Her Sexy Valentine (8 page)

Someone was shaking Carol by the shoulder.

“Carol…wake up. Carol?”

Gabrielle Pope was back. Carol opened her eyes, and winced at the obligatory pain in her head. “You again?”

Gabrielle nodded. “I'm afraid so.”

“Why are you involved in my hallucinations?”

“You have to ask yourself that.”

Carol pressed her lips together. She'd have to give it some thought…when she was actually conscious.

“Can you sit up?”

“Unless this bump on the head was worse than the last one.” Carol pushed up to a sitting
position, then lifted her hand to her head, where a goose egg had formed. “At least it's on the other side.”

“Hm,” Gabrielle said. “The fact that the bump is on the other side might mean something.”

“What?”

“I have no idea…but you probably do.”

“Don't confuse the unconscious girl,” Carol said. “Why is this even happening to me?”

“Good question. Some people who suffer an emotional setback bury the memory instead of dealing with it. Once it begins to affect a person's present behavior and relationships, they might choose to see a therapist.”

“Or join a book club,” Carol offered.

“Yes. But the mind can only deal with so much stress before it has to find a release valve.”

“Ergo these little blackouts?”

“Maybe,” Gabrielle agreed. “If a person is afraid to process a memory, recalling that memory in a dream or under hypnosis is much safer.”

“Like my memory of how James dumped me.”

“Right. Similarly, if a person is afraid to try something new, visualization, dreams and hallucinations are a safe way to explore new experiences.”

“Like a possible relationship with Luke?”

“Yes.”

“What do you have for me today?” Carol asked, gesturing to the monitor lying in the floor on its side.

“A look at Valentine's Day Present—tomorrow, in fact.”

Carol watched as the monitor blinked on, then zoomed in on a man stopping at a florist to get a dozen roses.

“That's Luke,” Carol said.

On screen, he was knuckle-biting handsome in a dark suit and a light-colored shirt, with a tie.

“Considering how much he hates ties, he must be excited about his date,” she offered.

“Wait and see,” Gabrielle said.

Carol's heart thudded in her chest…would
she be Luke's date? If not, why would Gabrielle be showing her the vision?

Luke walked out with a dozen white roses.

“Nice,” Carol agreed. White would've been her choice, too.

The next scene showed Luke driving up to a restaurant and handing his keys to a valet.

“He's at Richardson's,” Carol said happily. “That's my favorite restaurant.”

Luke got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side to open the door. A woman's legs appeared, then she alighted with Luke's assistance and smiled up at him.

“That's not me,” Carol said of the gorgeous, busty blonde.

“I noticed,” Gabrielle said drily.

“I don't recognize her, so she's not from the office.”

“Let's see,” Gabrielle said, turning up the volume.

Luke and the blonde chatted as they entered the restaurant.

“I guess it was my lucky day when I decided to go with my friend to the Steeplechase,” the
woman gushed. “I never dreamed I'd meet someone like you, Luke.”

She leaned in for a kiss and Luke obliged. He seemed attentive, but Carol noticed he had the same look in his eyes as when he was bored in a staff meeting. Still, the blonde looked as if she would be able to keep him entertained after they got past the niceties. A stab of jealousy caught Carol off guard…and she didn't like the feeling. One of the reasons she hadn't dated after James was because she didn't want to be a suspicious, jealous shrew, to make the new man in her life pay for the sins of her ex.

The scene faded and Carol thought they were finished, but then another scene opened onto the interior of a house, and zoomed in on a woman sitting tucked into a corner of a couch, wearing flannel pajamas.

“That's me,” Carol said, making a face. Did those pajamas really look so old and ratty?

“Yes,” Gabrielle said to her unasked question.

Carol frowned, then looked back to the monitor. She was holding a big bowl of popcorn in her lap. On the table next to her sat a two-liter
bottle of diet soda with a giant straw. And next to the soda was the home edition of
Wheel of Fortune
. When the frame pulled back, the show
Wheel of Fortune
was also playing on the television.

