Chapter 3
T he smartwatch on Fiona Han’s wrist vibrated.
She turned off the alarm, typed a few more words, saved the document, and closed the lid of her laptop.
She stood and went to the closet in the corner of her office.
Opening the door, she reached up to the top shelf and pulled down a lipstick from the basket that sat there.
She checked her appearance in the full-length mirror on the inside of the door while reapplying the light pink lipstick.
Her long black hair was up in its customary French twist, not a strand out of place.
The pearls at her throat matched the pearls in her ears.
She tucked her pale pink blouse into the waistband of her beige pencil skirt and reached for the matching jacket.
She kicked off the ballerina flats she habitually wore in the office and slipped her feet into nude patent leather pumps with four-inch heels.
At five feet one, Fiona needed every extra inch she could get.
She picked up a small pouch holding her phone, pens, pencils, and extra lipstick, then grabbed her laptop and a stack of papers from her desk.
Squaring her shoulders and taking a deep breath, she strode out of her office, down the hallway into the boardroom of Keeney Works, spotted the scowling face of the very handsome and irritated Tomas Alvarado, and promptly stumbled over an invisible impediment.
Strong hands grabbed her arms. She looked down at the scarred brown hands that gripped her. Then up at Tomas. How had he moved so quickly? He let go, bent to pick up the papers now strewn over the floor, set them on the conference table, and returned to his seat. All without saying a word.
In an automatic response, she ran a hand over her hair and smoothed her skirt.
“You look perfect,” Tomas said without looking up from the papers in front of him.
“Thank you,” Fiona replied, sitting down and busying herself with her laptop. Where was a black hole when you needed one?
No one else was present in the boardroom.
She was highly aware of Tomas’s presence, though he didn’t make a sound.
Dressed neatly in a clean, white button-down shirt, his woodsy, lime scent hung in the air.
She fought against the memories his scent aroused.
Not all of them were pleasant. In fact, most were humiliating.
When she saw him for the first time and mistook him for a waiter.
When her now ex-husband shouted at her, calling her a frigid fuck—in front of him.
When he insisted on driving her home, put her to bed, and turned down her drunken invitation to stay.
He’d kissed her, though.
A kiss the likes she’d never had before.
It was hard to believe such an intimidating man could be so gentle.
But she hadn’t wanted gentle, and pulled him down, wrapping her arms around his neck.
The kiss turned ravenous, with tangling tongues and deep-throated sighs.
He’d pulled back, kissed her on the forehead, and said, “I’ll call you. ” Which he did.
Fiona never answered, and never returned his calls.
Now, he was in the boardroom. All broad shoulders, bronze biceps, hard jaw, kissable lips, and a tattoo peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his rolled-up shirt.
How the hell was she going to run this meeting?
But run the meeting she did. For ninety minutes.
Ninety minutes of explaining the budget, defending decisions, praising partners, and sharing a vision.
Because Fiona Han did have a vision. A vision where mistakes of the past didn’t prevent people from finding and maintaining jobs that would provide a living wage.
That was the mission of Keeney Works. Its community partnership that resulted in Keeney Builds encouraged the staff and board to look further. Ideas were brewing as to what other schools and businesses they could partner with.
Tomas did not participate in the discussion, although he paid attention to each speaker, occasionally taking down notes in a battered spiral notebook.
Once, she saw him smile at Betty Ann, the tiny woman sitting next to him. And— ohmygod —he had dimples. But then, he caught Fiona’s eye and immediately closed down.
The meeting ended, Tomas stood, and helped Betty Ann out of her seat.
The septuagenarian owned a popular boutique and faithfully hired employees from Keeney Works.
She favored huge black, rhinestone-studded glasses and leopard print kitten heels.
She leaned on Tomas’s arm as she made her way around the table.
Fiona could have sworn she’d walked into the meeting under her own power.
Perhaps this was an opportunity to fondle his biceps.
“Good job, dear,” Betty Ann said to her with a pat on the arm. “Tomas is going to help me to my car.” She smiled blandly at Tomas but gave Fiona a subtle wink.
“Thank you both for being here,” Fiona said, casting a swift glance at him.
He lifted his chin in acknowledgement then spoke to Betty Ann. “Hermosa dama, do you want to give me the keys and I’ll bring your car around?”
Betty Ann giggled and said, “Oh Tomas, if you let me hold your arm, I’m sure I can make it.” She raised an eyebrow at Fiona in passing, and the two slowly made their way out the door.
The room emptied, and Fiona breathed in deeply. Dammit. She could still smell him. Why had she not returned his calls?
Because she never thought she’d see him again.
Because dealing with the end of her marriage had overwhelmed her.
Because—
All the reasons that seemed so valid at the time sounded like lame excuses. Humiliation hit her as she realized she’d never thanked him for painting her garage door in the middle of the night.
An hour later, she saved a document and closed her laptop as her cellphone rang. The display said “Linh Han.” Great, her mother was calling. Could the day get any better?
“Hello, Mother.” Fiona leaned an elbow on her desk and rubbed her forehead, grateful that her mother preferred voice-only calls as opposed to FaceTime.
“Hello, Fiona. You are well?”
It wasn’t exactly a question. Her mother was merely being polite. “Yes, Mother.”
“Good. What is Joseph up to?”
Fiona sat up straight. Her brother Joseph was thirty-six and the apple of their mother’s eye.
He was the properties manager for Han Family Holdings, in charge of purchasing and maintaining HFH’s many commercial properties: strip malls containing restaurants, dry cleaners, hair and nail salons, and other small businesses.
While he had an office, he was rarely in it.
“I have no idea. Is something wrong?”
“He’s hiding something.”
That was bad. Joseph and Fiona were expected to answer questions immediately and truthfully when their mother asked a question.
“I want you to find out what is going on and report back to me.”
“Yes, Mother.” There was no point in arguing. Fiona resumed her slumped position and idly drew on the legal pad next to her laptop. Her mother moved on to the next item on her agenda.
“The divorce is final, yes?”
“Yes, Mother.”
“A realtor will be out to the house tomorrow to see if it needs staging.”
“What?” Fiona stiffened in surprise.
“You are no longer a married woman. You will return home and live with your family.”
“No. I can’t move back home. And I don’t want to sell my house.”
Her mother’s emotionless voice continued, “Your father and I bought the house for you as a wedding gift. Without a husband, you cannot afford the mortgage payments.”
Thoughts raced through Fiona’s head as she tried to regroup. Her mother was right. On her salary alone, Fiona was unable to make the mortgage payments. “I’ll refinance. I’m sure I can?—”
Switching to Vietnamese, her mother clipped out, “No. It is decided. Unmarried women do not live alone. It is improper. You will move back home. The house will be sold, and the money reinvested in the business.”
Tears swam in Fiona’s eyes. She was thirty-three. Too old to be moving in with her parents, but they held all the power. With resignation, she said, “Yes, Mother.”
When the conversation ended, she put the phone down, folded her hands in her lap, and contemplated a dismal future.