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“Oh, no!” She skidded along the concrete of the parking lot.
Lance reached out and grabbed her from behind by her waist. There was no point in rushing to his car. The rain soaked them.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Where’s your car?”
She pointed to the Malibu parked a few spots away from his car. “I can get there by myself.”
Lance released his grip at her waist, and for a moment, he recalled how it felt to hold her. He swallowed the lump in his throat and proceeded to his car, making sure she got inside hers. When he reached his, Lance turned on the heater and reached for towels in his backseat. He needed to change clothes.
He rubbed his chilled hands for a second. When his cell rang, he answered for her.
“So…” Chantelle said. “Does this mean we’re rescheduling our appointment? I have to fix my hair.”
He chuckled.
“I’m serious. This is not professional.”
“Are you on your way home?”
“Yes, I am. Are you?” she asked.
“I’m pulling off now. I have to hurry if I’ll make the board meeting today.”
“You don’t keep a change of clothes at your office? Don’t all businessmen do that?”
“You watch too many movies.”
“Anyway, will tomorrow work at the same time?”
“What all do you need? It seems like a lot for an article.”
She giggled. “If you were a regular man, maybe. Like I said before, you’re a celebrity.”
If only he hadn’t agreed for People magazine to feature him as the most eligible bachelor. The journalist bombarded him with questions about his family, home life, and his personal life. Dating Andrea Williams meant a new level of invasion of privacy.
He met the model eighteen months prior at the gala his parents hosted every year. It was amazing how one of his father’s millionaire clients knew the rising star. She’d been invited to the event. Lance had been surprised to see her in a small town like Delta Heights, but Andrea’s beauty struck him that night. Who would pass on the opportunity?
“Are you there?” Chantelle asked.
Lance gripped the wheel. “Yeah. Tomorrow will work for me. Though lunch time will be best.”
“Okay, well… don’t get sick.”
He laughed. “You neither.”
With that, he hung up and headed home for some dry clothes.
Chapter 8
Glenda, the family cook, served the Taylor’s family table. Lance’s eyes scanned his choices: purple hull peas, baked chicken, sweet potatoes, cornbread, and brisket. He served his own plate despite the churn in his stomach. Lance hated their “family” dinners, but he didn’t want repercussions from his mother. He loved her, but she could nag him to pieces.
His father was no different, although he was less vocal about it. Though he admired his father, their relationship wasn't as strong as it used to be. Lance missed the old days where he and his father would play catch.
When he tried out for the basketball team in middle school, his dad bought a basketball goal, and hung it on the garage outside for him to practice. Lance’s father used to take him for ice cream as a boy, but now they barely saw each other for lunch at the law office.