Carol's cheeks burned. “It's an educational show,” she murmured. Then she looked up. “I get the point.”

“I hope so,” Gabrielle said. “Because it's time for you to go.”

“I know,” Carol said, pointing to her suit—the one she'd put on Friday morning and the one she felt as if she'd lived in for a week. “I have a meeting.” She stood, righted her clothes, and tossed a few extra things into her briefcase, just in case. Then she walked to the door of the storage room and let herself out in the hall, now more confused than ever. Gabrielle had tried to convince her that her hallucinations had some kind of meaning…but what if they were just a jumble of stored memories and random thoughts?

As she approached the elevator, she noticed that once again, preparations were underway for the afternoon party.

Carol winced. Not again.

Red decorations of cupids and hearts abounded. Blowups of some of the company's Valentine's Day cards leaned against the wall, including the “take no prisoners” card she'd seen on her assistant's desk. Cupid was still just as menacing at life-size.

Your best strategy is to surrender.

The volunteers exchanged eye rolls when she walked by. Apparently everyone still hated her. It was, it seemed, the one thing she could count on.

On the elevator ride up to her floor, Carol lifted one hand in a fist then the other, to make sure they matched, then she stood on one foot at a time.

“Are you okay?”

Mortified, Carol realized she'd performed the exercises in front of an elevator full of her coworkers.

“Fine,” she murmured, but secretly wondered if she'd had some kind of stroke—neurological damage would explain the things she'd been experiencing.

When the doors opened and she walked into
her department, Tracy looked up from her desk where she was playing with her “new” computer. All around the bullpen, employees were comparing their machines and the peripheral equipment she and Luke had scavenged from the storage room.

“Word is that Luke Chancellor paid for this equipment out of his own pocket,” Tracy declared.

Carol frowned. “What did I tell you about watercooler rumors?”

Tracy blanched, then tapped her watch. “The directors' meeting…you should get going.”

Carol massaged her aching temples. “Um, Tracy…just checking—what day is it?”

Tracy narrowed her eyes. “Friday, February thirteenth. Are you okay, Ms. Snow?”

“Yes,” Carol lied. She was actually getting used to the headache. She stopped by the ladies' room to arrange her hair to cover the angry bump on her forehead, then proceeded to the room where the directors' meeting was held. Being the bad guy was getting easier.

Her fellow directors looked up and once again, she sensed not all of them were relieved
to see her. Luke Chancellor sat at the head of the table. Remembering how intimate they'd been only…a while ago…she was unable to keep the secret little smile off her face.

Luke shifted nervously in his chair. “We were just getting ready to send out a search party for you, Carol.”

She settled into an empty chair. “Sorry I'm late.”

“We heard a Good Samaritan delivered new computer equipment to your department this morning,” Janet, the art director, said with a smile.

All gazes slid toward Luke. He held up his hands. “It was Carol's idea—I just…facilitated.”

He flashed her a grin. She countered with a knowing smirk, which seemed to throw him off-balance.

“Uh…we were about to take another vote on the issue of bonuses,” Luke said. “I think it's pretty clear that anyone dissenting is following your lead, Carol, so I guess we can cut to the chase by asking if you've changed your mind on paying out a one-time bonus?”

The weight of a roomful of stares shifted to her. Luke looked hopeful, and Carol knew he was thinking of her previous comment that she might reconsider her position. He seemed to have no knowledge of the positions she had already assumed for him, and vice versa. Carol studied her nails, enjoying the suspense.

“No, I haven't changed my mind,” she finally announced.

Disappointment lined Luke's face. Carol watched him—was it her imagination or did he seem to take the news worse today than…before?

His mouth flattened, then he shrugged. “I guess that's that.”

