Manna from Heaven
Chapter 36
...from following after thee
If the seconds between the time Genevieve entered the intersection and the time her car stopped went by in slow motion, the following two months sped by and more than made up for it.
Word spread like wildfire throughout the office of Robinson Architects that Genevieve had come out of her coma and made it clear things weren't changing. The strange man who had been literally camped in her office and going through the personnel office records, wasn't the buyer, but her new attorney who promised that sale wasn't happening.
Cris suddenly found himself inundated with home-made meals and cookies and cakes.
And flirted with in ways that made him want to hide. Southern women knew a drawl and a slow, sexy walk could bring a normal man to his knees!
Luckily, once Genevieve assured him she had no intention of selling, he had things settled into place. With Val running the office, assuring current clients that the rumors being spread through the architectural community from an unnamed source were incorrect and nothing more than unfounded rumor, he was able to settle down to the business at hand, stepping into George's shoes and taking command of the law firm he was now a part of.
Unfounded rumor persisted, so perhaps the unnamed source needed to become named.
After all, spreading lies was slander and that was a legal offense. And it had been made very clear that Genevieve Faith Robinson had no intention of selling or allowing a take-over of any sort.
And unbeknownst to anyone but 'Mr. Fitz G.', Ficklebutte was left in his office, stewing over having to wait, and gloating about what he was going to do to little Miss Genevieve for making him wait. He vowed she'd work at a Citgo gas station for the rest of her natural born days.
He had no clue that someone else had plans for him. And from a most unexpected source.
And not very nice ones.
Less than a week after she came out of her coma, the hospital room began to hop with visitors. Grace was forcing friends to schedule time; Genevieve wasn't resting and she needed to. As she came down from the morphine and other pain killers, becoming more aware, more in charge of what facilities were not in a cast, she began to confer with Val, her secretary, other members of her staff...
Bid on this, how is that project coming, we have a deadline for the presentation of the remodel of the Woodaning Building, is there a deadline for the bids on the Standring-Coach project?
One week after her electronic conversation with her new attorney, she emailed again, wanting to know the status, what was going on, what was he planning...
His response?
I recall you turned complete control over to me. Trust me.
Her answer was swift.
I can't sit here and do nothing! This is my company! There are contracts to be fulfilled, meetings to plan, I want to know what you're doing to keep that slimy Yankee from yanking the rug from under me!
She received a response an hour later and it left her fuming.
You asked me last week what you could do. I told you what you could do. As you seem to have forgotten, I will remind you in small words.
Get Well. Have you begun your physical therapy? Has anyone spoken with you about Rehabilitation?
Leave the handling of the office and the day to day affairs to Ms. Oelle. She is splendid at what she does and managing everything wonderfully. She landed a new contract for you, and has received word on several projects you might be interested in, but I will allow her to tell you about them. In fact, I would steal her from you and have tried, but she rather crassly told me to bugger off!
You have turned all responsibility over to me regarding the hostile take-over. Trust me! Your company is not suffering financially, and by all reports, few are taking the reports of a hostile take-over seriously.
I do not want to see or hear about you calling your office or being in your office until the first Monday in February. Your secretary (who, by the way, makes a fabulous strawberry shortcake) has made sure the only client you are seeing that day is me at 9:00 AM sharp. Please make sure you are on time. I will have several things to go over with you at the time. You have several options at your disposal.
If you must 'work', work on future projects to the best of your ability. I understand you have a creative and agile mind that is more than likely stifling at inactivity that has been forced upon you, causing you to annoy people out of sheer boredom. I understand that. If you like, I will inform Ms. Oelle that you need something to occupy your time.
You have been through a horrific experience and it would behoove you and all around you that you concentrate on recuperating. I would come around to visit, however, your grandmother is a veritable dragon. Not to mention, I am dealing with a new law practice, hiring and retiring new and current personnel in this office, as well as maintaining a solicitor's office and several private companies in England.
Please trust me. Your well-being is my main concern.
Cris.
"AAARGH! That MAN!" Genevieve turned her laptop towards her grandmother, who after reading it, turned it back to her granddaughter.
"I like this man. You should marry him."
Genevieve started to tell her she was already married, but bit her tongue. Bad enough, her wedding band and other things were here with her, but there was that lone note on her sketch...
I am here
… that she could not explain.
If he's here, where he is? Why is he hiding? Or did he add that back in Nottingham?
Feigning indifference, Genevieve picked up her iPad and opened a random book.
The Warrior's Game
Ah geeez...
~~~...~~~
"Hey chickie-poo!" Val swept into the hospital room, pulling a luggage roller with several briefcases behind her and carrying something that looked suspiciously like take out. "Look at you, sitting up and in make up!" She winked as she came around the bed. "You're looking human and like you're feeling better."
"Serious pain killers only at night, and they are trying to wean me from the heavy narcotic ones in the day. Stuff still hurts, though, but at least the mind fog is starting to dissipate somewhat." She rearranged the pillows on her left side. "I'm so bored that apparently I'm annoying my attorney." She smiled brightly up at the woman. "Good news from osteo. My hip isn't shattered! Only cracked. And my lung puncture was very small, so it's healing itself!" She pushed her tray away and patted the side of the bed, inviting her friend to sit. "So basically, I have a broken leg, a broken hand, two broken ribs, and everything else is cracked, including my noggin."
"Well, I always knew you were cracked." Rare laughter bubbled up, causing Genevieve to groan in pain. "Watch out for those ribs. Cracked is always more painful than the broken ones, I hear."
"At least they'll heal sooner." She pointed with her nose to the rolling luggage cart. "What'cha got?"
"Besides the Pepper Steak and Rice for you?" Val set the take out on her mobile tray, "A little birdie told me," Genevieve's office manager whispered with a conspiring tone, "that you were bored and might like to see how the company is faring. So I brought several reports and a few rudimentary sketches for the Woodaning remodel. The deadline is November 12th. So a little over a month from now. A bid on the Standring-Coach building is due in January, if you want to pursue it." She began to pull sketches from a large, sturdy portfolio and spread them over Genevieve's lap.
Genevieve began to pull and turn the large sketches, looking at them with a critical eye. "A little birdie?" She pulled one sketch to the side. "Too confining. Too many tight spaces. Abby can do better than that. They specifically stated open, airy, and roomy. Green atriums. I'll bet the little birdie's name is Cris Fitz."
"About birdies, I'll bet you're right. Speaking of green atriums, Bradley will be coming out of rehab in ten days and has expressed an interest in working with landscaping." Val tilted her head. "I have some his preliminary sketches. His doctor and therapist thought it would aid the healing process and good for him. A positive, creative outlet." She pulled out several sketches. "I agree." She laid them on top of the current plans already laid on Genevieve's lap.
Genevieve looked at them for several minutes, looking at the depth, the intricacy of the layouts. "These are really good," she admitted. "Dammit. He is my engineer when it comes to foundations and dealing with soil and the surface ability to handle weight." She met Val's eyes. "There is no one in the business better than he is at it! I do not want to live the nightmare of having a building sink a foot because of weight issues after it's been built. Not after what happened at the Atlanta Olympics in '96."
"Bradley can still be your engineer for that purpose. He tends to work fast. Thorough, but fast." She pointed to the drawings. "Face it. The man knows his dirt!"
Genevieve was still perusing the sketches. "These are really good. How is Bradley doing?"
"He's gaining weight and he has color in his face." Val smiled and nodded. "He's doing great. He seems happy. He asks about you. A lot. He also said to thank you for the fruit basket and crusty joke books."
"Tell him my casts come off in three weeks and when they do, I should be in rehab myself for at least ten days after that. When I get out, he and I, we'll do lunch," she picked up another landscaping sketch, "and discuss his work load, which will include working with the landscaping team." She laid the drawings down. "Tell him I'm proud of him and happy and praying. And if he ever needs to talk, feels he's going to back slide, he can call me. Anything. I'll go to AA meetings with him, whatever, meet him at 2 AM for Krispy Kremes and coffee." With that, she laid the drawings back down. "Val. What is going on with Cris and my company? Do you know what he has up his sleeve?" She settled back into the bed and the pillows. "I hate being kept in the dark and I am being kept in the dark!" She gritted her teeth. "How did that man get the majority of my stock?"
Val exhaled and dropped her head. "There was an inside trader. We don't know who or when or why or how, but either way, Ficklebutte has one half of a percent more than you and your employees put together."
