At Her Will (Mistresses of the Board Room #5)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

I dreem of kneeling.

Vera traced the misspelled word on the maintenance shed wall, following the curves and spikes with her manicured nails. The depth of the carved letters had kept them defined, the weathering increasing their contrast with the pine siding.

“Kids can’t resist a forbidden canvas.” The female voice, trained by necessity to fire no-nonsense directives at juvenile targets, matched the look of the woman who joined her at the school maintenance shed.

Middle school principal Mavis Petunia Martin wore brown slacks, matching rubber-soled flats and a gold blouse. A slim chain, strung with a cross and a man’s wedding ring, was around her neck. Mavis’s husband had died of a heart attack a few years ago.

The female principal had broad shoulders and a square torso with impressive breasts. To the student causing trouble, she looked like an oncoming war ship. To one who needed help, she was a Coast Guard rescue vessel.

“Yet this canvas seems devoid of profanity and super-sized male anatomy.” Vera’s attention passed over cartoon doodles, poems, movie and book quotes, as well as declarations of love, so keenly felt at this young age. None of the carvings had the precision of the one she’d been examining, which was how she’d noticed it. The “ng” had been visible beside the bench placed against the shed wall. A bucket beneath the bench had concealed the rest until she’d shifted it.

“That’s a shame,” the other woman said. “Who doesn’t appreciate super-sized male anatomy? It’s so rarely seen in real life.”

Vera shot her an amused look. “Why Principal Martin, don’t make me blush.”

“The only blush you’ve experienced comes in a compact, some fancy brand that costs a week of my salary.”

“Oh, that’s ridiculous. Your salary is pitiful. It’s at least a month’s worth.”

Mavis elbowed her. “We have expression boards throughout the school grounds. Students can’t put any obscene or hateful messages on them. We get the occasional smartass who breaks the rule, but having to spend a couple Saturdays as a slave to our custodial staff cures them of repeat offenses.”

Vera noted no cameras mounted on the shed. “How do you figure out who did it? Waterboarding until someone rats?”

“Sadly, the school board frowns on that tactic. Rev usually knows who’s done it.”

“Rev?”

“Right hand to our head custodian, Beau. Rev’s got an eagle eye for mischief. For other things, too. Every teacher and admin is trained to catch what you’re here for today, and he still manages to recognize it twice as often as we do.”

“Sounds like a man who needs a raise.”

“Won’t take one. Been working here for years, but says what we pay him is more than he needs.”

From her own well-in-the-past school days, Vera imagined a grizzled worker with kind eyes, pot belly, rough hands, a ponderous gait, and a belt jangling with keys. A man who considered the kids his to safeguard, same as any other adult who worked in an “official” childcare capacity.

“They’re coming out now.” Mavis drew her attention to the playing fields on the slope below them. “Janis is wearing a plain blue T-shirt and black jeans. He’ll stand out because he keeps himself apart from the others.”

Based on the separate streams of students that emerged, and the teacher head count, Vera determined it was PE time for four classes. Most students made beelines for the basketball courts, baseball or football fields.

“They’re required to do some kind of physical activity for most of the period,” Mavis told her. She pointed to the track, where less sports-oriented students had chosen to walk the loop, in pairs or chatting groups. Mavis had a cell-free school, all phones left in lockers or at home. With a nostalgic half-smile, Vera noted groups of girls giggling and gossiping, or seeking sympathy for a personal drama.

Janis had chosen to walk as well, but not on the paved track. He walked along the edge of the soccer field, dragging his hand across the chain link fence or scuffing his toe through the dirt. When he reached a live oak at the far end, he leaned against the broad trunk. A teacher would have to expend effort to get his attention and tell him to keep exercising. Vera didn’t think any would, because Mavis had told his teachers what kind of day Janis was about to have.

His head was down, brown arms crossed against his narrow chest. His hair was shaved to a thin layer over his scalp, probably his own work. Barbers cost money.

“His mother was processed into the rehab facility this morning.” Vera checked her phone to ensure there’d been no updates. “The DSF worker said three school breakfasts were at the apartment, untouched, though it looked like he was trying to get her to eat them.”

“Shit.” Mavis’s jaw tightened. “We don’t let them take food out of the cafeteria, so we can make sure they eat, but they have their ways. We should have gotten DSF involved sooner.”

“It’s going to be a rough road for her.”

“Junkie prostitutes already know what a rough road is. I’m too old and jaded to ask this question, but what are her chances? I taught her when she was here, sixteen years ago. Damn it all.”