Carol clapped her hands. “Good. If that's all, I need to get back to work. The party means I have to squeeze eight hours of work into a four-hour day.” She glanced at Luke. “There is a party today, right?”

“Right,” Luke said, pulling a hand down his face. “And yes, that's all.”

Carol felt a pang of concern for him, and stopped short of reaching over to touch his arm. “You okay, Chancellor?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said. “I'm just exhausted today for some reason.”

She smothered a smile with her hand. “Maybe you're coming down with something.”

He nodded. “Yeah…maybe. I don't feel like myself.”

“Funny—you feel like yourself to me.”

He looked up. “Hm?”

Carol smiled. “Never mind. Hope you feel better.” She pushed to her feet and left.

On the way back to her office, her mind swirled. Nothing that had happened today—over and over again—made sense.

What worried her most was that her mind was in some kind of endless loop triggered by trauma, and that her poor body lay in a coma in a hospital bed somewhere, withering away.

Would she be stuck reliving Friday, February the thirteenth forever?

When Carol reached her department, she once again braved the gauntlet of resentment from her employees and closed her office door. There she downed aspirin and waited for the feeling of vindication to finally descend. She'd commanded respect in the directors' meeting
this morning in a way she'd never done before. She'd proved to Luke that her opinion still meant something around here…that there was at least one woman he couldn't charm into submission.

She squinted. Okay, strike that, since she'd already submitted to him twice.

Although, did submission count if he couldn't remember it?

Regardless, the victory of winning the vote this morning felt strangely empty. It seemed as if the more times she was able to wield her power, the less appealing it became.

Carol pushed a button on the intercom and told Tracy she wasn't to be disturbed, then spent the first half of the morning zipping through the mountain of paperwork on her desk that now seemed rote. She intended to leave early today—
before
the blizzard hit. Maybe if she could break the cycle of the sequence of events, things would get back to normal.

Midmorning, she began packing up her briefcase, but paused at a timid knock on the door. “Yes?”

Tracy stuck her head inside. “I'm sorry, Ms. Snow, I know you don't want to be bothered, but I was hoping you'd be willing to help me with this memo that I can't seem to get right.”

Frustration spike in Carol's chest, but at the pleading look on her assistant's face, she caved. “Sure, Tracy, let's have a cup of coffee and I'll answer whatever questions you have.”

The sheer relief and happiness on the redhead's face was worth living another day within a day.

As expected, by the time she'd gone through the memo line by line to explain what she expected, it was almost time for the snow squall to descend. Outside the sky was bruised and bloated, the wind picking up exponentially.

While she had a free minute, she pulled out her phone and sent Gabrielle an update via text message.

Here we go again.

A couple of minutes later, Gabrielle replied.

Surrender to love, Carol.

Carol frowned at the message. Another repeat.

A knock sounded at her door.

“Come on in, Chancellor.”

The door creaked open and he stuck his head in, his expression quizzical. “How did you know it was me?”

“Uh…I guessed,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

She crossed her arms, and surveyed his brown slacks and pale blue dress shirt—minus a tie—thinking he had no idea the things they'd already done for each other.

“I thought it would be nice if we walked into the party together, a show of solidarity.”

She worked her mouth back and forth. “Okay.”

He blinked. “Okay?”

“Oh, now that I've agreed, you're going to change your mind?”

“Not at all. I guess I'm just surprised, that's all. You haven't exactly hidden your disdain for me and my ideas.”

She sighed. “Look, the vote on the bonuses wasn't personal.”

“I think it was. I think if any other director had proposed bonuses, you would've at least kept an open mind.”

“And if any other director had voted against you, you wouldn't have tried to bribe them with refurbished equipment for her employees.”

He pursed his mouth. “Touché. Are you ready to walk down?”

She glanced out the window to see the plum-colored clouds rolling in right on schedule. “Sure.”

She picked up her briefcase and coat.

“Don't you want to leave those here?” he asked.

“I'll think I'll keep them close by,” she said.