Boss Meets Her Match. Janet Lee Nye
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a Charles Beaumont Matthews the Sixth.
“Awesome. Which one?”
“Susannah. She’s due in April.”
“Tell her and Biff I sent my congratulations.”
“His name is Bill.”
“Is Biff Charlotte’s husband? I get them mixed up.”
“You are being unpleasant. Goodbye.”
“Bye, Mom,” he said as she ended the call.
It wasn’t that he didn’t love his family. He just didn’t like them very much. Boring. Predictable. And so many damned rules.
He stood to gather his things when the phone rang again. He almost didn’t look, sure it was his father calling to yell at him for upsetting his mother. And his mother merely annoyed him. His father could push buttons that made him want to punch walls. But it was Eliot Rutledge. This was random.
“Dr. Rutledge, how are you?”
“Eliot, please, son. How many times do I have to ask?”
“Enough to overcome the ruthless teachings of several deportment for proper gentlemen classes, sir.”
Eliot laughed. “Yes. I have a daughter who was politely asked to leave several of those.”
“How may I help you?”
“I have an idea. Now, I understand you have a lot going on with your job at the hospital and your art career beginning to take off, so tell me no if you need to.”
“Okay. Go ahead.”
Like he was going to tell his benefactor no. He just hoped it wouldn’t be too onerous.
“I do some volunteer work at the St. Toribio Mission out on John’s Island. Are you familiar with it?”
“Vaguely. They work with the migrant workers?”
“Yes. Primarily, but the doors are open to anyone needing help. I was thinking about creating an art-therapy program for the children. I see them there while their parents are getting medical or legal help and they have nothing to do but sit and wait. I thought an art room with supplies would be helpful.”
Matt nodded. “Actually, sir, that sounds like an amazing idea. I’m sure it would help them quite a bit. What are you thinking? Weekly sessions or just get it set up?”
“For now, getting it set up. We have plenty of volunteers who could watch the kids and keep the room and supplies in order.”
“Okay. I’m in. Just let me know when and where.”
“Very good. Thank you. I’ll be back in touch.”
Matt ended the call with a smile on his face. At least someone appreciated his art and his desire to use it to help others.
LENA STOOD IN the doorway of her walk-in closet. Sass wound her way around her ankles, getting cat hair on her still-damp and freshly shaved legs. “What do you think, Sass? Standard black? Or should we pull out all the stops and go with the red?”
As she moved into the closet, Sass dashed under the row of neatly hanging dresses, her tail trailing along the hems as she walked. Lena sighed. “I might as well just buy everything in Sass orange. It’d be cheaper than all the lint rollers.”
She’d always wanted a pet. It was nice to have someone to talk to, even if it was a cat. Sass seemed interested in what she had to say, so that was all that mattered. Lena leaned down to scratch behind Sass’s ear. Lifting a dress from the rod, she turned to the mirror. “I’m going with the red. I shaved my legs for this.” She hooked a pair of shoes out of the shoe rack. Black stilettos with four-inch heels. “Let’s see what poor old Eduardo thinks about this.”
She slipped the dress on, careful not to smudge her makeup, and wiggled the zipper up. Oh, hell yes. She smoothed down the front. The dark red set off her hair and eyes and it clung to her curves like nothing else. Bonus, it actually came down to just above her knees so she didn’t have to worry about accidently flashing anyone.
Trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach, she fluffed her hair and grabbed the shoes. “All right, Sass. It’s showtime.”
* * *
THE UBER DRIVER pulled up to the curb directly outside Hall’s Chophouse. Lena frowned. Eduardo was there, waiting. In rumpled khaki pants and a short-sleeved, blue plaid shirt. And was he wearing sneakers? For this, I shaved above the knee. She slipped her shoes back on and stepped out of the car.
He didn’t even notice. Just stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, staring the wrong way down the street. “Idiot,” she muttered under her breath. Shaking her head, she approached him. The clack of her heels on the sidewalk must have caught his attention because he turned in her direction.
“Oh, hi,” he said.
She stopped in front of him. “Hello.”
He pressed his lips together and looked down at his shoes. “You know, I know our families sort of pushed this on us and I was just trying to go along with it, but, so if you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to.”
Her mouth, she managed to keep shut. Her eyes, however, fixed on him in a stare so hot he should have burst into flames. He glanced at her and a shadow of fear crossed his features. The door to the restaurant opened and an older man dressed properly in a suit walked out. He smiled at Lena.
“Excuse me, sir,” Lena said to him. She motioned at Eduardo. “This gentleman doesn’t want to go on the date he asked me out on. What do you think about that?”
The man stopped and, with a slow up-and-down look, smiled. “I think he’s a damned fool.”
“Hey. I didn’t say I didn’t want to. I said if you didn’t want to,” Eduardo protested.
Lena lifted a finger. “Dude. We are going on this date. I shaved my legs and put on a bra. We will each pay our own way. We can talk or not. Then we can each go tell our families that, oh well, didn’t work out. Okay?”
The frightened look returned. “Okay,” he said.
Lena smiled. “Okay.”
As they were seated, Lena asked for a chardonnay. She tried to hide her irritation because Eduardo was staring at her like she was going to gut him. She didn’t mean to be a bitch. She simply could not stand a wishy-washy man. Made her teeth itch.
“So, you’re a software engineer?” See, I’m being nice.
“Yes.”
Silence. For the love of God.
“What sort of software do you engineer?” Come on, man. Give me something here.
“Mostly design-and-build commercial websites.”
Lena nodded. She had no idea what that even meant. “I understand Charleston has a thriving technology community.”
He fiddled with his napkin. “Yeah.”
Lena eyed the steak knife. This was going to be a long night.
“So,” Eduardo said. “How many kids do you want to have?”
Lena froze. Stared. Gave him a long, slow blink. “Um. I don’t know?”
“Oh. Because I come from a large family. Very traditional.”
Lena raised her eyebrow in a perfect arch. Traditional. Didn’t teach you any machismo, that’s for sure. “Honestly, Ed, I think I’d like to shelve the topic of children until after my wine arrives at least.”
“I think it’s important. At your age, you can’t afford to wait, you know. Your aunt said you wanted