Caught Up in the Touch (7 page)

“What kind of trouble?”

“Drugs,” she said sotto voce. “They say that he went to juvie, but I don’t know for sure. He finished college, joined the army, deployed a couple of times. I only moved back for good last year after my daddy died and left me this monstrosity.” Sadness quivered the timbre of Lilliana’s voice.

“I’m sorry,” Jessica said softly.

Lilliana nodded, and they both took another sip. The silence between them was strangely comfortable. Lilliana drained her glass and got up for a refill, topping Jessica’s glass off again. A trickle of whiskey hit Jessica’s hand and dripped on her skirt before Lilliana directed the rest into the glass. “Oopsie. Sorry about that.”

They spent the next hour drinking and sharing stories about their difficult childhoods. Lilliana the product of divorced parents; Jessica the product of parents who should have divorced. With no undertones of competition, Jessica found comfort in the common ground.

Looping her legs over the opposite arm, Jessica shifted to snuggle into the wing of the chair. She took in the worn rug and the sagging couch, the sun-faded green velvet curtains and the peeling old-fashioned wallpaper. But the fireplace’s mantle and stonework were a showpiece, and an array of ornate, valuable antiques littered the room.

An interior decorator had taken care of every detail of her house in Richmond. She hadn’t had the time nor inclination to pour over designs. It was beautiful, yet this shabby mansion felt more like a home.

Lilliana popped off the couch like a prairie dog. “I’ve got an idea. Want to watch an old movie?”

Though Jessica was tired and buzzed, she wasn’t ready to be alone with her thoughts. “Let’s do it.”

Her eyes drifted closed watching Baby juggle her watermelons in
Dirty Dancing.
The credits were rolling when Lilliana’s hand shaking her shoulder woke her. “I’m not sure you had the time of your life, Jessica. You missed the best parts. Come on, beddy-bye time.”

They trudged up the stairs together, parting ways at the landing. In her room, Jessica stripped to her underwear, drank water from the bathroom faucet, and crawled into bed. The canopy spun in an oddly rhythmic dance to the throb at the base of her skull.

Tomorrow loomed in the back of her mind, and dread joined the tumultuous stew in her stomach. She dreamed of her father and Logan and her ma-maw’s magnolias in a mixed-up jumble of fear and longing and melancholy.

Chapter 5

Bright sunshine streamed through the windows, lighting a path of dust motes across the room. She huddled under the covers, and allowed herself to be mesmerized. Normally, the first thing she did upon waking was to grab her phone and check her emails.

Without that option, a sense of contentment she hadn’t felt since the last summer she’d spent with her ma-maw seeped through her bones, relaxing her into the soft mattress. She sifted through the memories of her ma-maw like a miser. Those brief weeks each summer had been a string of lazy, hot days filled with too much TV, books, and laughter.

Her thoughts strayed from the past to the present. Logan Wilde was more complicated than she’d imagined, and she wasn’t sure how to proceed. Intimidation, pressure, and manipulation were off the table. The man’s easygoing charm hid a core of steel. But maybe she could leverage his interest in the experimental kitchens into an acceptance. Perhaps he’d consent to work under the new director.

Her bladder set up an ever-increasing protest, and the scent of coffee snaking through the cracks around the door finally pulled her out of bed. Her mouth was cottony, and she followed the scent like a mouse after cheese.

Lilliana was on the phone, sitting at an old, scarred kitchen table with mismatched chairs. Jessica poured a mug of coffee and joined her.

Lilliana’s “uh-huhs” came at regular intervals. Finally, she said, “I have to go, Aunt Esmerelda. I have a paying guest who requires breakfast”—Lilliana winked at Jessica—“which means I won’t be at church this morning.” A pause. “If you’re worried about my soul, sing extra loud. Love you, bye now.”

Jessica sat up straighter. “I don’t want to keep you from anything, and you certainly don’t have to fix me breakfast.”

“Please. You’ve given me the perfect excuse. Anyway, it’s almost eleven, and I’m not even dressed. How’re you feeling this morning?”

Jessica whipped her head around searching for a clock. Bright-blue digital numbers on the microwave confirmed the time—10:55. “I can’t even remember the last time I slept in like this.”

“Even on a Sunday?”

“I hit the gym by six, and get in a few hours of work after that.”

“On a Sunday? Girl, you are crazy. Do you have a boyfriend or anything?”

