Not Guilty of Love Page 6

  Parke had learned a while back to expect surprise attacks from Mrs. Beacon, so most times, he didn't overreact. Leaning against the counter, he rubbed the residual sweat from his forehead as a result of his recent jog. "Every day seems to get crazier and crazier. Whatever happened to peace on earth and goodwill to all men? Baby, what are we supposed to do, choose sides? Your dad is family, and Grandma BB... well, uh, Grandma BB is nuts, period, but she loves you and had your back when your family shut you out."

  Wrapping her arms around Parke's waist, Cheney laid her head against his damp T-shirt. "You know, I threw a scripture at Grandma BB about forgiving Daddy. She had the gall to hurl it back at me and demand that I apply it to myself." She paused. "Being a Christian seems to be an endless circle of forgiveness."

  As Cheney vented, Parke looked down at his wife. He loved the shape of her face since her pregnancy. She was even more gorgeous. He tightened his embrace, making sure he didn't hurt her. "What do you mean, baby?" he mumbled, tuning in again.

  She sighed, and Parke smiled, when their baby stretched in her stomach.

  "Parke, I know the Bible says we're to love people, even the ones we can't stand, but it's the forgiveness I'm having the real issue with. Once I forgive, I find myself repenting for something else, then I'm back on track again. I just wish this never happened."

  "Me, too, baby. I'm sure God has His reasons. I wonder if He'll ever share them with us."

  She looked up and wrinkled her nose. "Parkay, let me share this. You need a shower. You stink."

  Chapter Six

  Malcolm didn't know if he would ever get over Hallison, but he was going to give it his best shot. He didn't necessarily believe in premonitions, but there was always a first time. Malcolm didn't care how much he loved Hallison. There would be another woman to replace her. He had already begun the search.

  His secretary, Lilly, opened his office door without knocking. "Malcolm, you have an appointment in five minutes."

  He scanned his desk calendar. "No, I don't."

  "Yep, you do. Make that in four minutes. Mr. Winfield had to leave for a family emergency, and since you're the only other CPA in the office today, you're it in three and a half minutes."

  "Do you want to hand me something? You know like a file to give me a heads-up to who it is I'm meeting?" Malcolm said, pointing to the folder in Lilly's hand.

  "Oh, yeah." She walked farther into his office and tossed the file on his desk. She grinned when it landed intact, then left.

  He gritted his teeth in disbelief. If Lilly wasn't years older than his mother, he would've hired the next temp who walked through the door. Opening the folder, Malcolm quickly scanned the one-page form, naming the business that requested the audit: Gertie's Garden. He shook his head at the thought of some little old lady with a secondhand store overrun with junk, two employees, herself, and a cat. When he finished reading the company's summary, he learned that it was actually a flower shop with twelve employees.

  Lilly buzzed him. "Mr. Jamieson, your appointment is here."

  "Thank you." Standing from behind his desk, he smoothed his tie against his starched shirt.

  The client wasn't an old Gertie-looking woman. She was young, petite, and dressed in black, which signified "I'm dangerous." She strutted into the room with a purpose. Malcolm could only describe her as hot. He blinked to keep from staring and lifted his brow in appreciation. Whoa. Hallison who? He held in a chuckle and stretched out his hand. "Good morning."

  She accepted. "Good morning, Mr. Jamieson. Thanks for seeing me. I'm sorry about Mr. Winfield's emergency, but I had already set this time aside."

  Malcolm smiled. Despite the woman's flustered voice, she appeared composed. "Not a problem, Miss..." He looked down at the opened folder. "Miss Nixon. Please have a seat."

  Adjusting her skirt, she laid a purse the size of a shopping bag on her lap. "Please call me Lisa There's a time and place for titles. This is not one of them," she said, seemingly amused by her own statement.

  A woman with a sense of humor, he thought, settling into his chair. "You've got a point. Please call me Malcolm. I'm not sure what you discussed with my boss, but we usually suggest a review instead of an audit for small companies. He noted a staff accountant could be available next week to visit her shop. So," Malcolm paused, sat straighter, and folded his hands, "how can I help you?"

