On The Dotted Line (23 page)

“Willow?”

“My
mother died right before I turned ten. It was a car accident. They wouldn’t
even let me into the hospital room, but Nan held me and said it didn’t matter,
she wasn’t there anymore anyway and couldn’t see me.” She rifled through the
documents and handed him her mother’s death certificate and her birth
certificate.

He
carefully unfolded the papers, running his fingers over the official seals. “How
did you end up with her?” His voice lost both its sharp slant and its teasing tone.
The game ended.

“Nan
promised my mother to take care of me, but it was never in writing. I had
nowhere to go and she swore not to leave me, so we sort of disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

For
the first time, she rendered the man nearly speechless. “No school, no home, no
history. Though Nan tried to make it magical and tell me we lived like spirits
flitting from one thing to another, it was more like we didn’t exist.”

“That’s
why I couldn’t find you.” He stared down at the papers.

“When
you tiptoe around the edges and never truly settle down in one place it’s easy
not to be found. If you don’t have an address, no one can come take you away. Where
would they look?”

He
rifled through her items strewn on the floor. “How did you survive like that?”

“Nan
taught me. People liked getting tarot readings and such from the young girl
with intuition.” She watched him put the things into his predetermined groups,
makeup, papers, change, a ball of yarn and a crochet hook, and her little
treasures, some rocks and a few twigs.

“How
did your mother and Nan meet?” He lifted a little photo album. “May I?”

She
opened the book for him and showed him the few pictures she had of her past. “They
were best friends. I don’t really remember a time where Nan wasn’t there.” She
stopped at a picture of her mother and Nan on the beach.

“You
look like your mother.” He brought the book closer to his face. “Nan is
different.”

She
smiled at the photo of Nan in a bikini. Since she was with the woman every day
she didn’t see the metamorphosis. One second Nan was teaching a twelve-year-old
how to gaze into crystal balls, the next taking naps and complaining of jet
lag. “It’s strange how time changes things and people.”

“It
is, sometimes I walk into my office at work and wonder how I got there. I
turned into the person I used to watch and say I would never be that person.” He
opened her new bag and slid the photo album inside. “What did you want to be?”

“I
don’t know.” She faced him, the firelight lit up his already gorgeous features.
For the man with the finish line always in sight, not having a goal in mind had
to be a foreign concept. “Nan always wanted to own a metaphysical shop, and I
swore I would make it happen.” If it hadn’t been for Jade’s kindness she wouldn’t
have succeeded. Yet another person she needed to come clean with, and be real.

“What
did you want?” He put the bag down and turned to her.

“A
mattress.” She looked down at the rug. No matter where they settled for a time,
the beds always seemed wrong, worn and used. Not a serene place for rest, only
a place to sleep before moving on. “One area I could return to every night and
sink in the sheets and know it was mine.” Until Nan taught her to never be
afraid of what she couldn’t see, she used to stare out the window terrified of
every shadow.

“Oh
my God.”

“You
were right when you said ink was sacred and things should be put in writing. I
never wanted to believe that until you.” Refusing to see his pity or disgust,
she was grateful for the tears clouding her eyes. She remembered the day she finally
got a bank account and her name was printed on something without the fear she
would be swiped away from her only family.

“Willow.”
Again, he gathered her up in his arms.

She
shut her eyes and pressed her face into his shoulder, breathing in the scent
that would forever be him. Except for Nan, her Mother, and Jade, he was the
longest relationship she ever allowed herself to have.

“Why
wouldn’t you tell me until now?” He combed his fingers through her hair.

She
shrugged.

“That’s
not an answer.”

After
taking a minute to breathe, she lifted her face to his. “I didn’t want you to
know you bought a basically homeless, uneducated woman into your life.” Along
with not being a wife, it seemed as if she wasn’t holding up her end of the
deal. Especially for what he paid.

“Correction,
I
brought
you into my life.” He gazed into her eyes. “Do you hear me? I
brought
Willow into my life.”

