Page 7 of The Mood Board

Chapter 4

Liam

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MY PHONE RANG AS Iwas finishing an email. I hit “send” and dragged my attention to the screen lighting up with Bailey’s smiling photo. It was one I had taken when I had surprised her with a trip to Hawaii, a place she had never been, and we had spent the week sunning on the beach, swimming, eating, playing tourist, and, of course, other things that kept us closer to the rental home and in bed.

It was one of my favorite photos of her, in the water, the sunset colors bright behind her and golden on her skin and the waves splashing around her, the laughter on her face and in her eyes contagious even now.

I picked up the phone, feeling better just for seeing that photo and thinking of the memories.

“Hey,” I said, hitting the button to answer the phone, turning in my chair to look out my office’s picture windows. After days of storms, it was good to see sun.

“Hey. Are you busy?” came the reply.

“Never too busy to talk to you.”

I couldn’t see Bailey’s smile, but I heard it in her words. “Whatever, charmer. I’m just calling to see how you are.”

The night Bailey had received the letter, we had gone to bed frustrated, hurt, and still suspicious. But by morning, my fiancée seemed to have managed to banish whatever thoughts the specter of her ex had caused. She had thrown her arms around me like I had wanted her to the night before and apologized for ever entertaining the idea I would have taken illegal money.

Between her apology and support and the swim I had taken to banish the last of a bad night’s sleep drowsiness, I had gone to work with a much more level head. Tom had, of course, been explosively angry, pacing his office and throwing off expletives as he cursed the letter writer, the maker of the computer that had typed the letter, and the mail carrier who had delivered it.

Having gotten that out of his system, we called the company’s lawyers to sit through a long strategy session. So far, we hadn’t pulled anyone else into the loop. As the lawyers said, we had no idea who this person was or their goal. It could have been an ex of mine, a disgruntled ex-employee—we didn’t have many, but we had a few—or one of our rivals trying to stir up trouble.

Whatever it was, we could do very little with a single letter save for bracing for impact. The lawyers also had a team reviewing every document from our initial round of funding to see what they could find. If there was some kind of deal we had missed the first time, they assured me we would find it now and take whatever steps necessary to remediate the situation.

In short, the lawyers had told us the only thing we could do was wait, which I was happy to do. I didn’t want to focus on the unease still curling my insides, the one that told me though nothing else had come up, we were in for it. I was in for it. The one even my optimism couldn’t quite banish.

I could, however, ignore it enough to function. And calls like these from Bailey helped.

“I’m doing well. Busy today,” I answered.

“You said you have meetings all afternoon, right? Do you think you’ll be home for dinner?” I could hear work in the background of the call—she and her team were moving furniture into one of the bedrooms in the new Hope’s House home.

“I hope so.” I leaned back in my chair and stretched, wincing at the loud pop from my back.

“What was that?” Bailey asked sharply.

“That was my back,” I chuckled.

“Wow. Through the phone?” Bailey sounded impressed.

“I’ve been trying to work it out all morning.” My back had felt tight during my morning swim. “It was driving me crazy.”

Bailey laughed, and I delighted in the sound. The idea that I could make her smile and laugh was one of the headiest parts of our relationship, and I did it as often as possible—nothing could beat her smile or her laugh, especially when reflected in eyes that shone with love for me.

“Want me to massage it tonight?” I was unsure but thought I detected a soft hint in my fiancée’s words.

“I would like that very much.” My reply was soft, husky, and I grinned when I heard the soft intake of breath I had hoped to cause.

A knock on the door preceded its opening, and I cleared my throat as my assistant, Gloria, leaned in through the open door, her hand still on the knob.

“Your eleven o’clock appointment is here, Liam,” she said.

I nodded. “Thanks, Gloria. Give me a minute, and then send her in.”

“Hi, Gloria,” Bailey called out.