  "I'm not in the habit of letting just anybody walk into my office and look over my books. I prefer to get a feel for people before I cut a check." Lisa leaned forward. "Three things, Malcolm. My bank wants a certified audit before they will approve a new loan for an expansion. I don't want to wait until next week, and I don't want a staff accountant. If you are a senior certified accountant, I’d prefer to have you."

  Every client wanted a CPA. Most people didn’t realize that in many cases, entry-level college grad accountants did the grunt work. Malcolm stroked his beard to hide his grin. She was a firecracker waiting to be lit. He had asked, and she told him exactly what she wanted without batting an eye. He was intrigued.

  "Sounds like you need a financial statement," Malcolm stated. "I sign off on the accountants' reports. I'm also tied up with some previous client commitments for the next week. I'm sorry."

  Tilting her head, she flashed a peek of a smile. "This is one of those times where the use of a title is necessary. Mr. Jamieson, your firm comes highly recommended by several clients. I was told you're thorough, professional, and can do the job in record, billable hours."

  He nodded. "That is correct. Our reputation is our business." The woman had done some homework. "Miss Nixon, I apologize for any misunderstanding. I've been supervising staff accountants for almost a year now." Picking up a pen, he tapped it on his desk, in thought. Although the firm's business was flourishing, it didn't balk at accepting new accounts, but the partners were selective about taking on new clients. One of their five accountants was on his honeymoon for two weeks; the others were tied up with government audits. "Lisa, when was the last time Gertie's Garden had an audit?"

  "About six years ago, when I applied for a business loan that I paid off six months ago."

  He glanced at the woman again. Her game face didn't hide the hopefulness in her eyes. Malcolm didn't doubt he could perform the audit in a timely manner, but somehow he had an odd feeling he was getting in over his head. "If you'll indulge me to play devil's advocate for a few minutes, I don't know much about a flower shop."

  "Floral business," she corrected.

  He cleared his throat. "I apologize. Are you sure you want to expand with the current instability of the economy?" As the financial planner in the family, Parke had advised his family to monitor their portfolio and limit risky investments until the U.S. dollar bounced back.

  "Babies are born every minute, couples exchange vows every week, and as long as boyfriends and husbands are sentenced to the dog house, there are always good reasons to buy flowers every day."

  Malcolm couldn't keep from chuckling. Lisa made a valid argument. "Okay," he said, almost convinced.

  "Listen, the floriculture generated gross sales of more than twenty billion dollars last year. Gertie's Garden contributed about a million to that number."

  "Then running a test through your invoices will back up your profits. It's the future cost of yearly expenses that could be unpredictable."

  "Don't insult me. I wouldn't be successful if I weren't aware of that," Lisa snapped indignantly.

  For the next half hour, Lisa Nixon proved to be an astute business owner. Malcolm deduced her age to be about thirty. She said she had taken over Gertie's Garden eight years previously, right out of college. Her short hair and short stature didn't take away from her larger-than-life confidence. Her smile—men were suckers for lips that didn't dare hide glossy white teeth.

  She checked her wrist and frowned. An interesting piece with silver circles looped together served as a watch. The accessory matched the hoops dangling from her ears.

  "Malcolm, I've b
een up since five this morning. I've got to eat something. Is your answer yes, or do I need to visit another firm?"

  Malcolm considered his light workload for the remainder of the day. "Why don't we break for lunch? Once we return, I'll give you a list of documents we need to review and work on an outline for an engagement letter of billable hours." Pushing aside the file, he grinned. "It won't hurt to learn the difference between carnations and daffodils."

  She twisted her lips in amusement. "Sounds fair, but in all sincerity, thank you, Malcolm. This was my grandmother's business that she started with nothing more than plants in the ground. It's important to me to keep what she started going. My cousins want no part of it."

  A kindred spirit. He nodded his understanding. His tenth generation grandmother, Elaine, who was the only daughter of a white slaveholder, set in motion the Jamieson legacy. It began the day she witnessed Paki, a slave, being tied to a tree and beaten. She ordered him down, and after dark, applied salve to his wounds. Their life story was well documented and had been passed down to future family members.

