Major filled the thermal carafe with chicory-flavored dark roast, covered the platter holding warm croissants, strawberries and raspberries, bacon, shelled hard-boiled eggs, and a large ramekin of honey butter—everything he’d watched Meredith pile onto her plate the last time he’d seen her at one of her father’s prayer breakfasts—and added them to the rolling service cart. Preparing a meal for someone he was mad at always helped him overcome the feelings and approach the situation in a positive frame of mind.
The silverware rattled against the porcelain plates when the cart’s wheels bumped over the threshold of the freight elevator. He checked his watch again: 7:53. As long as she hadn’t decided to come in early this morning, he should be able to get everything set up on the small conference table in her office before she arrived.
With a grinding squeal and an unnerving bounce, the elevator stopped on the fifth floor. He swiped his security card on the reader beside the door directly across the hall. Dark quiet enveloped the smaller-scale kitchen—the place Alaine Delacroix decided would be just perfect for the cooking segments on her midday news show. The segments Meredith had never told him about.
He rubbed his tongue against the backs of his teeth. Maybe Meredith had a good reason for why she’d failed to tell him she’d volunteered him to do a weekly cooking demonstration in addition to his regular job. His full-time job at which he worked nearly fifty hours a week—even longer when gearing up for big events, like the upcoming Hearts to HEARTS banquet.
The soft wheels of the cart whispered across the wood floor in the executive dining room and hallway. Meredith’s office door stood open, and the lights were still off. Good. She wasn’t here yet.
He glanced around as he raised the dimmer switch to bring the lights up. The dark wood along the curved juncture of wall and ceiling, copper ceiling tiles, cream walls, and dark-wood floors made the room look like a Boston cream pie. His stomach rumbled. But the rest of the office—he cringed. Unkempt stacks of paperwork sat on her desk. She’d obviously done some work at the small round table, too, because the vase of bright pink flowers sat near the far edge, as if shoved aside.
Three minutes until eight o’clock. He moved the vase to the center of the table then set out the plates, napkins, silverware, and cups and saucers. He measured distances between utensils and china using his fingers—the way Maggie Babineaux had taught him—then stepped back to make sure everything looked uniform and symmetrical.
“What’s this?”
His stomach jumped at Meredith’s voice. He stepped aside so she had an unhindered view of the tablescape. “Breakfast.”
The shoulder strap of her overloaded briefcase fell from her shoulder into the crook of her elbow. She jolted to the side from the shift in weight, then hugged her arms around an opaque garment bag. “Breakfast?”
“Yes. You know, the meal that one usually eats first thing in the morning. Which for you typically consists of a child’s-size box of Cheerios, dry, and possibly a tub of applesauce, if you get around to eating it, with several cups of coffee, I believe.”
“What—do you have a nanny cam in here somewhere to keep up with my eating habits?” She smiled, but wariness still filled her eyes. She hung the garment bag on the coat hook on the back of the door then went around her desk, divested herself of her briefcase and purse, and turned on her computer.
“No, we’ve just had enough early morning meetings for me to observe the fact that you take a very haphazard approach to breakfast.” He clasped his hands behind his back to try to stop the itching sensation in his fingers from wanting to go to her desk and straighten up all of the paper stacks, line up the several sticky notes on the edge of her computer monitor, and close the partially opened file drawer in the credenza behind her desk. The office hadn’t looked this disheveled when he dropped off her dinner box yesterday afternoon.
“Do we—are we supposed to be meeting this morning?” She grabbed her thick leather planner out of her briefcase and flipped it open on top of the papers strewn over her desk blotter.
“No, but I saw on the computer that you don’t have any meetings this morning—at least Outlook showed your time as free—and I hoped to be able to get half an hour with you.”
Being in the same room with Meredith made yesterday’s frustration with her evaporate. The dark gray suit she wore highlighted her figure to perfection—making him wonder what was in the hanging bag on the back of the door.
“Are you working an event tonight?”
