Old Dogs, New Truths
Autore
Tara Taylor Quinn
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19
Chapter One
“We’re set to go?” Lindsay Warren-Smythe, heiress and charity chief fundraising officer—aka Lindsay Warren, bohemian artist—couldn’t help the nervous smile that trembled on her lips. Nor the jump in her heart rate as her friend of many years, Sierra’s Web expert lawyer Savannah Compton, met her look with a compassionate gaze—and a nod.
Seated at a secluded table on the outdoor terrace of a private club overlooking a meticulously maintained golf course, the Phoenix valley and the gorgeous mountains beyond, Savannah slid a manila envelope across the expanse between them. “It’s all there.
“The apartment is being rented through your Lindsay Warren, LLC.” Savannah’s words twisted the knot further in Lindsay’s stomach. “It’s small, one bedroom, outdoor entrance, second floor so you’ll have to walk up a set of cement stairs to get to it. Your key’s in there.”
Lindsay looked at the big bulky envelope. Didn’t touch it.
“You submitted a job application at Elite Paper using your Lindsay Warren email, with a link to your website and online shop, and have an interview at the home office in Shelter Valley this afternoon. Your apartment’s about a mile from the office. Elite Paper has the entire second floor of a building adjacent to the university. The town itself is small, an hour or so drive from here.”
Listening, absorbing every word, Lindsay couldn’t slow the flutters in her stomach.
“We purchased an old, but clean, sedan for you. It’s light yellow to fit Lindsay Warren’s nature. Has a handmade Navajo dream catcher hanging from the rearview mirror. It’s parked outside, back of the lot, west corner. The keys are in there.” Without breaking eye contact, Savannah nodded toward the envelope on the table.
Almost as though she knew that if she looked away, Lindsay would get up and run.
She could leave anytime. She was a free agent.
A wealthy free agent.
If money counted as wealth.
Savannah and her partners at Sierra’s Web were officially working for Lindsay. At Lindsay’s expense.
The reminder did nothing to calm her nerves.
“You’ll be meeting with Chief of Personnel Cole Bennet this afternoon. He’s a big guy, six-three, red hair. Nice man.”
Yada, yada, yada. Cole Bennet was a means to an end. He could be a total jerk as long as he gave her the job.
Odd though, that the head of Elite Paper had hired what sounded like a bodyguard type for an employee relations position. Was that because one had something to hide? And needed protection in every aspect of his life? Watching his back?
Fit the profile of a guy hiding from a previous life.
“You sure you want to do this?” Savannah’s soft, warm tone lost all professionalism, her brown eyes pools of compassion. “We can make all of this disappear as easily as we set it up,” she continued.
Lindsay didn’t shake her head.
She didn’t nod, either.
Her offhand, half joke to Savannah, months before at a charitable function Lindsay had been hosting, had snowballed and was changing her entire life.
Even if she gave back the envelope and retreated to her lovely home on the beach in La Jolla.
She’d never thought Sierra’s Web would actually find her father. Or, if they had, the irresponsible, heartless louse would be either in prison or dead.
He wouldn’t be the owner of a company that was known for the artistic quality of the greeting cards, card stock and wrapping papers they produced.
The job she’d be interviewing for was one she’d have jumped at when she’d graduated college. Right up her alley.
If not for the grandparents who’d raised her.
They forbade any hint of her bohemian artist soul to emerge into the air.
“You change your mind?” Savannah’s gentle question held no judgment.
“I’ve got a great life,” she said then, looking her friend of five years in the eye. “I’m really good at what I do...”
“The best,” Savannah told her. “Sierra’s Web would love to have you on staff.”
“I’m keeping several really important California-based national charities afloat,” she said, more for her own edification than in response to the expert lawyer. “I love that I can do that.”
Savannah’s nod was accompanied by a smile as she said, “I know.” An open-ended offer to Lindsay to work at Sierra’s Web had come at the close of the first job Sierra’s Web had done for Lindsay. Savannah had successfully defended Amanda’s Army—an LA-based charity that donated to children’s hospitals—from a tax fraud charge that had been wrongfully brought. Lindsay’s fundraising skills had been under excruciating investigation not only by the prosecutor, but by Sierra’s Web experts as well. In the end, she’d come out as completely compliant with the law, innovative and highly gifted at her job. Savannah had talked about charities all over the country that could benefit from her efforts.
