Chapter Seven

Brielle

"Good morning, Rita. Lots to do today," I announce as I arrive at my office building bright and early four Mondays later. "Two closings, among other things."

"We actually have four closings, not two. The Jones closings are this afternoon," she reminds me. "Don't you plan on going?"

I shrug my shoulders.

"I really don’t see the need," I tell her, my stiff posture at odds with the nonchalant way I attempt my answer. "He's paying cash, the title company overnighted him the documents for both properties, and the sellers' realtors are leaving the keys in each lockbox for him. No, there's nothing more I need to do for Mr. Jones."

Never have to interact with him ever again, actually. What a relief, I think to myself.

"Ah. I've already started the coffee for you," she chimes back, transitioning smoothly away from that prickly topic with a knowing smile.

"You're a lifesaver. Don't know what I'd do without you."

“You could lock up tonight. I need to leave at four. I’ve got a date.”

“Deal.”

As I walk back to our tiny kitchen to pour myself a cup, I mentally shake off the simultaneous irritation and interest that happens every time I even think of Allen Jones. Which, sadly, is more often than I would like to admit.

Enough. Focus, I chide myself as I add creamer and sugar and stir rapidly, then sip to confirm that it is ready to enjoy.

I sit behind my desk, boot up my computer, and turn my attention to the lovely young couple whose closing later this morning means that my personal millstone is about to be a successful sale instead of a black mark on my track record. I had been right about my gut feeling - the Prescott home, trapped for so long between warring soon-to-be-ex-spouses, is finally about to become the residence for a new family.

Looking back, that sparsely attended two-hour open house turned out to be a blessing, I think to myself with a smile. Everything happens for a reason.

***

I sail through my busy schedule - the two closings sandwiched between three showings and another open house - with no major issues. I lock up my office and arrive home a little after six p.m.

I have just settled in to making myself some pasta for dinner when my cell phone rings. When I glance at the screen, the blood in my body runs cold.

Unavailable, the display reads.

I freeze, holding my breath, as the phone rings four times, then goes silent.

A few moments later, a sharp ping lets me know I have a new voicemail message.

With a shaking hand, I reach out and tap the icon to play the message.

"Good evening, Bri… Miss Cerver," I hear Allen's rich baritone say. "I was just calling to say thank you for all your hard work. Both closings happened today, and they went off without a hitch."

His message to me pauses, then continues, "But I'm sure you already knew that. Anyway…"

Wait. What is that I'm hearing in his voice? Regret?

"Maybe once I get settled in up there, we can meet for dinner. It is the least I can do to thank you for all your help. Okay, then. Guess I will talk to you later. Have a good night."

I stare at the phone for a long moment, completely conflicted as to what I should do. Then I remember the way he acted the one and only day we spent time together, and my resolve hardens.

I press 'delete' and send his voicemail into tech oblivion before I turn my attention back to the boiling water on my stove.

Ten minutes later, my phone rings again. When I see the 'unavailable' designation come up once more, I lift an eyebrow.

"What more can he possibly have to say?" I mutter under my breath, and purposely ignore the new voicemail notification.

It is not until my pasta is plated that I decide to listen to whatever new awkward message Allen Jones has left me. I pick up my phone with my left hand and press 'play', then pick up my plate with my right hand, and move toward the table.

My plate of fettucine hits my kitchen floor and shatters when I hear rasping, deep, ominous breathing, followed by four maliciously snarled words that leave me shivering.

"Your time's coming, bitch."

Allen

He's endured my crappy attitude for weeks now, and Grant has had enough.

"What's your problem lately? You've been impossible to deal with," he snaps at me the Monday morning I'm closing on the properties Brielle found for me.

I grumble under my breath before I finally confess it all - my unexpected reaction to her, the guilt, and my horrible treatment of Brielle the day we met in person.

It is Grant's suggestion that I call and try to make amends after I finally tell him why I am wound up so tightly that I've almost ceased to function like a normal person.

"You're only hurting yourself," he says gently. "Mary knew what she was doing when she made you make that promise. The way to honor her is to keep it."

I sigh and slump my shoulders.

"After the way I treated Brielle, I've blown it. I just know it."

"Maybe you did blow it," he acknowledges. "But maybe not. You won't know for sure unless you try."

That evening I gather up my courage and call her. When it goes to her voicemail, I extend my olive branch, and settle down to wait it out.

Three days pass with no response from Brielle, so I try her office number during daytime hours and connect with Rita, who promptly takes my name and number and assures me she will pass along my request for Brielle to call me back.

After three more days pass and I still have not heard from her, I know for sure my earlier suspicion is correct.

I screwed up. Badly.

I tell Grant as much the following Monday morning, and he claps a sympathetic hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Allen," he says sincerely.

"Me too," I reply, and realize how much I mean it.

***

I spend the rest of my last week at Grant's company lining out the transition; my duties are being spread out among my two assistants. As planned, I will still be Grant's business partner, stepping back only from my current day-to-day role in the scheme of things.

By the time the moving van and crew arrives on Saturday morning, I am completely packed and ready to leave my current world behind for the future I am building in a little town four hours to the north.

And I might have had getting to know Brielle better to look forward to, if I had not been such an ass, I admonish myself, and shake my head.

I pull out of the apartment parking lot for the last time. The movers fall into line right behind me as we begin the drive toward my new start.