“Tonight? No. Pam and Lori are overseeing a couple of functions—I thought they’d worked out the catering with your staff.” Concern troubled her usually calm, golden brown eyes.
“Yes, I have staff assigned to both events. I just saw you’d brought extra clothes and wondered...” His thought drifted off when Meredith turned deep red.
“Oh, that.” Her voice squeaked. “I have plans after work and didn’t want to spend the evening in a suit.”
Major stopped rubbing his tongue against his teeth and caught the inside of his cheek between them instead. Plans? A date? With whom?
“So what did you want to meet with me about?” She carried a legal pad and pen over to the conference table.
“Meet? Right. Why don’t you get started serving your plate.” He picked up the carafe and poured coffee for both of them.
“This looks wonderful, Major. Thanks for thinking of it.” She sat down and draped the cloth napkin over her lap.
He cut open a croissant, slathered it with honey butter, arranged a layer of raspberries on one half, then replaced the top.
“A raspberry sandwich?” Meredith grinned at him as she layered her bread with bacon and the egg she’d just sliced. “Not a bad idea.”
Of course she had a date tonight. Any man would have to be an idiot to pass up the chance to date Meredith Guidry. Call me an idiot, then. “Something I picked up from my roommate during culinary school.”
“How’s the week been? Sorry I’ve been missing you, but clearing everything up after the New Year’s gala and trying to get things going for the H to H banquet have kept me running.” Meredith took a big bite out of her bacon and egg sandwich.
Major hid his amusement. One thing he’d always appreciated about Meredith was the gusto with which she ate—no pretense, no falsely dainty bites, just a sheer enjoyment of the food in front of her. He washed down his raspberry croissant with a slug of coffee then gave her a recap of everything the catering division had done that week.
Meredith refilled both coffee cups. The recap of the catering division’s week turned into a discussion of the New Year’s Eve gala and what they could improve upon next year.
But I might not be here next year.
The last bite of his sandwich stuck in his throat. That was something he hadn’t taken into consideration about the restaurant deal: not working with Meredith day in and day out. But not seeing her every day might help him stick to his resolve of never dragging her into the uncertainty of his life, the fear that at any time a call would come that his mother’d had a psychotic break and would have to be removed from the assisted-living facility and find a new place.
“So are you going to tell me what you wanted to meet with me about?” Meredith rested her elbows on the edge of the table and cradled her coffee cup in both hands.
He pushed his plate back, grateful for the derailment of his train of thought. “I guess you know that I had an interview with Alaine Delacroix from Channel Six yesterday.”
“Alaine Delacroix? The girl who does that talk show at noon? Interviewed you?” Meredith’s brows flattened into a frown.
Major didn’t know what to make of her response. “Yeah. Apparently she’s going to be doing a story on the Hearts banquet and wanted to interview me about that, and the New Year’s gala. And she also wanted to talk to me about the cooking segment.”
“The cooking segment?” Meredith almost dropped her coffee and set it down quickly. “What cooking segment?”
He rubbed his forehead. Obviously she was as much in the dark as he’d been. “You didn’t know that I’m apparently supposed to be doing a weekly cooking demonstration for Alaine Delacroix’s show?”
She shook her head. “This is the first I’ve heard about it.”
“Oh.” His heart twisted at the pained expression that filled Meredith’s eyes—and the knowledge that he’d probably just put her in a very awkward position. “I thought maybe, since the catering division falls under your department...” Shame sloshed around in his gut at the memory of the accusatory anger he’d held toward her since yesterday.
“Catering does, yes. But you know that my parents sometimes like to make decisions without department directors’ input.” Meredith didn’t pull her gaze away from her clasped hands.
He opened his mouth then clamped it shut. Asking Meredith if she really thought her parents did that with any of their other executive directors probably wasn’t the best direction to take the conversation. He wanted to apologize, to take back the knowledge he’d just thrust upon Meredith that her parents didn’t respect her authority and position. But once the soup was spilled, there was no getting it back into the pot.