Problem was, she was still Grace and William Warren-Smythe’s only living offspring, and a grandchild at that. She’d been raised with an intense sense of obligation to the city and state, and to the people who’d raised her.
Her grandparents were fond of Savannah. On more than one occasion, they had hired Winchester Holmes, the Sierra’s Web finance expert, to oversee particularly complicated investments. But they’d never ever, in a million lifetimes, approve of Lindsay deserting her full-time work for carefully chosen charities to pop in and out of hundreds all over the country. And the manila envelope on that table—would devastate them.
As would the work Sierra’s Web had done to put it there.
“You want to know what we found out about him? Other than that he’s the owner of Elite Paper Company and lives in Shelter Valley, Arizona?”
Lindsay had yet to give a yay or nay to Savannah’s previous question, about going ahead or nixing the whole plan.
And her friend, expert lawyer that she was, was giving Lindsay a nudge to get to the answer. She’d seen Savannah in action enough to know that much.
Lindsay played along, nodding. She wouldn’t be in Phoenix, sitting at that table, if there wasn’t a need deep inside, driving her.
“He’s married. Has been for twenty-five years, to the same woman. They have three kids. Two boys and a girl, ranging in age from eleven to fifteen.”
At least he’d married one woman he’d knocked up.
She had three half siblings!
Nice of him to give them his legitimacy. His time.
Two brothers and a sister!
Who’d grown up with a father.
Thoughts chased over themselves, nobody winning.
“The public financials of Elite Paper are impressive,” Savannah dropped into the middle of Lindsay’s silent war. “Winchester’s report is in there, but he said to tell you that Brent Wilson appears to be a man who puts quality over making money. He could easily be a billionaire, but spends so much on high-end machinery and materials, on employee benefits, that he’s only worth millions. Since Elite Paper is a privately held company, he can get away with it.”
Brent Wilson.
The man who’d fathered her.
And then abandoned her mother. Driving the woman to seek solace from her broken heart in the form of the fancy, expensive and very illegal drugs that had killed her...
“You said you never got the whole truth about what happened between your mom and dad...” Savannah’s soft words floated on the artificially cooled air blowing from discreetly set air conditioners in the guise of planters around them.
“My mother died of an overdose before my first birthday. And you know Mimi and Papa. They think it’s a futile course of action to dwell on the past. Other than regaling me with every picture, every memory of her they had before she met my father, of course.”
Poor little rich girl. The image popped up to taunt her. Sitting outside in hundred-degree heat, blissfully cool, surrounded by hanging, gloriously colorful plants on an elegant balcony that overlooked one of the nation’s most beautiful cities.
As Savannah motioned for refills of the prickly pear iced tea they’d both ordered, Lindsay picked up the envelope in front of her. Pulled a pen out of the big colorful cloth shoulder bag she’d purchased a few years back, but only carried on those rare occasions when she was far away from home, attending a gathering as Lindsay Warren.
Before she realized what she was doing, she had a broken heart—half darkened, half outline only—drawn with shading and raw edges, taking up the center of the envelope.
“You’re a fantastic businesswoman, Lins. A wonderful, attentive granddaughter, a loyal friend to so many. And look at you. Half of your heart is dark.”
Savannah’s words, barely above a whisper, hit her like a tsunami. She jerked back. Looked at her drawing, and then up at her friend.
“Think of how much more you’d have to give to them all if you could live with full lights shining.”
She nodded.
Acknowledged to herself that she’d been stalling because she hadn’t been able to back out. Savannah’s closing argument had given the Warren-Smythe part of her permission to pick up that envelope. Open it.
And take out the keys to the rest of her life.
“Seriously, Nicky? You and Josh want me to be his godfather? What about Dane?” Sitting in his second-story, fully windowed corner office, Cole Bennet stared at the perimeter of elegant mountains surrounding Shelter Valley, grinning from ear to ear, even as he named Josh’s best friend.