“Only
because I was the last person available.”

“Then
the fates saved the best for last. You were a limited edition.”

She
pressed her lips together not wanting to say that if the fates brought them
together, maybe they needed more than a year to see what happened once he
reached his goal. Her throat dried out at the admission. She wanted to be with
her husband, the man who brought Willow into his life, not the wandering weed
with no roots. “Randolph?”

“What
is it, Mrs. Van Ayers?” He gave her one of those smiles and returned to
arranging her handbag. “Tell me what I can do for my wife?”

She
lost herself in watching him. How did she tell him what she wanted? “I want my
calendar back.”

“Look,
everything has a place and there is still room for the calendar.” He closed the
bag and presented her with his handiwork. “We will get through the year and
then we won’t need it anymore.”

Yes,
one thing about her husband was when he set his mind to a goal he went after it
full force. Everything had a place. She had a place in his life, and even if
she wanted it to change, it wouldn’t happen until he won. All her life she
lived in limbo. She needed to wait until he reached the end, but at least he
knew the person he would cross the finish line with.

Randolph
stared down at his desk and rubbed his tight, aching neck. Actually, he didn’t
know where his desk disappeared to, but he assumed it had to be somewhere under
the stacks of file folders.

While
he rang in his second and more traditional New Year resolving to spend more
time with his wife, Ms. Hartford must have resolved to invest in any
opportunity the new year brought her. At the moment he and his father were
playing tug-o-war with their employees, which left him, Peter and Mrs. Avery to
pick up the slack.

The
Hartfords business would net them an amazing profit.

There
was only one major downside.

He
was failing miserably keeping his resolution. Since his talk with his wife,
things changed and he liked the new Willow. Liked her a lot.

His
neck seized once more when he caught sight of yet more emails flooding his inbox.
The muscles cried out in protest of him sitting in the same position for hours.
For once, he wanted to get home with enough time to take Willow somewhere. Do
more than kiss her hello, eat a quick bite, work some more and go to bed.

Wait.
The going to bed part was non-negotiable. In fact, it was his favorite part of
the day, or night. Since Vermont, going to bed did not mean sleeping right
away.

A
smile crept over his face at the memory of last night. Willow had been
especially happy to have him home. He glanced at his watch. Maybe he could
sneak out for a quickie. As Willow would say, he needed the release and she was
adamant that making love was therapeutic. No one would deny he needed therapy.

With
his resolve set, he no sooner stood than he was interrupted by a knock at the
door. A quick scan around his office told him there was nowhere to hide. “Come
in?” He winced.

The
door opened and both Peter and Mrs. Avery charged inside carrying papers, more
papers.

He
tried the assumptive close. “I was just about to go home for lunch.”

“There
are some more files for you to review.” Mrs. Avery shook her head and managed
to slide over one stack of files folders to make room for another. “We also
need you to draft that proposal.”

“I’m
hungry.” His tactic changed to whining.

Mrs.
Avery pointed to his chair. “Do you want me to call you in something before I
leave for the day?”

“You
can’t order what I want.” He returned to his seat and put his head in his hand.
“Please don’t leave.”

“I
have a doctor appointment, you will live. You have Peter.” She patted his head and
without even offering him a mint, left.

He
watched her go and averted his attention to Peter.

“Guess
who called me today?” Peter sat across from him.

The
law of deduction would tell him not Elizabeth. His relationship was much
stronger than Peter’s. Relationship? His mind wandered as he pondered the word.
Yes, he and Willow were in a relationship, they were married. Of course
everyone had a relationship to one another, but were they
in
a
relationship in addition to the way he threw them together? He already
established that he would have dated her, he couldn’t wait to see her, he
thought about her. How did she feel?

“Hello.”
Peter waved his hand.

Randolph
blinked and refocused. Damn, he wished he had the time to go home or by Willow’s
shop. “Who called you?”

“Slate.”

