Fifteen

Do I make you nervous?”

It was five minutes till closing, and as uncustomary as it was, Mitchell was already packing his briefcase in preparation to leave. This day had been even longer than yesterday, and top priority for him right now was to get his belongings packed and to head to the gym for another stress-relieving run. Last night, Mitchell had been en route to Chris’s house to check on him when he’d listened to the message that had been left on his cell phone. He had achieved a personal best, thirty-minute, four-mile run and had left the fitness center feeling rejuvenated. But his high had quickly fizzled when he played the message left by his friend. Mitchell had been so agitated that he made an illegal U-turn in the road and headed home instead. Chris had to settle for a late-night phone call instead.

“Do you make me what?” Mitchell asked, knowing full well what Lisa had said the first time.

“You heard me.” She took several steps that brought her closer to his desk and then repeated her question. “Do I make you nervous?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“One that requires an answer,” she said with sarcasm. Mitchell was temporarily rescued by the sound of the telephone ringing from the front desk. Lisa gave him a look that distinctly said, “I’ll be back for an answer,” and then rushed from his office to catch the call before it rolled into their voice mail. With her gone, Mitchell released a deep sigh. Maybe he should be glad that she had brought up the subject. It would give him a chance to address all of the concerns he’d kept to himself. But he hadn’t been prepared for her to drop the issue on the table today. He still had a lot of work to do and needed to get home to his laptop—and to uninterrupted peace and quiet.

When he looked up from his briefcase again, Lisa was standing quietly in his doorway, leaning against the frame of it and almost seeming to strike a pose. Mitchell looked at her for a moment and then went back to work, putting another file inside the case before closing it. Avoiding her inquisitive eyes, he walked to the coatrack and pulled his leather jacket from it. He should have known better than to think she’d just take a hint and go away. Mitchell’s back was turned to her, but the sound of her heels against the hardwood floors gave warning that she was once again approaching.

“Talk to me, Mitchell.”

That was another thing that irked him. In his lifetime, no one had ever consistently referred to him as Mitchell except Virtue. He loved the way the relatively common name rolled off of his wife’s tongue. He didn’t know if it was intentional or not, but when Virtue had said his name, it almost sounded lyrical. Mitchell supposed that he’d subconsciously reserved being identified by his full first name for Virtue since hearing it from another was bothersome. Lisa didn’t refer to him as such all of the time, but Mitchell took note that when she did, it was only in Chris’s absence. For some reason, that made him leery too.

Slipping on his jacket and facing her, Mitchell said, “Talk to you about what?”

By now, she was standing directly in front of him. Mitchell tried to appear absorbed in his work, but in what looked like a calculated move, Lisa slid Mitchell’s in-box over on his desk to make room for her rear. Sliding herself onto the oak desk, she sat and crossed her legs at the knees. By every definition, it was inappropriate, but Mitchell made a conscious attempt to bridle his tongue.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Waiting for you to answer my question.” Lisa’s matter-of-fact tone was unwavering. Placing her arms on her lap, she relayed her question for the third time. “Do I make you nervous?”

“Why would you make me nervous?” For Mitchell, avoiding a direct answer to the question seemed like the best route to take. He wanted to know where she was going with her suggestion before jumping to a conclusion that he might regret.

Lisa shrugged. “I don’t know, but lately I get the feeling that I do, especially when we’re alone. Don’t get me wrong. I’m used to it. I seem to have that effect on most men.”

Mitchell knew his car keys were in the pocket of his coat, but he patted the leather anyway and then walked past Lisa toward his briefcase, which was still on the desk behind where she sat. “I’m not most men, Lisa.”

“I know,” she said, switching positions so that she faced him once again. “With most men, I know why they’re so intimidated. They’re that way because they’re interested and just aren’t sure how to approach me, or even if they should approach me. But that couldn’t be the case with you . . . could it?”

It was a hard judgment call to make. To Mitchell, her words felt a lot like a come-on, but on the other hand, she could be testing him to see just how loyal he was to his best friend. Maybe it wasn’t even about Lisa wanting to establish something deeper with him. It could easily be that she was only trying to see if he’d make a move on her so that she could determine if the man her fiancé had chosen to serve as his best man was worthy. Mitchell wasn’t sure what to think of Lisa’s new line of reasoning, but whatever was her motive, he had heard just about enough.