“Josh says he wants you, too. His sister is going to be godmother.” And he got it. He was Nicky’s pick. Her best friend.
Also, her ex-fiancé, but that was all in the past.
While leaving him at the altar hadn’t been her best move, he’d grown to understand how right she’d been to call off the wedding. She’d loved him so much she hadn’t wanted to lose him, but couldn’t bring herself to tell him that she hadn’t been in love with him.
The story of his big, extra ten pounds overweight, red-headed life.
But he’d learned over the years, most particularly when he’d been so genuinely happy for his friend at her wedding, that while he adored her, he hadn’t been in love with her, either.
He’d been thrilled to have a real girlfriend. To have the prospect of a wife—and a family down the road. He’d loved Nicky as a friend.
Still did.
Just as he was already half in love with the kid she was carrying. “Then, of course, I’m his godfather,” he said, still smiling. “I’m going to teach that kid how to be friends with women,” he said. “Real friends, not just as a way to get in their pants.”
Her burst of laughter made him chuckle, too.
“You might want to wait a year or two before introducing the whole birds and bees thing,” she said, and gave him the rundown from her most recent doctor’s appointment. Still with three months to go, Nicky was reveling in every moment of the event she’d been waiting for her entire life. While some of the details blurred on him a bit, he was happy to hear her happiness.
And would have listened to her gab on endlessly, if not for the upcoming appointment staring at him from the daily event calendar his assistant had placed on his desk first thing that morning.
Lindsay Warren. Visual Artist. Whose work included pieces using dried flowers instead of paint to create landscapes. Jewelry pieces she made herself. Original paintings—mostly of flowers in random places, like growing between the cracks in a sidewalk.
And exquisite greeting cards.
The latter had his attention.
He’d already been all over her shop on one of the top artisan-selling apps.
Everything shipped from California.
He’d need her to relocate. Couldn’t imagine, with her talent, inventory and Southern California address, she’d have any desire to do so. Their job listing had been for a contracted position, not an actual employee, but the position was full-time and had to be in-house. She’d have to give up a lot of her own work.
Those were the things keeping her off the top of his list. While Elite Paper would benefit greatly from her level of ability and experience, he’d all but decided on hiring the young man he’d seen the day before, a Montford University graduate. With the small but elite university being right there in town, Victor had already done a residency with Elite and could start immediately. Cole just had this one last interview to get through before finalizing the deal.
His conversation with Nicky still filling him with smiles, he was ready when Ms. Lindsay Warren was shown into his office.
And immediately sobered. In her long black skirt—made out of what looked like thin T-shirt material—with a black-and-white lace and tie-dyed flowing tank-style top and three-inch-high flip-flops with lots of silver glitz on the straps, she was...stunning.
The long blond hair that flowed around her shoulders, the perfectly shaped body and smiling lips beneath big brown eyes...
He was on overload.
For a geeky-looking guy like him, it might have been a standard reaction, but Cole had spent his life around beautiful women. Nicky had won a swimsuit modeling contract right out of high school. Beautiful women gravitated to him for support when their boyfriends or lovers behaved in ways that were insensitive, that hurt them. Looking to him for male insight. And a way to help make situations better.
Lucky for both him and them, he generally could.
“Is something wrong?” Her voice was like a melody, and Cole stood.
Felt his body towering over her, his slight paunch visible above the leather belt keeping his dress pants in place. He adjusted his tie, using it to cover the distention. And sat back down.
“Lindsay?” he asked, stupidly as it turned out, since she’d already been announced.
“Yes, I’m sorry I’m early—I just... I really want this job.” She was nervous.
Immensely so.
Which brought Cole back from whatever weird universe her arrival had plopped him in. “No worries,” he told her. “I was just going over your file. It’s more than impressive.” He knew how to put people at ease.
With complete sincerity. Nothing he’d have to walk back later.
The combination served him well. At work. And in life.
Just noticing the portfolio she’d carried in with her as she pulled it up to open it on the back of an armchair, he invited her to have a seat. To use his desk. Smiled at her. “I’m eager to see your work,” he told her, leaning forward to help her balance the portfolio as she unzipped it. “Even virtually I can tell it pops.”
