Calculated Risk (22 page)

The company scuttlebutt Nick had created and his unfaithfulness to Dana, almost kissing Cisney after he'd already slipped up and kissed her at the end of their waltz, were only two of the things irritating her.

Daddy was not her Little John. He was back to his old tricks, calling her this morning to tell her about “a single doctor with spirit” he wanted her to meet.

She'd firmly reminded him she no longer needed a matchmaker.

He'd grumbled and hung up on her. Hung. Up. On. Her.

She should have stood her ground. But no, she'd called him back later and apologized. His acceptance was so soft-spoken she'd almost called the nurses' station to have someone check on him.

A knock on her door jolted her. Nick leaned against the doorjamb. Her stomach bounced off the bottom of her heart. Nick standing at her door was the last thing she needed today. Why hadn't she called her travel agent first thing this morning?

She cast him a cursory smile. “We've got everything we need from Actuarial.” She shuffled the graphs. “Thanks.”
Please go away.

“Why didn't you return my calls?”

She anchored her gaze on a bar graph. “Your voicemails told me what I needed to know.”

“Maybe you'd be less uptight right now if you'd called me. I said we needed to talk.”

She looked up. “I thought we were talking.”

“I don't want to have a conversation in here. Take a break, and let's go outside.”

Part of her wanted to follow him anywhere, and part of her wanted to slam the door on his nose.
Lord, do I really need to hear how he and Dana have rediscovered their love for each other? Do I really need to listen to his apologies for kissing me under false pretenses?
She didn't have it in her right now to play the understanding friend.

He lifted her coat from the hook behind the door and took a step toward her.

She stood. “OK, OK.” She snatched her coat from his hand and marched past him.

Angela stood at the secretary's desk, her blue eyes widening at the sight of Cisney approaching with Nick in tow. Cisney gave Angela her eye-narrowing, lip-tightening look that ordered her friend to zip it.

Angela's lips stretched into a grin.

Yeah, this was amusing. A real blast.

In the elevator, she backed into a corner, crossed her arms over her chest, and scrutinized the dropping digital numbers.

Nick leaned his back against the far wall, his hands resting on the handrail, one loafer crossed over the other. She sensed him studying her.

Lord, if I have to listen to his lousy explanations, please don't let me cry.

At the back entryway, he held the door for her.

She breezed past him and headed for the parking lot. As soon as her feet landed on the blacktop, she turned to him. “All right. I'm listening.”

He grasped her elbow and rotated her toward the sea of vehicles. “Let's sit in my car, where it's warm.”

She wriggled free. “No. My SUV. I need to be on my turf.”

“Suit yourself.”

She gritted her teeth. “We can't.”

“Why?”

“I didn't bring my keys.” Her cheeks burned. This conversation was destined to unravel her.
Lord, settle me down and guide me. I'm ready to behave.

“I'm parked right here.” He led her to his vehicle, two cars into the first row.

He thumbed the unlock button on his key and they climbed inside.

Cisney pulled her coat around her.

“Cisney, look at me.”

Tears threatened. Great. If the conversation started with tears ready to spill, she'd be bawling by its end. Maybe she should escape now before she made a complete fool of herself. She looked up.

Nick's gorgeous brown eyes leveled on hers. That, and the nagging thought he'd be in Dana's arms in two weeks, almost broke the dam.

He cleared his throat. So, his calmness was less solid than it had appeared in the elevator. In fact, he looked a little green.

Her heart went limp. Maybe she could be a friend. “It's all right, Nick.”

“What's all right?”

“Everything. Sometimes the person we break up with is the one God chose for us.”

His brow wrinkled, and then his eyebrows shot up. “You've gone back with Jason?” His voice cracked.

She frowned. “No.” Where'd he get that idea? “No, I'm over Jason.”

He relaxed a little. “Glad to hear it. So what are you talking about?”

She raised her hands and let them flop to her lap. “I'm trying to communicate with an actuary.”