“I’ll talk to my mom and pass along whatever details she can give me.” Meredith’s soft voice and the weariness in her eyes when she finally looked up tugged at Major’s heart. He wanted to reach over and hug her, wanted to express the sentiments he’d kept bottled up for years, wanted to make her a permanent fixture in his life.
But she deserved better. She deserved more than what he could offer her. She deserved a man who could devote his whole attention to her, who hadn’t been a coward and hidden his schizophrenic mother from her.
“Is there something else on your mind?” Meredith asked.
He frowned and stared into the little bit of coffee remaining in his cup. “I had a meeting with your parents Monday. They want me to consider investing in a restaurant with them.”
With what looked like a conscious effort, the remnants of her earlier frown disappeared. “Dad told me yesterday. It’s a great opportunity for you. When would it happen?”
“I’m not sure. Forbes and I are supposed to be setting up a meeting to discuss the details.” Major checked the carafe to see how much coffee remained before offering it to Meredith, but she waved him off.
“I knew this would happen eventually. You’re too good to be kept from the general public by catering B-G events for the rest of your life.”
“Thanks.”
“It kills me to say this, but you have to do it. You’ve been wanting to open a restaurant for so long.”
Major leaned back and hooked his arm around the top of the vacant chair beside him, all the fear and doubt that had kept him awake at night returning. “Meredith, you’re one of the closest friends I have. I can’t tell your parents or Forbes this, but I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid.”
An odd expression crossed her face before sympathy replaced it. “Afraid of what?”
“Failure. Of disappointing your parents. Of disappointing all those VIPs I met at your folks’ house Monday.”
The corner of her mouth quirked up. “And you’ve never worried about that here? I’m jealous.”
Through the jocularity of her tone, her words hit home. “I guess ... I guess because here I’ve always been working on someone else’s orders—working someone else’s plan—I’ve never had the sense of being completely responsible for the success or failure of an event. Not the way I would be as the person in charge of everything at a restaurant.”
Meredith didn’t say anything for a long moment. “This is probably going to sound like a patronizing question, but have you prayed about it?”
“Nonstop since I left their house.”
“What is God telling you to do?”
“I’m not sure. A verse keeps running through my head, but I’m not sure how to interpret it.”
“What verse?” She stood and crossed to her desk and sat at the computer.
“‘For to everyone who has, more shall be given, and he will have an abundance; but from the one who does not have, even what he does have shall be taken away.’ I think it’s in Matthew somewhere.” He moved around and leaned against the edge of the desk where he could see her screen. He recognized the Web site she accessed—he used it all the time when it was his turn to lead Bible study, or when he filled in for the chaplain out at Beausoleil Pointe Center.
“Matthew 25:29, to be exact. It’s in the parable of the talents—where the master gave each of three slaves some money....”
“Two went out and doubled what they received; the third hoarded his and did nothing useful with it.” Major dragged his fingers through his hair. “So is God telling me that if I don’t take this opportunity, I’m acting like that third slave who risked nothing?”
Meredith turned to face him. “In my experience, faith is a lot like the money Jesus was talking about. Unless you use it—unless you invest it in some worthy endeavor—it will never grow. It’ll never do you any good.” She looked back at the screen. “Did you read this verse—15?”
“‘To one he gave five talents, to another, two, and to another, one, each according to his own ability....’”
“‘According to his own ability.’” Meredith repeated. “Do you think maybe that’s what God is trying to tell you? He is rewarding your ability and wants you to go out and invest that reward?”
He squeezed her shoulders. “Thanks.” His phone beeped, and he angled it from his belt to see the screen. “That’s Steven wondering where I am.”
“Reports by noon?”
“I’ll send everything to your assistant.” He loaded up the remnants of their breakfast onto the cart and departed—but turned to take one last look over his shoulder from the door.
Meredith sat at her desk, face buried in her hands.
