with his life and livelihood.
Sequestered in the mellow environment of her office, Temple wouldn’t let herself dwell on how her leaving would affect him. Thankfully, there was a knock on her door that set aside the troubling thoughts that were rising. She left her desk when she saw Megaleen Barnum poke her head inside the room.
“This a good time?” Megaleen called out with a wave and a smile.
“Perfect time,” Temple greeted her attorney with a hug.
“So how goes the head-hunting?” Megaleen set her things on the cream suede sofa near the door.
“I think I’ve pretty much narrowed it down.” Temple sounded upbeat. “Taeo’s gonna need quite a few people in here to handle everything he’s got me covering.”
“Including screening calls from jilted lovers?”
“Shh…” Temple scolded her friend playfully. “There’re some things he’s gonna have to learn to handle on his own.”
“So are you sure he’ll let you go just like that when you tell him what you have in mind?” Meg asked once their laughter had softened.
“I don’t see why not.” Temple propped one hand on her hip and massaged her neck with the other. “People resign positions every day, don’t they?”
“Yeah.” Meg strolled the office with hands propped on her hips, as well. “But there is the potential for drama and speculation when the one resigning is second in command for a multinational shipping corporation.” Meg turned to face her client with a curious light blue stare. “Do you really think it’ll be a stress-free event?”
“Oh, Meg.” Temple massaged her neck with both hands then. “I don’t expect it to be blissful, but it won’t be overwhelming. I’m putting a lot of good people in place here.” Her voice held the slightest twinge of doubt.
Meg heard it clearly. “Mataeo won’t be the only one with questions, you know?” She smoothed her black pin-striped skirt and took one of the chairs in front of Temple’s desk. “The first thing people will think is that there are business woes and that you’re getting out while the gettin’s good.”
Temple smirked and took her place along an overextended windowsill. “No, Meg, the first thing people will think is that we had some kind of lover’s spat and that I’m leaving him over it.”
Megaleen focused on her twiddling thumbs and didn’t reply. It went without saying that her client/friend had taken the unfair brunt of the negative aspects to being the right arm of one of the most powerful men in the shipping world.
Mataeo North had garnered money, success and adoration—sexual and scholarly. Temple, meanwhile, had dealt with the rumors, name-calling and doubts over whether she was truly qualified to hold such a weighty post.
As if she could have done anything about it had she tried. Looking the way she did, the assumption was that she’d reached such lofty heights working from the bedroom or wherever Mataeo North desired to have her. The woman was far too lovely to have made her way in the world by using her brain of all things.
Megaleen had heard it too often in the circles she ran in as a business attorney. Most of the women Mataeo employed hated her friend with a passion. Their reasons had little to do with the intellect and business savvy Temple possessed, but with the coffee-brown complexion that needed no enhancements. Meg doubted the woman owned a lick of foundation. Then there was the healthy bust and bottom size, model-quality legs and the almost nonexistent waistline which set the envy a step further.
“He’ll understand why I need to do this.” Temple’s soft voice sounded even fainter as she studied the view of Wilmington’s city streets below. “As long as we keep our friendship intact—that’s the most important thing.”
Meg smothered a sigh while flipping a lock of auburn hair between her fingers. Temple Grahame’s greatest asset was her kindness and she paid dearly for it. She truly believed that decency and treating others fairly would ensure the same treatment in return. Oh, boy, didn’t she believe that about Mataeo North, Meg mused.
Pushing out of the chair, Megaleen headed for the coffee table while praying Temple never had to find out otherwise. She took the portfolio from the table and gave it a wave.
“Should we go over this before either of us gets called away?”
Roaring laughter from the table of five men drew hardly any attention—most of the tables inside the G-Red Gallery were filled with laughing men. The place was a popular lunch destination specializing in steak, seafood and beer created in-house by the establishment’s own brewery.
Manson Yates’s happy bellow, though, could easily rival any of the other male patrons’ in the place.
“Good thinkin’, San, for suggesting this place!” Manson clapped Sanford Norman’s shoulder. “I don’t travel down to G-Red nearly as much as I used to.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Yates.” Sanford attempted a humble nod while sending a cunning wink in Mataeo’s direction.
Unfazed, Mataeo tilted his beer mug in a mock toast. “Does business keep you away, sir?” he asked Manson Yates.
The older man chuckled. “Hell no, this place is perfect for business! No, son, my reason is far more demanding than business—it’s my wife!”
More wild laughter resumed. Even the waiter, who’d arrived to hear Manson’s explanation, submitted to his own share of grinning.
“A nag of a wife’ll do it every time!” Sanford railed after tossing back what remained of his beer. “I swear some of my best wet dreams have been ruined by the sound of Regina’s voice in my subconscious!”
The laughter following that was noticeably less boisterous, primarily because Manson Yates didn’t appear amused.
“I adore my wife, San,” the man confirmed, a stern expression sharpening his weathered features. “Her nagging me not to come here has more to do with my doctor’s instructions that I stay off red meat, and since G-Red has the best and biggest cuts around…”
“Apologies, sir.” Sanford gave a quick, phony cough while pressing a fist to his mouth. “I meant no disrespect. Your wife’s a beautiful woman.”
“Yes, she is, and you should treasure yours.” Manson tilted his beer bottle in Sanford’s direction. “A wife is a man’s most trusted supporter, but only if she’s treated properly.”
Sanford nodded, but there was no agreement dwelling in his hooded green stare.
“You don’t look convinced, San.” Mataeo decided to call him on it.
Again, Sanford cleared his throat. “That’s not it.” He waved toward the waiter for a refill.
“What is it then?” Manson inquired.
Sanford ran a finger along the inside of his collar. “Just not all of us have been as lucky as you to find a woman like the one you’ve been blessed to marry.” He tapped his index and middle finger to his forehead and offered Mataeo a mock salute. “You’re smart to hold on to your freedom, man.”