“Lisa, we’ve both had a long and busy day. I’m sure you’re as ready to get home as I am. Why don’t we stop with the mind games and just go home? Barbara will be back in the morning, so you can take tomorrow and enjoy what’s left of your vacation time. Chris will be sure that you get a check for your services.”

“Get home for what, Mitchell?” she challenged, not budging from her spot on the corner of his desk. “At least I have a cat to greet me when I get to mine. You don’t even have that. So why are you in such a hurry?”

Her insinuation that he didn’t have much of a life would have angered him if it weren’t so true.

“Why don’t we go get a bite to eat?” Lisa offered.

Mitchell retrieved an overlooked folder from his desk and opened his briefcase to insert it in the inside pocket. “I can’t; I have work to do,” he replied, glad for a legitimate reason to turn down the offer. “That’s why I’m taking these folders with me. Your duties here ended fifteen minutes ago. You could have been well on your way home by now. When I have this much work to do, my job doesn’t end at the close of business.”

“You’re taking work home with you?”

There were too many questions being tossed out, but Mitchell was glad that at least they’d turned into questions that didn’t unnerve him. “Most days I do, Lisa,” he told her. “It’s not uncommon.”

“You’re a dull somethin’ ’nuther, ain’t you?”

Mitchell broke into a hearty laugh. He couldn’t recall hearing the term “somethin’ ’nuther” since his grandmother had said it when he was a child. Grandma Kate was originally from a small town in South Georgia, and Grandpa Isaac had often referred to her chosen dialect as “country gibberish.”

“Well, I’ve been called worse,” he said as he closed his briefcase and scrambled the combination lock.

“You should smile more.”

Her unexpected advice froze Mitchell in place for a moment. He finally became mobile again, but his movements were gradual. He didn’t immediately voice his feelings, but he quickly learned that he didn’t have to.

“See, there you go again,” Lisa said. “Why do you clam up every time I pay you a compliment? Hasn’t anyone ever told you that you have a nice smile?”

They had. During his childhood years in Dallas, Mitchell’s grandmother had often referred to it as his mother’s smile. Kate had had many good memories of her deceased daughter, and she referenced them as often as opportunities arose. Looking back, Mitchell felt that she did it so that those same memories—memories of a woman he’d never even met—would be etched in his mind too.

Lisa broke the lingering silence. “Come on, Mitchell. How many chances like this are you going to get? Once Chris and I are married, I won’t be as free to spend this kind of time with you. I know there are things in that handsome head of yours that you want to talk about.”

“Lisa . . .”

“Your ex-wife, maybe?” she probed. “I heard that you’d been trying to contact her. I don’t know why, though. Some things are better left alone. I know how hard it is to just forget the past. Especially when stones were left unturned and questions were left unanswered. I told you I’ve been there. But it’s their loss. You and I are good catches, Mitchell. If Felander and Virtue were too blind to see that, then they never deserved us anyway.”

“Look,” Mitchell said. “I don’t know what sent you and your ex-husband to divorce court, but it wasn’t like that with Virtue and me. We broke up because . . .”

Mitchell stopped himself. He couldn’t believe he was getting into this with Lisa. What happened between Virtue and him was not her concern. Neither was it his business what caused her divorce from Felander. Chris told Lisa everything else. It was hard for Mitchell to accept the possibility that she really didn’t know his story already.

“Go on,” she urged.

“I don’t think so, Lisa. It’s time to get out of here anyway.”

Mitchell grasped the handle of his briefcase and pulled it from his desk. As if she had finally conceded, Lisa wiggled her way off of his desk and stood. But when he turned to head for the door, her hand stopped him. It was one of those touches that only happened when Chris wasn’t around.

“If you turn down my dinner offer, you’ll leave me with no choice,” she said in a tone that was similar to that of the girls in the 1-900 commercials. “I’d have to go back to my initial question of why you feel uncomfortable when we’re alone.”

“Lisa . . .”

