It seemed natural
they would be in couples.

Then
she met Elizabeth.

When
the woman in the black cocktail dress and precision cut shoulder length blonde
hair first entered her store, Elizabeth announced how she was shocked that Randolph
even liked the store. Peter’s girlfriend also imparted her opinion on Willow’s chiffon
dress and velvet coat. By the time Willow got in the car with them, Elizabeth
also announced her stance on Peter’s hair, his car, and decided to tell her
that Randolph would rather that she carry an evening bag.

Willow
hugged her non evening bag to her chest and caught up to them.

They
made their way around to the front of the restaurant. Peter opened the door and
the three of them were blasted with noise, which might as well have been an
alarm bell.

She
went toward the bright white light and stepped inside to the crowd surrounding
a bar and a dance floor.

Peter
guided them through the people to the podium where a woman wearing a short
skirt and an attitude stared at them.

“Reservation
for six for Van Ayers.” Peter glanced around the restaurant. “Maybe there’s
something in the back a little quieter? We have a business meeting.”

Elizabeth
crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “Randolph hates crowds.”

No
matter how or why she and Randolph got married, the man was still her husband and
she was getting a bit fatigued with Elizabeth’s continued spouting off about her
knowledge of Randolph. She squeezed the bridge of her nose. Truth was, Elizabeth
knew more about her husband than she did. Maybe Randolph should have married the
other woman. At least he would have gotten a wife who knew him, Peter would
have his freedom, and she could go to Sedona and no one would care about her
bag evening or not, or where she ate.

“We
have no Van Ayers reservation.” The woman leaned one elbow on the podium.

Elizabeth
let out a laugh and leaned over to Peter. “Tell them you’re a Ward, unless your
mother asked you not to use your name again.”

Willow
turned from the negative force, stared at the entrance in search of Randolph
and tapped Peter. “It would be under Day.”

“Well,
that answers my earlier question.” Elizabeth crossed her arms. “Why wouldn’t
you use the last name that means something?”

“This
is the second time tonight I answered that question.” The lady gathered up some
menus and pointed over to the bar where an older skeletal woman wearing a grey
dress and a scowl sat next to a rounder man with the same expression.

“Peter?”
Willow barely whispered his name, wishing somehow Randolph would appear.

“There
are the Hartfords. Where is Randolph?” Peter straightened up and pulled his
phone out of his pocket.

“Someone
better walk over there, Randolph won’t like it if he knows they were kept
waiting.” Elizabeth’s voice scratched up her spine.

Honestly,
there was no kidney in the cooler awaiting a transplant. They only had a little
mix up with names and restaurants. “I’ll smooth things over.” Nan always said
most misunderstandings could be solved with an apology and a smile. In her case,
she also added a shot of vodka. Randolph’s life of worry over restaurants didn’t
fit her.

Since
neither Peter nor Elizabeth protested, she forced a wide smile across her lips
and made her way toward the unhappy couple.

The
woman narrowed her eyes as she approached.

Once
more she peeked over at the door, praying for Randolph’s appearance. “Mr. and
Mrs. Hartford?” She raised her voice and practically curtseyed.

“I
am Ms. Hartford, this is my brother, Mr. Hartford.” Ms. Hartford pursed her lips,
the wrinkles around her mouth digging into her face even deeper.

Awkward.
Willow swallowed. Her need for a shot of vodka quickly increased to a glass of
vodka. “I am Willow Day–” She cleared her throat at the mistake. “I mean, I am
Willow Day Van Ayers. I apologize for the mix up with the reservations, but I
believe our table is ready and we can go have some appetizers.”

“Well,
congratulations are in order.” The man gave her a hearty handshake.

Already
his good vibes reverberated through her. Maybe everything would be all right. She
exhaled.

“You
are Randolph’s wife?” In harsh, precision movements, Ms. Hartford flipped her
small evening bag open, took out a pair of glasses, shoved them on her face and
stared at her. “You are Randolph’s wife?”

