Uncommon Emotions Page 4

  “Great affection? Damn, that’s cold. Fine, you don’t want to marry me?” His expression hardened immediately.

  “Forget that. There’s no coming back from that, and I don’t want to be involved with such a cold bitch. We’re through.” The sound I made was somewhere between a cough and a laugh, surprised by his absolute change of manner. He’d forced this and now I’m the bad guy? It’s not like I didn’t wish I could fall in love with him, or feel something stronger for him, or climax when we had sex, but I couldn’t force those things. I was willing to keep trying with him, but he pushed the issue right off a cliff.

  “Goodbye, Chase.” I knew my voice sounded emotionless, but I couldn’t muster the hurt or scorn someone in my position would probably feel. Maybe he was right. Only a cold bitch would date a guy for six months, let him constantly declare his love without reciprocation, and listen to a spontaneous proposal then turn him down flat.

  I’m thinking cold bitch might actually be too kind a portrayal for me.

  Chapter 6

  The bothered sigh, issued for the fourth time in ten minutes, ripped through my eardrums like a drill bit. It probably didn’t help that we were in the tiny conference room that magnified the sound, but I really wanted to reach across the table and slap the offender’s mouth to keep him from continuing his dramatic wisps.

  “Let me give you a helpful tip in conducting these interrogations,” he informed me with a smirk. “Throw the girl into a river and if she floats, she’s not a witch.” Now I wanted to do more than just slap the sigh from him. What a moron. How had he managed to land a job in the finance department? “Not only is your attempt at an historical reference inaccurate, it’s inapplicable,” I responded coolly.

  This was my eighth interview today. As part of my consultations, I spent a couple of weeks interviewing everyone about their positions. Most of the time, I get nervous responses to questions, fumbling attempts to answer intelligently, giddy false exclamations, but sometimes I get these guys. The ones who are pissed at me for trying to make any changes to the company. The ones who feel they can give smart ass replies to my questions because they don’t think I’m going to help.

  “Huh?” He stared dumbly at me, having stopped snickering at his own declaration.

  “If she drowns, she’s not a witch. That particular form of torture was known as swimming. Tie them up, weight them down, and throw them in a lake, river, or pond. The Inquisitors believed witches would use magic to release their binds and float. Once accused, the best way a woman could prove she wasn’t a witch was by drowning. That’s what I meant by your statement being inaccurate. It’s also inapplicable because this isn’t a witch hunt, Kurt. I’m not jealous or fearful of anyone’s abilities or intelligence, nor do I want anyone to be jailed, tortured, or killed as a result of any deficiencies I might find.”

  He snorted, a real snort, before he erupted into an ugly sounding laugh. At least one of us was amused. Through the window behind him, I saw other members of Paul Industries walking to and fro, going about their business day. What I wouldn’t do to be out there among them.

  “Get off it!” he shouted after he’d finished his cackle.

  “This is a witch hunt if I’ve ever seen one.”

  “Considering you didn’t live in the Middle Ages, you never have,” I informed him. “And unlike me, you don’t have a history degree, so why not take me at my word? We could spend hours talking about the various other forms of heinous torture that were given innocuous names like pinching, scratching, strappado and perhaps the most grueling, pricking, but we don’t have that kind of time.” He looked like he was about to continue with his asinine analogy, so I cut him off. “I’ve asked a fairly straightforward question. Describe your typical day.”

  “I told you I don’t have a typical day,” he threw back at me.

  “You’re in finance, not customer service or sales.

  Numbers are fairly consistent from day to day. The sooner you answer my question, the sooner you’re out of here.”

  “Oh, please, who are you kidding? We all know you’re going to can most of us. Why should I cooperate? Robert was right about you, and I’ve got nothing to lose.”

  “Yes, you do, Kurt.” Raven stood in the now open doorway, her tone and glance stern enough to make both of us sit up. Apparently, the walls weren’t that thick around here because she looked like she’d heard more than Kurt’s last dismissal.