"So, I'm screwed."
"Noooo," Val intoned. "Inside trading is illegal. We find out who it is, that person's behind is going up river. He'll take Ficklebutte up with him or her. However, there is another problem."
"Go on."
"Nine point five percent of the stock is... I don't want to say it's unaccounted for, but it's not in your hands or Ficklebutte's. Mr. Fitz has someone working on obtaining the list of who has those unaccounted for shares and getting them to side with us."
"What if Ficklebutte is hunting them as well?"
"Oh, you can best assume he is. Cris has someone working on that, exclusively." In an obvious attempt to change the subject, she picked up Genevieve's right hand. "That's a pretty ring. Where did you get it?"
Genevieve stared at the woman, not knowing if she should yell or just...
"Get my make-up bag and sketch pad from my duffel." As Val rose from the bed, Genevieve began to ramble. "While I was unconscious, I had the most vivid dream. I mean, like I was there vivid. So detailed, I could likely write a book."
"And what was this dream about?" Rattling was coming from the small closet.
"I dreamed I spent six weeks in Twelfth century England. Nottingham to be exact."
Mirth was evident in Val's voice. "Oh dear God, don't tell me you fell in love with Robin Hood!"
"NO! Robin was an asshole and a complete narcissist! I fell in love with Guy of Gisborne."
Val looked over her shoulder. "The bad guy? Oh, this is going to be good!" She set the sketch pad to the side behind her and continued digging. "I take it, this was your knight in black leather you mentioned just after you came out of your coma."
"Yeah. I fell in love with tall, dark, snarky, sex-on-legs in leather and I married him. And you were there."
Val stood up, make up bag in one hand, sketch pad in the other. "I was at your wedding. Funny, I think I would remember that."
"NO! You weren't at the wedding! But you knew about it. You visited a few times. Anytime I needed advice, you were there to give it!" She reached for the pad and the bag. "We sat on the roof of Locksley and watched dreamers play in the town square. We traveled through time on a porch swing, drinking mint juleps, while we did a 'This Is Your Life, Sir Guy of Gisborne'."
"Sounds like fun."
"It was awful! That man's childhood was wretched! A nightmare!" She reached for the make-up bag and began to struggle with the zipper. "You told me you were in league with the Angel of Death! OF DEATH! Days before I married him, you and I walked through Sherwood Forrest, discussing the contract, him, life in Nottingham, life with him. I gave you a list of things to do while I was out like a light! You had wings! I don't know what kind of angel you are, but you are one! Just like the nurse's aide who brought all the flowers is an angel!"
"Genevieve, you took a hard hit to the head-"
"I would say and think," she hurried on, ignoring the woman sitting on the edge of her bed, finally opening the bag in her lap, "this was one spectacular dream, however there is a serious problem." She pulled out a baggie of jewelry. "This," she held up her right ring finger, "is my wedding band that he put on my finger when we married." She then dumped the bagged jewelry in her lap, sifting through it. "This," she held up another ruby ring, "was my betrothal ring and this," she now pulled a leather thong from beneath her nightgown, "is his signet ring, which he gave me for safe passage when he hid me at Ripley's Convent!" She held up the wolf's head signet. Val simply stared at it. "I can't find my crucifix! It's not here! Don't tell me you don't know what I"m talking about because I know you do! Minutes before I woke up here, I gave it to him! I put it on him, hung it around his neck and told him to remember me." She was now starting to cry. "I thought it would find its way back to me, but it hasn't." She now grabbed the sketch pad and began to frantically turn the pages. "And I don't care because I would have given it to him anyway! I would chalk all of this up as a delusion, a dream, but there is this." She found the sketch of Guy. "I drew this the morning we married. I was sitting in the garden waiting for him and drew this. He thought I drew his nose was too small." She began to stab at it with her finger. "I drew this over 800 years ago. Not here, I didn't forget. I drew it in that garden, hours before we married and sometime, this-" she pointed to the writing on the bottom corner, "-was written on it last week while I slept! He also left this," she searched for the wolf plushie, which was tucked next to her pillow, finding it and shaking it at her office manager, "and a red rose! Every morning since, I have found single red roses in my bed when I wake up!" She was now crying in earnest. "He wouldn't let me fake it when we made love! He kept at it until... until... He said it mattered!" She was enveloped by a full, comforting embrace.
"Tall knight in leather and he makes sure you have an orgasm. Small wonder you fell in love with him."
Genevieve tried to pull herself together and was having a difficult time of it. "I hadn't looked at the damn contract, but I read it there. I didn't understand a lot of it and he did!" Her notepad was on the bed, underneath the sketches. She pulled it out, flipping to the pages where she hand-wrote out the actual contract and her layman's translation. She pointed to his question, 'What is stock?' "See? He understood the formality of it! And he translated the back end of it for me! Many times, I've sensed him at night. Here. Holding me. Protecting me. He's warm and he takes up the entire bed! Why... this? You told me to forget Lamar. I did! You told me to fall in love with Guy. I did! I did! Why doesn't he come in the daytime? When I'm awake? Why doesn't he call me, let me really know he's here? Why is he hiding from me? What if he's not hiding from me, he's really dead and someone is simply playing a horrible trick on me?" She looked up tearfully. "That would make more sense. Wild,crazy-ass dream, cruel, cruel person playing a trick. Probably one of the people I hit in the wreck. Or worse, Fickle-ass screwing with my scrambled brains!"
Val let her cry it out, waiting patiently, holding her hand. "You nearly died on us, Genevieve. Really and truly, you nearly died, and extreme measures were taken to ensure your life and your safety. Maybe too extreme. You were getting ready to make a decision that would cost you and all of your employees everything and we just wanted to get you to a quiet place to reconsider and set things straight. I'm sorry we toyed with your heart as well." Genevieve's crying began anew. "No, no. Wait." Val pulled back. "If his love was so strong as to last 800 years and somehow he managed to leave you this note," she tapped on the sketch pad, "and let you know he is here, well then, he's here. Waiting."
"But-"
Val tapped Genevieve's chest. "Right now, he lives right where you need him. Here, in this spot." She stood up, preparing to leave. Grace had been left up on Peachtree Street, shopping at Rich's and her driver was to bring her down to the hospital until visiting hours were over. "He lives on in your heart, chickie-poo." She placed the folders and other things at the foot of her bed. "I'll leave the reports and things for you. Things are going well, but we miss you. We need you. You are the heart and soul of your company. Eat and get some rest before your grandmother gets here. She's been shopping and only God knows what that woman will show up with." The woman snarled. "I wouldn't put her past her to find some granny thongs."
~~~...~~~
"Do you have any idea how deeply she is grieving?"
Guy Crispin FitzGisborne sat at his desk – his own desk, in his own office, at the law firm he was now fully a partner in and expected to be completely in charge of as The Lead Senior Partner within six months – was staring at the reports on his desk, all while spooning raw cookie dough from a pint bucket into his mouth. "Do you think I have not seen her? Laid up in plaster and bruised under all of it? It makes my heart clutch!"
"That's not what I'm talking about! She thinks you are dead and someone involved in that accident is playing tricks on her! Or that Ficklebutte is toying with her! What are you eating?"
"I have no idea why she would think I am dead. I have told her I am here." He lifted the pint to show Genevieve's office manager. "I am eating dinner. Would you like some? I believe there is a second spoon here in my desk, somewhere."
"That is disgusting!"
He shrugged and continued to eat. "To each his own." He gracefully turned the page of what he was reading, chewing all the while. Finally, he swallowed. "I have told her I am here. I have communicated with her on several occasions-"
"True, but she doesn't know who you are! To her, you are Cris Fitz-G, her attorney, not Guy, her husband!" Cris raised an eyebrow at that, and slid a report to the side, obviously done with it. "Why are you keeping yourself from her? You rely on electronics. Email, texting."
"I have gone to see her. Of course, she has been asleep or drugged up." He continued to chew thoughtfully, while continuing to read currently open cases that George Stallop had left in various forms of disarray. "Trippy, I believe she called it. Yes. Very trippy." He didn't blame the man, truly he didn't. He did blame the man's secretary. The first thing he did, the Monday he became a partner, was to begin to undo the mess she caused calling clients – including Genevieve – telling them not to find new attorneys.
It was obvious the woman wanted to retire and was clearing out the office so she could do such. Speaking of...
"Can you plan a retirement party for an imbecile? I realize she is Mr. Stallop's secretary and therefore not your concern, however her last day is this Friday, and I would like for the woman to go out with a bang."