“She loves her son. If anything can get her on a better path, it’s that.” Vera put her hand on Mavis’s arm. “The important thing is we’re getting him the help he needs, so he doesn’t have to keep doing what even an adult would have a hard time handling.”

She looked at the boy again, the boniness of the shoulders under the shirt, evident even at this distance. “He has a room at Laurel Grove now. DSF signed off on it.”

Vera was a veteran at navigating family services paperwork and bureaucracy to make that kind of thing happen. But she gave credit to those inside the system, the overworked social workers who wanted these kids to land in a good place. Laurel Grove, the domestic shelter started by Vera’s bosses at Thomas Rose Associates, was the right kind of sanctuary. The adult caretakers there would watch out for Janis until his mom cleaned herself up. Or find him a good foster home if she didn’t.

“Good.” Mavis sighed. “I’m talking to him at the end of this period. Will Serena be the one picking him up?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. She’s good with the boys.” Mavis glanced at Vera. “So why’d you drop off the paperwork yourself?”

“I had a meet with a nearby client. I also wanted to go over Career Day with your admin, so my team will know where we are on the speaker schedule, and how big our booth will be.”

“Big as you need it. I love how the girls respond to five accomplished women.” Mavis winked. “You all being smoking hot means the boys pay attention, too.”

“Breasts are well known for being able to open a boy’s ears to his opportunities,” Vera chuckled. “And once he’s halfway listening, Ros’s laser gaze will get his mind out of his pants. At least for a few moments.”

Mavis’s attention swept over her. Vera wore a black fitted skirt with a satin ribbon stripe on the sides to define her hips, plus seamed stockings and black high heels to accentuate her legs. A purple beaded flower sewn on the shoes complemented the amethyst earrings and sleeveless silk blouse she wore. Her silver pentacle was suspended on a short chain just above her Maat and Isis pendant.

With her chestnut-colored smooth skin and thick black hair, a fluffy, gleaming mane that drew attention to her silver-gray eyes, sharp cheekbones and full lips, Vera knew she could hold a man’s attention—or a boy’s. It was an advantage she didn’t oversell, though. The heart and mind behind it, her intentions, mattered more. She touched the pentacle, her personal reminder of that.

“Security could have driven you here in the golf cart to save those heels,” Mavis noted.

Vera shook her head. “Cyn brought her way-too-tempting cinnamon rolls this morning. I wanted the walk.”

“Has having a man softened that crazy bitch at all?”

“Not physically.” Vera laughed at the description of TRA’s account manager. “She can eat two of those rolls and not gain an ounce on her skinny, toned ass. But emotionally…yes. She’s in a better place. Still Type A and volatile, but that connection to Mick, the commitment to one another, has made the edges a little less sharp.”

She squelched the pang of envy and yearning. She was the member of their five-woman group who’d most wanted commitment and a family. Yet here she was, the only one who’d yet to find the right male with whom to share that desire. In pathetic moments, the past crept in and whispered her mistakes were to blame for it.

But things happened as they were meant to happen. At the lowest point of Vera’s divorce, Rosalinda Thomas and Abigail Rose had asked her to move to New Orleans and handle the legal and HR demands of their growing marketing company. Vera had walked away from her job as a corporate lawyer, and she’d never regretted it. She, Cyn and Skye helped Ros and Abby run the company, which was fulfilling on its own merits, but the four women had become Vera’s chosen family. Being all Dommes only increased the bond between them.

Mavis’s phone buzzed. The principal sighed. “I told Cherry to give me ten minutes to meet with you before the next crisis. She was able to hold off the wolves for nine minutes and thirty seconds, a personal best.”

“Give that woman a raise, too.”

Mavis offered Vera a firm and fond handshake. “Watch the kids as long as you like. I don’t get to do it myself too often, but it puts me in a better mood. No matter how the adult world tries to fuck them up, the little assholes are so damn resilient, God bless and protect them.”

Vera grinned. “I’ll pick you up for our usual lunch at the end of the month.”

“Just make sure you’re taking me somewhere I can’t afford, and you pick up the check.”

“Don’t I always? And I don’t even ask you to put out.”

“That’s because you’re 100% lady, Veracity Morgan.” Mavis’s amused gaze coursed over her again. “I’m loving those shoes, girlfriend. Give my thanks to Ros and the whole team. I have to deal with so much bullshit, and you cut through it and help my kids. It means a lot.”

“With what you do for them, it’s the least we can do. When do you sleep?”