“What?”
Peter didn’t appreciate art. Willow did. She appreciated everything. Again his
thoughts went off in another direction. She kept asking what happened after the
year was out, and now he wanted to know as well. Would they date after their
marriage ended? His throat constricted and he stood.

“What
is wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”
He pulled out his cell phone, resumed his seat and glanced at his messages. Willow
rarely initiated text messaging, she seemed exasperated by the whole idea of
her cell phone, but she always replied. “Why did Slate call?”

“He
says you’ve been putting him off about his co-op and thought you had something
for him.”

Randolph
stared straight ahead. The co-op. He froze, his neck muscles stretched to the
point of breaking at his recollection. The last he remembered he needed some
signatures. “I need you to do something for me.”

“That
is why I am called your personal assistant.”

He
opened a drawer and found the co-op file along with a piece of stationery and
an envelope. “Please go to the gallery and have Slate sign these documents so I
can run some reports.” He found a pen and quickly jotted a note to Willow
asking her to dinner that evening. Perhaps a more old-fashioned mode of
communication was in order and he was on a quest for yet more answers from his
wife, but not about her past. He put the note in the envelope and wrote her
name on it. “While you are on that block will you please hand deliver this to
my wife?”

Peter
took the folder and the notes. “Would you like me to spray some cologne on it
too?”

“Go.”
He pointed toward the door, hitting a pile of the folders. The pile gave him a
courtesy teeter, enough time for him to react.

Instinct
took over and he jumped to save the stack, but only succeeded in knocking it
over and ended up showering the room in manila folders and scattered papers.

“Oh
holy hell!” Peter got down on his knees, crumpling several of the documents.

“Don’t
touch it.” Randolph pressed his fingers into his temple and took in the
disaster. Peter would only make it worse. “Just go and forget the letter to
Willow. Just go.”

Without
saying another word, Peter put the letter on the top of the mess and tiptoed out,
shutting the door behind him.

He
slumped down in his seat and gazed at the picture of his wife. No dinner, no
talking, no bed. Instead, he would be here for the duration. The mishap no
doubt added hours to his workload.

A
light rap at the door interrupted his self-loathing. All he needed was a visit
from his father or the garbage man. “What!”

The
door opened.

“Randolph?”
A golden glow entered his office in the form of one Willow Van Ayers holding a
basket in one hand and her handbag over her shoulder.

He
exhaled, his body weak with relief or some emotion he didn’t know quite how to
describe. “Willow?” Maybe the power of wishful thinking did work and the energy
she always spoke of called her to him. He straightened up.

“Don’t
move.” She walked around the papers.

He
remained perfectly still.

“The
vibes through here are off the wall.” In a figure hugging wrap dress with a
geometric pattern and the necklace he bought her, she waded her way through the
war zone to him.

“Be
careful.” He took her hand and pulled her to him.

“What’s
wrong?”

“Now
it’s getting better.” He put his hand in the curve of her waist, leaned in and
kissed her.

“Don’t
lie to me.” The bangles around her wrist made a satisfying click as she lifted
her arm and pressed the back of her hand to his cheek.

He
swore the woman was psychic. “I’m a little stressed out.”

“I
can fix it.” She pushed him back into his chair and put her basket on the one
clean spot of his desk. “First, you need to eat.”

“I
am starving.” He gazed up at her. The sunlight danced over her features. For
the first time since he walked into his office, he took a breath.

“Then
it’s a good thing I brought food.” She let out a light chuckle and handed him a
bowl and a fork.

The
aroma of spice filled the air. Unfamiliar spice. “What did you get?” He took
hold of the white china bowl and peered inside. The mish mosh of food seemed
mixed up and…he tried to think of the right word. Well, it seemed healthy. Mess
of papers or not, maybe he should be a man and treat Willow to lunch at the
nice five-star restaurant in the next building over.

“It’s
mixed vegetables and grilled organic free-range chicken on a bed of kale and
quinoa with cumin and turmeric and other Moroccan spices, and I topped it with
some currants to give it a little sweetness.” She held out a fork.

