15 Tales of Love (11 page)

No one commented, too shocked to think.

“So we have to come up with some new ideas. Play around,” he added. “At this point, anything will be considered.”

Liv wondered
, so how do you make shepherd’s pie out of fine furniture?
She asked, “Do you have a suggestion, maybe a direction to move in?”

“Not yet. I want you all to think.”

She went back to her desk and, as she often did when she needed to consider an idea, pulled out a large pad of blank paper. She sketched idly, not thinking about it, a view of a room with fancy sofas, end tables and lamps, a high-ceilinged living room with crown molding and wide windows looking out into a spacious yard.
The kind of house people have who can afford fine furniture.
It wasn’t much more than doodling, but it was fun and, in a way, mind-clearing. Since she had nothing else to do at the moment, she tore off the page, discarded it, and began to draw an outdoor scene: an overarching leafy tree, a picnic basket and a plaid blanket spread with a variety of picnic foods.
What I’d like to take to the beach and just sit there and paint the water.

Brick said from beside her, “That’s just what I had in mind.”

She glanced up at him, too startled to answer.

He put one hand on the back of her chair and leaned closer, his finger touching the drawing. “That kind of picture, showing an event, like July Fourth or something.”

He wasn’t touching her but his arm was much too close to being around her, evoking feelings she didn’t want. She said, “Oh.”

“You do it so well. You should do more with your talents.”

She couldn’t find a snappy answer to that, not with his arm on her chair.

He straightened and moved a step away. “Let’s go have some coffee and talk about this. Where we can use this kind of art.”

She heard a difference in his voice, enthusiasm maybe, and agreed, reluctantly and against her better judgment
. He is, after all, the boss. So how can I refuse?
She was further dismayed when he suggested the diner across the street instead of the company break room, but tried not to read anything into it.

Sitting at a small table with their coffee and pastries, Brick seemed as ill at ease as Liv felt. She wondered about it, but left the opening up to him since this was his idea, not hers.

After an awkward moment that seemed totally out of character for him, Brick said, not looking at her, “I see by your resume that you have a degree in fine arts with a concentration in painting. Why don’t you use it? Why are you here, designing grocery ads?”

She knew he could look at her file if he chose to, probably had to, that doing so was part of his position, but she resented it. She said coldly, “There isn’t much call out there for artists. This is, at least, art work, and can be quite rewarding.”
That means I get paid for it!

After a long pause, Brick asked, “So, what is it you would like to paint?”

She didn’t want to discuss her dreams with him and said nothing.

When she didn’t answer, he sighed, apparently resigned to talking business. “You know I want to do something different with this furniture company account. Totally different.”

“Like what?”

“Like a painting on the cover of the catalog they want to do.”

“Not a photograph?”

“Everyone uses photos.” He laughed shortly. “Do you ever paint now? You won a couple of awards in school. Do you enter any of the local art shows? Offer your work in a gallery somewhere? It’s certainly as good as most of the work I’ve seen around here.” He hesitated a moment, looking at his coffee cup. “There is that picture in the lobby, you know, the one you did of the stone wall and birch trees.”

That caught her off guard. “I did it for Sally Thompkins on her tenth anniversary with the company. She decided to hang it there.”

“I like that kind of picture, very realistic.”

Liv softened a little; so few people knew, or cared, about her art work. “Sally likes the view from her living room window so I did it for her. I paint when I have an inspiration,” she explained, hoping she didn’t sound too snobbish. “My ideal, my goal, is to paint like Winslow Homer, but I don’t get to the shore very often.”

“Neither do I,” Brick said. “There doesn’t seem to be enough time in the day to do what one wants to do, is there?”

Again surprised, she said, “No, I suppose not.”

“Don’t want to waste all of that training, and you know if you don’t use it . . .”

She laughed. “I do keep in practice a little. When I have time and find something I want to do.”

Brick didn’t continue the thought, and after a moment straightened, put his cup down, opened the file folder beside him, and turned to business. “I don’t think we can work Homer into this department store promotion, but we can try something else.” He paused again. “I liked that sketch you did of the room with a view.”

“I thought I threw it away.”

“You did. It was on top of your waste basket.”

She started to ask why he was checking her waste basket, but didn’t.

She considered it all later, when she was home and making herself a pot of cheddar tomato soup. Just what had he meant by that talk of artists? They had discussed pictures for catalog covers and using more ‘real art’ in the weekly promotions, all in a perfectly businesslike way, and Winslow Homer had not come up again.

Maybe, like Pam said, he had another side, was just an oddly colored chickadee, and should be accepted as just another employee. Distracted by a sudden noise outside her window, she looked up to see her gray jay squabbling with the nuthatches, trying to drive them away from the feeder. But nuthatches can also be feisty and they weren’t leaving.

No, he’s way too much like that blue jay, with no intention of getting along with the rest of us. He’s different and it has to be his way or no way.
But, she had to admit to herself, he was nudging her in the way she wanted to go. There were art shows and local galleries. Maybe she should stop in at that new little place in the mall . . .
and if it gets too bad I can start looking for another job, maybe out on the coast . . . If the nuthatches can resist, why shouldn’t I?

The new promotion was indeed going to be different. Each member of the team was told they had to adapt and accept the changes Brick suggested. Liv did do more actual art work, which she enjoyed, but Daphne and Tad had to find new sources of material, develop a totally different outlook, and learn some new procedures. Brick oversaw the process more closely than anyone else ever had.