“Are you uncomfortable now, Mitchell?”

He wasn’t facing her, but she stood directly beside him, and Mitchell could feel her breath as she spoke. The atmosphere had gone far past uncomfortable. With her so close to him now that parts of her body touched his, there was little doubt left now about what Lisa was trying to accomplish. Mitchell was too stunned by her blatant actions to speak or immediately move.

“What about now?”

Her latest step forward had placed her mouth within a fraction of an inch from his face. She was so close, in fact, that her body pressed against his and her lips grazed his neck, sending a strange ripple of chills down his right arm. A woman hadn’t stood this close to Mitchell in quite some time, and certainly not one as beautiful as Lisa. Mitchell’s mind was telling him to step away, but his body didn’t readily agree. The brush of Lisa’s lips turned into one kiss to his neck and then another. All Mitchell could do was stand there while his spirit fought against his flesh in an all-out war of good versus evil.

“Do you want me, Mitchell?”

Lisa’s voice was a seductive whisper, but the sudden words that broke the silent, mounting tension were enough to snap Mitchell from the gaping abyss that had begun to swallow him whole. At first his defiance sounded more like an inaudible mumble, but with renewed strength Mitchell took the step backward that his mind had ordered him to take moments earlier.

“Get out.”

“What?” Lisa was visibly caught off guard by Mitchell’s words.

“Get out,” he repeated, louder this time.

“Mitchell . . .” Lisa took a step in an attempt to close the gap that Mitchell’s retreat had put between them. She reached forward to touch his face, but his hand was quicker than hers.

“Ouch!” she groaned as he grabbed her wrist and snatched her arm away.

Releasing her, Mitchell took brisk steps toward his office door and stood in the open doorway, pointing in the direction that would lead her down the hall and to the front door. “I need you to leave,” he said.

“Mitchell, why are you . . . ?”

“Go!” he yelled.

Lisa winced at the sudden change in his voice level and tone. She hesitated for a moment, but did as she was told. Mitchell stepped back as she reached his office door, taking special precautions so that she wouldn’t have to touch him during her exit. He remained in his doorway and watched her as she snatched her belongings from Barbara’s desk and flung the door open on her way out. Mitchell waited until he heard the automatic locks on the front door engage themselves before he moved from his place.

With his footsteps heavy from the weight of the burden of guilt and shame had placed in each of his shoes, Mitchell dragged himself to his desk and pulled out his chair. He needed to sit and find a way to get himself together before attempting to drive home. A new battle had begun inside of him now. His best friend’s fiancée had just made an attempt to seduce him. It was a failed attempt, but not by far. A part of him felt just as responsible as Lisa had been. If he had ended the conversation earlier, none of what had happened in the last two minutes would have.

How was he going to tell Chris about this? His friend would be crushed. And if Mitchell told him the whole story, of how refusing her advances hadn’t been the easiest choice to make, he would probably be angry as well. But he had to tell him. Someway, somehow, he had to tell Chris what had happened. This was something that he couldn’t keep from him. Even at the risk of hurting Chris’s feelings and breaking his heart, Mitchell knew he had to tell him.

The sudden ring of his telephone interrupted his thought process. After a brief hesitation, pondering whether or not he should allow the after-hours call to go to voice mail, Mitchell made the decision to answer. A part of him hoped that it was Chris. Admittedly, it would be the choice of a coward, but telling Chris over the phone would probably be easier than doing it in person. Very few clients knew his direct number. Business calls most often came in through the general line at the receptionist’s desk, and Barbara forwarded them accordingly. The odds stacked up against the call being from anyone other than his business partner. The fifth ring would send the call rolling over to voice mail. It was ringing for the fourth time before Mitchell picked up.

“Mitchell Andrews.”

“Hello, Mr. Andrews? I’m glad I caught you. You’re just the man I need to speak to.”

It was a female’s voice, but it rang with no familiarity. She sounded relieved, prompting Mitchell to assume it was a desperate client. The closer the year came to its end, the more he got calls like this from people who needed the prompt service of a capable accountant. It was the reason his briefcase was already stuffed with homework.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “What can I do for you?”