Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Rachel
“Hi, Orla.”
At least the stupid rental car had Bluetooth.
“Rachel! How’s it going in America’s Heartland? Get it? Hartland! Ha. I slay myself.”
“Very funny.” Rachel flexed her right hand, careful not to stretch the skin along her pinkie too much.
The adhesive needed to stay in place. Her Bluetooth magically worked for the car’s speakers, but she’d had to wait until she was closer to town to call her boss to discuss the meeting coming up in an hour.
“Your last name made you perfect for this project.”
“I get it, Orla.”
“You sound grumpy.”
“It was… complicated getting here.”
“Travel sucks.”
A flash of Satan the Squirrel and the eyeball in the bathroom made Rachel blink. Rachel knew that when Orla traveled on business, she preferred to stay at The Ritz-Carlton.
“No kidding. But let’s talk about Love You Chocolate and Markstone’s. Any new developments I need to know about?”
“No. You’ve got this.”
“I hope so.”
“Well, you’d better.” Orla’s abrupt change in tone made Rachel remember she was a boss.
Not a friend.
“I know. We have a lot on the line.”
“You failed on your last two projects, Rachel. I can’t protect you much longer.”
A buzz of shame spread across her skin. She knew what that meant. Close this deal or she’d be fired.
Rachel was on a “performance improvement plan” at work, to her utter dismay and horror.
The stakes were high here in Love You, Maine, because Rachel Hart’s entire career was riding on convincing Lucinda Armistead and her son, Boyce, that selling to Markstone's would be good for them, good for the town, and good for chocolate lovers everywhere.
Most of all, it would save Rachel’s butt.
“Thanks, Orla,” she said softly, knowing she had to grovel a bit, not liking any of it. “I know how much you’ve done to help me.”
“It’s Doug. He’s a vice president and you know he’s pushing for that executive VP position. Wants all his divisions at peak performance. He’s cutthroat.”
“You have to be in this business.”
“Of course. That’s why it’s called business and not non-profit.”
“Yes,” Rachel agreed faintly. The confidence she had been building up in herself on the drive was draining out fast, this mandatory check-in with her boss accomplishing the exact opposite of what Orla was looking for.
The town center came into stark relief, a splash of red and pink against so much white snow. She waited out a red light as Orla mentioned some technicalities, then pulled into a parking spot in front of a bank on Main Street.
At least it wasn’t called Love You Bank. Knowing this town, that’s what they called the local sperm storage facility.
“Sounds good,” Orla said tersely, then changed her tone back to encouragement. “You’ve got this,” she repeated. “I can’t wait to hear from you about the signed contract.”
“Same!”
“Good luck, Rachel.”
The call ended abruptly. Rachel pulled her earpiece out and let herself deflate, all the air she’d been holding in her body whooshing out into the car.
The craziness of just getting here, then Kell and the glue, then dealing with the trailer fiascoes, had kept her worry over this deal at bay. She needed it to go through.
She would do it. This would be fine. As she breathed in her fear, she exhaled her certainty. It would all be fine. Everything would turn out for the best.
She deserved good things.
And this deal was a very, very good thing.
Adjusting her hair in the mirror, she sized herself up. Long, dark waves. Red lipstick to fit the motif. Putting makeup on in the trailer had meant terrible light and a bathroom mirror the size of a cell phone, but now, in bright sunshine and a rearview mirror, the job wasn’t half bad.
Dark brown eyes fringed with mascara and a hint of eyeliner looked back at her, turning from worried to confident by force of will.
“You will do this,” she told herself, then stepped out of the car, walking to the parking meter.
Quarters? The parking meter took actual quarters?
Where was the parking app she could use on her phone and pay like a civilized person?
Rachel squinted at the meter.
Hold on. Hold on.
It took nickels and dimes?
What was this? 1978? What kind of parking meter took nickels?
A shudder ran through her as the wind picked up, her hatless head starting to ache. After her decidedly horrifying encounter with the squirrel and Kell this morning, she wasn’t sure which was worse.
Kell.
Definitely Kell.
Being in the snow, rolled up in a thankfully large beach towel, protected from frostbite only by the wrap of his arms around her and his ability to stand up while lifting her was not what she thought would happen when they finally were able to separate.
Sure, she was grateful for all his help, but she meant it when she told him to bill her for his time. If he didn’t, she’d have Dani create an invoice and run it through Markstone's.
At an obscene hourly rate that would make Kell suffer.