Their former freedom was gone and all three of them felt the new constraints. Tad said he was looking for another job, and Daphne was occasionally close to tears. “I don’t think I can stand much more,” she confided to Liv during break time. “It’s so hard on my nerves. I don’t know what to expect any more. Everything was so nice before.”

Liv had to agree, and again had lunch with her sister. It was the only place she could rant and relieve her own stresses.

Pam asked, “Can’t somebody talk to him, or to the owner or somebody? Explain how he is upsetting the morale, leaving everybody uncomfortable?”

Liv wasn’t sure how to do that. She didn’t want to step on any toes. “I’m just another employee.”

“But don’t give up yet, Liv. At least see this project through. Quitting in the middle of something isn’t a good idea. Professionally anyway.”

Liv agreed to stick it out. “Just to see what he has in mind.” Still, she checked the employment ads.

At the next department meeting, Brick told them the new furniture client was very pleased with the proposed brochures and inserts and was considering a slick holiday catalog.

“And we have some new orders. Business is looking up. So wasn’t it all worth it?”

Liv thought he sounded smug, resented it, and didn’t comment. It might have been his idea, but they had done all the work. But Daphne looked pleased and Tad seemed surprised. The mood of the meeting was definitely more upbeat than it had been. She wondered,
Maybe Brick was right. Maybe we did all need to make some changes.

She squelched the thought. He was still insufferable.

But a little later, Brick stopped by her desk and asked if she would like to join him for lunch. “To celebrate a little?”

She was surprised to find the invitation pleasantly flattering.

“We can talk business,” he said, destroying her small interest.

But maybe I can find an excuse to talk about how everyone is feeling about him and his changes.
She said, “I guess.”

They went across the street to the diner. “I need to talk to you,” he said bluntly when they were seated and had ordered coffee. “The changes are working, we are developing a new image, getting some new customers in other areas, but no one seems very happy about it.”

“They aren’t. At least my team isn’t.”

He kept his gaze on the menu. “And why is that?”

Liv wondered how to answer that, to sound light and reasonable, professional and not complaining. “You’re living up to your name
.
”
Hardheaded, obstinate, unwilling to bend, brick-like.

He laughed shortly. “Brick? Think stone wall. I don’t often budge very much. That’s why I do the jobs I do.”

Something in his voice caught her attention, a note of sadness, maybe? Or frustration? He was definitely letting down his guard, and there was a softer, more human attitude. She asked, partly to change the subject and the atmosphere, but mostly to satisfy her curiosity, “Is that really your name?”

He regarded her over his coffee cup, his expressive eyes partly shielded by his lashes, but obviously considering her inquiry, why she had asked it, and wondering if he should answer it. “Thomas Bricknell Owens, Jr. My father is called Tom, so I use the second name. In order to be me.”

She heard a different note in his tone, a subtle defiance, a further breaking of his shell, and responded to it. “And you don’t like being second?”

“Not even to my father.”

She found she couldn’t answer that and thought about the obnoxious blue jay, not wanting to be second to anyone.
It’s just his nature, after all. One he has created. I wonder what he’s really like.

“He always wants things done his way, with no argument. It must be a family trait.” He put his cup down carefully, reached across the table, and put his hand lightly on hers. “Do I come across as that bad, Liv?”

She looked at his hand, well-manicured and lightly tanned, and didn’t move hers. It suddenly felt right. And exciting. She said, “You make it pretty hard for the rest of us.”

He laughed. “I don’t think it matters. This job is done and I’ve accomplished what I was hired to do.” He paused, still regarding her obliquely. “I’ve accepted a position with another company. To try to solve their problems.”

She looked up, startled by a bitter note in his voice, as if he couldn’t solve his own. Was he going to leave now, just as she had started to realize what he really was? “But you’ve just come . . .”

“It was a short term thing.” He looked at her directly, met her eyes. “I didn’t think any of you would miss me. Not from what I’ve heard, anyway.”

She couldn’t think of an answer. His intent gaze was affecting her breathing and his hand was still covering hers and pressing lightly.

“This new job could be a chance for me to do something different.” He paused, released a long breath. “Move a little slower, give a little? Change? Is that even possible?”

She would miss the encouragement he had given her to return to her art work, an incentive to try, to do what she wanted to do, and decided to be honest. “I’ll miss you, Brick. You’re the first person since school who’s encouraged me to paint, to be what I want to be. I talked to that new gallery and they accepted a painting . . .” She released a long breath to gain control of her voice, finally meeting his gaze. “They were very encouraging.”

He smiled, fully for the first time, the cynicism suddenly gone. “I’m glad. You have a lot of talent and you should be using it.” He squeezed her fingers lightly. “Stay here at this job at least for a while, Miss Olivia,” he said softly. “It’s not a bad place to work and any experience can be good. And,” he added, unexpected mischief edging out his seriousness, “I can’t court you if we are both working here, you know. It’s against company policy.”

She looked up and fully met his gaze.
Maybe he’ll be different if I get to know him . . . He has such nice eyes. Should I try painting portraits again?

“I know. Those darn policies.”

“But it means I have to go. And just look at your work in a gallery.”

She responded openly, perhaps too eagerly, to the offer in his eyes, feeling a little light-headed.
It’s been so long
. . . “So I can take some of the credit for making you leave?”

“Full credit,” he said. “And dinner tonight? We don’t have to tell management.”

No we don’t and I do need a life outside of work
. She said, “Of course.”