  It wasn't out of the ordinary for male slaves to refuse to marry female slaves owned by the same master because they couldn't bear to see their wives whipped unmercifully when they didn't move fast enough for the overseer, or for the women to be sexually violated. If slaveholders did recognize unions, sometimes they would sell wives and children to other plantations to punish the husbands.

  When Paki escaped, he became a fugitive, taking Elaine with him. If authorities found him, Paki was a dead man. Together, they journeyed toward Kansas, a free state. Changing their minds, they settled in Illinois, deciding not to risk capture in Missouri, another slave territory.

  "Legacies are what strengthen families." Turning off his computer, Malcolm stood and grabbed his jacket. Lisa remained seated until Malcolm pulled her chair back, allowing her to stand. "I'll tell you about mine, if you'll share something about your family."

  Lisa adjusted her purse strap on her shoulder as Malcolm towered over her. Looking up, she offered another gleaming smile. "There's not much to tell. My great-grandmother grew flowers in her backyard. She began selling them on her tattered front porch, and her best customers were men on their way home from work. She encouraged me to believe in myself and my natural gifts to affect positive changes by studying my craft."

  "So, there's a school for florists?" he asked, concentrating more on her body's curves than her answer.

  "The American Institute of Floral Design isn't really a school, but it's a place where florists can get accreditation—for a fee—which gives them clout. Each year the organization holds a national symposium. Talk about the themes, techniques, and networking. It's not an event to miss. I also attend lectures, and I'm part of garden club associations."

  Multi-tasking, Malcolm listened and considered where they would eat. "There's a place about five short blocks away from here. I haven't eaten anything from there that I didn't like."

  "Malcolm, I hope you can keep up. I walk three miles every morning, so don't let my heels fool you," Lisa tossed back.

  "Really?" He smirked. "Is that a challenge?"

  "Only if you take the bait, Mr. Jamieson."

  Interesting. On the way, they chatted. Each word, each sentence bonded them as friends. Once they arrived at their destination, Lisa lifted a brow in curiosity. Although she didn't voice it, Malcolm knew what she was apparently thinking—a church?

  As they walked through a side gate between the Abbey and the Old Rectory, a courtyard patio came into view. "I never thought a church could be the backdrop for something so whimsical."

  "Correction, former church. Besides lunch, the Abbey is a popular place for special gatherings," Malcolm boasted the historical facts. The Ninth Street Abbey in Soulard was built in the 1850s as the St. Paul's German Evangelical Church, and then another denomination worshipped there.

  In the early nineties, Patty Long Catering purchased and converted it. The Southside eatery, known for its good food and ambience, was just minutes from downtown. Malcolm had never taken Hallison there because he preferred meeting her on her job for lunch whenever she could break away. He never had any issues with church until Hallison came out of one brainwashed about Christ wanting all of her, and anything less wasn't an option.

  Water gushing from a fountain distracted Lisa, causing her to almost trip as they climbed stone steps that introduced a patio deck. Malcolm's hand reached out and grabbed her elbow, steadying her. She nodded her thanks, then froze as a pergola waited to romance its guests. Lisa inhaled her surroundings and smiled.

  "Wow, Malcolm. I'll have to remember to come back here."

  "With a friend?" he asked, pulling her chair back.

  "I don't need a friend to go where I want to go," Lisa said, snickering as she opened a menu.

  Whoa. An independent woman didn't threaten Malcolm. His soon-to-be client was turning out to be quite captivating indeed. After taking his seat, Malcolm considered his choices before the waiter came to the table. He nodded for Lisa to go first. She ordered a chicken salad and so did he, but deluxe.

  Malcolm glanced around, admiring the scenery that excited Lisa. "Tell me more about your great-grandmother."

  "Well, Gertrude Thomas was a remarkable woman. She enjoyed the scent of fresh flowers throughout the house. She appreciated the beauty of Mother Nature. She found a use for everything, dead or alive. Her favorite thing was potpourri—a mixture of pine cones, colorful fall leaves and feathers. With determination, she mastered a technique to preserve her creations longer."

  "Determination, now that's a description I recognize from my dining partner."

