issue as she moved tracing paper over one of Jamie’s plans. Normally, Jamie would have leaned over her shoulder to see where she was headed and perhaps move the translucent paper around herself, but she didn’t have time now for that. Waking up her computer, she checked for e-mail from Brian or Claire. Finding nothing, she set off to see Brad.
His office was on the floor below. The central area here held desks for a receptionist and secretaries, as well as comfortable chairs for guests. Glassed-in offices ran along either side, housing Brad, his paralegal, a one-person billing department, the MacAfee in-house real estate agent, and a resident computer nerd. Dean and two other general contractors, who were in the field more often than not but loyal enough to MacAfee Homes to merit dedicated desks, shared a large office at the end of the hall, as well as a conference room nearby for meetings with subcontractors, suppliers, and clients.
“Hey, Miranda,” Jamie said, nearly beside the receptionist before the woman’s eyes flew up.
Startled, she pushed the book she was reading out of sight. “Jamie,” she said, blushing. “Hi. I didn’t hear the elevator.”
“I took the stairs,” Jamie explained, but kept on walking to minimize the woman’s embarrassment at having been caught reading on the job, much less reading a book with as recognizable a cover as that one. Miranda was as good a receptionist as MacAfee Homes had. She was attractive, personable, and efficient. She was also happily married and had three children in various stages of daycare and school.
Jamie might have wondered why she was reading erotica, if her mind hadn’t been on Brad. She knew his schedule and had hoped to find him alone, but his clients had arrived early and were seated in leather club chairs while Brad reviewed their agreement with MacAfee Homes.
Her steps slowed. He was leaning against the front of his desk, his wire-rims on his nose, and he was a calming sight. Tall and rangy, he had short, side-parted brown hair. His blazer, slacks, and loafers were sedate and well tailored; they were nowhere near as expensive as Roy’s clothes, but Brad wasn’t about money or show. He was about competence. As he turned from one page to the next, he had his clients’ undivided attention.
Then he spotted her, and she felt a moment’s doubt. This wasn’t the time to talk through the argument they’d had, certainly not to discuss Caroline. But his face lit with pleasure seconds before he waved her in. Yes, pleasure. Hard feelings from earlier? Gone, at least for now. She was barely through the door when he held out an arm, inviting her over in a gesture that might have been inappropriate in another place of business, but MacAfee Homes was about family. Family Builds. The words were on every piece of stationery, every contract, every bit of marketing the company used. It was hokey, perhaps, but Theo MacAfee couldn’t say it enough.
Brad had become family. When he took her hand and drew her close, she felt safe. Not that clients intimidated her; she was with them all the time. Brad was particularly good with them, though. Content to socialize in ways she was not, he was the glove that fit her MacAfee life.
It had taken her a while to see that. He had already been with the company for several years when she joined it fresh from RISD—the Rhode Island School of Design—and there were no instant sparks. Jamie wasn’t looking for a lover, much less a husband. She was focused on work. They became friends joking about everyone who wanted them to be more, only in time discovering that they shared other things as well. Once they started to date, sly smiles were rife, and when they became engaged, the celebration was office-wide.
The sense of safety was mutual. Jamie was Brad’s security, too. She felt it in the way he held her to his side as he returned to his clients and said, “You remember my fianc é e, Jamie MacAfee. Jamie, the Abbotts,
His office was on the floor below. The central area here held desks for a receptionist and secretaries, as well as comfortable chairs for guests. Glassed-in offices ran along either side, housing Brad, his paralegal, a one-person billing department, the MacAfee in-house real estate agent, and a resident computer nerd. Dean and two other general contractors, who were in the field more often than not but loyal enough to MacAfee Homes to merit dedicated desks, shared a large office at the end of the hall, as well as a conference room nearby for meetings with subcontractors, suppliers, and clients.
“Hey, Miranda,” Jamie said, nearly beside the receptionist before the woman’s eyes flew up.
Startled, she pushed the book she was reading out of sight. “Jamie,” she said, blushing. “Hi. I didn’t hear the elevator.”
“I took the stairs,” Jamie explained, but kept on walking to minimize the woman’s embarrassment at having been caught reading on the job, much less reading a book with as recognizable a cover as that one. Miranda was as good a receptionist as MacAfee Homes had. She was attractive, personable, and efficient. She was also happily married and had three children in various stages of daycare and school.
Jamie might have wondered why she was reading erotica, if her mind hadn’t been on Brad. She knew his schedule and had hoped to find him alone, but his clients had arrived early and were seated in leather club chairs while Brad reviewed their agreement with MacAfee Homes.
Her steps slowed. He was leaning against the front of his desk, his wire-rims on his nose, and he was a calming sight. Tall and rangy, he had short, side-parted brown hair. His blazer, slacks, and loafers were sedate and well tailored; they were nowhere near as expensive as Roy’s clothes, but Brad wasn’t about money or show. He was about competence. As he turned from one page to the next, he had his clients’ undivided attention.
Then he spotted her, and she felt a moment’s doubt. This wasn’t the time to talk through the argument they’d had, certainly not to discuss Caroline. But his face lit with pleasure seconds before he waved her in. Yes, pleasure. Hard feelings from earlier? Gone, at least for now. She was barely through the door when he held out an arm, inviting her over in a gesture that might have been inappropriate in another place of business, but MacAfee Homes was about family. Family Builds. The words were on every piece of stationery, every contract, every bit of marketing the company used. It was hokey, perhaps, but Theo MacAfee couldn’t say it enough.
Brad had become family. When he took her hand and drew her close, she felt safe. Not that clients intimidated her; she was with them all the time. Brad was particularly good with them, though. Content to socialize in ways she was not, he was the glove that fit her MacAfee life.
It had taken her a while to see that. He had already been with the company for several years when she joined it fresh from RISD—the Rhode Island School of Design—and there were no instant sparks. Jamie wasn’t looking for a lover, much less a husband. She was focused on work. They became friends joking about everyone who wanted them to be more, only in time discovering that they shared other things as well. Once they started to date, sly smiles were rife, and when they became engaged, the celebration was office-wide.
The sense of safety was mutual. Jamie was Brad’s security, too. She felt it in the way he held her to his side as he returned to his clients and said, “You remember my fianc é e, Jamie MacAfee. Jamie, the Abbotts,
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