  “Relax, chief, I’m just kidding around.” He blanched in her presence.

  Raven strode around the table to stand beside my chair.

  I felt honored that she’d taken a figurative and literal stance on my side. Her linen colored pant suit accentuated her frame perfectly. A lavender vest added just the right amount of color under the single button jacket and set off her amethyst earrings and pendant. She stood ramrod straight beside me, glaring at her senior financial analyst. “It didn’t sound like you were kidding. I know my uncle wouldn’t appreciate you wasting Ms. Simonini’s time, and I don’t appreciate you treating her with such disrespect.”

  “Sorry, but this is a joke, boss.” He flicked his hands off the table. “Our department is better equipped to turn this company around than a cut and run con artist.” Raven placed her hands on the table and leaned forward. She looked like she was going to tear his throat out, and the protective stance she’d taken brought about an unexpected swirl of feelings for me. No one ever stood up for me when I was doing my job correctly, not even the owners who hired me. They’d make me fend for myself.

  “I’ll only cut what’s necessary, Kurt. Like if a person can’t tell me the importance of the job he’s had for,” I checked his résumé, “three years. Now, if you’ll just answer my question, we can get you out of here and back to that work.”

  “I run financial projections and review ratios all day,” he grudgingly admitted.

  I hoped he did a lot more than that, but with our lack of rapport and his boss glaring at him, I doubted I’d get much out of him now. “Thank you, Kurt, I appreciate your time.” He probably wouldn’t recognize my sarcastic tone. Not only was I good at hiding it, but he wasn’t the sharpest tooth on the shark either. He shot out of his seat and didn’t bother to glance back before escaping with another sigh. Only one hundred and thirteen more to go.

  “I’m sorry about that.” Raven perched on the table beside me. “I’ve had trouble with his attitude in the past, but he does mostly good work.”

  “No need to apologize. People get threatened when they feel their job security is at risk.” She squeezed my forearm and a zing of surprise traveled up to my brain. People didn’t unnecessarily touch me. The whole Lizzie Borden reputation usually kept them at a distance. “You’re very gracious. He was incredibly rude to you, and you’re excusing his behavior to his boss.”

  “I had a feeling if I let him keep talking, you might be down one senior financial analyst, am I right? If I let you do the firing around here, it would ruin my reputation.” She laughed conspiratorially. “I never thought there was such a thing, but you might be too good at your job, Ms. Simonini.” Another squeeze of my forearm before she declared, “You shouldn’t have had to put up with that. Let me take you to lunch as a reprieve.” Yes! was my immediate reaction, but usually my sensible, detached, professional head prevailed in these matters. I waited several moments for my brain to speak aloud as it normally does to keep things entirely professional. My mind didn’t seem to want to disappoint her hopeful expression.

  “C’mon, I’ve always wanted to have lunch with an expert on medieval witch trials,” she coaxed with a wide smile.

  Enchanting. I didn’t need to be into women to recognize this woman was definitely enchanting. “Just how much of that interview did you hear?”

  She pushed up from the table and pulled on my arm to join her. “I’ll tell you over lunch.”

  * * *

  Tucked around a table in an off the beaten path restaurant, Raven and I leaned back and moaned at
the same time. “Oh my God,” I voiced the sensation we were both feeling.

  “I know, right?” Raven agreed after she’d finished her mouthful of the best tasting rigatoni outside of Italy.

  “How did you find this place?” I looked around the cozy bistro expecting to see the Italian countryside through the front windows.

  “The owner taught a cooking class years ago, and I was one of the lucky attendees.”

  “You know how to cook like this?” I couldn’t stop shock from seeping into my expression.

  She shook her head. “No one cooks as well as Amalia, except maybe Giovanni, her husband.”

  “Ciao, bellissima!” An elderly, squat man in a sauce stained apron approached the table. He reached out and pulled Raven out of her seat for a hug.

  “Buon giorno, Giovanni, come stai? ” Raven responded to his greeting in flawlessly accented Italian. Now, that’s beyond enchanting, bordering on sexy.