“When you all do. Never.”

With a parting salute, Mavis turned and strode back toward the main building. A far easier accomplishment with rubber soles, Vera admitted, but as she glanced down at her purple and black heels, she was okay with appreciating Mavis’s practicality but sticking with her own style.

Mavis deserved indulgences, though. Vera already knew which foundation and blush would work best with the principal’s skin tone. A prettily packaged box of that makeup she’d teased Vera about would be part of this year’s Christmas gift for her from TRA.

The bench was worn smooth, and clean, so Vera sat down to watch the kids play. Janis had slipped down to a seated position against the tree. Arms still wrapped over himself, eyes closed. Probably taking a needed nap, thinking at the end of the day he’d be back at that ratty apartment, cleaning up after his mom and watching over her. Trying to get her to eat the free school meal he himself needed.

Today was a good turning point for Janis, but he wouldn’t see it that way. He’d believe he was abandoning her. Relief that someone else was taking the load was something he’d reject, punishing himself with guilt when it managed to penetrate anyway. But the counselors at Laurel Grove were top notch. They’d help him.

That kind of boy grew into a good man. A service-oriented one. Perhaps among the giggling girls was one who would notice that. She’d grow into her desire for it, wanting to draw that propensity for service toward her, to honor and cherish it, nurture it into a loving submission.

Vera knew firsthand the power of a Dominant and submissive relationship, the spiritual and erotic depths it could reach. A fantasy and reality that never grew old.

She needed to get going, but she wanted one last look. Shifting onto her hip, she reached down and traced the letters. When she rose, the feeling lingered in her skin.

She didn’t mind attaching those words to a fantasy of a male of legal age. Maybe she’d stop in at Club Progeny tonight and see if any of her favorite regulars were there, and in the mood to play.

Following the current of erotic energy between her and a male submissive, she’d let his needs and desires draw the river’s path. She’d put in the curves, rocks and white water, to create a more complex and intense experience for them both.

It required her absolute attention, and she loved that full absorption. It quieted the crazy that tried to rise up too often of late and take bites out of her soul.

She scanned the contributions on the adjacent wall, looking for more evidence of the I dreem of kneeling author.

Nothing.

But she might as well check all sides, right? Bags of topsoil and play sand were stacked against the back wall, along with ladders, more buckets and a roll of chain link for fence repairs. This area obviously wasn’t part of the “expression board.”

It had been an overcast morning, but the sun peeked through the clouds, throwing sunlight against the aluminum ladder. As her gaze was drawn downward because of that flash, she saw an “er” in that same careful lettering.

“Gotcha,” she said softly.

She dropped to her heels, smoothing her skirt under her hips. She couldn’t see what the rest of it said, because it disappeared into the gloom behind the bags of play sand. But a couple inches of space were between it and the wall.

Fishing out her phone, she scooched closer, wincing at the scrape of the gravel against her expensive shoes. When she turned on the flashlight app, she managed not to fall on her ass when gleaming eyes reflected the light. A dark brown toad stared at her.

“My apologies, good sir,” she said with dignity. “This will only take a moment. Thank you for not being a giant spider.”

What the light showed her caught her breath in her throat, her heart tilting in a not-unpleasant way. Though it made the toad adjust backwards, she put her hand in that narrow opening to touch the words, the way she had the ones on the front of the building.

I dreem of kneeling.

For her.

She took a picture of the words. Then she followed Mavis’s path through the back entrance of the building and navigated the maze of halls that would bring her to the front door and parking lot where she’d left her car. The click of her heels punctuated the sounds of learning happening behind closed wooden doors. The divided light windows on the upper half showed grease paint graphics, some of them hinting at what class it was. Algebraic symbols for math class, sketches of tall ships for history.

Blending with the teacher’s voices was occasional laughter and overlapping responses, as more than one student came up with an answer. One class was watching a film. Through the window, she glimpsed single-celled organisms swimming around on the screen and heard the drone of a deep male voice. The narrator sounded like the one from her own middle school biology class. The man must be a hundred years old. Or it was the same film.

The wall clock in that class reminded her that she was behind schedule, so she quickened her steps. She had another meeting this afternoon, and needed to get some lunch before returning to the office.

Unfortunately, she accelerated at the wrong moment. As she turned a corner, her high heel hit a puddle of water.

Her leg shot forward, the rest of her body in a pre-fall flail, but she didn’t try to stop the descent. Her cushioned ass was far better equipped for the fall than her wrist or fingers.

“Whoa, hold on now.”

