Chapter Eight
Friday morning Carly sat at her desk unable to believe last night after book club she’d seriously considered having a no-strings-attached-this-is-just-about-having-fun fling with Owen. How could she have thought that was a smart idea?
Three-plus glasses of wine, peer pressure, and not having had sex in over two years. Throw those factors together and a nun’s judgement would warp a little.
Thankfully, her common sense returned this morning. With the havoc Owen had caused in her life and job in one week, getting intimately involved with him had disaster written all over it in graffiti-style lettering she could see from Dallas.
Oh, but the pleasure and fun they could have before the disaster hit.
And just like after a hurricane moved on, cleaning up her life would take far longer to overcome and cost a fortune. No thanks.
She focused on her computer screen and her upcoming speech.
When Carly took over as director, she knew public speaking and fundraising would be difficult for her, but she’d insisted as a smart woman, she could learn whatever skills needed.
Wrong. If anything, the more workshops she attended, the more books she read, the worse her presentation and nerves became.
She’d tried all the tips, but nothing helped.
Using the imagine your audience naked and imagining seventy-plus-year-old men in tighty-whities and boxers during her VFW speech left her traumatized for a week.
The memory set off another wave of nerves, churning up her breakfast of cereal with milk, making her feel as if the milk had curdled in her stomach.
She reached into her bottom desk drawer for a box of saltines.
The plastic wrap crinkled in the still office as she pulled out a cracker to nibble on.
After finishing the saltine, she washed it down with sips of water, hoping to settle her stomach and read through her presentation again. “This would make a great bedtime story because it’ll sure put everyone to sleep.”
She believed in the agency’s mission, knew they changed lives for the better, and yet, her presentations failed to convey her passion.
The office door hinges creaked open. Expecting her assistant, without looking from her computer screen, Carly said, “Morning, Holly. Before you get settled, would you get the WD-40 to fix the squeaky door? Otherwise, it’ll drive us crazy before noon.”
“Tell me where it is, and I’m happy to help.”
Owen’s husky voice flowed over Carly as her gaze flew to the doorway where he stood proud and looking way too tempting in tight jeans, a faded maroon A&M T-shirt, and cowboy hat. Tingles raced along her arms making her want to rub away the sensations dancing over her skin.
No. It wasn’t attraction causing her warm fuzzy feelings. It was irritation over him ignoring her comments to stop popping into the office. Those emotions caused similar physical responses, right?
Nope. Her theory wouldn’t pass the smell test even if she wore a gas mask.
“Owen, you have to stop coming here when you’re not on the schedule.”
“Damn,” Owen said as he shuffled across her office and plopped down in the chair in front of her desk. “Five minutes after I left home, I couldn’t remember where I was going. With physical, speech, and equine therapy I figured this was the most likely place. Guess I was wrong.”
“I thought you’d started writing notes to jog your memory.”
“Before I joined Dad in the car, I wrote my destination on a Post-it and stuck it on my phone But the wind sent the blasted note flying. I chased after the damn thing, but a blue jay swooped down and took it. I hope the bird gets a paper cut on its ass from putting it in its nest.”
She tried to hold in her snicker over his anger at the poor bird, but failed, and laughter bubbled from her.
The realization she’d missed being with a man who could make her laugh, particularly this man, bolted through her.
That sobering thought killed her amusement.
“If a gust of wind destroys your reminder system that’s a big flaw.
And why did you use a Post-it rather than put the note in your phone? ”
“I’m hoping I can drive again soon. Then the problem with using my phone is I can’t check it while driving. I’d hate to end up as an example the Service High teachers use to warn kids about being distracted by their phones.”
“Do what everyone else does. Check it at a stop light.”
“I could if I hit one of the three in town.”
“Actually, there’s only two.” Her smile faded.
How had he come in and gotten her to crawl down some bizarre rabbit hole with him.
Not that the trip hadn’t been fun, but her actions only reinforced his bad behavior the way playing with a puppy did when he jumped on someone to get attention.
She resisted the urge to reach for another cracker. “This has to stop, Owen.”
