Look Both Ways

Look Both Ways

Joan Early

Genesis Press, Inc.

Indigo

An imprint of Genesis Press, Inc.

Publishing Company

Genesis Press, Inc.

P.O. Box 101

Columbus, MS 39703

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, not known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without written permission of the publisher, Genesis Press, Inc. For information write Genesis Press, Inc., P.O. Box 101, Columbus, MS 39703.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author and all incidents are pure invention.

Copyright© 2009 Joan Early

ISBN-13: 978-1-58571-606-7

ISBN-10: 1-58571-606-5

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition

Visit us at www.genesis-press.com or call at 1-888-Indigo-1-4-0

Dedication

To Dale,

My love and my strength

CHAPTER 1

Susan Cross, a devout believer in controlling that short wink between birth and infinite peace, picked a path over hot concrete that led from a parking garage to an angular glass building in the heart of Houston’s financial district. Pride dueled with anxiety as she stepped into the lobby. She had declined the offer of a car and driver, or a personal escort, for her first day as executive vice president and head of lending for Sealand Prime Financial. She wanted to begin the day without fanfare.

She crossed the lobby and slipped into the ladies’ room for a final inspection. Age had certainly altered the awkwardness, she thought while glancing in the mirror. Long legs that had caused her grief as an adolescent were now a source of pride. She always listed her height as five feet, nine inches, which was a quarter-inch exaggeration. Her figure had changed slightly since maturity, but she could still wear the size six dresses from her college years. She had inherited her mother’s copper skin, her father’s straight, auburn hair, and a smile that highlighted deep dimples.

She checked for remnants of a hurried breakfast on her teeth, and reflected on her journey to the present. What had begun as a part-time position for a newlywed college student had catapulted her to the big time. Being plucked from the security of her family in Ohio and dropped into the sprawling environs of Houston was not the most desirable route, but Susan always knew the road to the top would have a few sharp curves. She had always considered her career to be more important than remaining in her comfort zone. She had made the necessary compromises, and at twenty-seven, she was proud of her achievements; the only casualty was her four-year marriage to Stan.

She saw her name on the building directory facing the elevators. Susan Cross, suite 2600. The top floor. Impressive, she thought. Very impressive. Her parents had built the foundation for an amazing flight pattern for her and her brothers. Her life had taken shape with few bumps: no awkward growth spurts, no teen traumas, no adolescent angst—not even pimples. When those years of growth and discovery were over, she had followed the path her parents had carefully outlined without complaints or objections, and she had never strayed.

Her college years were a time of awakening and developing a higher level of consciousness. Away from the watchful eyes of her parents, she understood and accepted the responsibilities of newfound freedom. With her best friend from high school, Barbara Calloway, at her side, she made new friends, studied hard and stayed focused on her goals. She was popular but unreceptive to romantic overtures, not promiscuous, which meant most of her dates were friendly outings with someone she liked and trusted. And then she met Stanford Arceneaux.

Susan had been touched and intrigued when she learned the shy basketball jock had paid a friend to find out if she was available. She had accepted his dinner invitation and had been captivated by his easy smile. He talked of the things he wanted to accomplish and she listened attentively. He complimented her large brown eyes, dazzling smile, and the way she pronounced each syllable of her words. By evening’s end, Susan had fallen in love.

She had felt him in life and in her heart, almost from the moment they had met. Both were ambitious, thrifty, and mature beyond their years, but Stan did not share her deeply held beliefs on pre-marital sex. Determined to stay true to the decision she had made in her early teens, Susan struggled with her own longing and Stan’s urgent needs during months of mutual frustration. She suggested taking a break, and he suggested marriage.

“I won’t lie about what I’m feeling right now. I’m having trouble concentrating on anything but having you in my arms,” he proclaimed, his eyes dilated with lust. “And if that’s all it was, I would find someone to ease the pain. I’m in love with you. I want to be married to you for the rest of my life. Will you please marry me, Susan?”

She remembered the dismay on her father’s face when Stan asked for her hand in marriage. Of course, the elegant wedding her parents had arranged on short notice spawned the expected rumors, but her parents accepted and applauded her choices, and that was all that mattered. For their honeymoon, they went on a five-day trip to Hawaii, where she fell in love with Stan all over again. He had just enough experience to make her feel comfortable with her body and with his. The memory of that painfully delightful first time still made her hands shake. It had been well worth the wait.