His jaw tightened. “People accuse me of not conveying information, half of which is none of their business. But you know what…?” He jabbed his finger at her. “You're not such a great communicator, yourself.”

She gaped at him. What proof did he have for such a rash statement?

He looked toward the window, and then back at her. “You didn't ask me about what to wear for Thanksgiving when you easily could have in our meeting before the holiday, and you didn't call me later. Instead, you packed half your wardrobe.

“You didn't return my calls when I—I the non-communicator—asked you to call me so we could do what? Talk. And another thing, you assume a lot, Cisney. You thought I had a date with Dana the night of the musical because you saw me with Dana earlier. And who knows what you're assuming right now, because I'm totally confused.” He punched his window button, cracking the window a couple inches as if to dissipate the steam he'd produced. Then, he leaned his head against the headrest.

Cisney couldn't move. Inside, her heart raced, as if she were about to lose the most important thing in her life. But she didn't have Nick to lose, did she? She spoke softly. “Nick, I'm sorry.” She tucked her feet under her and faced him. “I will sit here quietly and listen to everything you want to tell me.” Even if her heart bled dry.

He raised his head and searched her eyes as if he disbelieved her.

She gave him her most contrite smile, praying her lips wouldn't tremble.

“All right.” He placed his forefinger on the steering wheel. “First, I lined up two interviews over the Thanksgiving weekend because I was ready for a change in my job. One interview happened to be with the consulting firm where Dana works. She arranged to pick me up at Mom and Dad's house for a lunch meeting with her boss.” He cocked his head toward her. “Just so you know, Dana is engaged.”

Cisney's heart slammed to a stop, switched gears, from fear to hope, and ramped up again. She bit her lip to stifle her apology for misunderstanding his relationship with Dana. She'd agreed. No talking while he had his say.

He tapped his middle finger on the steering wheel next to his forefinger. “And second, I didn't say anything to my family, because I didn't want them to get excited I was moving near home, only for them to be disappointed if I didn't take either job.”

She clamped her teeth harder on her lip. He would eventually tell her which job he took, wouldn't he? The Dana job, or the Dana-free job.
Cisney Ann. Mouth shut. The suspense won't kill you
. But it might wound her if her teeth broke skin.

Any second his ring finger would join his others on the steering wheel. Was this going to be a ten-point speech?

He rested his wrist over the steering wheel, abandoning the countdown. “As a courtesy, I wanted to tell Joe I was leaving before I told anyone else in the company. When I met with him, Joe prolonged our discussion and sent Phil to meet with you. Then Joe asked me to hold off telling anyone. Obviously, Phil put two and two together, and the rest is grapevine history. I intended you'd be the second to know, but once I left Joe's office, everything went south.”

She felt dumb as a yard gnome. “I'm so sorry—”

He held up his hand. “I'm not finished.” He hesitated. “Cisney, when we embarked on our trip, the next to the last thing I was looking for was a woman in my life. All I desired was to find a challenging job closer to home. But the last thing I wanted, and still don't want, is a long-distance relationship.”

His sword sliced her heart in two. How much clearer could he be? He wasn't interested in dating her.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.

Here it came. Third—or was it fourth?—he didn't relish hurting her. And fifth, she was a nice woman, fine for a stolen kiss, but not worth two five-hour drives per weekend.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. “This is so complicated. I'm a little slow, compared to my family, but I like you a lot.” But he didn't want to complicate his new life and his new job. “I took the job I interviewed for on Saturday.”

The job without Dana. What difference did that make now?

His gaze rested on the steering wheel, as if he needed one of his long deliberations.

She held her breath. Why couldn't he just hurry and get it over with? What difference did it make whether her heart broke or she passed out from lack of oxygen?

“I'd like to get to know you better…”

She startled. If she'd heard him right, she was guilty of…big…major…wrong assumptions. Again. She raised her hand like a first grader.

He rolled his eyes, but his lips tipped into a smile. “OK. I'm done.”

