The Bottom Line (25 page)

Sandy lives in a quiet suburb of Indianapolis with her husband of thirty years and is a high school social studies teacher. She and her husband own a small stable of harness racehorses and enjoy spending time at the two Indiana racetracks. She has been an Amazon Best Seller and has won numerous writing awards, including two HOLT Medallions.

Please visit her website at sandy-james.com for more information or find her on Twitter or Facebook at sandyjamesbooks.

Turn the page for a preview of the next book in the Ladies Who Lunch series,

Signed, Sealed, Delivered

One more thing.

I dare you, universe. Just throw one more thing at me and…

Juliana Kelley growled as she paced down the brown terrazzo in the hallway of her school, tossing faux smiles at any students she passed, subtly checking their hands for hall passes. Her destination—the mailroom, situated about as far from her special-education classroom as physically possible. As angry as she was, steam had to be pouring from her ears. The click of her heels echoed like a metronome, marking the time she’d spent marching these stark corridors.

I mean it this time.

One more thing gets fucked up today, and I’m walking out the door.

If only it weren’t an idle threat she’d tossed around far too often. She could no sooner leave her teaching job than stroll on the moon. But after thirteen years of teaching, she no longer found joy in spending time with her students.

She was exhausted. Plain and simple. She’d been hired at Stephen Douglas High School right out of college—a wide-eyed twenty-one-year-old with a sparkling new bachelor’s degree and ideas of changing the world of special education. She’d been at the school ever since.

Even though she was only thirty-four, she was the most senior teacher in her department. No matter how much she loved teaching, thirteen years of working with special-needs children was a lifetime, and the burnout of her chosen discipline weighed on her more and more each day.

Unfortunately, she had nowhere else to go and no skills beyond her teaching abilities. Who wanted to hire a smart-ass redhead and the volatility she brought in tow? It wasn’t as though switching to a new school would help. Besides, with her years of experience, no other school would touch her. Why hire an exhausted teacher when a fresh-faced kid right out of college could be had for half the price?

One idea plagued her thoughts, put there long ago by her uncle Francis. He’d made a nice life for himself selling real estate. Whenever he cornered her at any family function, he tried to persuade her to move to Virginia, join his firm, and peddle houses. She always listened then politely told him, yet again, that she loved teaching.

Today she’d give him an entirely different answer.

From time to time, usually after a particularly rough group of students, she’d looked into real estate sales as a new career. An online class here. A seminar there. Her overwhelming obsession with HGTV. She’d fantasized more times than she could count of seeing her name proudly pronouncing a house for sale—or, better yet,
sold
.

But could she really leave the teaching profession—especially for something as risky as real estate, where the salary was never guaranteed?

“Hey, baby,” a familiar masculine voice called. “How you doin’?”

Juliana heaved a sigh, thinking there should be some law about ex-spouses not being allowed to work together. Ever. “I’m fine, Jimmy.” She winced the moment the old nickname slipped out, knowing how he’d react.

“Jim!” He fisted his hands at his sides instead of hitting the wall. At least he was finally learning to control his temper. If he wasn’t one of the best wrestling coaches in the state, the administrators probably would’ve fired him years ago. “It’s Jim now. Only boys are called Jimmy.”

Then grow up and I’ll stop calling you that.
“Sorry. Old habits. Blah, blah, blah.”

She dismissed her slip with a wave of her hand. Plucking the pieces of mail from her tiny box, she tried to get the hell out of there before her ex could start a real conversation. She’d had little enough to say to him when they’d been married—a good ten years ago. Now he grated on her already frayed nerves like a loud dentist’s drill.

“Hey, wait.” Jim hurried over and grabbed her elbow. “I wanted to ask you somethin’.”

She glared down at his restraining hand, refusing to respond until he took the less-than-subtle hint and let go.

As always, he was slow on the uptake and pressed on. “Heard you were going to the mixers at Bayside Church.”

“And that’s your business because…?”

He ran his hand over his balding head, a trait that had only developed in the last year but was rapidly overtaking him. “I just… you know… figured if you needed some male companionship—”

She snorted a laugh. “Oh, Jim. I’m not even letting you finish that sentence because you know damn well I’ll slap your face if you say what I think you’re gonna say.”