“Not anymore. I lived with a guy I dated in grad school for a while, but it didn’t work out. I don’t really have anything else to do but work.”

Lilliana whistled on a sigh. “Sounds miserable.”

Jessica took a sip of her coffee and stared at the row of bikini-clad cows high-stepping across her mug.
Miserable.
Maybe so, but she was also responsible and the mere mention of work set her nerves on edge. “You mind if I check my emails?”

Lilliana waved toward the mudroom, which doubled as her office. “Go for it.”

She hadn’t checked in since she left Richmond Wednesday morning. Over a hundred emails littered her inbox, most of them unimportant. But there were half a dozen from her father. Defiant and ready for a fight, she’d told him of her plans to drive through southern Georgia. He’d tensed but made no comment, leaving her strangely disappointed.

His emails started late Friday afternoon. In each one, she could sense his frustration and impatience growing until she reached one dated an hour earlier.

CALL ME IMMEDIATELY!

If she’d been standing in front of him, no doubt he would have yelled at her, spittle flying. Her stomach bounced off the floor and into her throat like a rubber ball. Heat spread over her face and down her neck, prickling her skin. She backed out of the mudroom, staring at the screen as if it could physically attack her.

Her hand fell to her hip, tracing the raised scars through her silk robe like long lines of braille. Each one told a story. The first story began with her ma-maw’s death and her banishment to the prisonlike boarding school up north.

Home for Christmas break, she’d noted the dinner table bickering hadn’t eased during her absence. If anything, being back only provided another target for her parents. Caroline had certainly seemed relieved to share the burden, deflecting her parents’ ire to Jessica as often as possible. Disconnected with her old high school friends and without her ma-maw, Jessica felt unbearably lonely, yet a strange aggression grew in the isolation.

By the fifth night, she had wanted to scream and swipe her dishes to the floor. Instead, she’d retreated to her bathroom and debated on where to score her skin. One of the girls at school had crisscrossing scars on her left arm from wrist to elbow, begging for attention, but the last thing Jessica wanted was for someone else to see the cuts.

After considering several body parts, she’d settled on her left hip. Discrete yet easy to reach. Even in this, her logic had prevailed. Her first cut had been too deep and too long, the skin peeling apart, burning and throbbing, blood leaking all the way down her leg, spotting the woven pink bathroom rug crimson.

She’d leaned on the sink, trembling and heaving deep breaths, willing herself not to pass out. But, through the shock of what she’d done came overwhelming relief. Her stomach had unknotted and the urge to scream faded. Each beat of her heart drove poison from her body through the cut.

Standing in Lilliana’s kitchen, she felt a familiar scream building in her chest, but she’d gained other tools to deal with the urge to cut. Deep meditative breaths settled her stomach and loosened the clutch of her fingers on her hip.

In control, if not completely calm, she asked, “Can I use your phone, Lilliana?”

Unaware of Jessica’s internal turmoil, Lilliana held a mug between her hands and sipped coffee with her eyes closed. “Sure. On the charger.”

Jessica unplugged it and retreated to the living room. Punching in her father’s personal cell number, she waited, forcing her lungs to maintain a slow, steady rhythm. He answered as the first ring echoed in her ear.

“Who is this?”

“It’s Jessica.”

“Where the hell have you been? I called that damn hotel you booked, and you never checked in. I’ve been waiting for an update.”

The only reliable weapon against her father was sarcasm. “I’m fine, thanks. Not murdered or kidnapped or anything.”

“I thought you were a grown-ass adult who didn’t need worrying about. Isn’t that what you keeping harping on about? Have you gotten a signature on the contract?”

“Mr. Wilde is not interested in managing the Atlanta restaurant. He seems more inclined to consider an offer running the experimental kitchens.”

“Did you switch up the offer?”

“Told him I needed time.” She bit at her fingernail, drawing blood. “I promoted Roger Whittaker into that position less than six months ago.”

“Fire him.”

“He’s worked for Montgomery Industries almost twenty years. He’s excellent. Plus, he’s putting two kids through college.” Jessica had been the one who’d delivered the good news. Logan Wilde’s acceptance would mean her promotion and a good man’s firing.

“Fine. Demote him then. Logan Wilde is more important. If he wants the head job, it’s his. Roger will have to suck it up.”

A demotion was infinitely better than a firing, although she wasn’t sure Roger would see it that way. Her hand trembled around the phone as a conciliatory tone weakened her voice. “Mr. Wilde seems inclined to want to take his time. Plus, it will involve a substantial salary increase.”