They had moved to a small apartment off campus with Stan working at an electronics plant in the evenings and Susan working as a bookstore clerk. Believing that fortune sides with those who dare, Susan responded to an advertisement for a loan processor. The post required more experience than she had, but Susan had persuaded the branch manager at Sealand Prime Financial that she was a quick study. Armed with a load of manuals, she had rushed home to tell Stan.

“Instead of checking the employment ads, we can start looking for a house. My salary is almost twice what I’ve been making. We’ll have a down payment in no time.”

They celebrated with pizza and beer, but it soon became clear that Stan’s reaction was less supportive than she had expected. It seemed that each upward step she took toward success brought the dissolution of their marriage closer.

After the divorce, she succumbed to a brief interlude of insanity, including a weeklong shopping trip to New York with Barbara. Realizing she was making a dent in her savings, Susan returned to her parents’ home and her usual careful approach to the choices before her. Dating proved more disappointing than she had imagined. She soon gave up and threw herself into her work. Often the first to arrive, she worked well after other employees had gone. She volunteered for any project that would broaden her overall knowledge of lending rules and regulations. Her hard work did not go unnoticed. Promotions were frequent, and so were the salary increases.

Her parents were happy to have her home, and suggested she stay there until she was ready to purchase a home of her own. Her days consisted of work and church volunteer projects, while nights and weekends were spent with friends and family.

The planes of reality shifted again when Waylon Deeds, president of Sealand, called her to the boardroom and made an unexpected offer. Having been promoted to branch manager only six months earlier, Susan had stared in disbelief. Deeds offered her the highest position in the company’s mortgage-lending division. Disregarding the fact that she was black and found tokenism conceptually demeaning, Susan had chosen to believe her promotion had been prompted by hard work and dedication.

Now standing in the company’s lobby, she was still floored by the huge thrust forward. When the elevator door opened, she took a deep breath and pressed number twenty-six. The summit. The top of the heap. She tried, but could not remember ever feeling so rattled.

“Miss Cross?”

A stumpy fireplug of a man with thinning hair and a cunning smile approached and extended his hand as she looked around the reception area on the twenty-sixth floor.

“I’m Price Bishop, mortgage loan production manager. Welcome to Houston.”

She acknowledged his greeting and tried not to stare at the strawberry mole on the end of his oversized nose or to react to the tension she felt immediately.

“Mr. Deeds is in California, so I’m the welcoming committee this morning. I’ll be happy to show you around. This way.” He gestured to the door on his left. “Is this your first trip to our city?”

“No, I’ve been to Houston many times.” She walked at his side. “I’ve attended four computer training classes here at Sealand.”

“I must have missed those classes.” He turned his head toward her, but his eyes landed on her chest. “I certainly would remember someone as lovely as you are.”

She felt a rush of blood under her skin, but chose to ignore his comment. “Sealand is an innovator among lenders. I’ve occupied several positions during my time with the company, and I’m proud to be part of the team.”

Allowing him to lead the way, Susan followed him down the hallway while taking in the opulent décor. Artwork decorated the cerulean blue walls, and each office they passed shared a back wall of glass and had just enough wood to add a touch of warmth.

“Have you found an apartment? There are tons of nice accommodations in this area, one or two within walking distance. They’re pricey, but I’m sure you can afford the rent.”

“Thanks, but I’m living in one of Sealand’s executive suites for the time being. It’s only a few blocks away.”

“Yes.” His transparently insincere smile faded. “I know exactly where they’re located. What did they give you to drive?”

She decided not to mention the company car parked in her garage. “After experiencing Houston’s high water during my last training class, I decided to drive my Jeep down from Ohio. I feel safer in a vehicle that rides high.”

Studying his puckish expression, Susan noticed that he seldom made eye contact. She also speculated that the easily detectable acid in his voice meant he had expected to occupy the big office by the window. His next statement supported that assumption.

“
Your
office is over there,” he said with increased sharpness, and pointed to the right of the reception area.

