Relinquish

Chapter Eighteen

Lola

After returning home from meeting with Rachel, I hang my purse on the coat rack and drag my cell phone out. I’d left it off while I was eating, so we could have an uninterrupted meal. We had a wonderful dinner, and it was a perfect way to end the day.

She’d been thrilled to hear her uncle’s mission was successful. Although he’d been in the military the bulk of his life, Rachel still worries about him. He seems pretty damned capable to me. I left my tentative, non-committed relationship with Cade out of the conversation. Not that she’s a prude, but I’m not sure how I feel about hooking up with him and not having it mean anything.

I slip off my shoes and switch on my cell phone. Now that Eddie has been in contact and reported his findings back to him, I’m expecting my dad to call at any time. I click on the message button and rest the phone between my ear and my shoulder.

“Lola? This is Patricia.” Her hesitant voice fills the living room. “Patricia Young.” I walk to the kitchen and grab a glass. I didn’t drink while we were out, but wine sounds appealing now. “I hope you don’t mind, but I got your number from Trenton Thompson. We ran into each other this morning at the country club. I’d heard you were dating at one time, and he was kind enough to give me your number.”

The cell phone beeps in my ear, indicating the time dedicated for messages has been reached. I pour a liberal amount of red wine into the glass, re-cork the bottle, and the next message begins. “Sorry, this is Patricia again. I told Randall about your interest in investing. He’s excited to meet you but was frustrated when I couldn’t tell him how to get ahold of you. So, when I saw Trenton, I thought it was the perfect opportunity to connect the two of you before this weekend.” The phone beeps again.

Good lord. How many messages are there? I should have skipped to the end. Or I need to set the messages to record longer. “I hate these things. This is the last message. I gave him your number, and he should be calling. See you this weekend.” Patricia’s voice no longer holds a timid tone.

The following message begins. “This is Randall Maitland.” His voice booms out of my cell phone speaker. “If this is Lola Sutherland, and you’re familiar with a woman by the name of Patricia Young, please give me a return call.” The man continues with his office and personal numbers, indicating he would be available until 10 p.m. Eastern. He sounds confident, smooth, and polished.

I fall onto the sofa and glance at the clock. It ticks with each second–8:30 p.m. That gives me thirty minutes to return his call.

Should I call him? I haven’t had time to discuss my plans with Mr. Truman. Not that it matters. I’ve always been at my father’s charity event, so it isn’t a big deal. Right? Right. I’m calling him back. Everything is theoretical at this point anyway, and I’m not really investing in anything.

After grabbing a notebook, I listen to his message again and jot down the phone numbers. I frown. This number doesn’t match his website. It must be his private line. Will he be at work, or should I try his cell phone first? Cell phone.

You can do this. I lean against the dining room table and poke the return call button. After straightening my back, I inhale and slowly exhale. Do. Not. Be. Nervous.

“Maitland’s residence. How may I help you?” A feminine voice asks with a clipped, British accent. Shit. This is not his cell phone number. Maybe the other number is. No, I’m sure he said that one was his cell phone number.

“Yes, Ma’am. This is Lola Sutherland. Mr. Maitland left a message to return his call before ten o’clock this evening. Is he available?” I pace the length of the living room. When I reach the door, I twist on my heel and march back to the sofa.

“Yes, Miss. He instructed me to forward your call if it came in. Please hold.” A classical woodwind sonata wafts through the line as I wait for him to pick up. Where in the hell is he, the wine cellar? This is taking too long. I swipe my forehead to remove a bead of sweat.

“Ms. Sutherland? This is Randal Maitland.”

“Yes, this is Lola. I’m sorry to be ringing so late, but I saw your message when I got home and had to call.”

“That’s no problem. I appreciate you getting back to me so soon. I believe we have a mutual friend in Patricia Young?”

“Yes, I know Patricia. We’ve known each other for years.”

“How did you hear of me?”

I chew on my bottom lip before answering. Why in the hell didn’t I think of a plan before I called? No wonder Cade thinks I’m reckless. Prepping is half the battle. Shit. What do I do? Quirky. Airhead.

“Well, I hope you don’t think this sounds too crazy, but I opened a fortune cookie that said, ‘An old friend will give you good advice.’ This was on the day I heard Patricia’s name for the first time in months. I knew she’d recently inherited some money and wondered what I was going to do with the trust fund I’m due to receive in a couple of months. It seemed like fate, so I contacted her and began quizzing her on how she invested her assets. She sang your praises.”

“No-o-o-o,” he says with exaggeration. “That doesn’t sound foolish at all. I know lots of people who seek answers by alternative means.” He answers confidently without skipping a beat. Yep. He thinks I’m stupid. It probably doesn’t hurt that the tabloids have me pegged as a money-hungry bitch. “I appreciate Patricia’s support. It’s always good to hear that people like doing business with me. So, tell me a bit about your situation.”

“I don’t want to get into too many specifics over the phone. I was hoping we could meet this weekend. I’m flying to my father’s on Saturday. Will you be attending my family’s fundraiser?”

“Patricia told me about the event. Would you like to meet there?”

“I won’t be in town for long, so I thought we could get together somewhere in private during the event. I’ll only be there until the day after the fundraiser. If needed, we can iron out the details in a more formal setting–say your office or house.” If he’s stealing the items, it’s unlikely he’s leaving things lying around in plain sight, but why not give it a shot. “I can always tell if something is going to be lucky for me by the vibe of the room. I know that might sound a smidge eccentric, but I’m in tune with my horoscope and psychic connections.” I stifle a giggle and roll my eyes.

“I understand. What about your father? Will he be meeting with us? I’m sure he’ll have some sound advice for your investments.”

“He won’t be involved. He cut me off a couple of months ago. I even had to move and get a job of all crazy things.” I pick up an ink pen and doodle on the top page of my notebook. “It’s not like I went to college for a career. All I know how to do is go on shopping sprees, and there are not a lot of opportunities for that as a vocation.”

“Won’t he have a problem with you attending if you’re fighting?”

Shit.Sweat pops out on my neck. Why didn’t I think of that? I need to plan these things out before I open my big fat mouth. I tap the pen, trying to think of something logical to say. “No. Even if we aren’t speaking to each other, he expects me to be there. With my father, everything is about appearances, and this is an election year. There won’t be a person in attendance who’ll sense we’re on the outs.”

After a short pause, Randall says, “I’ll see you Saturday night.”

Cha-ching.“I look forward to meeting you. Goodbye.” I click off without allowing him the opportunity to reply.

Everyone will be present for the big event. Let the games begin.