"You didn't answer my question."
"Agree to plan the retirement party and I will answer your question."
Val growled. "I'll order a cake. How's that?"
"That will suffice. Put on it, 'Good Riddance. Good-bye. Best of luck, you old tart!" Val hung her head. The man had not mellowed since she'd plucked him from Nottingham castle cellar when he'd died before it was blown up. "As for your question, in case you have not noticed, Genevieve's contract is a mess, the background of it is a mess, and I have a mess in this practice. Someone released Genevieve's stock without her knowledge and quite frankly, I would love to know who the insider was, as I intend on having him or her prosecuted to the full extent of the law. It was a private release! If I get no satisfaction from the law, I will make someone's life a misery on earth! I do not trust her former boyfriend or his mother. Therefore, it would be safe to say I am up to my eyeballs in paperwork. I do see her at night, even if she is sleeping. And besides, she has much to keep her occupied. Her grandmother, her work-"
"You're frightened," Val gasped. "You fear her feelings have changed, that all you've done to get to this point to be with her, you fear she won't feel the same for you! You're frightened she'll thank you and go on without you!"
"No."
"If you think she is still in love with tha-"
"That over-bearing, foppish, ruttish boar-pig?"
Val snorted. "I was going to say 'nerf-herder." Now Guy grunted. "Oh, you cannot be serious!"
"There is a framed picture-"
"Guy! You must remember that the last time she was in that office, she thought that man wanted to marry her! Her world has changed since then! She's lived an entire life with you!"
He dug his spoon into the dough. "And what if she decides that she made a similar mistake with me?" he growled.
"GUY!" The woman stood tall, almost a foot taller than Guy, wings snapping and spread, taking up the majority of the sparsely furnished office. "She loves you! She is wearing your wedding band and keeps your old signet close! She would wear it, but it is too big for her thumb, and the hospital doesn't like for her to wear it around her neck!"
He snarled into his 'dinner'. "Stop that! I am not frightened of your wing-trick!" He then looked up at her and smirked one-sided. "And you will frighten my secretary if she comes in."
Val returned to her earthly form, frowning at the air. "You were petrified of Douma."
"Lucifer is petrified of The Angel of Death!" he scoffed. "Have you seen her eyes?" He stuck his spoon straight into the dough and used his index fingers to spin in front of his. "They spin like a child's kaleidoscope. 'Tis positively disconcerting." He opened his laptop and hit the power switch. "If all you are going to do is lambast my dinner choices," he shooed her towards the door, "please leave. I am busy. Make sure my lady wife is occupied and focused on healing." He pulled the spoon from the dough and stuck it in his mouth.
Val didn't budge, both hands on her hips. "You know, you can get salmonella poisoning from eating that."
Guy yanked the spoon from his mouth, slamming it on his desk, causing it to bounce and fly across the room. "Why is it, I have been alive off and on for over 800 years and never, not once, have I ever witnessed or heard of anyone dying from any disease caused by eating raw cookie dough?" He pointed angrily at the woman in front of him. "I simply think 'tis a lie some wanker made up trying to keep me from living my life!" He glared darkly as the angel stormed from the office, leaving for parts unknown. He waited until her heels stopped echoing down the hall and waited for the ding of the elevator, before wiggling his fingers and typing into the laptop. "Ah, shall we see what idiocy is being twittered today?"
~~~...~~~
By the time Genevieve was released to the rehab center, towards the end of October, her doctor had threatened to put a revolving door in her room. Her employees came and went. Her grandmother came and went. Her friends came and went. Her attorney did not come and go.
Her wedding band stayed on. Guy's signet remained around her neck.
Late one evening, exhausted from physical therapy, she researched Nottingham Castle, found it had been blown to smithereens after her time. She wondered if Guy had escaped or fell in the explosion.
She prayed Vaisey had been in it and died.
She looked for Ripley's Convent, found references to the ruins and a quiet, obscure excavation headed up by the local Earl and Lord of Locksley. Very little was found, save for the catacombs that mostly served as the burial chambers for the nuns. It was mentioned a few 'notable bodies' were found buried with the nuns.
No mention of who.
Lamar was showing up on the society page with a new tall, slender, over-done-up and rather young bleached blonde, whose name was Savannah.
To which Genevieve wadded up the page and threw it into the waste basket across the room. She wasn't upset or jealous. The girl looked like a porn star and her fake tits were falling out of her two sizes too small dress. The Gator would put an end to her pretty quick.
Except Savannah, according to Genevieve's very flamboyant senior architect, Marquis, was The Gator's Stock Broker and her family was considered Southern Gentility in Georgia, South Carolina, and Louisiana. The Gator personally arranged the relationship.
But girlfriend, you know the two of you dated for three years! You wrecked about the same time he broke it off with you. You'd think he'd be a little bit human and at least send you an email or a PM on Facebook! A Get Well poesy!
Key word: human.
Lawyers aren't known for their humanity.
Her wedding band stayed on. Guy's signet remained around her neck.
Physical therapy was hell.
And then the casts came off.
And hell began to look good. Really good.
Within thirty minutes after the casts came off, Genevieve entered the shower for the first time in weeks, armed with shampoo and conditioner, a floral body wash and a razor, reveling in the heat, the steam, and gleefully watching perceived sweat, blood, hair, and just general body grodiness swirl down the drain with the soap bubbles.
Flowers continued to come in from 'CFG' as he had taken to signing them. Often they were accompanied by vague promises and threats.
Get well
Take care
Ticket taken care of. You are welcome.
No swearing.
Looking forward to February.
Be mean. Growl.
Growl? What sort of message is that to put on Get Well Roses?
Dear Attorney who claims he's saving my butt.
Thank you for the eight dozen roses today. They are beautiful and I believe the orderly here is jealous. We are having to find new places to put them all! We're talking about opening up a vased botanical garden! Thank you for dealing with the accident ticket and court. I'm sure there was a fine. Please bill me for it. This was not part of your pro bono agreement. I have a question. How am I supposed to be mean, growl, but not swear? Are you serious?
Sincerely
Your supposedly most important Client, who'd just soon throw all these lovely crystal vases at someone's head. Would you like to volunteer for target practice?
Guy smirked when he read that one. She was becoming cheeky. But was she being frustrated or was she flirting with him and if so, did that mean she was getting over him? Him him. Her husband, Him.
One way to find out.
His response was mildly suggestive. Certainly not as depraved as he was completely capable of. It took an hour before she responded.
Excuse me, but I am your client, not your floozy. Bill me. Have a nice Thanksgiving.
Heh. That answers that!
Her wedding band stayed on. Guy's signet remained around her neck.
Her receptionist and one of her junior architects visited five minutes later while she was still growling.
"Mr. Fitz?"
"Oh, he's gorgeous, Gen!"
"I'd tap that."
"More than once."
"An absolute hottie!"
"Old World manners! Oh, Laws!"
"And that accent?"
"To diiiiiiiiiie for!" Both ended together. At that point, the two began to glisten – because no self-respecting southern woman sweats or perspires.
Her wedding band stayed on. Guy's signet remained around her neck.
She came out of rehab the second week of November and discovered That Attorney had paid for a rental for her until December 10th, giving her ample time to purchase another vehicle. She had lunch with Bradley, who did look healthier than he had in a long time. He was happier, smiled, thanked her for offering to be an ear – he admitted no less than a dozen co-workers, including Val and the entire landscape design team, had given him phone numbers and pleas to call anytime. He was estranged from his parents, but had too many invites for Thanksgiving Dinner. For the first time in years, he felt he had a family.
Genevieve went home and promptly cried.
Her wedding band was moved to her left hand. Guy's signet remained around her neck.
Around Thanksgiving, she bought a new BMW.
She wanted a Sherman Tank, painted red with turret and mortar shells. The salesman thought she was joking.
Her grandmother informed him she wasn't.
Her wedding band stayed on. Guy's signet remained around her neck.
She made an appointment with her gynecologist and the week after Thanksgiving, had the implant removed. For some odd reason, she felt she should go on the pill and her doctor agreed. Her rash was cleared up in days.
After a month of silence, That Man emailed her.
Just to let you know, things are on schedule and going as planned. Breathe easy. This time next Christmas, Robinson Architects will still be in business, with you as head of the company, building anything you wish, from high rises, to sand castles. I will be in England for three weeks during the holidays. I believe I will squeeze in some skiing in France with my family, as well as take care of business on the estate. I will return on January 3rd. If you need me, email. I will be checking it on a daily basis. Have a happy Christmas.