“You
topped it?” If she topped it, she may have done more than pick his meal up at a
restaurant.

“Oh
there was the most amazing farmer’s market and I saw those vegetables. They
looked like they belonged on the cover of a cookbook, so I bought them, and
then I did something I never did before.” Her voice vibrated with excitement.

“Tell
me.”

She
put a bottle of water down on his desk and walked over to the papers strewn
about on the floor. Without even asking she started picking them up. “I went
back to the house and Chef and everyone let me have the kitchen so I could cook
for you.”

Holy
Mother of God, she had made a meal for him. He was quite certain his mother
never made his father anything beyond an olive for his martini. Hell, he would
put money on the fact Elizabeth never made Peter anything. Even if it took his
last ounce of strength, he would get down every bite. He stabbed some of the
healthy goodness with his fork. “How did you get to the house?”

With
grace and smooth movements, she continued with the little task she deemed her. “I
took a bus and then walked up the hill.”

The
vision of Willow taking the bus through Los Angeles made his hunger wane. “Why
didn’t you call Dimitri?” If he found out their Head of Staff didn’t drive her
here he swore he would make the man eat all of food in his bowl and any
leftovers.

“I
didn’t want to bother him, but he drove me to your office. Insisted on it. Even
made me sit in the back seat.” She put the papers and file folders in a neat
pile on a chair and returned to him, leaning back on the desk. “You’re not
eating.”

With
no choice, he put the fork in his mouth. Rather than the strange textures and
weird combinations he anticipated, a flurry of flavor cascaded over his tongue.
Spicy sweet and plenty of bite, the dish was refreshing rather than repulsive
and he nodded. “This is quite good.” He took some more.

“I’m
glad you like it.” She walked behind him.

To
top her treats, she massaged his neck.

Her
fingers pressed in all the right places. Tight, sore muscles gave way
underneath her touch. He leaned his head forward, basking in the way she tended
to him, in the way she sauntered around his office taking over like a…like a
wife. “Willow?”

“Shh.”
She slid her hands to his shoulders. “Try to relax. I’ve been worried about
you.”

He
put the bowl aside and closed his eyes. How did she know exactly what he
needed? No one ever worried about him. “Why?”

She
continued to work over his shoulders, his arms and back up to his neck. “You’ve
been working way too much.”

He
wanted a real answer, one not recycled about every banker on the planet. If anyone
in investments was any good, he or she was also working too much. “How do know
how much I’m supposed to work?”

In
a surprise move, she bent down to his ear. “I’m your wife, I know.”

An
amazing shiver ran through him at her voice brushing against his ear. For the
first time she actually referred to herself as his wife. He grabbed her hands. “Since
you’re my wife, what else do you know?”

“That
you may need more than food on your lunch break.”

His
body reacted instantly to her teasing tone. Without waiting one second, he pulled
her over onto his lap and chose to sample something even more delectable.

Their
mouths melded together, their lips and tongues working in unison to tempt and
taunt the other.

A
small coo escaped her throat and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

He
held her tight and ran one hand down her arm and cupped her breast, his thumb
grazed her tight nipple.

She
squirmed and deepened the kiss.

After
tending to her other breast, he skimmed his hand down her body until he found
her bare knee.

His
erection swelled and he lifted his hips, grinding into her. “What else do I
need?” He spoke into her open mouth.

She
connected their lips once more and without a word answered by lifting her knee.

“Oh,
God.” He toyed with her mouth and inched his hand up her thigh, stopping short.

“Don’t
stop.” She tangled her fingers in the knot of his tie. While she once struggled
with unknotting the accessory, now she managed to perform the action with ease.

He
pulled back and looked into her eyes, the blue as incredible as the first time
he saw her. “Do I turn you on?”

Before
reaching his goal, she caught his wrist. Without breaking eye contact, she untied
the bow on the front of her dress. The garment fell open, revealing his
gorgeous wife. “I think you know the answer to that.”