She didn’t land on her backside. Big hands caught her, her own flying up to grab the rough fabric of blue coveralls. She inhaled disinfectant and bleach, blooming pittosporum, the sharp tang of pine sap, and earthy oak. Plus heated candle wax.

Her gaze lifted to meet eyes the color of baked gingerbread. Eyebrows were straight slashes below a furrowed brow, and his cheekbones drew her attention right to plum-brown lips with a seam of pink between them. His hair was a crop with corners at the temples and a straight line over the creased forehead. Bronze skin made his eyes more vivid.

He drew her upright, hands at her waist for the proper yet-too-brief amount of time before he stepped back. Chagrin was on his handsome face. “So sorry, ma’am. Didn’t get around the corner fast enough to warn you about the mopping. I heard you coming, but you was moving faster than I thought possible in heels.”

His voice… As he spoke, it pulled forth memories and hopes. It brought together the missed and the wished for, and created a bridge she could trust to hold her as she followed them toward the unknown, toward something fantastic that she couldn’t resist.

Holy Goddess. Or as Cyn would say, What the holy fuck?

The timbre wasn’t exactly like a DJ, or a movie star, or a news commentator, but it had those compelling elements. A person would turn toward that voice, curious about the owner, and interested in what it could offer.

Vera was a student of Tantra, tapping into sacred levels of sexual connection and expression. His voice lit up the chakra at the base of her spine, a signal fire that ignited the others from genitals to her throat, holding her in that pleasurable energy channel that only strengthened as she took in everything about him.

His Southern accent suggested Louisiana native. Not Cajun, which wasn’t a surprise. Only a small percentage of the city’s current population had that accent, no matter what movies and TV suggested.

When he’d talked about her shoes, his gaze had moved that way. He took a good look at her legs, and when he pulled his eyes up, he took in the terrain between them and her face, but he wasn’t disrespectful about it. She felt the weight of that look, enough that she maybe wanted him to linger a bit more. Until she told him he couldn’t look, that she wanted his gaze on the ground.

Even after he took his touch away, she felt the tingling pressure of his hands at her waist, the heat of his thumbs over her hip bones. His grip, strong yet gentle, offered a support she’d never doubt, even as the strength could lift any weight off of her heart and soul.

Wow. Okay, Vera. Easy, girl.

Perhaps because of her silence, he still looked concerned. “I finished this section, and it’ll be dry enough for the kids and their sneakers when the bell rings, but it’s too slick for your kind of shoes, ma’am. If you can forgive the need for a longer walk, you can backtrack to Hall A.”

She gauged the length of the damp hallway. “If you lend me your arm, I think I can get safely through.”

When their gazes met, and neither of them said anything for a few heartbeats, she realized something unsettling.

Her cheeks were burning. She was blushing .

Thank Goddess Mavis wasn’t here to see.

“It’d be my honor, ma’am,” he said. “Just stay right there one second, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.”

He pushed the mop and bucket closer to the wall, and set cones around the slippery spot.

A good submissive anticipated his Mistress’s needs. Her protection. He was obviously upset with himself for her near spill. If he inhabited her world, she’d punish him to help him handle that. The thought stirred her libido, like her kitchen mixer creating a smooth cake batter out of multiple ingredients. She could taste the sweetness of it, inhale it.

She wasn’t in the habit of letting herself fantasize when she needed to be fully present, but it didn’t feel like she was absenting herself from this moment. Just the opposite.

He closed the distance between them and offered an arm. The courtly gesture was strangely familiar. “Here you go,” he said. “I can move at your pace, so don’t hurry none.”

“I should hurry some. You’ll want to get your mop and bucket out of the hallway before the teen army emerges.”

His lips curved. The coveralls were long-sleeved, and he had them buttoned at the wrist, but she could feel his forearm beneath it, the hint of firm biceps as she tucked her fingers into the crook of his elbow. He kept his bent arm still, like the arm of a chair. He was there for stability, and didn’t take liberties, and he matched her pace as he’d promised.

“You right about that,” he said conversationally. “It’s an awkward age. ‘Specially boys. All arms and legs, and not good at watching where they going. Eyes too full of pretty girls. Girls know they the ones being watched, so they tend to be more careful of where their feet are.”

“Present company excepted,” she interjected.

“That was my fault, ma’am,” he said. “But a woman has different things on her mind, far more serious than whether a boy is watching her and thinking she’s the most astounding and beautiful thing God’s ever created.”

