Georgia on Her Mind(33)

“Do you have a moment?” she asks, walking back to shut my door.

“Sure.” Heat surges through me and I can feel the salad croutons melding in my stomach into tiny lead balls.

She perches on the edge of the desk with her arms folded, looking down her nose at me. She exudes the warmth of an iceberg.

“I need to know where you’re at, Macy.”

“Where I’m at?” I’m right here.

“I’m wondering about your commitment to Casper.” She stands and paces, arms still crossed.

“My commitment to Casper?” I slip on my sweater. Where is she going with this? Didn’t she see my renewed vigor this morning? I practically cartwheeled into the office.

“Is your heart with us? Are you sure this is where you want to be?”

What is she talking about? I pinch my lips to keep from calling her the first thing that comes to mind.

“Roni, what’s going on?” I strain to modulate my voice.

“You tell me. I just don’t see the energy and commitment in you I want to see. Where’s the old Macy Moore?”

“Well, excuse me if I’m a little deflated after you took my job away.” There, I said it.

“It’s more than that, Macy.”

“What exactly is that, Roni?” I glare at her because she’s glaring at me. It’s uncomfortable, but if this is a shoot-out, I want my eye on her trigger hand.

She bends down close to my face. “Don’t be coy with me. I’m watching you.” Without another word, she turns and sashays out of my office.

I sit there with my mouth open. It’s not my best look—a dangling jaw—but I’m dumbfounded. What is she talking about? Watching me?

“Lord, what’s going on?” Sigh.

I take a deep breath and sense a little shower of peace, so I go back to work, shoving aside the exchange with Roni. I see Jillian flutter past my door, then a second later she bops into my office.

“Was the Hun just in here?” she whispers.

“Yes.” I focus on my computer screen.

“Was she mad?” She stoops over to catch my attention.

“Do you have a point here, Jillian?” I click on an unread e-mail about the Holloway proposal. Please not another revision. The hourglass cursor appears, so I wait.

“Well…” She shuffles nervously. “Maybe a little bird sent your résumé to Danner Limited.”

I stand. “What?”

“A little bird sent your résumé to Peyton Danner.”

“A little bird named Jillian.”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“If you’re mad or not.” Wincing, she ducks behind a manila folder.

“Why would you do such a thing without telling me?” I shove the folder away from her face.

“I saw her card on your desk. I think you deserve better than the way Kyle and Roni are treating you.”

“Where did you even get my résumé?” I tuck the tips of my fingers into the pockets of my chinos.

“Roni has all the résumés in the personnel files. I found your old one and updated it.” She hides behind the folder again.

I’m confounded. I don’t know whether to hug her or berate her. Her resourcefulness is impressive, while her audacity is galling. I regard her for a moment or two, thinking.

“How did the Hun find out?”

“She overheard me talking to Peyton when she called for you.”

“Peyton called?”

Jillian nods. “While you were at lunch. I didn’t know Roni was listening.” She’s still excusing her actions, crunching the manila folder and its contents between her hands.

I wave off her worry. “Is Peyton going to call back?”

The little busybody smiles for the first time since this conversation started. She hands me a folded pink message slip with Peyton’s office number.

I bite back a grin and give my pesky admin a hug. “If this works out, those Gucci boots are yours.”



Friday morning I pull up to Mrs. Woodward’s and help her into my car.

“I can’t believe I’m letting you do this to me,” she says.

“Someone has to be reasonable.” I remind her to buckle up as I gently close the passenger door. “We’re lucky the doctor had a cancellation this week.”

“Lucky? It’s misfortune, I tell you.”

She’s a riot. Feigning a fuss about this trip to the doctor’s, but deep down, I know she’s happy to go.

I’m sorry I haven’t spent more time with her before. Sorry I turned down all her soup invitations. She’s spunky and brave.

God put Mrs. Woodward in my life exactly when I needed her. She’s a lifeguard of sorts, blowing the whistle when I dip too many times in the pool of pity.

I took the morning off from work so I could take her to the doctor. I told her not to make me regret it. She chuckled. “Don’t make me regret it.”

As we pull away from Mrs. Woodward’s place, Dan Montgomery fires out of his garage and speeds away. I toot-toot my horn and wave, but he doesn’t look back. In contrast, Drag lollygags out his front door, long board under his arm.

Mrs. Woodward and I chitchat about the weather, the beautiful day and the new Gables condo manager. When I make a left at the light into Wuesthoff Medical Center, Mrs. Woodward sighs heavily.