Page 47 of Hotshot Mogul

My phone rang. I wasn’t expecting any return phone calls for the conservancy business; I was caught up. It was Callie. So, I stepped away from the displays to the hands-on part of the museum for children to answer. The unpleasant woman couldn’t be upset if I touched anything there.

“Anneliese? There’s no easy way to say this…”

“Are you unwell? I will come…”

“No. It’s not that. It’s the oak tree.”

I felt ill, as if my stomach was trying to swallow itself. “It’s in rapid decline. We discovered it after vandals hacked away at the trunk last night. There was a purple feather stuck to the blade of the ax, the oddest thing. The birders saw that first thing in the morning.

“Under the bark, Rufus could see it’s brown and dying. And all the ants and beetles… They came so fast, the bugs. Rufus said he’s never seen anything like it.”

I forced my words past the knot in my throat. “Because I left. That’s why it happened.”

“Trees die,” Callie said. “This one lived longer than most oak trees. Everything, everyone dies.”

“I’m coming back.”

“Or you can let it go.”

“I must be there. It is my home.”

“The garage apartment is ready. But this could wait. Stay there with Bruce. I wanted to tell you about the oak before you see it posted. The birders want answers on the purple feather, so they’ve posted on several platforms.”

She ended the call. I stepped outside. Bruce ended his call, frowning. “I must go back to Oakdale. Something came up. Do you want to come—?”

I cut him off. “Yes.”

“You’ll stay with Callie?”

Not with him? After last night and this morning in the shower…I was sure I had changed his mind about taking things slow. I wouldn’t tell him about the oak tree, not now. “Did you find what you were looking for here?” Other than an easy conquest.

His eyes blazed the crazy sky-blue color that I loved so much. He grabbed my hand and kissed it. “Yes.”

He hadn’t said ‘I love you’ the night before or that morning. Neither, then, had I. I stared at the mark I’d made on his neck. My bitterness and disappointment flared. “I can stay with Callie while I take care of a conservancy matter—as your vendor.”

***

Bruce

The same woman with the pretty brown, interested eyes scanned our train tickets. Anneliese insisted on buying her own. Her expressive face settled into that fucking mask I hated so much. She was distancing herself.

What did I expect, after I’d asked her if she would stay with Callie and not me? This, after the night we spent in my bed and that morning in the shower. Hurt flashed in her amazing purple eyes before she masked it.

Truth was, I didn’t have to take Kathy’s call or go back to Oakdale. I sold the Jeep because I couldn’t stand to be inside it, remembering Anneliese riding with me—so I had nothing to drive. There was no taxi or ride service in Oakdale—yet.

Anneliese sat stiff a seat away from me. “So, you can work on your urgent matter,” she said.

My laptop sat, unopened. A tiny bead of sweat rolled down her temple. She wouldn’t look at me, sitting with her eyes shut and earbuds in her ears. Her cord wasn’t plugged in all the way. So, I could hear the Beatles and Billy Preston singing “Get Back.” She mouthed the words to the song—to learn English, maybe? She sang of returning to where one once belonged. Where did she think that was—with me, or that damn tree I was jealous of?

Last night and that morning, she showed me how perfect she was for me, how perfect we were together. I was scared shitless she would leave me again. I panicked. I put work between us, then asked her if she would stay with Callie. I wanted her in my arms forever. Instead, I’d pushed her back.

“Get Back” played for the third time. She wrapped her hand around the cup of tea she’d bought before we boarded the train—the same hand she’d slid, soaped up, over me earlier in the shower. She took command of me, of my pleasure. I would have sunk to my knees in love and gratitude. Except, she was on her knees. And I was in heaven.

She sat in my row, even after I was a raging asshole. That had to mean something. We were going to the same place. That was good. “Get Back” was on the sixth or seventh play. What or who was she thinking about getting back to?

She yanked out her earbuds and stood. “Do you want something from the snack bar?” she asked, so polite and pissed. I opened the app on my phone for my Amex black card, which impressed most people. Not her.

I held out my phone for her to take. “I have cash,” she said, definitely sounding pissed.

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