Boss Meets Her Match Page 12

  Sadie tilted her head and pursed her lips. “Maybe he’s not pretending.”

  “No. Even if he is one hundred percent living by his own means, it’s always there. His safety net is wide and soft. He can give up poverty whenever he chooses. It’s not the same.”

  “I don’t get it. Safety net?”

  “He’s playing poor. When we were poor, we were poor. There was no relief. There was no way out except hard work. But he has money waiting on him. He knows that once he hits thirty-five, he’s rich. Boom. So all this he’s doing is play. He doesn’t really understand being poor.”

  “Maybe,” Sadie drawled, and sipped her wine. “But the way he’s chosen to play poor is quite telling.”

  “Meaning?”

  “He’s not just working some job, marking time until his trust fund kicks in. He’s actively working to create something that will benefit kids who need help. You have to give him a little credit for that. His heart seems to be in the right place.”

  Lena snorted. “His heart is in his pants.”

  “Talk about working hard. You’re working so hard to not like him I can see the sweat popping out on your forehead.”

  “Client.”

  “Sure. Okay. Keep him around for the eye-candy factor.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ST. TORIBIO COMMUNITY CENTER was much the way Lena remembered from her childhood visits. Tucked back off a busy highway on John’s Island just south of Charleston, it could pass for an elementary school. Wide spreading branches of live oak trees, many of them centuries old, intermingled and formed an unbroken canopy shading the sidewalks. The low green bushes along the foundation were bare of flowers now, but come spring, they would burst to life with every shade of pink nature could create.

  Lena sat in her car, staring at the building. At the families coming and going. Smiling, laughing together. Speaking in Spanish. Openly. Relaxed. St. Toribio’s was a safe place. Lena remembered all too well the withering stares and frowns of disapproval when her parents or grandparents spoke Spanish in public. Her stomach twisted into a knot. Why were her hands trembling in her lap? Why did her heartbeat feel strange in her chest?

  She drew in a long steady breath and let it out. You wanted to do this. Come on. Think of how much better these kids will have it. She climbed out of the car and stopped to pull her long dark hair up into a ponytail. Dress in work clothes, she’d been told. Expect to do some manual labor. So she was in jeans and a T-shirt she’d only worn at home. It bore the words Viva La Raza beneath an upraised fist. She didn’t wear it in public because, as racially integrated and liberal as Charleston could be, it was still taken as a challenge and she tried to avoid confrontations with complete strangers.

  She tugged the shirt down a bit and tried to pretend she hadn’t chosen it just to see Matt’s reaction. A smile curled her lips for a moment as she began walking to the center’s entrance. He didn’t realize how much he gave away with a glance or a physical gesture.

  It hadn’t changed much. The gorgeous exterior led to a building that was run on a very tight budget. The money went into the services they provided so the same rickety, uncomfortable chairs formed rows in the main waiting room. The check-in desk was the same square hole cut in the wall with a well-worn board serving as the desk. But the shabbiness of it did not hinder the happy babble in the waiting room. Here, everyone knew everyone. Everyone was welcome.

  “Lena!”

  She turned to see Dr. Rutledge down the hall that led to the medical services wing. She waved and headed down to meet him.

  “Eliot, good to see you.”

  “Finally, I get an Eliot. Come on in. We’re still painting and setting up.”

  She stepped into the room the center had cleared for the art room. Sister Agatha and one of the Society Sisters were painting walls in a bright sky blue. Matt was assembling a long worktable in the center of the floor. She ignored the flare of heat that speared her when he looked up and grinned at her.

  “Paintbrush or screwdriver?” he asked.

  His gaze never left hers. She was tempted to take the screwdriver option because it seemed to come with the side benefit of crawling around on the floor with him. But she’d just had a manicure, and painting seemed less likely to get her a broken nail.

  “Painting.”

  That got her sent to Sister Agatha, who quizzed her on her wall-painting skills on a level that had Lena biting her tongue to keep from reminding her that they were painting a playroom wall, not the Sistine Chapel.

