That aside, did she want to go back to Atlanta? Or maybe farther away? The idea of leaving Georgia, the only home she’d ever known, overwhelmed her. Maybe Atlanta would offer a good fresh start. If she felt the need to go further after she settled there, she certainly had the freedom to do so. Her stomach rumbled as she looked at her watch. She’d give it until Monday to decide. She had a window of five years to make a good decision.
Four years later
Brad Dixon sat back inhis chair and looked out at the bright Atlanta sun. He had always loved the early spring season, as the days became longer and warmer. Working outside in the Georgia clay, watching progress as buildings climbed toward the sky, layer by layer, the hot sun beating down on heads covered by hard hats, making the evenings spent cooling off in the lake something he could look forward to.
Instead, here he sat, in a perfectly contained environment, the air discreetly cooled by air conditioning. No noises, no beeping of trucks, no grinding of machines, no voices raised over the cacophony of the jobsite. Just a contained little world of peace and quiet and comfort.
With a sigh, he closed his laptop lid and pushed away from the desk. How would he stand it? For most of his life, he’d spent the majority of his time outside. Now, with the luck of the draw, he had to take over the company his father had built. That meant he had to run it from the inside.
What he wouldn’t give to go back to that fateful night four years ago and pick a different straw.
He shoved his hands in his pants pockets and fisted them. He knew he fought with the Holy Spirit as much as he fought with himself. Everyone else, his father included, felt like the results of the whole straw thing had worked out perfectly. He thought differently than his brothers, had a more organized brain, operated more systematically. Phillip had told him privately that he’d prayed Brad would pull the short straw and had wondered to himself what he would have done had the results been any different.
That didn’t make him feel any better about his current situation. In fact, in a way, it made him feel worse.
Pulling his mind away from spring fever that made him want to leave for the day and hit his favorite fishing spot, he intentionally turned his mind to thoughts of his upcoming morning meeting. Valerie Flynn would arrive at any moment. He felt a little acceleration of his pulse at the thought.
He hadn’t seen her in a few years—not since the Thanksgiving after her attack. She’d been withdrawn and unsocial at the time, and Brad had instinctively not pushed. He’d felt such intense anger at Tyrone Baker, and had the completely unexpected urge to inflict violence on the man, that he had left the celebration early and spent the rest of the weekend contemplating his thoughts and reactions. She had not returned for any other holidays. His mother had told him she needed time to heal, emotionally and spiritually, and that she’d come home eventually.
She had moved here to take a promotion in Dixon Contracting’s architectural division. He knew his father wanted her groomed to take over the interior design department. Brad had looked over her portfolio and certifications and started monitoring her work output from the Savannah office. He could find nothing that would make him disagree with Phillip’s desire. He didn’t look at her as a favored daughter of his best friend as Brad had feared, but as a fully qualified and highly skilled architect. She just needed to show Brad leadership skills and he wouldn’t hesitate to hand her that position.
Valerie—the woman around which all his hopes and dreams had centered. Once high school started, he’d rarely seen her. She’d played such an integral part of his childhood and one day she was just gone. But only physically.
Mentally, he kept her right beside him. Any time he’d dated in high school and college, he’d found her in the back of his mind and, right or wrong, he often found himself comparing other women to her. When she moved in with Tyrone, it had broken Brad’s heart and he had intentionally turned off any thoughts of her.
Today she would begin her new job in his building, working for him, technically, and some part of his brain perked up at the thought of seeing her and interacting with her on a regular basis again.
How much of her personality changed with maturity, and how much had Tyrone crushed? What aspects of her personality shifted to accommodate the trauma?
Before he could go any deeper into his head, the quiet tone of his intercom interrupted his thoughts. “Brad, Valerie Flynn is here.”
A smile teased the corners of his lips. “Have her come in.” He walked around his desk just as she came through the door.
The last time he’d seen her, she had walked with a cane. Today, though, she walked unaided, with just a slight limp. She wore a suit the color of daffodils, a beautifully sharp contrast to her dark brown skin. A thick chunky gold necklace hung from her neck and a matching bracelet graced her wrist. Her curly black hair brushed her shoulders, and she had gold hoops in her ears.
Despite his thoughts before her arrival, he found himself surprised at how his breath caught in his chest at the sight of her. It almost stopped him in his tracks. Her beauty filled the room and overwhelmed him.
Finding some rational thought in the cloud descending on his brain, he held out his hand and grinned. “How good to see you again,” he said.
She smiled back and took his one hand with both of hers. “Likewise. It feels good to be home.”
Had Brad detected something else in her casual gaze? Had she held his hand a few seconds longer than strictly necessary, perhaps caressing the back of his hand with her fingertips? Was her smile the private smile of his childhood? Or had that all merely been wishful thinking on his part?
Valerie looked around, obviously looking at the furniture and decorations. “Last time I was in this office, it was your dad’s. I think I was twelve.” She walked over to the black bookshelf and ran her finger over a wooden giraffe. “I love the décor.”
She loved his taste in his chosen décor. Could that mean she loved him? Even a little? He determined to get a grip on himself before he said or did something embarrassing.
He looked around, forcing himself to remain objective, seeing the space through the caramel-colored eyes of an interior designer. Black and white furniture, items collected from his international missions work, clean lines, minimalist style. “Thanks. I didn’t like dad’s heavy wood look. Felt claustrophobic. Wanted something more open with a cleaner feel.”
She pursed her lips and nodded. He tried not to stare at her lips. “I get clean. And efficient. It suits you.” She used her chin to point toward the tall, thin elephant statues that stood sentry on either side of a credenza. “Very African in the décor.”
“Well, I’ve spent a lot of time in Africa. It’s where my heart and mind are, usually.” He gestured toward the small sitting area and she chose the white leather couch. He sat across from her in a black leather wingback chair. “Welcome home.”
“I hope so.” She settled back and crossed her long legs. “I haven’t called Atlanta home since the day I graduated from high school.”
“Dad’s been trying to get you here for ages. He’s excited.” He gestured with his hand in the general direction of his father’s office. “He has a year left before retirement. Having you here, he’s claimed, will make his last year a joy.”
“Uncle Phil has always been a smooth charmer.”