A long beat of silence from the other end. Not good.

Her father’s voice was deceptively soothing. “Do I need to send someone else? Eric would love a shot at CFO. He’s got more experience than you do. Maybe this Wilde fellow would respect dealing with a man more.”

She took a deep breath. He was baiting her. That’s all. He wouldn’t give
her
job to butt-kisser Eric. “I told you, Mr. Wilde is interested. I’ll amend the contract—”

“Why haven’t you amended it already? I would expect you to pull an all-nighter if necessary.”

“Look, yesterday was crazy. My car had a coolant leak—”

“I told you not to buy that piece of crap car. My man at the dealership was ready to sell you a loaded Mercedes.”

“I’m not going through this again.” She rubbed her forehead and closed her eyes. “My car’s being fixed at a local garage.”

“Here comes the Golden Boy now.” A click sounded on his end and ambient noise transmitted. “Come say hello to Jessica, Eric. She still hasn’t closed the deal.”

“Are the two of you at the office?” she asked.

“We’re golfing at the club.”

Of course, they were. “Take me off speakerphone. Now.”

He either didn’t hear her or decided to ignore her. “How would you approach the situation with Wilde, Eric? Share your wisdom with Jessica.”

She snorted. Wisdom? All the man possessed was misplaced confidence and unrivaled ambition.

“If I were Jessica, I’d get something real pretty and real short. Get him distracted then whisper promises of fame and fortune in his ear. He’d sign.” Too-loud male laughter forced her to take the phone away from her ear. “But since I’m a man, I’d take him out and show him my Porsche and tell him he could buy one like it flat out with the signing bonus I’d offer.”

“Great idea, son. What do you think about that, Jessica?”

The temptation of a sleek, sexy Porsche might sway Logan. His decades-old truck sounded like it was dying a slow death. Indecision nipped at her confidence, devouring chunks. “I’m going to see him again today. I’ll call you later on the B&B’s phone. I don’t have service.”

Eric piped up. “Go buy one of those prepaid jobs. Surely, they have stores out there in the sticks. Dang, Jessica, put that Wharton degree to use.”

More male laughter. Instead of ballet, Jessica wished she’d taken karate. She imagined driving her foot into balding Eric’s paunch like Bruce Lee.

“If all else fails you can screw him.” Eric’s voice held the bravado of a pledging frat boy looking to impress.

“Go screw yourself, Eric,” she said through clenched teeth.

“That’s enough! Eric, grab my putter, and I’ll meet you on the green.” Her father’s voice held the bite of a disciplining parent.

I’m your child, not him,
she wanted to scream, yet she held her tongue.

Her father clicked the speakerphone off. “Get the contract signed. Make it happen, and we’ll talk about CFO. Otherwise…” The phone beeped, signaling the disconnect.

Jessica tapped the phone against her forehead, her chest and throat tight, making it difficult to get enough oxygen and forcing her heart to pump faster.

Lilliana stood at Jessica’s left shoulder, close enough that she should have sensed her, but hadn’t. She slipped the phone out of Jessica’s hands and replaced it with a fresh, steaming cup of coffee. “Black, right?”

Jessica nodded and followed Lilliana to the couch. “Thanks.”

“I take it that didn’t go well.”

“Nope.” Jessica leaned back against the thin cushion. She curled her shoulders inward and pressed a hand against her stomach. Between the hangover and the phone call, she felt like puking.

“What are you going to do?”

“Go to Adaline’s again tonight. Convince Logan that running the Montgomery Industries test kitchens is his dream job.”

Lilliana grimaced and shook her head. “It’s Sunday. Adaline’s closes after lunch until Wednesday, and if I know Logan Wilde, he’ll disappear into the woods as soon as possible.”

“Shoot.” Jessica put her coffee on the side table, ran to the foyer, and stood like a deer in headlights. She couldn’t barrel into a restaurant with bedhead and in her silk robe
and
reeking of alcohol. Yet, time and opportunity slipped through her fingers.

She took the stairs two and at a time and got into the shower before the water had the chance to fully heat. She pulled on a business-style gray skirt and blue silk blouse. She slapped on the minimum amount of makeup and hit her hair with a five-minute blast from the dryer. No longer pin straight, her natural wave encroached. She pulled at her bangs and cursed the disheveled mess.