PS. My apologies for the crass note I sent some weeks back. It was not my intent to offend. Too much wine, but that is no excuse. 'Tis not my habit to proposition clients, nor have I ever felt the need to obtain a floozy. Your bill has been mailed.
Yours
CFG
Genevieve's eyebrows shot up. That was one, pretty apology!
Oooooooh, score for the Fitz-man!
The bill, when it came, came to a grand total of dinner at Nikolai's Roof, followed by after dinner drinks atop the Polaris. His treat. Payment was Genevieve's expected company.
She twisted her wedding band. This man was going to be difficult. Nightly dreams were filled with a 12th century knight and a huge, four-poster bed.
For the first time in years, Genevieve was at loose ends during the holidays, not on a beach or on a mountain top, looking for the bunny run. She decided that a quiet Christmas was what the doctor ordered. One with family – and she considered Val family – and warmth. She'd invited Bradley for Christmas dinner, which he accepted. He was going to be at someone's house every night between Christmas Eve and New Years Day. For the first time in some years, she bought a real tree, (Lamar was 'allergic') and she and Grace laughed too much and drank too much egg nog putting it up. Her condo looked festive and she was gimping around – soldiering it quite well.
A week before Christmas, Genevieve, Grace, and Val took a shopping excursion to Phipps Plaza. It had been a long time since Genevieve had been there – she enjoyed it, but The Gator felt it was beneath her. As much as she hated it, she was walking with a limp and both her grandmother and office manager/friend/sometime maybe angel insisted she keep a cane with her. Somewhere, Val had found – and bought – a silly hot pink cane, with a miniature feather boa and jester bells, that made Genevieve laugh hysterically.
Might as well make fun of it! Enjoy the stupidity.
The mall was packed, people jostling each other and Grace and Val ended up creating a barrier around her. Grace informed her that the bells on her granddaughter's cane would help her find Genevieve if she got lost in the holiday madness. After all, she lost Genevieve once in the mall in Lexington only to find her after searching tearfully for an hour, eating candy and sitting on the counter, wrapping the security detail around her pinkie.
"Did I send out employee gifts this year?"
"Yes, you did!" Val responded enthusiastically.
"You slaved in the kitchen making chess pies for everyone!" Grace muttered.
"I did?" She looked at her grandmother, who was busy looking in a shop window, with mannequins dressed in rather dapper three piece suits. "When did I find time to do that?"
Grace raised an eyebrow, but never looked at her granddaughter. "Why, while you were in rehab, of course."
"That was for Thanksgiving, Grace," Val retorted. "She made a mess out of my kitchen and your kitchen, making that many chess pies." She leaned over and whispered to Genevieve. "You sent out gift cards for restaurants and Publix, along with fruit and nut baskets. Very nice ones."
Genevieve seemed to be lost in thought. "Normally, I add stock to retirement packages as well."
"I know, chickie-poo. Everyone knows what is going on with Ficklebutte and that you're fighting it."
"Cris said not to worry. It's taken care of. But-"
"No buts." The three women stopped in front of a small, but rather expensive womens' boutique. "If he says it's taken care of, it's taken care of." The mannequins on display were arrayed in holiday splendor: sequins, full skirted gowns, form-fitting bodices. The small sign stated that a seamstress was in for alterations. "Gen? How are you holding up?"
The boutique was halfway down the mall. "Ready for a break, after this shop?" Val nodded towards the small bistro a few shops down.
As much as she hated to admit it, Genevieve's energy was already flagging. "Val, would you go see if they take reservations. With the mall this busy, I really don't want to wait in a line for an hour." She watched as the woman strode off, noticing how people seemed to just move out of her way.
People have always done that, just stepped to the side. Why am I just now really noticing?
Grace was standing in the doorway, motioning for Genevieve to go first.
Upon entering, Genevieve immediately wished she hadn't. Being laid up and unpartnered since the end of September, she discovered she missed the social whirl; the parties, the fund-raisers, the benefits. She missed dressing up and going out. While she attended the events to be with her former boyfriend, she also used the time to network, gossip about things happening around Atlanta and the South. It was such an event that put her in contact with her first contract, among other ventures. It's where she first heard about the Standring-Coach Project.
She could go without a date. She had done it before she began seeing Lamar, but she realized that being with Lamar opened many doors for her. Perhaps Marquis' current squeeze wouldn't mind if he accompanied her for a time. She fingered a deep purple gown, obviously of the clingy variety.
She could hear Marquis' voice in her head. 'Girlfriend, with your hips and girls? I don't think so! No straight man would hear a word fall from those honey lips of yours!'
She sighed and walked away. Just what every woman wanted and needed living in her head – her gay male girlfriend!
"Honey? That dress wouldn't...Genevieve?" Grace followed her granddaughter as she drifted to the back, her eyes set on a swath of cream wool.
No. Not after all this time. It can't be...
In the back, hanging on a dress-makers dummy, was a long, cream-colored gown. The details were lost on Genevieve, because all she could see was the cloak that covered it. It was a matching cream, with a fur trim. Her hand reached out, Genevieve mindless of doing it. As her fingertips lightly brushed the fur, she turned her hand, the knuckles stroking the fine wool.
"Would you like to try it on?" The sales woman was Grace's age, her hair in a bun.
"Yes." Where Genevieve's voice came from, she would never know. "The cloak. Please."
The cloak was taken from the mannequin, brought to Genevieve...
Am I nuts? Where would I wear this?
With the stiffness of someone still healing, she flung the cloak around, settling it about her shoulders, watching how it fell about her in the large mirror. The clasp was a large broach, ornate, antebellum... it graced the floor in gentle folds, made to cover a long dress, with full skirts.
"Oh Genevieve, it looks like it was-"
… made for me.
As she looked at it in the mirror, the edges of the reflection of the shop faded, darkened, the details becoming non-existent, hazy. As she focused on the cloak, she became aware of a shadow taking shape behind her. A tall, dark man in padded chain mail and longish hair became solid in the reflection of the mirror, his hands gently grasping her shoulders. He leaned over, his touch, his whisper so familiar.
Je t'aime, Lady Gisborne...Être avec moi.
"Rester avec moi, mon seigneur," she whispered, unaware that her grandmother and the saleslady were staring at her, as if she had grown a second head. "Je t'adore, Gui de Gisbourne."
There was that smile, that smile of his that was so very rare, most would swear it didn't exist. I am always here. Ever by your side. He began to fade, causing Genevieve's eyes to fill with tears. I will never leave you...
Genevieve's hand clutched at his on her shoulder, only to grasp the material of the cloak, the shadow completelyevaporating. Blinking rapidly, she whispered, "I... I'll take the cloak."
"Gen?" It was obvious her grandmother was concerned. She sniffed the air, surprised at the scent of leather that permeated it. Genevieve looked up and saw Val moving quickly towards her, dodging through the racks and other clients.
"I'll take the cloak," she reiterated, undoing the clasp and removing it from her shoulders. "I'm very tired. I'd like to go home now." She handed the cloak to the saleslady. Her right hand immediately grasped her finger wearing her wedding band.
"There is a two hour wait at the bistro, chickie-poo. Maybe, one of the restaurants on Peachtree-"
"No." She shook her head emphatically. "I'm not hungry. I'm tired and want to go home." She grasped her cane and ducked around the two women, going to the register to pay for the cloak.
"Val, I am worried about my girl." Grace's jaw was clenched tight. "Something happened to her in that crash. And now, she looks as if she saw a ghost." And with that pronouncement, she headed off to join her granddaughter. Val swallowed hard and followed.
She did, Grace. She did.
~~~...~~~
January flew by quickly, drab and dreary as January always was, once the holiday decorations came down. It was Genevieve's least favorite month; the rooms of her condo, the streets, dull and drab and gray and silent in the absence of twinkling lights and color of Christmas now gone.
With Val bringing proposals and sketches back and forth, Genevieve's firm put in a bid on the Standring-Coach building. It was a good bid, the layout innovative and unusual. The only question mark was would she have a company when they made their decision? It was due the second week of February.