  “Molto bene, grazie. ” He pronounced “grazie” with an “ah” sound at the end instead of the traditional pronunciation. That meant he came from somewhere in southern Italy if I had my dialects correct. “Sono felice di vederti.”

  “Anch’io.” Raven’s Italian sounded as delicious as the meal we’d been enjoying. She gestured toward me.

  “Giovanni, please say hello to Joslyn. She was just experiencing Amalia’s cuisine for the first time.”

  “Ah, sì, sì. My Amalia is like a goddess, no?”

  “I think that might be an understatement, and I’ve only tasted the rigatoni so far.”

  He beamed at my compliment and bellowed back toward the kitchen, “Amalia!” Other restaurant patrons turned to stare at us as we waited for his wife to join us.

  “Raven! You beautiful girl. You sneak in here and do not say a thing?” A shorter, stouter woman with a wild red dye job crowded Raven and her husband until they all bungled into a group hug.

  “I know better than to bother you at lunch. Besides, I’m in here so often you must be sick of me.”

  “Dici sciocchezze!” Giovanni exclaimed just as vehemently as when he bellowed for his wife. “Ti vogliamo bene, Raven.”

  She kissed his cheek in response and turned to his wife.

  “Amalia, this is Joslyn.”

  “Hello.” I reached out to shake her hand and found myself encircled by her arms. Basil, garlic, tomatoes, and parmesan caressed my sense of smell while soft pillowy curves enveloped my sense of touch. Raven turned a stifled grin to the side at my surprised expression.

  “Did you eat, Joslyn?” Amalia’s accent added an extra syllable to my name, Jos-a-lyn, but it sounded singsong coming from this native Italian. She’d pulled back from the hug, anxious for my response.

  “We were just enjoying your fare, Amalia. So far, it’s been a taste extravaganza.”

  Giovanni’s frame swelled at my compliment while Amalia placed a hand to her heart. “My, how wonderful you are.” She gave a pointed look at Raven who was biting her lip to hide the grin now.

  “La tua nuova ragazza è bella, dentro e fuori. Siete una coppia bella.”

  Raven’s eyes widened at his words. She grasped his shoulder before shaking her head hurriedly and denying his statement.

  The older couple’s expressions fell immediately as they turned in unison to look at me. Amalia smiled kindly and asked, “Joslyn, you are not full yet, sì? I have special just for you and our beautiful Raven.”

  “I understand you share your talents with some lucky students, Amalia. You’ll have to tell me when you have your next class. This food is too good not to attempt to replicate.”

  “You are very kind. I gave up the teaching. Not enough students put the good energy into it.” Her hand slid around Raven’s waist and tugged her closer. “I met our Raven; that is enough for me. My work is done.” A bit disappointed, I offered, “If you ever decide to take on students again, I’d promise to be very attentive and clean the kitchen afterward.”

  Giovanni gave a satisfied grunt with a nod, elbowing Raven and gesturing to me. She shook her head with an exasperated smile. “Sit, sit, you must save energy for eating.” He pulled out Raven’s chair first then rushed over to pull out mine as well. Once we were seated, he and Amalia headed back to the kitchen, promising to fill us with every Italian delicacy ever invented.

  I chuckled, feeling their happiness settle over me.

  “Wow, they’re something.”

  “They sure are. They make you feel like family, only better, you know?” Raven watched them disappear through the swinging door then shook her head as if disagreeing with herself. “No, of course not, that made no sense.”

  “Actually, it made perfect sense. They are all the good parts of a family without any of the destruction.” She turned a curious stare my way, the look softened by kindness. “We must have similar family experiences.”

  Unable to resist, I added cryptically, “Well, that would make things easier.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Easier for what?”

  “If we have similar family experiences, I’ll know how to handle yours when you introduce me as your girlfriend.” I tried for a dry delivery, but my undeterred grin blew the joke.