Yeah, suffer. She knew how his pride worked. He wouldn’t dream of taking a penny from her for being helpful and kind.
At least, the old Kell she knew back in D.C. wouldn’t.
“I can’t even get actual revenge in my revenge fantasies,” she muttered to herself in disgust. “That’s right Rachel. Force him take money. That’ll teach him.”
On the spot, she texted Dani and got the process rolling, though. With so few chances to have the upper hand with Kell, she had to take what she could get.
Carrying her back into the trailer was the second time he’d rescued her from a humiliating moment, and each time, she’d been half dressed. Sure, the incidents were five years apart, but there was a pattern.
What was it about her, public exposure, and Kell being Superman?
All of that was over now. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin and looked around, realizing she had to figure out her parking situation now and stop ruminating about Kell Luview.
Parking in Love You, Maine, was a joke. Right?
One nickel bought you three minutes. A dollar an hour for parking.
She shook her purse and began digging for change. How mortifying. Hopefully, no one from Love You Chocolate was watching.
It took a few minutes, but she found three nickels, two dimes, a Canadian quarter, and a thumb drive that was not useful.
Thirty-seven minutes was not enough.
After shoving all her change in the meter, she took a good look around. Arriving early was a careful business tactic, so that thirty-seven minutes was really only seven minutes once the meeting started.
Spotting a shop called Love You Coffee across the way, she sighed. Kill two birds with one stone.
A caffeinated one.
Get some good coffee, and ask for change. Bingo! Now she could relax.
And rev up at the same time.
All the red, white, and pink made everything a bit surreal.
She felt somehow out of place in her charcoal gray Stella McCartney suit and black booties.
She’d added a lovely red and teal pair of earrings.
Perhaps that flash of red and her white silk shirt would be enough to be plausibly able to claim she dressed in the right colors.
The red wool coat, strongly suggested by her mother last year when they went to Vail, turned out to be perfect.
A nauseatingly charming little heart-shaped bell rang as she opened the door to the coffee shop, the heavenly scent of real coffee hitting her senses. While the coffee in the trailer hadn’t been horrid, this was what she really needed.
A full-caf latte with skim milk, two shots of espresso, and a generous spoonful of ground vanilla thrown in.
And then a second one for good measure.
“Hi there! Welcome to town.” The young woman working the counter looked immediately at Rachel’s hands. “Glad to see you’re free!”
“Excuse me?”
“You and Kell? Buncha people saw you at the hospital wearing handcuffs, with Luke trying to hide it with his coat.” She winked. “Bet it was totally worth it.”
Cold confusion ran through Rachel.
“Could you say that again? I’m very perplexed, because nothing you just said makes sense.”
“Don’t be embarrassed!” She winked again. “We all like to play private games, don’t we? And good on you for bagging Kell. Lots of women are going to hate you immediately, though, so watch out.” Her fingers formed a claw and she hissed.
“Um. No. I’m not–that’s not what happened.” Rachel stopped herself from going on the offensive, and shifted into cold urban-woman mode. “I’ll have a large latte with skim milk, double shot, and a tablespoon of ground vanilla.”
“Ground vanilla? We don’t have that. Just vanilla syrup.”
Rachel shuddered.
“Then leave it out.”
“And we don’t have skim.”
“How can you not have skim milk?”
“It’s not popular here. Kept spoiling. Two percent’s the lowest we can go.”
“Any chance you have almond milk?”
“Yep!”
“Then half two percent and half almond.”
“Want me to go in the back and see if we have any vanilla extract?”
“No. It’s not the same as ground vanilla.”
“What’s so special about the ground stuff?” the girl asked. Her name tag said Skylar.
“It’s anti-inflammatory.”
“Really?”
“Mmm.”
Done with the inquiry, and still taken aback by Skylar’s interpretation-via-gossip of what had happened between her and Kell, Rachel looked around the quiet shop, pretending to be interested in the travel mugs and coasters for sale.
The town gossips were spreading a very, very wrong rumor. They thought she and Kell had got trapped in handcuffs while they were having sex? What? The truth couldn’t be more different.
How was she going to face one of the pillars of the community in thirty minutes knowing she thought that?
“I love your earrings!” Skylar called out over the frothing machine’s hiss.
“Thanks.” Rachel touched the chunky gold chains hanging from her ears.
“Where’d you get them?”
“In Los Angeles.”
“That where you’re from?”
“Mmmm.”
“Don’t see much snow there.”
“We never see snow there,” she corrected.
“Why are you in town?”
“Business.”