Genevieve's grandmother returned to Kentucky the first week in January, reluctantly to be sure, but necessary. She had been away from her farm for too long and Genevieve was chafing to be left alone. As he had before, her attorney arranged a car to drive Grace back to Kentucky. Under normal circumstances, Genevieve would have driven her back herself, or at the very least, ridden with her, but she still tired easily. The day after her grandmother left, she went shopping alone. Shopping cured many ills, including the January blahs, Genevieve's home taking on a new coziness, the condo's personality changing from a former boyfriend's preference to minimalism and stark colors to the owner's more colorful, buoyant personality. As the atmosphere within the home returned the normalcy, and Genevieve was slowly weaned from pain killers, her needs surged, demanding to be met. Deciding to make a night of it the last Friday in January, Genevieve treated herself to dinner at a wonderful Chinese restaurant, close to the Perimeter Mall, taking her Kindle and relishing the first in a series of naughty BDSM-themed novels by Lexi Blake.
Thank you, Jesus, I am faceless on Amazon!
It was Friday and the place was packed with couples, loud and raucous groups of friends, but she paid little attention. She went to Barnes and Nobles, bought two books – fantasy - and some music – jazz. It dawned on her as she clutched her purchases to herself, that Lamar despised both genres and maybe, just maybe, she was finally shedding the last of him.
As she got in her car and locked it, her iPhone vibrated. Seeing George's call back number, she quickly picked up.
"George!" Her enthusiasm was sincere. "How are you? How are you doing?"
The man actually sounded relaxed and jovial. "Calling to check on you! I'm largely retired now, but I wanted to see how you're doing. You are meeting Cris on Monday?"
"Yes," she was digging through her purse for her keys. "Looking forward to it. I have a load of emails and texts from him, but nothing since he returned from the holidays in England."
"Gen, I don't know how he keeps up; the firm here, the firm in London, the family lace factory. Listen," he got quickly to business, as was his way, "I know the last few months have been difficult, and as awful as it is, this wreck of yours was probably the best thing that could happen to you. It gave you time to sort this whole mess out."
"I have to be honest, George," finding her keys, she put them in the ignition, waiting to crank the engine. "I'm worried. I don't know what your man has up his sleeve."
"Well, I know what it is, but I promised him I keep it to myself. I can guarantee, you are NOT going to lose your business to that jackass."
"If you say so," she smiled, "then it's true. You're the only attorney I trust." She was now pulling out the new jazz CD out of its case, opening it to put in the CD player of her car. She cradled the phone between her shoulder and chin.
"Well you can trust Cris, as well. Speaking of... attorneys..."
"Hmmm mmm?"
"It's none of my business, but... Lamar..."
"He called and left a message on my phone the afternoon of the wreck. I was listening to it when I went through the red light. We are no longer a couple." She took a steadying breath. "I realize your family and his are friends and I hope that doesn't interfere with my business relationship with your firm."
The car was silent, the CD hanging on the edge of the player.
The response was whispered in the earpiece. "I didn't mean to pry."
She tapped the CD in, not turning on the system as of yet. "It's okay. I'm over him. Savannah or whatever flavor of the month is welcome to him."
"So, you're okay?"
"I'm fine."
There was an audible sigh of relief. "I'm glad to hear that. You know, Cris is single, good looking. An English Earl and a Knight. I'm willing to bet the two of you-"
She was twisting her wedding band. "George. I'm fine and I'm over Lamar, but I'm not ready to jump into the dating pool yet."
I'm widowed, too...
"I am still recuperating and I'm dealing with a hostile takeover. And then I'll have to deal with a company that hasn't seen their employer in over three months." Needing to turn the tables, she continued. "How are you doing, George?"
It was quiet. "Some days are good. Most days aren't. The holidays...thank God my son and daughter and their kids were here. The noise was welcome."
"I'm sure you miss her. She was a lovely lady."
For a moment, there was an uncomfortable silence. Finally,
"Rest up, Genevieve. Cris will have you busy all morning on Monday. Create some awesome buildings and enjoy Friday's stock holder meeting. You're holding all the cards. Trust care."
What is it about attorneys and the phrase 'Trust me'? It seems to be every other word out of Cris or George's mouth!
Genevieve made the short drive home, taking out the new CD before walking into a silent apartment. She missed her grandmother, she missed the noise, but she found herself missing Thornton and Eleanor and Joffrey and wondering what happened to them. She missed the sound of children playing around the pond, but mostly she missed Guy. She missed his level-headedness about things, his matter-of-fact way of addressing problems.
She lit candles, lowered the lights. As she leaned back naked on the bed, her hands caressed her body, wishing, dreaming, they were another's. And as she delved between her legs, she looked through slitted eyes...
...to see Guy sitting at the foot of the bed, naked, stroking himself, and watching her intently.
Watching him, watching the look of appreciation and interest on his face, she finished it.
~~~...~~~
There comes a time one must outfit themselves for battle. It was Genevieve's first day back and while she only intended to put in only half days that first week, she had a feeling Monday was going to be all day. As much as she hated it, she put her pain killer, her muscle relaxer and her Tylenol in her purse, just in case. She was meeting her attorney for the first time, so she took extra care of her make-up. She wore her favorite power business suit, grumbling over the panty hose and wishing the bendy black flats were the heels her left foot complained bitterly about when she tried them on the night before and was forced to take off before she got her foot completely in them.
She'd forgotten how shitty Atlanta traffic was. Making her way down I400 and onto I85, the disc jockey on The River told her at least she wasn't stuck on Spaghetti Junction. Two wrecks were making a lot of lives miserable on the northeast side that morning and Malfunction Junction on the northwest side wasn't much better.
She breezed into the parking deck at ten minutes before nine, wondering how prompt Cris would be. The parking attendant was glad to see her, she was able to find a spot near the elevator, thank you, Jesus. Two briefcases, hip popping already, she entered the main thoroughfare, smiled at people she recognized, but whose names she didn't know.
No tall British man in the lot.
Her wedding band glinted in the reelection of the gold-colored sheet metal of the inside of the elevator. No. She wasn't ready or wanting to resume dating. Like George, she was dealing with the death of her husband, even if he had died 800 years before. To her, he had been in her arms, three months before, alive and full of life. She still didn't know where to begin to look for him.
She was greeted as she stepped off the elevator, Bradley and Suzette taking her briefcases and Bradley offering an arm. Mallory ran by bouncing, and whispered there were fresh Kristy Kremes and coffee in the break room. She disappeared around the corner vowing to snatch the sugar-covered creme filled her boss adored. Her receptionist waved, immediately picked up the phone and called her secretary. The office was buzzing. Genevieve was back.
"Is he here? Mr. Fitz?"
Bradley's face immediately soured. "No, but Ficklebutte is."
Genevieve scowled, taking her briefcases from the two and whispered, "Go to your offices, but leave the doors open. He's not supposed to be here."
As she moved into the reception area in front of her office, she saw that yes, Ficklebutte was there waiting and her door was open. She focused on her name plate and made a bee-line for it. "Good morning, Renee. Hold all calls and make sure Mr. Fitz is sent in straight away." Not stopping, she didn't even look at the man standing next to the desk. "You have no business being here until Friday. Leave now!"
"We have business, Genevieve."
"My name is Miss Robinson. You will address me as such. Again, you do not have an appointment, I do not have time for you and I'm telling you to leave now."
"We have business and there is nothing to discuss or wait for. All you have to do is sign-"
Genevieve turned to her secretary. "Call security." She ignored the man and continued into her office.
It hadn't changed. It was just like she left it that Friday in September. The first thing her eyes fell on was the framed picture of her and Lamar behind her desk. She set both briefcases on her desk, stepped around the furniture and picking up the picture, dropped it frame and all into the trash.
Ficklebutte followed her in. "You don't have a choice, Genevieve-"
"According to my attorney, I have a lot of choices, none of which you have shared with me. I will make my decision after conferring with my attorney. You will be informed of that decision on Friday."
She heard paper being unfolded. "If you will just sign here-"
"Do you have a hearing problem?" She began to pull open her drawers. "Dammit. Where is it?" She dropped her purse in the bottom right hand corner of her desk.
"I have a pen, right here." He reached into his pocket, clicking it as he removed it.
"No. I'm looking for my 9mm Glock." Now she looked up at him. "I have an intruder and I'm being accosted. When I find it, I'm going to shoot him if he does not leave my office now." Trying to find a balance inside and calm herself, she picked up one of her briefcases and made her way to the conference table. Somewhere between her desk and the long table, her left hip popped, letting Genevieve know that her day was now going to get much worse. With more calm than she was feeling, she set the briefcase on the table and sank into well-padded conference chair, her back to the door. Before she could open the case, the contract was placed in front of her, along with a fountain pen. "Sign there," the finger pointed, "and there."