  Before too long, the walls were done. While they waited for them to dry, Lena helped piece together the benches for the long table. A multicubbyholed shelf was assembled and put in place along the back wall. Once all the furniture was assembled and in place, they began to bring in the boxes of supplies. Several of the children in the waiting room got curious and began to follow the procession down the hall.

  “How do you say ‘come in’ in Spanish?” Matt asked her.

  Lena told the children to come in. Matt waved them over to where he was taping a long rectangular space along one of the freshly painted walls. “Do you want to help?” he asked the kids. “Ayudar?”

  “I speak English,” one of them, a little girl about eight or nine, said.

  “Of course you do, but my Spanish is terrible, so I like to learn,” Matt replied with a smile. “My name is Matt. What’s yours?”

  “Catherine, but my friends call me Cat.”

  “So, may I call you Cat then?”

  “Sure. What do you need help with?”

  “I’m going to need you to round up all the kids you can. Then we’ll put some paint on your hands. Tell your parents it will wash right off. I want everyone to put their handprints along this stripe, and then print your name below. That way everyone will know you were one of the first to use this playroom. Does that sound like a good idea?”

  “Yes. I’ll be right back. I know there are some more kids in the big waiting room.”

  Lena smiled at him as the little girl hurried out of the room. “The handprints are a sweet idea,” she said.

  “I’ve got all sorts of sweet ideas, Ms. Reyes.”

  Her laugh was cut short by a disapproving noise from Sister Agatha. “Magdalena, I believe the ladies need help with the supplies.”

  Lena snapped a quick salute at the nun. “Yes, ma’am.”

  * * *

  MATT WATCHED WITH a lazy smile as Lena walked away to help with the supplies. One of the Society Sisters was wielding a label maker with all the seriousness of a surgeon. Speaking of which. Glancing around, he noticed that Dr. Rutledge was no longer in the room. This left him with a bit of a dilemma since the doctor had driven him to the center. Cat came back, leading a line of children.

  “Excellent work!” he told her as he waved the kids to gather around. He looked back over at Lena. She was looking a bit stormy. As if she wasn’t going to take being bossed around by Label Maker Lady much longer. “Excuse me, Lena? Can you help me with this?”

  “Thank you,” she muttered under her breath as she joined the group. A couple of the kids giggled.

  “Okay, kiddos. We’re going to do handprints inside the strips of tape I have on the wall here,” Matt began. He laid out newspaper and bowls. “After you put your prints up, go right to the bathroom and wash your hands. When you come back, we’ll write your name underneath. Everyone understand?”

  There were a few frowns and whispers. Lena spoke up in Spanish, presumably repeating what he’d said. The smiles that followed her explanation made him smile too. Lena looked...different, and he was caught up for a moment. Forcing his attention to pouring the paint into the various bowls, he tried to figure out what it was.

  “Are you Magdalena Reyes?” Cat asked in a tone of awe.

  Matt looked back up. Lena’
s smile spread, wide and genuine across her full lips. “Yes, I am.”

  An excited little ripple ran through the crowd of children. Matt cut his eyes back to Lena and gave her a sideways little smile. “You never told me you were a celebrity.”

  Lena spread her hands. “Not at all.”

  It hit him. Relaxed. That’s how she was different. Her guard was down. She was at ease here. He turned away, wishing he could see her like this more often. That is the real Lena. He put the paint away and brought out some cheap brushes. They’d do the job. He patted the bench seat beside him. “Sit down here,” he said to Lena as he stood. “You paint their hands and I’ll help them make the prints.”

  Lena said something in Spanish and waved a hand. The children fell into a neat line. “Help me with the first one,” she said to Matt. “So I’ll know how much paint to use.”

