Her defensiveness earned her a cold smile that didn’t quite reach Caleb’s eyes. She sat down and folded her hands in front of her, her knuckles going white with tension.
“Can I help you with something?” she asked.
“Yeah. I’m trying to get in touch with Topher Martin. I thought maybe you had his phone number.”
Now, there was an interesting dilemma. A week ago she would have said that Caleb and Topher belonged together like arson and larceny. But now, looking into Caleb’s astonishingly handsome face, she wasn’t so sure.
“I’m sorry,” she said in her best sweet Southern-girl voice. “I don’t give out client numbers.”
He leaned forward, muscles straining through the expensive-looking worsted of his suit jacket. “Come on, Jess. Topher and I go way back. We’re buds.”
Yeah, and if you were still buds, you’d have his number. But she didn’t say that. She smiled. “I’m sorry, it’s a policy.”
He leaned back, studying her office. “So, how many people do you employ here?”
“It’s just me.”
“Really? And all that rent you’re paying, huh?”
“I’ve been successful. I just started my business and—”
“I’m not entirely sure the review committee for the City Hall design will be impressed by a one-woman shop.” His cruel stare was loaded with subtext.
She got the message. She knew a bully when she saw one. Her own father had sometimes been this way, speaking a silent language full of stares and innuendo. He’d domineered Momma the same way. Using just his words and his disapproval. From what she’d learned over the years, he’d been the same way in business. Lots of people had shown up for his funeral, but he hadn’t gotten many glowing eulogies.
“Representative Tate, I know you—”
“You can call me Caleb,” he said with another oily smile.
“Caleb. I know that you and Topher were once friends. But I’m sorry. I can’t give you his number. For a lot of reasons, he values his privacy. And even if he didn’t, it’s against my policy.”
“Yeah. So, you’ve seen him, huh?”
“What?”
“Topher. Is he really messed up?”
“He’s been injured, yes.”
“Tough break.” Caleb shook his head. “I just want to send him a get-well card. You understand, right?”
“I can’t give you his number.”
“I could get it from someone else.”
Then do it. She didn’t say that, either. She just continued to smile, even though the corners of her mouth were starting to ache. “I’m sure you could. Now…” She stood up, hoping the guy would get the message.
He stood up too and looked at his watch. “So, uh, it’s almost lunch. You doing anything?”
Oh my goodness. He was hitting on her? Ew. “I’m sorry. I’m busy. Maybe some other time.” She inwardly cringed. She could forget about the City Hall project if it required her to suck up to him. And maybe if she didn’t win the bid, she’d have a moment when she could get up in his face and tell him in excruciating detail exactly what she thought of him.
He stepped around the desk, coming close enough for her to smell his sweet cologne. The scent made her want to rush right into the bathroom and hurl.
She stepped back. “I think you should go,” she said, a tremor in her voice.
He grinned, his teeth so white they had to be caps. “You might want to think things over, Jess. I could be very helpful to you and your business. I have connections.”
He turned and strode from the office. It was only when he’d turned his back that she realized he was losing his hair.
* * *
Wednesdays in late August, after school started for the year, were slow at Daffy Down Dilly. So slow that Kerri thought about closing the shop on alternate weekdays.
On the other hand, if she closed midweek, she’d have nothing to do. It wasn’t like she had a child to raise or a bunch of hobbies to pursue.
The business had become her life.
So she sat behind the checkout counter reading a copy of Essence. She’d already caught up on her bookkeeping, submitted her merchandise order for the fall season, and deep cleaned the entire shop.
She had nothing but the long, lonely winter to look forward to. Maybe she should take those knitting lessons down at A Stitch in Time. It might be fun to design her own knitted apparel.
She glanced toward the window just as a St. Pierre Construction truck pulled into the empty parking spot in front of the store.
Hallelujah and praise the Lord. The day had taken a turn for the better. Colton