Genevieve took the pen from him and flung it into the trash can. "You. Are. An. Ass." She looked up at him, furious. "And deaf too."
His smile was syrupy sweet. "Let me explain the facts of life to you, missy. I own more of your company than you and your employees. I'm ousting you. At least with this, your employees, who are your life, will have something to live on for six months while they hunt for other jobs. I might hire one or two. If you're a good girl, I'm sure I can find a spot for you with my company-"
The speaker buzzer on her desk went off. "Miss Robinson? Mr. Fitz just stepped off the elevator."
Her eyes never left Ficklebutte's face. "Send him straight in. Has security arrived?"
"I believe they are with him."
"Good."
Ficklebutte inhaled and continued, speaking a bit faster. "Either as a secretary or perhaps in some years, a junior architect. Wouldn't you enjoy that? Of course, you would no longer enjoy the lifestyle you have become accustomed to, but downsizing never hurt anyone. Anyone who wants to work, that is."
Genevieve's smile matched the man leaning over her, trusting George. "What I am going to look forward to making sure everyone knows that I wear heels bigger than your dick." His eyes swept down to her feet, seeing the flats she was wearing.
"Let me put this another way, you little bitch-"
"I'M NOT SELLING!"
"You don't have a choice!" The man looked as if he were frothing, saliva congregating at the side of his mouth. "I have the power in making sure you never work again! Play nice and-"
"Ficklebutte. Funny meeting you here."
Genevieve's eyes shot up, staring out the window in front of her and seeing the skyline of Atlanta.
That... voice... it can't be...
"Ah, FitzGisborne. If you will quickly advise your client-"
"I am advising her to take her foot and shove it up your arse." There was the rustle of paper. "You should listen to your own solicitor. Not only did Judge Abercrombie state the date of the stockholders meeting, he also stated you were not to contact my client in any way, shape, or form." Ficklebutte grabbed the legal document from him, not looking at. "You have now violated that order twice."
Guy?
The reflection of her attorney in the window was muted, not translucent. He was tall, extremely so, wearing a black suit with a dark... a blue shirt.
"It doesn't change anything."
There was a deep sigh, Genevieve still staring out the window, white knuckles gripping the edge of the table. "Well, if you are standing in front of a judge because of your insistence on harassing my client, I am sure it won't look well for your reputation. And I will file a lawsuit stating such."
It... it can't be!
"You are only putting it off. I have no problem destroying her reputation and I can make sure she never works again!"
Genevieve could hear the light-heartedness in Guy's voice. "There will be no sale. You will not oust my client as owner or CEO of this company, nor will you succeed in destroying her reputation in any way. If you attempt any of these things, I will have you personally up on slander charges, which is a federal offense punishable by incarceration and will result in monetary damages to you. I suspect you would be hurt by that more than she will." It was silent save for Ficklebutte's heavy breathing. "As you see, I have two gentlemen with me who will escort you to your car. Do not attempt to contact me or my client in any way, or I will make your life a misery you have never experienced. We will see you on Friday morning."
The contract was snatched from in front of her, Ficklebutte growling he didn't need escorted and a deep, gravelly voice telling him he would get an escort anyway.
The room went silent.
"Genevieve?"
At first, she didn't answer. Just sat, staring out at the Sun Trust building, shaking her head. Finally. "It can't be. It just can't be."
There was presence, a shadow over her. "Genevieve. Please look at me."
"I can't." She lowered her head, staring now at the grain of the table. "It's a lie, I'm dreaming. I'm asleep."
It was hushedfor a moment before she heard the sound of a delicate chain clinking. She watched as long fingers came into view, her crucifix, her crucifix, spinning madly before it settled, the metal jinglingas it was laid on the table in front of her.
"I have waited," he began quietly, "through hell and back to return this to the beautiful soul who loaned it to me and thank her for it. It has kept me sane, kept me focused, for a long, long time. The promise of her made the years of insanity so worth it."
She picked up the crucifix, tears rolling down her cheeks. "This is impossible."
"I have discovered to never think anything is impossible." He moved behind her, his hands boldly grasping her shoulders, his thumbs stroking her shoulder blades. "All these years, I loved you not for the way you danced with my angels, but for the way the sound of your name could silence my demons."
Guy reached over her, picking up her hand, the one wearing her wedding ring. "You are wearing the proof that I love you." He saw the chain about her neck, lifting his signet ring from beneath her blouse. "Surely you harbor some small bit of love for me still. Please Genevieve. Look at me. Tell me you still love me." He sank beside her, on one knee and brought the cup of her hand to his cheek and leaned into it, pressing it to him. "Please. Do not make me beg."
At the word 'beg', she looked up, vision blurred through tears.
He was... he was still Guy. He was older, crinkles about his eyes that showed he did know how to smile and he smiled often. His hair wasn't as long or as dark, not the inky black of her memory, but it brushed past the neckline of his suit jacket and curled behind his neck. It no longer framed his face, but was combed straight back.
His face was leaner, the planes, the cheekbones of his face more pronounced. That nose was the exact same, noble, perfectly chiseled. He dropped her hand, allowed her to stroke his neck, fix his collar, measure the width and the breadth of his shoulders, still wide, still solid.
"Guy?"
"Yes, my lady. Guy Crispin FitzGisborne. I am yours to command."
Her eyes found his. Still blue. Still like glass. "Guy?"
"I am here."
"You are here?" She shot up from her chair. "You are here? How could you? Leave me in the dark? Not tell me it was you?" As he rose up in front of her, grinning, her right hand balled in a fist and she began to punch him in the shoulder. "I have grieved, you miserable toerag! Call you Sir!, my ass! You... you...I have cried and cried and cried and all this time, you were... laughing... at... me... Dammit! OW!"
Her hip seized, having taken all the angry twisting it could handle. She found herself lifted and set back in her chair. "Where are your painkillers?"
"THEY MAKE ME TRIPPY! I DON'T WANT THEM! OW! OW! OW!" She leaned back, new tears now, her hand on her hip, trying to massage it.
She heard the intercom buzz. "Mr Fitz? Is Genevieve alright?"
"No. Where is her purse?"
"She keeps it in her right hand bottom drawer."
"NOOO! I don't want them!"
"She will need food to take them with."
"NOOOOOOOO! OW!"
"Mallory brought some donuts and coffee for her. I have them."
"Bring them in. And some water."
The sound of the door opening and her desk drawer rolling back happened at the same time. Two powdered creme-filled donuts made their way to the table, along with strong, black coffee, that had just been poured. Two prescription bottles were set in front of her.
"Get me the Tylenol."
"No. This is too severe for Tylenol." He lifted the two bottle and shook them. "Which one? Pick, or I shall pick for you. I choose both."
Genevieve knew this was a losing battle. "The one with the blue pills. They're a muscle relaxer." A bottle of cold water was set next to her coffee and in a few seconds, two muscle relaxers were placed next to the bottle. "Only one! They make me trippy!"
"Trippy. I love hearing you say that. The prescription says two. Take them both." Guy turned to Genevieve's secretary. "Thank you. That will be all for now. Please have Ms. Oelle bring in the stock dossiers as well as the new projects, as I'm sure Ms. Robinson would like to see what you have been up to in her absence."
"You're an attorney?" Genevieve was in definite pain.
"Law degrees from Cambridge and Harvard Law School. Several specialties, including but not limited to corporate and business law. I have a practice in London I am currently on hiatus with. There are thirty five solicitors practicing law, therefore my physical presence is not necessary, although I will have to show my face a few times a year. Otherwise, I am needed here."
Taking the meds, Genevieve watched as Guy put the pill bottle back in her purse and replaced it in the desk drawer. He stared for a moment at the filing cabinet behind her desk, looking into the trash can when he realized the top was missing a picture. "You did not have to throw the frame away."
"It was a Christmas gift from the Gator!"
Guy nodded, looking at it sagely. "Well then, you did have to throw it away." He looked up at her askance. "You dated her son exclusively and all she gifted you with wa picture frame?"
"They were on sale at Rich's. Twenty bucks. And it originally had a picture of her and Lamar." Guy made a face, much as if he had swallowed something sour. "Oh, she also gave me a Jelly Belly of the Month subscription for a year."