She flinched at the change in his tone and walked ahead of him. “How many offices are on this floor?” she asked.

“The entire floor is being remodeled for Sealand’s executives, but for now the boardroom to your left divides the area. Appraisals, marketing and most of production are on the other side of the boardroom. Your office is this way, mine is on the other side of the reception area, and our support staff is here in between.”

He introduced her to the receptionist and two executive assistants. The women welcomed her politely and with gleaming smiles, but did not interrupt their tasks.

“You’re getting Mr. Deeds’s old office, so everything you need should be right at your fingertips. If you have any questions, Laura is the one to ask.” He nodded to a tall brunette with a pixie haircut. “She has the longest tenure and knows where all the bodies are buried. Your new business cards have been delivered. They’re on your desk.” He fumbled with the keys on a heavy key ring until he found the one to her door. He unlocked it and stood aside.

“Production meets every Monday morning, but I rescheduled the meeting for tomorrow and requested full attendance so you can meet the rest of the staff. Just production, of course.”

“Why is that?” She walked in and swallowed a gasp. Her office was large and more lavishly furnished than the others they passed, from the plush carpeting to expensive wood furnishings that were polished to a high gloss. “Why not all of the managers?”

“Well, for one, I don’t know if we could fit everyone into the boardroom.” He seemed annoyed. “Besides, their interests and problems are completely different from ours. Accounting, marketing, and appraisals are considered part of production, but the others have their own meetings.”

Susan wanted to say that she viewed the company as one large wheel working together for maximum efficiency and profitability, but decided against sharing her work philosophy at this time.

Price left and she was alone in the largest office she’d ever had. Leather and wood dominated the décor and defined the previous occupant as male. Drawings of the Houston skyline hung on the paneled walls, a mahogany table in one corner had seats for six, and the floor-to-ceiling windows behind the desk offered a spectacular view of Houston.

Feeling suddenly alone, she took a family photograph and a business card holder from her briefcase. She rearranged a set of lending manuals on the ebony credenza behind her desk and placed the photograph in the center. Instead of bringing solace, her mother’s smile and her father’s kind eyes heightened her sense of aloneness.

“Miss Cross.”

A clean-cut man wearing a blue business suit was standing in her doorway.

“Hi, I’m Travis Polk, head of appraisals. I just stopped by to welcome you to the fold.”

“Thank you, and please call me Susan.” They had spoken on the phone, and she was delighted to see that Travis was black. A quick once-over also revealed that he was tall and handsome and had smooth skin free of razor tracks. His dark eyes were cloudy, as though he concealed a secret, but they were also dangerously appealing. Susan noted that the ridges in his forehead were at odds with his smile and wondered if she was also the source of his irritation.

“Come in and visit for a minute if you’re not in a hurry.” She flashed her corporate face to forestall any misinterpretation of her invitation. She was not looking for love or trouble. She simply wanted a friend.

He walked in and started to close the door.

“Just leave it open. I’m sure the bugs were already in place when I arrived.”

Watching his frown deepen, she regretted her attempt at levity. “As the new kid on the block, I have a million questions. Yours is the friendliest face I’ve come across so far, so I hope you don’t mind clarifying some of my concerns.”

“Glad to help if I can.” He eased into the chair, but did not return her smile.

“I remember speaking with you at least two years ago. How long have you been with the company?”

“This is my fifth year. I worked as an independent appraiser for two years after college. Worked out of my home and was doing well, but I really had to hustle. I took the rush jobs that no one else wanted. Worked weekends. Late hours. I met Price while I was doing work for FHA. He later hired me to head Sealand’s appraisal department.”

Quickly deciding that Travis was probably loyal to Price, she refrained from seeking the answers she needed and kept the conversation light. “Are you originally from this area?”

“Yeah, I’m a native Houstonian. One of the few. I joined the marines after high school and completed my education courtesy of my Uncle Sam.” He returned to her reason for inviting him in. “Is there something specific you wanted to ask?”

“No, not really, just trying to get my bearings.” She smiled and crossed her fingers in her lap. “But I am curious about the steady decrease in loan originations over the past three months.” Having been told her promotion and transfer were necessitated by a steep increase in volume, she had noticed contrasting figures on the production chart that was left on her new desk.