It wasn’t the first time he offered to service her like some male escort, but in the mood she was in, he was going to be the lightning rod she unloaded all her anger on. She needed to get away from him before he became her “one more thing.”

Robert Ashford stopped at the door, his gaze shifting between the couple.

The cavalry!

“Looks like I’m interrupting something,” he said with a note of laughter in his voice.

“Not at all,” Juliana replied. She tossed him a grateful glance.

Jim left the workroom, huffing and puffing as he mumbled under his breath.

“Thank God,” she muttered, flipping through the mail and tossing almost all of it in the trash. Most were flyers trying to sell teachers overpriced products they didn’t need.

A waste of trees.

“He still hovers, doesn’t he?” Robert fished his own mail out of his cubby.

“My fault for working where he works. After the divorce, I should have left, but…” She shrugged. “I liked it here.”

“Liked?”

Robert was astute. Always had been. He knew people—something that had helped him earn a huge following for the custom homes he built as a second job. Why he still worked as a shop teacher was beyond her. He had to earn a hell of a lot more money moonlighting.

“Yeah,
liked
. Feeling the burnout bad lately,” she said.

“Kinda early in the year, isn’t it? I mean… we’ve got a while before summer break.”

“I’m not sure I’ll survive that long.”

He leaned back against the worktable. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Um… ask me something?” The day had held nothing good in store for her, and Robert’s tone made her wary.

Then his smile helped her quickly relax. “Easy, there, Jules. You’re thinking too hard.”

“Probably because Jim just tried to proposition me.”

Robert chuckled but shook his head. “I’m not thinking of asking for a date or anything. I mean… you’re a mighty pretty lady, but… I go for blondes who don’t have quite as much fire as you do.”

“Well, then. Ask away.”

He stepped over to the door and glanced up and down the hall as though he wanted to make sure they had privacy. That action put her right back on edge. What was so shocking he couldn’t ask in front of other teachers or any boss who’d actually taken a moment to come out of his office?

“I’m going to a real estate seminar Friday. Thought you might want to come along. You’re thinking about getting outta here, right?” Robert asked.

“How’d you know that?”

“C’mon, Jules. You’ve got ‘runaway’ written all over you. I’ve been here every bit as long as you have. I’m sick and tired of it, too.”

She leaned back against the table next to him, sagging to the side so her shoulder pressed against his. That comfort she allowed herself. What she really wanted was someone tall, handsome, and warm so she could lay her head against his shoulder and let him take a little of the weight of the world away. Not that she wanted another husband. But she missed masculine attention, hence the singles mixers that had yielded nothing. Not even an interesting date.

Her fault for living in Cloverleaf, Illinois—translated “Nowhere, USA.”

“At least you have something to fall back on if you leave,” Juliana couldn’t help but point out. “What do
I
have?”

“You’re selling yourself short. You’ve got one really big asset—you’re a born salesperson.”

Exactly what her uncle Francis always said. “Did I hear you right?”

“If you heard me say you’re a born salesperson, you did,” Robert replied. “I’ve seen the way you get all those kids and their parents excited about the European trips. They aren’t even your students.”

“Yeah,” she admitted, knowing how difficult it would be to take special-needs kids to Europe. The biennial overseas adventures gave her a chance to get to know more of the school’s student body. “Most of the kids on the trips are from the honors department.”

“Those tours cost a pretty penny, but you always take at least a dozen kids with you.”

“I never thought about it that way.”

Sure the trips were expensive, but the benefits to the kids—the historical sites, the visits to museums, the experiencing other cultures—were well worth the cost.

Robert was right. She had to “sell” people on the idea to get them to pony up the dough. “I sold women’s clothing in college,” she said.

“See?”

“My uncle is a Realtor. He’s always trying to recruit me.”

“Serendipity?”

“Maybe… So you really think I could sell houses?”

“Absolutely. I’m taking control of my own life. I’m building these great houses—”

“They’re gorgeous, Robert. Absolutely
gorgeous
. If I were rich, you’d be building one for me.”

“I do believe that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” His smile made her smile in return. “I’ve been thinking for a long time, why shouldn’t I profit by selling those houses too? As it is, some realtors pocket seven percent of the profit that should be mine.”