She paused, and he gave her a sidelong glance. She noticed a stain of color in his cheeks, but as she started moving again, he continued in the same casual tone. “Which would be blasphemy, except the most astounding thing God created was love, and that’s what that boy’s feeling, even if it’s just a passing thing. Love at that age can sometimes only take up a minute of your time, but it’s mighty powerful. It can carry you for awhile.”

Ros, I’m so sorry I was late. I had to kidnap an irresistible man and lock him in my basement. At least until he agrees that I’m keeping him.

When her heel wobbled on the slick surface, he shifted so her hand rested in his opposite one, his other now at her waist. She wouldn’t have minded being close enough their hips bumped and thighs brushed, but the formal way he continued to hold himself apart, while interest wafted off him like the scent of that heated candle wax, was too enchanting to disrupt.

“And here I was, thinking the most astounding thing God ever created was the possum,” she said.

He grinned. The light that flashed through his eyes had her heart leaping like that toad she’d encountered.

He might be younger than she’d first thought. The boyish smile dropped off about five years, but thankfully the legal drinking age was well in his rearview mirror. While she’d enjoyed sessions with men a decade younger than her, things were more structured in a BDSM club. For a relationship outside of it, she wanted a male settled enough that he could consider commitment. One whose hormones didn’t replace good sense—most of the time.

She wished he’d mopped a mile-long stretch of hall. Not just a handful of feet between here and the spacious front foyer, approaching too quickly.

“When I’m here near dark, in the wintertime, I’ll see possums scavenging on the grounds,” he said. “One time it was a momma and her babies, clinging to her back. She hissed at me. Mean critters when you mess with them. But just scared, like most of us when we act mean. Here we go.”

Her feet were on the dry tile. Cases for sports trophies lined the wall on her left, while the front doors were to her right, across a checkered expanse of blue and gold tile, the school colors. Her car was parked where she could see it, her bronze DBS V12 Aston Martin.

She had to look up at him, since he was over six feet, and her heels only took her to five-seven. He was studying her, yes, as a man did, but it was more than that. He felt it, the same as she did, and that he recognized it enough to stay silent, to try and make sense of it the way she was doing, told her more about him.

It also made her heart pound higher in her chest. Sometimes wishful thinking made a woman do foolish things, like lead her to ridiculous conclusions better kept behind closed lips. His gaze had fallen there, and when she moistened them, heat flickered through his eyes and his hand tightened on her. He hadn’t let her go. She’d punish him for that, too. If he was part of her world.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“My given name is Karman Leone,” he said. “But everyone calls me Rev.”

“Rev.” Surprise filled her, and she wryly recalled her earlier imaginings about his appearance. “I’m Veracity Morgan. Most of my friends call me Vera.”

“Most? Not all?”

“No. I have other friends, a small group, who have a different name for me.”

Before she filled in that blank, her gaze moved down to his strong hand, clasping hers. Could it carve upon a shed wall with precision, the pressure driven by desire and need? Had he put out that call to the universe, and the Universe had answered?

Her belief in such things had diminished, and she was tired of her moroseness over it. It was time to take the risk.

“Do you dream of kneeling, Rev?”

The shock in his gaze confirmed her shot in the dark. Fierce joy vibrated through those energy channels and down to the soles of her feet, nestled in the precarious heels that had landed her on a collision course with him.

Now on firm footing, in more ways than one, she inclined her head with stately reserve. Without waiting for an answer, she moved away from him, feeling his hands slip away from her sensitive skin.

At the front doors, she paused and turned. He stood in the same place, staring at her. His jaw was firm, his lips pressed together, his eyes lit with the same kind of fire she was feeling. Which made her own spread upward and out, through and against her breasts, shoulders and throat.

It was going to be a pleasurable journey, figuring out what this would be and where it would go.

“What do those other friends call you?” he asked.

She held his gaze. “Mistress. See you later, Rev.”

On that intriguing and perplexing note, Veracity Morgan slid out the double doors. Rev moved closer to them to watch her go to the low and sleek sportscar. She folded herself into it without looking back, making his point. Girls didn’t have to look. Particularly one like that.

When he’d righted her and gotten a good eyeful, Lord God above, she’d sucked all of his breath into her. He hadn’t felt like he could talk until she was in the mood to hand it back to him.

She had high, good-sized breasts and a trim waist, and wore seamed stockings on her attention-grabbing legs. Women didn’t often wear stockings in New Orleans, not even in offices. Too hot, and it was a casual kind of town. Her thick hair formed a dark fluff of curls around her face, and reached her shoulder blades in the back. Her lips were a wet silver pink color. He’d gotten a real close look at those when he caught her.