Instead of leaving as she hoped, Owen swiped at his phone. “Here’s the info. Huh. Turns out I was headed here. I wanted to talk about going bowling with Caleb, a couple other high school buddies, and their wives. I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
She stared at him. Had she been too subtle? People with traumatic brain injuries often failed to pick up on social clues. “I can’t talk now. I’m speaking at the county retired teachers’ monthly meeting today, and unless I want everyone dying from boredom, I need to revamp my presentation.”
“Your talks can’t be that bad.”
She ignored his comment. “If you have concerns about going bowling, read the article I gave you with the social skills survival tips. That should help you decide what to do. But you need to leave.” Then she returned her attention to her computer screen as she searched through photos on the share drive.
“I read the article and wrote down my questions in my phone.”
“Those you could write down in your phone?” Her right hand squeezed the mouse so tight her knuckles cracked. If only he’d written those on a Post-it. Then maybe they’d reside with the mischievous blue jay and couldn’t cause her trouble.
“I don’t need to hit a stoplight to check those.”
“I don’t know how to argue with that logic.”
“Because it’s right.” She rolled her eyes, but with his gaze locked on his phone, he missed it. “The article said if I don’t want to go, I should be honest, but that’ll bring up questions I don’t want to answer.”
“I did say I couldn’t talk, and you needed to leave, didn’t I? The words actually came from my mouth, right? I didn’t imagine them?”
He shrugged, and flashed her a confused, boyish look. “With my memory problems, who knows.”
No, she wouldn’t let his innocent boy/wounded soldier routine tug on her heartstrings.
Rephrase that. She refused to let them convince her to let him stay.
Instead, she counted to ten, and took two deep breaths before speaking, hoping to keep her voice from reaching a pitch only dogs could hear.
“You realize I have other job duties, ones that have nothing to do with you, don’t you? ”
His gaze roamed around her office. “I can’t imagine getting any work done in this place. The traffic on the old highway sounds like we’re in the stands at a NASCAR race. When it rains or the wind kicks up, the noise on the tin roof is unbearable.”
“That’s why we’re starting a campaign for new administrative offices.
” Her hand itched to pick up the closest heavy, but nonlethal object—in this case her “This coffee is broken. I’m still tired.
” mug—and hurl it at his head in an unprofessional temper tantrum.
“And that brings me back to my presentation, and you needing to leave.”
She jumped from her chair, snatched up her cup, and stormed to the coffeepot on the tall filing cabinet near the door.
After refilling her cup, adding a splash of sugar free caramel creamer from the nearby dorm-size fridge, she sipped the steamy liquid.
Her temper cooling and her control returning, she nodded toward the door.
“If we had a security guard, this is when I’d be calling him to escort you out. ”
His butt still stuck to the chair, Owen said, “Are you this blunt with all clients?”
“Just ones who pop in whenever, thinking I’m at his beck and call.
” She winced at her snarky tone. But even with his brain trauma, Owen couldn’t be this clueless?
Giving herself time to regroup, she sipped her coffee, but this time when the brew hit her stomach, acid bubbled into her throat.
She swallowed hard and tried to ignore her nausea.
“Seriously Owen, I’m busy with the duties in my current job.
Ones the board holds me accountable for.
” Every muscle in her body tightened, and her voice rose in pitch.
She set her cup on the cabinet. Liquid sloshed over the rim.
“Public speaking is hard enough for me, and if this presentation doesn’t go well—”
Another wave of nausea swept over Carly. Her hand covering her mouth, she bolted for the bathroom. She flung open the door, slammed it behind her, and reached the toilet seconds before her stomach tossed up her breakfast.
A soft tap sounded on the door behind her. “Carly, are you okay?”
“Go away.”
The knob rattled. She hadn’t locked the door. She groaned, placing her hands on the cool industrial tile floor, and tried to push upward. Unfortunately, the movement set off more nausea, followed by more retching.
A soft creak floated toward her as the door opened. “How can I help?”
The good news was she wouldn’t have to worry about speaking engagements anymore because she was going to die of embarrassment. She envisioned the headline in the Service Sentinel: “Director of local agency found dead of humiliation sprawled on the office bathroom floor.”
“Get out,” she said with as much force and dignity as possible while kneeling in front of a toilet.