So much so, he’d wanted to meet her. Even knowing that he probably wasn’t going to be able to hire her. The open position had come available with no warning right before delivery dates for holiday material. Meaning he had to fill it immediately. He had no time for relocation to happen, even if she agreed to the position once she knew the details.
He’d been most intrigued by her landscapes entirely “painted” with dried florals, but knew there’d be no reason for her to have loaded those up in that leather binding for him to see. Were he a museum curator, and art show arranger, then certainly, but...
“Oh, these are fantastic,” he blurted, breaking into his own thoughts as he picked up the two greeting cards she’d laid down first. Both depicting Christmas trees—made completely out of dried florals. He asked if he could take a photo of them, to show Brent Wilson, the owner of Elite Paper Company.
“I know that Elite doesn’t have the capacity to use this medium, but you could get the same effect with the resins you already use. I know Elite uses plant-based, not synthetic,” she added, after giving him permission to photograph her work. And then, sitting in the chair across from his desk—on the edge of the chair—she chewed on her bottom lip, glancing from the total of ten cards, in various paint and pen mediums, she’d laid out before him. Then looking up at his face, and back down.
Working for a man committed to quality first, Cole knew the best when he saw it. Was trying to wrangle a plan that would allow him to overwork a few people until she could come on board.
Which went totally against his personal, as well as company, policies. People came first.
Always.
But the nervous woman sitting across from him obviously fit that designation, too.
“The position is full-time, and requires you to work from our offices here, in the design studio located on the opposite wing of this floor.”
He had to put an end to the interview before he led her on. Or made an offer he couldn’t keep.
“That’s fine. I’ve already rented a place temporarily. In case I get the job.”
Was this woman for real?
“Is there any possibility you could start right away?”
“As in now? This afternoon?” She hadn’t balked. At all.
The stars were aligned, as Nicky would say.
He grinned. “Tomorrow would be soon enough,” he half joked at the audacity of his request. “We’d start with me taking you to tour the production plant in Phoenix in the morning, so you could get a feel for how your designs will be implemented. Then you could familiarize yourself with the art studio here. Every artist has their own space off of a central area that houses the larger design tables, cutters and walls of supply cabinets filled with glues and embellishments, for the card design part of it all. Your office comes equipped with your own smaller drawing board.”
He was rambling like a schoolboy. Or felt like one.
Talking as though he’d hired her. When he’d practically given the job to someone else.
“Starting tomorrow would be great,” she said then, standing as she started collecting her cards and placing them carefully back into her portfolio. “That gives me the afternoon to get moved into my apartment.”
While he stood there grinning and nodding big, even for him, she named her new address. About a mile away from where they stood.
One of the town’s most modest apartment complexes. Its only big complex. Filled mostly with college seniors and graduate students who no longer had dorms on campus.
“We haven’t discussed terms,” he told her, confused as to why she didn’t seem to care about money or benefits at all. In his five years in his current position, he’d never met anyone even a little bit like this woman.
She seemed to ooze emotion, but didn’t appear to care about the things that generally mattered most to the people he served. Many starving artists had found permanent, affluent homes at Elite Paper Company.
“Oh, right.” Stopping with her hand on the zipper of her portfolio, she bit her bottom lip again. Clearly uncomfortable.
Which put Cole right back on track. Easing the discomfort. He named the top end of the generous salary range that had been posted for the position. Rattled off the list of benefits that came with the money. And then, having been faced before with talented people who hadn’t yet been paid for their craft, he said, “If you need a retainer, we can head down to HR right now, get your paperwork done and I’ll approve whatever you need, up to a two-week pay period.”
“Oh!” Gathering her things quickly, she practically ran for the door. “That’s okay. I’m good. I just...this was so...easy. I got the job?”
Yeah, he was definitely off his mark with her. Way off. “You got the job.”
She blinked. Frowned. Then her expression flattened into blankness. “Well, good then. If you tell me how to get to HR, I’ll go ahead and get that part done.”
He walked her down, instead. Something he always did with new hires. But then he hung around, making excuses to do so, keeping an eye on her process at the desk in the far corner. Staying present until everything was signed and finalized.
Which was something he’d never done before.