“Would you say that again in different words, to make sure I understood you right?”

“Will you go out with me tonight?”

 

****

 

After work hours, Nick sat at his desk in the quiet of the deserted department. He scrolled through his data files, cleaning up his PC, so after he left, his team wouldn't have to weed out unnecessary documents.

His computer clock said he had an hour before he met Cisney at the hospital. When she'd cried after he'd asked her out, guilt had threatened, until her tear-drenched smile clued him in that her sobbing was a positive reaction. Would he ever master how to react to a woman whose emotions changed faster than the speed of light?

His cell vibrated.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Are you packing up your apartment?”

“I'm still at work, tying up loose ends. Have Grandma and Grandpa returned to Charlotte?”

“They left this morning. Did you talk to Cisney?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“We're straight.”

“How romantic.” He could picture her rolling her eyes.

“I'm taking things slow, Mom.”

“I see. Because you have all the time in the world before you move?”

“I'm making progress.”

“Really?” Excitement tinged her voice.

“I want to get to know her.”

“Well, don't wait till you could write her biography before you let her know how you feel.”

“I need to get to know her to know how I feel, right?”

“I suppose so.”

“Stop worrying, Mom. I've put my love life in God's hands.”

“That's good. But when we turn things over to the Lord, we still must do our part.”

He'd throw her a bone. “We're going out tonight.”

“Wonderful! How's her father?”

“Cisney said his doctor is discharging him tomorrow. I'll meet her parents when I pick her up from the hospital.”

“Great news. Send Cisney my love, and tell her I'm praying.” Her cheery tone suggested she'd pray more about his date than about Cisney's father.

 

****

 

Cisney rolled another lettuce wrap and doused it with one of the tangy sauce choices. “Are you ready for Daddy to come home?”

Mom thanked the waiter for her hot tea and took a sip. “I think so. I just hope he'll rest a few more days before he starts making business calls.”

“I guess, Daddy is Daddy. I doubt he's going to change.”

Mom touched her hand. “There's hope, Cisney.” Her eyes sparkled. “I left my Bible on his bedside table last night by accident. When I arrived this morning, your dad was reading it.”

“Really!” Daddy's heart attack scared him more than she'd thought. “What did he say when you caught him with an open Bible?”

“I had my bookmark in Ephesians, and he'd opened the Bible there. He'd just read…” Mom fished a small Bible from her handbag and found the verse. “‘Fathers, do not exasperate your children; instead, bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord.'”

Cisney's heart pulsed like it had when she was a child and feared she'd made Daddy mad. Yes, she was learning at almost thirty to spread her own wings, but she'd lived in Daddy's nest for a long time. Why did that verse have to be the one giving Mom hope? It rang so personal to their father-daughter relationship. She cringed as she pictured him grousing that God had no business telling him how to raise his children.

She eyed Mom. “What did he say?” She held her breath.

“He wanted to know if I thought he had exasperated you.” Mom cocked her head and raised her eyebrows, posing Daddy's question to her.

Of course, he exasperated her. But he also spent time at evening meals teaching her and DJ marketing skills. She used many of Daddy's ideas. But it would have been nice to chitchat about their days more, and be drilled less on the ten best ways to sell your ideas or some other such training. And in Daddy's mind, his way of thinking always trumped hers. That hadn't bothered her so much until everything with Jason.

“Well?” Mom waited for Cisney's answer, holding her teacup suspended between the table and her lips.

“What did you say to him? And why did he mention me, and not DJ?” Mom's answer to Daddy better not have been, “You'll have to ask Cisney,” or she'd stay clear of his hospital room tonight.

She felt like Peter must have when Jesus knelt like a slave at Peter's dirty feet. Peter refused to let Jesus, his Master, wash his feet. Likewise, she couldn't bear to see Daddy in an inferior role to herself. Daddy was no Jesus, and right or wrong, exasperating or not, the role reversal embarrassed her.