Guy threw his head back, beseeching the dropped tiles. "This man courted you for how long and his mother gave you a cheap picture frame of herself and a year's supply of Jelly Bellies?"
"Yep."
He wanted to ask her where her brain was, how on earth could she possibly believe that this Lamar person loved her or was in some way good for her. But it was over and he wanted to move forward, move onward. "Genevieve-"
"In answer to your question," she was leaning back, the weight on her right side, "I love you. I'm confused as all get out, but I love you and what are we going to do?"
Guy returned to his knee in front of her, his eyes searching hers. "We have a lot to discuss. Us, your company, how I fit in your life now and how you fit in mine. There is your future, my future, your professional future, my professional future and I intend on addressing that. But we need to address your company's future first." He held both hands tightly in his. "We are going to deal with this asinine attempt of a takeover and Friday afternoon, when it is all over, you and I will spend the weekend, somewhere romantic, somewhere of my choosing and we will discuss and plan our future-"
"Together. As long as we are together."
Guy nodded. "Good girl. Together."
The door opened, both Guy and Genevieve looking up. A man she did not recognize came in, followed by Val, carrying several folders. Guy stood, reaching out his right hand to be shook, only for the man to take it and pull him to him. He was not as tall as Guy, but there were similarities in the build and face. As he clasped Guy around the shoulders, he burst out, "Brother! I wanted to kick him down the shaft, but I felt that might be overkill for now!" Like Guy, his accent was definitely British. "But if he is to die, promise me I might have a hand in it, or at least get to watch!"
Guy ignored the barb. "Archer! Come meet Genevieve. Do not touch her. She wretched her hip and is tripping right now."
"Muscle relaxers or pain killers?"
"Relaxer," Genevieve was starting to feel a bit languid. At least her brain wasn't fuzzy.
She found her hands grasped in the man's strong grip, which he brought to his lips. "My pleasure. Can I call you 'sister' yet?"
"She and I have things to discuss, so that will wait until after the weekend. Can you sweep the room?"
"Of course. I do a better job anyway!" Turning Genevieve loose, Archer began to circle the room, looking behind artwork, pictures.
"Archer is a securities specialist. He owns his own company, FitzGisborne Securities. I swear by him."
"AHA!" Archer held a small round disc aloft, plucked from God knows where. He kissed it loudly. "That's one, you fargin' piece of shite!" Looking around, he saw the door to the balcony and stepping outside, proceeded to give the bug a proper burial in the potted plant outside.
"I've been bugged?"
Val nodded. "Yes. Cris... found several bugs when he arrived. We don't know who or what or why. Just that you have been listened to."
They waited for Archer to finish searching the room, finding a second one that blended in with the ceiling sprinkler, before he pronounced it clear and free of voyeuristic spyware. "Anything else, brother mine?"
"I will be here going over things with Genevieve until lunch. She has physical therapy this afternoon. If you will stay with her and follow her home this evening, I will appreciate it. I have to be back in the office until late tonight. After today, we will spell each other off, making sure she is safe."
"Guy, what is going on?"
"Your office was bugged and I have no idea how long it has been bugged. Either by Ficklebutte, whoever set Ficklebutte on you, or a competitor."
"Ficklebutte isn't acting alone?" For some reason, this didn't surprise Genevieve, but it frightened her.
"Oh no," Archer was quite adamant. "Someone else has you in their sights, and he was simply the one caught holding the smoking gun."
"I wish to ensure you are not accosted by Ficklebutte again and that you are safe. I have not lived nine lives in 800 years to lose you or see something happen to you just as we are together again."
Genevieve was wide eyed, looking at both her office manager and Guy's brother. "You know about this?"
"My brother has spoken of you since I can remember. Over thirty years!" Archer was rather matter-of-fact. He returned to the balcony and with his back to the office, proceeded to urinate in the pot of soil where he had buried the bugs.
"GUY!"
Guy was grimacing yet again. With another scowl, he turned Genevieve's chair, so her back was to the balcony. "I'll ensure he purchases another potted plant for you. At least the bugs will be destroyed." He shook his head. "He has forever been trouble."
Genevieve tore her eyes from the disgusting escapade going on out on her balcony. "Val?"
"I'm an angel, chickie-poo. This whole thing is pretty much my fault. And I dragged a few others into it." She set the folders down and motioned to Archer, who had now returned to the office. "They need some time. She'll leave at three for physical therapy and I will meet you at her home. She'll be hurting tonight."
The two left, leaving Guy and Genevieve alone. Guy was holding Genevieve's hand, twisting her wedding band on her finger.
"You're here... you're really here. I'm not dreaming."
"Not dreaming. I am here."
"I remember. You said we would fix this together. Figure out a way... you're really here."
Guy started nodding. "I have figured out a way and yes I am really here nor will I leave when it is over."
"Are we still married?"
"As far as I am concerned? Yes. As far as the church and the law is concerned? No." He lifted her hands and began to kiss the knuckles. "The man you married died over 800 years ago, when Nottingham Castle was blown up by Robin Hood."
Genevieve pulled his hand to her mouth. "Damn him! Damn him!"
"Genevieve, do not blame him. 'Tis a long story, but we came to an accord and worked together for the betterment of Nottingham in the end." He raised a finger to shush her. "Shh. I was dead before the castle came down and not by Hood's hand, nor any of his gang. Vaisey and Isabella murdered me while I was helping the people of Nottingham escape into the forest to flee the two of them. My forces helped protect the castle, while Tuck created enough explosives so that when the people escaped, Robin was able to light it, destroying Vaisey and my sister. Weeks before the end, Robin and I discovered we shared a half-brother, Archer, who helped us."
"That Archer?" She pointed out the door where Archer and Val had just left through.
"Probably. Over the centuries, I have come across the obvious descendants or reincarnations of many people I knew in Nottingham. This Archer is every bit the same rogue." He noticed Genevieve was starting to cry. "No, no tears. It was good death. An honorable one and the important thing is, Val pulled me from the rubble and offered me a chance to be with you again and to help you in your time of need. I jumped at it and here I am."
Genevieve found herself pulling together. She was tough, but at this moment, she felt like a weakling and told him so. "Friday and the weekend, we're going to discuss us and do what we have to do to put us back together, get married properly, right?"
That smile, that smile she loved was back. "Yes, we are. Us."
She nodded. "Fine. That's settled. Now, about my company!" She screwed up her face in thought. "How many lives did you say, Guy?"
Guy stood up and turned to the folders on the table. "I have not forgotten how tenacious you can be. Nine lives, to be exact. Once as a woman. That was horrific, but I managed to do something I would not have been able to do as a man. But we will discuss that this weekend. You will laugh. I might laugh. Maybe. But I have spent over 800 years building what I have now, so that I would be able to approach you with honor." He began to separate, shift through them. "And with a great deal of power. I have always prized loyalty in a person and you have no idea what you taught me about such a thing. I thought I knew it all." Having his folders moved about and arranged, he turned and faced Genevieve, arms across his chest, his backside resting on the tabletop. "In Nottingham, your dedication to your employees, their well-being and future taught me what honest, dedicated loyalty was truly about. Your generosity and humbleness has been my guideline for many a century."
"Guy, you're embarrassing me."
He dropped his head, before continuing. "You have options. You have several options and in my opinion, they are all win-win for you."
"I'm listening."
He began to tick off with his fingers. "A. You could give it to Ficklebutte. Tell him – here. Have it. 'Tis yours. Thank you for making it possible for me to run off with my husband of over 800 years and not worrying about my responsibilites. Pay your employees off. Sell everything. I will continue to stock George's office, set it up and get it running again. Marry me. Move with me to England, to one of my estates. You will be Lady FitzGisborne, among other titles. We move in to one of my three homes in England; be forewarned, my mother loves to shop and the two of you will more than likely have me broke in a year's time. I will keep you with children about you and you will never have to work again. Our family will be your job."
Genevieve's grin was wry. "You're a Neanderthal if you think I'm going to go for that." She snorted. "For someone who had lived many lives, you are still living in the 12th century!"
Still smiling, he dropped his head. "You are quite correct. The man you originally married would fully believe that should be the only choice you have, however, I believe I have evolved somewhat from your Neanderthal. And, suffice to say, it is not your only choice."
"Well, keep talking, bucko!" She spun her finger. "It's a good thing I've taken this muscle relaxer. I would be jumpin' your bones on this table, otherwise."