  “You speak Italian!” she accused in a delighted voice, realizing I’d understood Giovanni’s words about me being her new girlfriend and how we made a nice couple. An endearing red suffused her cheeks. “I can’t believe you just stood there and didn’t say anything.”

  “It’s more fun that way. I get a lot of mileage out of the invariably embarrassing things people offer up when they think you can’t understand.”

  She shook her head and chuckled. When she glanced at me, her face held hopeful concern. “I hope they didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

  “Not at all,” I rushed to eliminate her unease. I wondered if all gay people went through that moment of panic just after disclosing their sexuality. Although I barely knew her, I had an overwhelming wish that Raven had never had reason to worry about that. “It’s obvious how much they love you, even without the ability to translate.”

  “I feel very lucky to have met them.” She gave a wistful smile and glanced over at the kitchen door where we could hear Giovanni serenading Amalia.

  “Well, thank you for sharing the place with me.”

  “I figured after putting up with Kurt you deserved a little treat. Of course, once Giovanni and Amalia find out you speak Italian, they’ll never let you leave.”

  “Since I’m working on something that will benefit your company, perhaps we shouldn’t tell them right away? I’ve got twelve interviews scheduled after lunch, and I have a feeling I might have to wade through more medieval references before the day is through.”

  She laughed that rhythmic half-chuckle half-laugh again.

  “I’ll tell them next time.”

  I managed to stop the surprised double-take before it happened. Next time? There would be a next time? The idea pleased me more than I could put into coherent words. I was glad for the diversion that Giovanni and Amalia provided with the shouting announcement of the second course. The food would be a nice distraction from these confusing thoughts.

  Chapter 7

  Playful snuffling sounds echoed through the garage as I worked on my prized possession. My dogs were having a wrestling slash jousting match somewhere near the open garage door, amusing themselves while keeping me in sight.

  As soon as I surfaced from under the car, they’d no doubt have their snouts wetting my face. I lived for days like this.

  In a few more minutes, my 1965 Stingray Corvette would have a new transmission and I’d get to drive it again.

  I’d missed driving this lovely piece of machinery, but the winter rain and a shoddy transmission kept me from partaking in a favorite pastime. I could hardly contain my excitement.

  Task completed, I slid my dolly along the sunken groove I’d had put into one of the garage bays so I could more easily engage in my hobby of restoring cars. As suspected, the dogs, all five of
them, attacked me the second I was free of the undercarriage. Wet tongues, dusty paws, and furry coats assaulted whatever piece of me they could find. By their reaction, you’d think I’d been neglecting them. Sure, I’d been busy with Paul Industries, but since it was a local company, I came home to them every night.

  “All right, all right, crazy puppies,” I assured them, crouching over their now prone bodies. None were actually puppies, but you couldn’t tell by the way they acted sometimes.

  I started toward the house to take a shower and they fell into step with me. I’d never meant to have this many dogs, but I couldn’t say that it bothered me anymore. They were great companions and wise teachers when it came to love.

  I’d learned a lot from them over the years we’d been together.

  After settling the dogs onto their favorite pieces of furniture in the sunroom, I checked my work voicemail as I passed by my home office. “Joslyn, Archie here. I got that comparative data you were looking for. I’ll messenger it over to you. Thought I’d give you a head start on this information before our meeting on Tuesday. See you then.”

  “Great! I’m not supposed to be working this weekend, and now, not only will I be working, but you’re sending someone to my house?” I have this annoying habit of talking to voicemail as if it were a live conversation.

  Thankfully, no one could hear my end of the conversation, or I might find myself fired from this and many other clients.

  Now rushing to get my shower done, I stubbed a toe on the way into the bathroom, swearing and starting the water at the same time. If my clients could see what a dufus I actually was, I guessed I might never get another one again.

  The hot water soothed my toe, my aching muscles, and the irritation that my client assumed I’d be working on his project this weekend. With a messenger on the way, I didn’t have much time, especially if I wanted to meet him out at the gate. Even though my office was in my house, a box at a postal facility for mail and deliveries allowed me to maintain a professional distance.