His insides twisted around all that food he’d just eaten, hating himself for having caused pain to the woman he desired to please above all else.
Meredith pounded the backspace key on the computer’s keyboard. She’d made the same spelling mistake five times while typing the memo that would go to her parents along with the spreadsheet her assistant was even now finalizing. Her brain buzzed with everything Major had told her this morning, and her emotions swung from despair at the thought of Major leaving B-G to start a restaurant to frustration and anger that her parents—Mom, most likely—had once again made a major decision that would impact one of the divisions in Meredith’s department without alerting Meredith first.
She had no delusions that her parents would seek her advice or input on something like asking Major to appear on TV weekly, adding to his already overloaded schedule. But they could have at least informed her of their decision ahead of time so she didn’t come across looking like such a complete imbecile in front of Major.
“Oh, for mercy’s sake!” She smacked the edge of her keyboard with the heels of her hands when she misspelled the seafood vendor’s name a sixth time.
“Everything okay, Meredith?” Corie, her administrative assistant, hesitated in the doorway, a thick folder in her hands.
“Just frustrated with myself.” Meredith turned away from the computer and reached for the bottle of soda that usually sat next to her phone—but she hadn’t replenished her stock yesterday. “What’s up?”
Corie crossed the office and extended the folder. “I finished the spreadsheet and e-mailed it to you. Here’s all the receipts and invoices.”
“Does that include everything from catering?” Meredith took the file and set it on her desk without looking at it. Though just seven months out of college, Corie was the most efficient and organized assistant Meredith had ever had.
“Yes. Major got everything to me this morning.”
“And the payroll report?”
“Included.”
“Really? I was expecting to have to get on the phone with HR this afternoon and pull rank to get the information from them before deadline.” Finally, something was going right today.
Corie filled her in on everything she’d done to get the report finished before the end of the day so Meredith could take it home to work on over the weekend.
“Good job. I owe you lunch big-time.” Meredith glanced at the clock. “It’s four o’clock. All I have left is to finish the memo, so if you don’t have anything else you need to do today, why don’t you go ahead and knock off early.”
“Thanks, boss!” Corie bounced out of the office.
Once more, Meredith reached for the soda bottle, only to find empty air. “Good grief.” She dug into her purse and pulled out a handful of coins.
“Did I miss something?” Corie asked when Meredith came out of the office.
“Nope. I just need a Coke.”
“I can go get it for you.” The assistant put her tote down on her desk.
“That’s sweet. But you go on home. I’m perfectly capable of going down to the shop and getting a drink.” No way was Meredith going to become one of those spoiled executives whose assistant did nothing but get her coffee, pick up her dry cleaning, and answer her phone—like her mother’s executive assistant.
“I’ll walk down with you.”
On the five-flight trek down the stairs, at Meredith’s inquiry, Corie talked about her plans for the weekend, which included a trip to Baton Rouge for a concert of some band Meredith had never heard of. Once they reached the first floor, Meredith bade the girl farewell and crossed the large, atrium-style lobby to the coffee shop– newsstand–convenience store.
“Afternoon, Miss Guidry.”
She greeted the cashier and made a beeline for the refrigerated cases at the back of the small shop. She vacillated between ginger ale and root beer and finally chose Cherry Coke instead, figuring the caffeine would help with the dull headache she’d been trying to ignore all day. Plus, she wasn’t sure how late she’d be out tonight, so the boost might be helpful.
She paid and headed back toward the bank of elevators—but was diverted when she saw one of her building maintenance managers and a couple of his guys at the security desk. When she joined them, the manager explained that several complaints had been made about trip-and-fall accidents on the twelfth floor near where new tenants were remodeling their office space.
Meredith tucked the information away to ask about in the facilities staff meeting on Monday if the manager forgot to mention it.
Back in her office, fortified with caffeine and sugar, Meredith returned to the report, recapping everything that happened from planning through execution of the New Year’s Eve gala. Finally, at a quarter of five, she e-mailed the memo and spreadsheet to herself at home, then stuffed the folder of receipts and invoices into her bag.