  He painted one of Cat’s palms and handed the brush to Lena to do the other. He was barely able to keep his response to the touch of her fingertips against his hidden from the watching children. But she saw the heat of it in his eyes. He knew it because she scowled at him. Then she scowled harder when it made him grin.

  As Lena painted palms and he helped the kids press their hands against the wall, he watched her on the sly. A few women her age had come in the room and sat along the bench with her. They were chatting happily in Spanish. Again it struck him how unguarded she was in this environment. His curiosity crept even higher. She was such a puzzle.

  The line of children ended and the little girl Cat approached him. “You should do your handprints too, Mr. Matt. You built all this stuff for us.”

  “You think so?”

  He got a chorus of agreement and held his hands out, palms up to Lena. When she looked up at him, he was caught off guard by the look in her eyes. Warmth. Desire. She quickly looked down at the bowls of paint.

  “What color?” she asked.

  “I like green,” he said. He held his breath and readied himself for the electric shock of their hands touching. And a good thing he had. The feel of her palm against the back of his hand, the slow brushstrokes across his palm, were inexcusably and inappropriately too erotic for the current situation. He took in a long breath and let it out slowly as she painted his other palm. There are children watching. Children. Watching. As he turned with a jerk to pick his spot on the wall, he thought he saw a little smile of triumph from Lena. She knew exactly what she’d done.

  “Well then,” he announced as he finished pressing his own palms on the wall. “I think Ms. Reyes should have her handprints up here too. What do you think, kids?”

  She flushed as she shot him an evil glare, but a smile played across her lips just the same. As the response from the children died down, she looked at Cat. “I think Catherine here should paint my hands. That way, when new children come in, she can show them how to do it and we can keep adding prints.”

  Putting his hands on his hips, he let out a laugh and shook his head. She thought she’d gotten him, but really, she’d just given herself away. She must be feeling the same sizzle. “I think that’s an excellent idea.”

  * * *

  WASHING HER HANDS in the ladies’ room sink, Lena couldn’t look at herself in the spotty and warped mirror. Her intention of getting back at Matt for all his teasing had backfired. She’d felt his body tighten as she’d run the paintbrush over his palm. A quick glance at his dilated pupils had flooded her with lust. She shook her head and grabbed a wad of paper towels to dry her hands. Checking her nails, she frowned. Manual labor and French manicures did not go well together.

  Finally meeting her eyes in the mirror, she pulled back her shoulders and straightened to her full five feet four inches. Giving herself a stern look, she raised a pointing finger. “You hormones just calm the hell down. You are not in charge here. I am.”

  Was she flushed? She leaned closer to the mirror. No. You look fine. Cool as the proverbial cucumber. Get your ass back in there. Her stomach quivered. Go back in there. He’s just another man trying to get in your pants.

  She left the bathroom, ignoring the whisper in the back of her mind that some parts of her were quite on board with the pants thing. That made her angry. Which was the perfect cure for horny. She pushed open the door to the playroom. Matt was sitting on the bench with children surrounding him on either side of the table. A line of tin jars holding crayons and colored pencils ran the length of the table. Her anger melted away as she looked at the kids. Chattering away in Spanish and English, smiling while they drew pictures, happy. She’d been a part of making this.

  A calm sense of pride filled her. Matt looked up and his gaze met hers. The heat flared again immediately and she looked away. This was not good. Not good at all.

  “Ms. Lena,” Cat called. “Come sit with us. We’re making celebration pictures to hang up.”

  Lena sat on the bench beside the girl. Cat reminded Lena a bit of herself at that age. Wandering between worlds. Being a Spanish-speaking child at home, but also the English-speaking guide for her relatives out in the world. She was used to talking to adults, to being the go-between.

  “Yeah?” she asked. “What are you drawing?”

  Cat pointed at the items in her picture. “This is the room with the handprints. That’s Mr. Matt. That’s the doctor man. That’s Sister Agatha.” Cat looked over her shoulder and leaned close to whisper. “I’m sort of afraid of her.”