Her skirt, that satin ribbon along the side, made him want to trace it over her round hip. The sheerness of her blouse offered a hint of the lace-edged bra beneath. He’d also glimpsed it from the shift of her neckline, as well as the swell of her breast, though he’d turned his gaze away from that and kept it on her feet. Helping her regain her balance was his first job, keeping her upright and in control. But the image had stayed in his mind, and he went back to it now.

Two silver necklaces had rested in that area, one of them a pentacle. It gave him a start, since he mostly saw that symbol on rock band posters kids put up in their lockers to shock the adults. Adults who, when they were teens, had followed the heavy metal bands for the same reasons.

She wore hers with the single point at the top, instead of the two “goat horns,” so he wasn’t sure what it meant to her. The other necklace had a winged Egyptian goddess instructing another woman. That one held a goblet, like a gift to a thirsty man.

Veracity’s weight in his arms, her hands on him, seeking balance, the surprise in her eyes but no real alarm, would stick with him. She hadn’t been afraid of falling, of the unexpected. She hadn’t seemed flustered except when he’d stared at her, and she didn’t seem like a woman who got flustered by a man’s stare.

Maybe a man had never looked at her with the feelings in his eyes that he’d felt.

I think I might be yours. If you want me to be.

“A woman like that is definitely worth a second look.” The comment, preceded by a wolf whistle, heralded the arrival of Beauregard Williams, the head custodian.

Rev didn’t know that Beau was a closer match to Vera’s school memories. Fifties, bald, with a paunch and mostly good humor, depending on the day and how much the kids were testing him.

“But looking’s the beginning and end of it,” Beau added. “Fancy corporate type.”

“She sees with true eyes,” Rev said absently. “She looking for a spark in the soul.”

“So I have a chance with her, then.” Beau executed a stylish spin and jangled his keys. “I got plenty of fire in me.”

Rev chuckled. “No doubt. Ladies at the church all want me to introduce you. I put ‘em off. I know how shy you is.”

Beau’s thick lips split into a grin, showing off the gold tooth in front. He had a scar under his left eye from a knife fight in his teens. “Only one I care about is Theresa James. Not that I can get anything out of her other than a polite nod and ‘Thank you, Mr. Williams, I’m not interested in seeing anyone right now.’”

Rev hummed a note. “I can tell you what I heard her say to the other ladies when they were canning for the food drive. You man enough to hear it?”

“Boy, I’m man enough for anything. Lay it on me.”

“She say she put in her time, caring for a man and getting their children off on their own lives. She don’t want to be saddled with another man who wants a maid, a nurse and someone to ‘stroke his ego.’”

“Ouch.” Beau winced.

“Yeah.” Rev shrugged. “So prove her different. She running the church luncheon this Sunday and two volunteers bailed on her. Step in and prove you a man who’s interested in taking care of a woman, not just finding one who’ll do for you. Do what she needs.”

Beau eyed Rev. “Sounds like a lot of work for my day off.”

“If it not worth doing one Sunday, it not worth doing for a lifetime, is it?”

“But the heart wants what the heart wants.”

“If that’s how you feel about it, ain’t the heart we’re talking about.” Rev gave his boss an even look. He liked Beau, but he’d already gone through two marriages. Rev had faith Beau would figure it out, and maybe Theresa could be that woman, but Rev wasn’t going to let her be trifled with.

Beau pursed his lips. “You always tell it straight to me, Rev. You’re a good boy. Okay, I’ll think about it. I’m going to go check the east bathrooms. You got the west ones?”

“You know it. Yes sir.”

Beau moved on, his comfortable rolling gait and the squeak of his rubber-soled shoes a contrast to the brisk get-it-done stride and tap-tap of Veracity Morgan’s heels. She’d had rings on her elegant fingers, a bracelet that jangled with some delicate charms. It was nice, being able to call up so many details after the fact, especially when he thought he’d lost a lot of them, the moment he looked at her face.

Rev glanced back at the parking lot. His mind was full of that last thing she’d said. He didn’t think she was the type of woman who said stuff casual, without meaning.

“I’ll see you later, Rev.”

He didn’t question his thoughts much. They were pretty clear on most things. Mostly he waited for things to reveal themselves to him, show him the path. Right now, he had a feeling he’d arrived at an important fork in the road. So he’d wait. But he had a feeling he wouldn’t be waiting for long.