  She laughed and slapped his arm, forcing him to join her. "Touché. You begged to hear my story," she teased.

  He leaned closer. "I don't beg for anything." He thought about his breaking point with Hallison. Did he beg for her to choose him over God?

  Lisa lifted a mocking brow and continued. "Anyway, she made beautiful bouquets in her mind before her hands duplicated the imaginary. When her front porch could no longer hold her collection of flowers, my great-grandma peddled her goods in a homemade kiosk—basically a large laundry cart. She stayed fit as she strolled through her neighborhood's streets like a paperboy. She never ran out of customers because she never stopped soliciting new business. I admire her entrepreneurial spirit, and I'm striving to duplicate it."

  Malcolm was impressed. "Lisa, you're on the right track."

  "I know. I'd like to corner the market in the floral business as Walter Knoll Florist has done locally. Of course, my stores would be smaller." Her eyes sparkled, clearly in a daydream. "Malcolm, I envision a Gertie's Garden on neighborhood comers like Walgreen's. Gertie's Gardens will be classy, storefront shops that steal business back from supermarkets with their pre-packaged bouquets."

  New patrons joined them on the deck. Lisa and Malcolm remained chatting long after those customers were gone. Finally, they strolled back to Malcolm's office, unconcerned about the passage of time. Lisa completed the engagement letter, and as requested, returned it by mail within two days.

  A week later, Malcolm hadn't stopped thinking about Lisa. He hadn't been at work ten minutes, when he walked out of his office. He scrutinized the brilliant flowers overtaking his assistant's desk. Malcolm snickered at the possibility of Lilly hiding behind them. He reasoned one of her sons must've been in the doghouse and he sent a peace offering.

  "I guess your boys have made up with their momma," he said as he continued his stroll to the restroom.

  "Nope. Actually they're for you—not Winfield & Young—from Miss Lisa Nixon. Hmm ..."

  "Hmm, what?" Stopping, Malcolm turned around and frowned.

  She shrugged. "Just, hmm. I like to exercise my vocal cords."

  "As long as you don't try and sing in the office again. You gave me a headache trying to hit some of Patti LaBelle's notes." Lilly rolled her eyes. "Since Lisa owns Gertie's Gardens, I'm sure it's her way to show her appreciation f
or our services."

  Lilly fingered a delicate petal. "Humph. That's not what the note said. It sounded personal."

  "And how do you know that?"

  "Because I read it."

  Twisting his mouth, Malcolm considered Lilly's answer. He couldn't snap at his assistant. It was her job to open his mail. Malcolm walked away toward the men's restroom, then he stopped. He didn't want to come across as too eager, but now he was curious about Lisa's message.

  Malcolm skipped the restroom. He could hold out a little longer as he backtracked to Lilly's desk and swiped up the vase. He strolled into his office, carrying the arrangement as a makeshift dumbbell. With the back swing of his foot, he kicked the door closed. After taking his seat, Malcolm indulged in a whiff before opening the miniature envelope and slipping out the card: I don't believe in chances. I believe in fate. Malcolm, I'm attracted to you. I'll let you take it from here.

  Malcolm barked out a laugh, flattered. Evidently, Lilly thought that was her cue to push open his door, forgoing a knock. "Well?"

  "Don't open anymore mail from Gertie's Garden."

  She was about to say something when her phone rang. Instead of going back to her desk, she walked to Malcolm's and lifted the receiver off the console before he could protest.

  "Winfield, Young & Associates, Mr. Jamieson's office," Lilly cooed into the phone. "One moment please." She pressed the hold button and sauntered out of the office. "It's for you. The flower lady," she said over her shoulder.

  You'd better not call Lisa—our client—that to her face, he kept to himself. "Malcolm Jamieson." He smiled when he heard Lisa's voice. It wasn't as husky as Hallison's, but he didn't want a duplication of his former fiancée. "Good morning, Lisa, and thank you for the flowers. They're nice, and smell good, too."

  She dismissed any pleasantries and stated her intentions. "Would you like to accompany me to a Chuck Berry concert at The Pageant tomorrow night? Although he's local, I try to see him whenever he makes an appearance. I hope you can make yourself available."