  Lena laughed. “Me too,” she whispered back.

  A quick blush colored Cat’s cheeks and she turned back to her drawing. “That’s you, Ms. Lena. My momma told me that if I make good grades at school, I can go to college like you did.”

  “It’s true,” Lena said. Suddenly aware that all the children had stopped talking and were listening to her, she hesitated. This was new. Or at least a new generation. The kids she grew up with knew her story. The first, but certainly not the last, college graduate in her family.

  “Ms. Lena?” the boy sitting across from her asked hesitantly in Spanish. “Is it true that you are very, very rich now? And that you were poor just like us when you were little?”

  Stunned, Lena said nothing for a moment. Until the boy’s face grew worried and he began to stammer out an apology. “It’s okay,” Lena said soothingly in Spanish. “Yes. I worked very hard in school and got good grades. That helped me go to college. After college, I worked very hard also.”

  She forced a smile but something was squirming in her gut. Something that felt like shame and guilt. She knew she had money. But rich? She’d never felt rich. Was this how the community here saw her now? As a rich woman? Like one of the Society Sisters who ventured out among the poor once in a while to do a good deed so they could go back to brunching and mimosas? She looked down at her ruined manicure. And mani/pedis at the spa? Had she crossed some line and was no longer seen as a member of this community?

  Her face felt numb from the fake smile. She slipped an arm around Cat and gave her a little squeeze. “I need to get back home now,” she said. “But I’m going to work on a few more projects around here. So I’m sure I’ll see you again, okay?”

  “Okay. Thank you for helping us today.”

  All the children echoed Cat’s words and Lena rose on shaky legs. She had to get out of here. “You are all welcome. Just have fun. That’s all I want you to do here. Have fun.”

  She tried not to hurry as she left the room. She needed to get away. She needed to think about this. She needed to talk to her mother. She needed...

  “Lena!”

  She stopped on the sidewalk but didn’t turn around. Exactly what she did not need. Matt chasing her down. Pressing her lips together, she looked back as Matt caught up to her.

  “I need a ride home,” he said. “Dr. Rutledge ditched me.”

  She stared at him. More specifically, she stared at the center of his forehead bec
ause she didn’t trust herself to look in his eyes. Great. Again with exactly what she didn’t need: a forty-minute car ride with him.

  “I drew a picture for you,” he said in that teasing tone that made her both shiver and want to smack him.

  Looking down as he unrolled the paper in his hands, she felt her breath catch. She reached for the drawing. It was a pencil sketch of her in partial profile. “That’s...” Amazing was the word that faltered on her tongue. She already felt off-kilter about the rich comment and to have him do this seemed to have short-circuited her brain.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. His voice sounded genuinely concerned. Lacking any trace of his usual flirtation or smart-assedness.

  She shook her head, trying to jump-start her synapses. “Yeah. I just... I need to go.”

  His hand caught hers as she turned to leave. “Hold up a minute. Are you okay to drive? What’s going on? You aren’t acting right.”

  Jerking her hand away, she scowled at him. “I’m fine.”

  The bad-boy grin was back. Damn him. “Now, there’s the Lena I know. Seriously though, can you give me a ride? Everyone is gone.”

  She turned on her heel and walked away, fishing in her purse for her keys. “You sit in the seat and keep your mouth shut.”

  And he did. For about a whole minute. Fairly impressive. “Everyone seemed to know you back there,” he said.

  She kept her eyes on the road and shrugged.

  “Not like ‘hey, there’s Lena’ know you, but like ‘oh my God, that’s Lena Reyes’ know you.”

  That stirred up the guilty shame slime ball in her gut. “You aren’t even making sense and I told you to be quiet and I can pull this car over and kick your ass out anytime I feel like it.”

  “Are you famous or something?”

  “Why would I be famous?”

  “That’s what I’m asking you.”

  “No. I am not famous. Go back to being quiet.”

  “But...”

  She flicked on the turn signal and began to slow down.