“Makes sense,” she said.

Real estate.

Suddenly it felt as though the universe had sent her a sign. Her restlessness and her feeling that her life at the school was coming to an end. Robert echoing Uncle Francis, both pushing her toward something she thought she might enjoy doing. The timing of the seminar to learn even more about selling homes as a career. All of it had to be more than mere coincidence. “When did you say the class was?”

“Friday. Six o’clock. I could swing by and pick you up.”

“Who’s teaching this ‘class’?”

“Max Schumm.”

“Oh… the guy from Schumm Homes. They pretty much sell every house in Cloverleaf.”

“Then he should know what he’s talking about. And look at it this way—if we sign up for the class online, they’re buying dinner for up to fifteen people. Last I checked, only eight slots were filled. The class is at Byran’s Steak House.”

“Isn’t that the restaurant at the Ramada?”

“That’s the one. A steak dinner is worth the twenty-buck fee and an hour or so of your time, don’t you think?”

Pushing away from the table, Juliana gave Robert a smile. “Pick me up at five forty-five.”

* * *

“I’m thinking about trying something new,” Juliana announced when she sat down at the lunch table.

Her three friends, the women she’d shared her lunch and life with for so many years, all turned curious eyes her direction.

Mallory Carpenter was the first to speak. “Something new?”

She stirred her microwaved soup as she eyed the sack Juliana had dropped on the table. The same age as Juliana, Mallory was a beautiful woman—brown hair that barely brushed her shoulders and brown eyes that held both intelligence and warmth.

“No more yogurt and salad?” Mallory asked.

Juliana fished out her lunch, setting the mentioned items in front of her. Strawberry cheesecake yogurt and a tossed salad. “Nope. Guess again.”

Bethany Rogers took her turn, her big brown eyes bright and her typical smile lighting her round face, a face framed in a mop of short brown curly hair. “Um… not going to the mixer on Saturday this week?”

“Strike two.” Juliana glanced to Danielle Bradshaw, arching an eyebrow. “Care to take a turn?”

Danielle blew a raspberry and then grinned. Blonde and blue-eyed, the woman was a no-nonsense realist whose disposition kept her feet firmly on the ground. “I suck at guessing games. Besides, we’ve only got twenty minutes left to eat. I’d rather you tell us ’cause you seem pretty excited, which means it must be something good.”

Now that she’d decided to explore this new path in her life, she was anxious to share it with her friends. Learning to sell real estate might seem like a pipe dream, but the more she thought about it, the more Juliana began to believe she might have found her bolt hole—her escape route from the hell that the school had become.

Yet she suddenly realized what she could lose.

The Ladies Who Lunch.

The four friends had given their ragtag group that name. Even other teachers called them that now, the way they used the name always seeming a bit envious of the closeness the women shared.

It was no wonder they were close. They shared everything from horrible love lives to Mallory’s heartrending battle with breast cancer. They were survivors, every single one of them.

And that was what forced Juliana’s honesty. If she was thinking of jumping ship, her friends deserved to know. “I’m thinking about getting the hell out of this place.”

Mallory stared at her, blinking several times as her gaze searched Juliana’s. “This isn’t just blowing off steam because of a bad day.” A statement, not a question. Mallory knew her far too well.

“No, it’s not. I’m just so…
tired
.”

“You’re a special-ed teacher,” Danielle said. “It’s no wonder. I mean, we all deal with kids, which takes a toll. But the kids
you
see? Shit, Jules, I think you’re a candidate for sainthood.”

“She’s right,” Bethany insisted. “I might get some bad things tossed my way, but I’ve never had to change a student’s diaper or help them into a padded area while they flipped out.”

Juliana shrugged. “It goes with the job. I could have chosen something else, but I wanted to work with special-needs kids. I always figured they needed me.”

Mallory was still staring holes through her. “So what’s the plan?”

“Robert’s taking me to a real estate seminar.”

“Real estate? Interesting…” Bethany took a sip of her soda. “You know, that might just work for you. You’re a born salesperson.”

“That’s exactly what Robert said.”
And Uncle Francis.

The universe was definitely sending her a message.