Suddenly
she couldn’t breathe. In less than a second the woman summarized her and
Randolph’s relationship. After a week spent practically prancing after her
husband like a lovesick teenager, she needed to redirect her energy, focus on
her life, her reality and her job.

“Are
you or are you not Randolph’s wife?” Ms. Hartford stood. “Or is this whole
thing some sort of a joke?”

“Yes,
this is my wife.” Like a superhero, Randolph materialized by her side, complete
with a long coat swirling around him.

Funny,
she wanted to answer she was indeed the joke.

He
shook Mr. Hartford’s hand and then took Ms. Hartford’s hand between both of
his. “I apologize for my tardiness, but I was detained at the office.”

“I
thought we were an important client of yours.” Ms. Hartford jutted her jaw out.

“You
know that is a fact.” He produced one of his magazine worthy smiles.

“Mr.
Van Ayers, how can I believe that when you take us to a place more suitable for
a drunken brawl than a business meeting and then turn up late?” She snatched
her hand away.

Willow
glanced down at the floor, willing it to open and swallow her up. While she might
not care where or what these people ate, it was part of her agreement, and it
was never her intention to cause an issue.

“Then
you present us with your so-called wife who doesn’t know her last name.” The
woman pursed her lips, a fitting expression for her sour disposition. “Dare I
add we weren’t given a proper wedding announcement or invitation?”

No
matter how nasty these people were, she would never forgive herself if she
ruined the client relationship for Randolph. Truth be told, he would have the Hartfords
longer than he had her.

“Millicent,
please.” Randolph bowed his head. “Willow and I eloped very quickly. Do you
honestly think I would exclude you out of any major event like that? My mother
is throwing a huge party to celebrate between Thanksgiving and Christmas and
invitations are being hand delivered this week. You are at the top of the list.”

The
woman continued to glare at him. From behind her, the brother shook his head.

“As
far as the restaurant goes, surely you can understand a little mix up? My wife
is new at this.” Randolph tilted his head and one curl bounced over his eyebrow.
“I am more than happy to call any other restaurant myself and get us in. Simply
say the word.”

Willow
held her breath. She went to grab Randolph’s hand but stopped.

“This
is fine,” Mr. Hartford mumbled.

“I
am
starving.” Millicent shook her head. “I suppose we can make a
concession.”

“Let’s
go sit down, then.” Randolph corralled them to the front.

Willow
allowed herself the luxury of inhaling.

“Our
table is ready.” Peter pointed to the back.

“Good
to see you, Dolph.” Elizabeth gave him a huge smile. “I’m surprised we’re
staying here. I told your wife you wouldn’t care for this place. I remember
when we used to meet up at the club and you hated it when your parents made you
eat at the snack shack rather than in the restaurant.”

Next,
maybe Elizabeth would visit the bar and ask for the margarita salt to pour on
the wound. The over-sized crystals might dig in a little deeper.

“Who
are these people?” Ms. Hartford spun on her heel and faced Randolph.

“What
are they doing here?” Randolph growled under his breath, while jerking his chin
toward Peter and Elizabeth. The cords on his neck stood out and he swallowed. “This
is my personal assistant, Peter Ward, and his girlfriend Elizabeth Glick.”

Ms.
Hartford shook her head. “Unusual when we are going to discuss sensitive
business matters.”

“Maybe
we should go.” Peter took a step back.

“No!”
She raised her voice well above the noise in the restaurant. “I invited you.”

“Now
she remembers etiquette.” Ms. Hartford turned away.

Without
another word, Randolph motioned for everyone to follow the girl to the table.

Another
mistake. At last her heart gave up and simply fell, landing in her empty sick
stomach. Willow hung back with her husband. An apology didn’t seem appropriate,
but she needed to say something. “Randolph.”

“Let’s
just get through this.” He spoke through gritted teeth.

She
managed to get to the table and took the seat between Randolph and Elizabeth.

At
least once everyone took their spot, the mood lightened with small talk. Randolph
even ordered for her, and she sat back and sipped her wine, even though she
longed to chug from a bottle of vodka. At least Randolph could take over and
the disaster seemed diverted. Maybe she didn’t need hard liquor after all.