She switched over to her e-mail program ... and groaned. More than a hundred unread e-mails just since lunchtime. She scanned the subject lines. Nothing vitally important that couldn’t wait until Monday. She shut down the computer and reached for the phone.
As she took a long swig of soda while listening to her twelve new voicemail messages, her eye caught on the garment bag hanging from the coat hook on the back of the door. Her stomach gave a little flip. In half an hour, Ward Breaux would arrive to take her on a date. A date.
She wrote down the messages on the page for Monday in her planner. Finished with those, she scanned the sticky notes scattered around her desk and stuck to the sides of her computer monitor. Half of them referenced completed projects, so she threw them away. The rest she stuck to the appropriate pages in her planner to deal with next week.
The phone rang, and she picked it up without looking at the caller ID window. “Events and Facilities Management. This is Meredith Guidry.”
“Well, hello there, Meredith Guidry.” Ward Breaux’s voice sent goosebumps racing down Meredith’s arms. “I just wanted to give you a heads-up that I left my job site earlier than I thought, so I’m probably going to be there about ten or fifteen minutes early. I hope that doesn’t mess up your schedule.”
She glanced at her watch. “No, I was just wrapping things up, as a matter of fact.”
“Great. I’ll see you in a few minutes then.”
As soon as she hung up, Meredith jumped up from her desk and closed her door so she could change clothes. The dress was something Anne had talked her into buying a couple of years ago, and it had hung in Meredith’s closet ever since. The chocolate brown matte-silk sheath topped with a three-quarter sleeve bolero had a very 1940s vibe to it, which was the only reason she’d been cajoled into buying it. Her round-toed brown pumps had a similar retro feel to them. She hoped she didn’t look like she was wearing a costume.
Hanging the gray tweed suit in the garment bag, Meredith slipped into the marble and cherry powder room that connected her office with her mother’s. She added a little makeup—but didn’t go for the full war paint that she wore for formal events—and let her hair down from the clip she’d pulled it back with at the height of her frustration this afternoon.
The intercom on her phone buzzed. She jogged over to grab the receiver.
“Miss Guidry, there’s a Ward Breaux here to see you.”
“Yes, thank you. I’ll be out in a moment.”
Heart trying to make a jailbreak through her rib cage, she grabbed the small purse she’d tucked into her larger bag that morning, draped her burgundy wool car coat over her arm, and left the security of her office.
Most of the lights were out except for in the main hallway and the reception area, which the girls were getting ready to close down. Standing with his hands clasped behind his back, engrossed in the images of all the Boudreaux-Guidry properties mounted on the wall, was Ward Breaux. His charcoal overcoat made him look even larger than she remembered, and instead of the jeans and boots she’d seen him in before, dark pants and shiny black shoes showed beneath the hem of the coat.
She stopped, stomach knotted, and nearly turned tail and ran back to her office. No. She could do this. She needed to do this.
“Ward.” Could she have sounded more breathless? She moved forward and extended her right hand. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Meredith.” His grin was somewhat lopsided. She hadn’t noticed that before. His large hand wrapped around hers, not in a businesslike handshake, but as if he were going to raise it to kiss the back of it. “When I met you, I thought you were beautiful. But I was wrong. You’re gorgeous.”
Her toes curled in their cramped confines. Heat prickled her face, knowing the two receptionists were gawking at them. “Thanks.”
“Ready to go?” He turned and swept his arm toward the main doors.
“Yes.” She allowed him to take her coat and assist her into it, and her breathing hitched when he settled his hand in the middle of her back to walk her to the door. Deep smile lines appeared in his cheeks when she looked up at him.
The front door swung open before they got to it. Meredith stopped, mortified.
Of anyone who could possibly walk through those doors at five twenty on a Friday evening, why, oh why, did it have to be Major O’Hara?