Guy tipped his head in thought. "Although at some point, I intend to act on that desire, I do not believe this table is as sturdy as the one that used to be in Locksley Hall." One eyebrow raised. "The original home no longer stands, of course, but I do still have the table. And the bed," he leered. "To this day, I cannot sit at that table and not see you spread before me like the Last Supper!"
"Ooh. You're not distracting me. Second option."
"Second option. Let him take the stock and oust you. Walk out with your employees. Thumb your nose. What does he have? His share of the stock and that is all. He cannot take your employees retirement packages. He doesn't have the furnishings, your contracts or contacts. He cannot force you from this office space. Change the name of your company, if slightly, continue business as usual. If you need a backer, I can be that backer."
Genevieve thought for a moment. "That is a viable option. Any others?"
Guy nodded. "One more. I think you will like this one the best. You own 41% of your stock. As you've only in recently begun to release stock privately for your employees portfolio, your employees total brings you to 45%. You have it in your power to take their stock to use it, but I feel each and every one of them will back you openly in a stock holders fight and you will not be forced to resort to that.."
"Have they been asked?"
He pushed a pile of folders down. "Yes, I have asked them. I met with them before Christmas. They are backing you 100%. Loyalty is an amazing thing. Ficklebutte," he shoved a largish folder to the opposite side, "owns 45.5%. How he did this, when your stock release was a private investment? There was an inside trader who was tipped off about your impending release and made it quietly public so that a certain few, who knew about the stock, could purchase it quietly. This person notified Ficklebutte, who bought it up." He could see Genevieve's mind working. "Inside trading is illegal in this country and is a prosecutable and jailable offense. I have someone working on finding out who the inside trader is, how they found out and who, if anyone, told them to be on the lookout for it. Millions of companies sell stock daily and to just accidentally find one small architectural firm releasing small amounts of private stock for employee retirement packages smells so rancid, I would swear Vaisey was in on it, except I know for a fact where his soul is and trust me, we will never have to worry about it in this lifetime."
Genevieve was thinking. "Don't you think he'll claim he just happened to come across my stock and purchased it on a lark?"
Guy was shaking his head. "Genevieve, he was purchasing large amounts within an hour. He was tipped off. Someone who knew you and knew you were planning on creating stock to put in your employees retirement packages notified a stockbroker with the power to make it public and informed him. He was waiting for that release."
He could see Genevieve tightening up, a slow burn on her anger. "Do you know who this insider is or who tipped them off?"
Guy inhaled for a few moments. "I have suspicions. But I would rather wait until I know for a fact before I tell you. I wish for you to have all the facts at your disposal."
Genevieve nodded. "I can accept that. Is Archer the one researching for you? Is he qualified?"
His hand shot out, caressing her cheekbones, his thumb stroking lightly beneath her eye. "Archer also graduated from Cambridge and received a Masters at your Georgia Tech in electronic engineering. He knows more about computers than many government computer specialists. He has worked for Microsoft, Oracle, among others."
Her jaw dropped. "He's a hack!"
"One of the best. I have learned to surround myself with perfection."
"I'm not perfect." She held both hands up, palms out. "No nail prints."
Guy leaned over, his mouth hovering over hers. "You are perfectly Genevieve." He kissed her forehead, before kissing the tip of her nose.
She closed her eyes, waiting for him to kiss her properly. When it didn't happened, she opened them to see him resting back on the table, arms crossed and watching her closely. "Guy, you know this is quite illegal."
"Ask me if I care," he smirked. "If you do, the answer will be no." He shrugged elegantly. "Whoever came after you did not do so legally. Why should I give them thecourtesy of playing by the rules when they did not?" His gaze became hot. "No one plays dirtier than I do. I was taught by some of the most devious, criminal minds of antiquity. Trust me. Whoever has come after you, will know what hell is."
For some reason, this bit of knowledge didn't bother her. "So, uhm... you'll know who sold my stock by Friday and have them and Ficklebutte jailed."
"No. Probably not. That is going to take a while."
"Well then, what do we have? You said this one-"
"Others, besides you and Ficklebutte, own 9.5% of your stock. Most of them," and again he began to push around thin folders, "many of them, are amateur buyers, young buyers, with little money." He stacked them up. "Strangely, they all have links to Ficklebutte. Grand total 1.5%. Typically, such small stockholders will let the stronger stockholders decide. They don't carry any weight."
"Guy, you said this was a better deal. If the remaining shareholders are in thrall to him- "
"It is a better deal." He was now holding the last dossier. It was good sized. "Eastbrook Financiers holds and maintains the remaining 7%. It is a family group of wealthy entrepreneurs. They have a long history of financing, backing and mentoring young companies, companies that are starting up. They are silent partners in several large corporations, including Slayman, Raschberg, and Ficklebutte. In short, they are a good friend and adviser to have in your corner. Their success rate is unrivaled." He dropped the file on the table. "I have spoken with the CEO, who conferenced with the owner, and they have agreed to side with you. They feel that liquidating Robinson Architects would not be in the company's, nor their own, best interests, as it is not only solvent, but growing at a healthy rate. They have been watching the company closely and feel with you at the helm, the company will continue to grow at a strong, stable rate. You are an investment and they do not like losing their investments. With this stockholder voting with you, you out-vote Ficklebutte 52 to 47%. If you go with this option, and as your solicitor, I am suggesting highly you take it, you definitely will not lose your company on Friday, you will have an influential backer, a powerful and persuasive ally, and if you allow me to continue my investigation, we will get to the bottom of this and root out who is trying to destroy you and put you permanently in the poorhouse. Chances are very good that Ficklebutte will end up in jail and you will be allowed to take back your stock as it was sold illegally."
"Guy?" Genevieve was bouncing. "Who is this wonderful person? I'm going to need to thank them and a fruit basket isn't going to do it! Really! Who is it? Who owns Eastbrook Financiers?"
"Who owns Eastbrook Financiers?" With an evil, evil smile, he leaned forward, his lips grazing her ear. She felt him breathe in. And when he spoke, she felt the brush of his lips against her. "Why, I do."
~~~...~~~
Said, "Why you always running in place?"
~~~...~~~
A/N – I have included, alluded to, or commented on several things that are idiocentric and common knowledge to someone who has lived in Atlanta for a long time. They would include.
Problems with specific construction sites during the Atlanta Olympics in 1996.For the Atlanta Olympics, the Committee commissioned dorms to be built for the athletes on the Georgia Tech Campus. These dorms would be then used after the Olympics as regular college dorms for both Georgia Tech and Georgia State University. (The 2 colleges are a few miles apart and at the time GSU – my Alma mater – was considered a commuter college, as there were no housing facilities on its very urban campus.) It was discovered after the multi-storied buildings were built that a mistake was made over the ability of the soil to support the weight and as a result, 2 of the buildings sank 9 inches more than expected. There was no structural damage, but it was still nerve-racking for many and a massive PR headache for both the Olympic Committee and the engineering and construction firm that was in charge of the project.
Spaghetti Junction. The interchange for I285/Perimeter and I85 in the northeast quadrant of Atlanta. Atlanta is a big city, folks. It encompasses 11 counties and has 5 major interstates connecting, joining, running side by side, on top, under and around the two center counties, with 3 off shoot/by-passes out the outer edges. It's a mess. This particular interchange has been dubbed 'Spaghetti Junction' due to the fact that not only is it the interchange for the two highways, but in the middle of it, there are 5 major roads in the vicinity that need turn-offs and exits and in order for it to work, areal pictures of it – well, it looks like a spaghetti bowl.
Malfunction Junction. As you continue around I285, over the top-end, you will reach the I75/I285 interchange in the northwest quadrant of Atlanta. For some odd reason, this interchange is the spot that if your car is going to break down – this is where it will break down. And always during rush hour, preferably the morning. It's a fact. Pity the Cobb County Commuters. Every morning.
Phipps Plaza. - If you're incredibly wealthy, this is where you shop. I window shopped there once and felt like I couldn't even afford to do that! Never again. I came out to my car – which I parked way way out because I felt inferior to the Mercedes and Jaguars and European sports cars whose names I don't remember in the parking lot. This is a place where you can buy twin sheets on the bargain table for $300.00. Too rich for my taste!
Gentle reminder: As I stated early on, despite all of the research I have done for this fic, the Stock Exchange went over my head. I am sure I have made mistakes. They are mine, I embrace them, and I don't really care to be corrected. It's not going to change a thing.