Chances Are (9 page)

“And of course that's your fault,” she said laughing.

“Of course.”

Dione shared some of the high points of her time at Chances Are. The success stories and some of the failures. “But I enjoy the holidays most. It's a beautiful thing to see the girls and their children gather around our tree. For most of them we're the only family they have. Some of them visit with friends, or distant relatives but most of them don't. So the staff works extra hard to make it special.”

Moment by moment he was beginning to see Chances Are through Dione's eyes, through her enthusiasm. Everyone had a calling. That was hers and he couldn't help but admire what she was doing, even if he couldn't quite come to grips with the reasons why she had to in the first place.

“Can I ask you something?”

She gave him a raised eyebrow look. “Okay. Ask.”

He leaned forward a bit. “Why did you finally agree to the documentary?”

She took a breath and weighed her response. She could simply say she just decided it was a good idea, or she could tell him the truth. She paused for a long moment.

“Chances Are is in serious financial trouble,” she finally admitted. “If we don't get funding in the next four to six months we'll have to close and those girls and their children will be placed in city shelters, or worse. Many of them won't want to go and without family to turn to they'll wind up on the street.” Her heart thumped. Every time she thought about it, not to mention say it out loud, she had a momentary panic attack as she watched herself wander the streets at night, sleeping in filthy shelters and on train cars.

Garrett frowned. “What?”

She blinked away the vision then slowly nodded. “We wanted to use the documentary as both a promotional tool and a demonstration to potential funders as to what we're really about and the need for us to stay in existence. But when you said it would take that long to finish it, I thought maybe the PSA would help a little in the meantime. My friend Terri Powers—”

“The public relations diva?”

She smiled. “You've heard of her, I take it?”

“Who hasn't? She handles some big-time accounts.
She's
a friend of yours, too?”

Dione laughed outright at that one. “Yes. Terri and I go back quite a few years.”

The question was on the tip of his tongue: if you have all these high-powered friends, why is your business in trouble? And in the next breath he realized why. Dione Williams was a proud woman. Not one to run to friends for favors, or ask for help. She wanted to handle her own affairs, even if she had to struggle in the process.

“So what is your friend Terri planning to do?”

“I'm going to put the tape in her hands and let her work her magic.”

He nodded. This certainly put a new twist on things, and on his perspective. The situation must have been pretty desperate for Dione to go against all her policies and instincts to agree to this project. The very idea that a project he worked on had the potential to save an organization, and more importantly a very special individual, gave him that last shot of inspiration that he needed. The finished product would be the best thing he'd done. Grant or no grant.

“I want to get started on the PSA before the end of the week,” he said turning intense and serious.

Dione had to adjust her train of thought to catch up with the sudden change in Garrett. But she liked it. She liked the fire in his eyes and the way he could shift from stand-up comedian to introspective to the cynic to the serious man about business. What other hidden personas hovered beneath the surface of this obviously complex man?

“Do you think you could work out what you'd need to say by the end of the day tomorrow?”

“I—think so. Sure.”

“Good. I'd like to come back to your office, get some footage to use along with your audio. I know it'll be more effective than just to have you in the studio talking into a camera. Although I'm sure you'll be wonderful,” he added, reverting to the charmer.

Suddenly she felt vulnerable, exposed under the heat of his stare. She looked away, focusing on the remainder of her food.

Garrett Lawrence was a very interesting man.

 

“Thank you for a great dinner,” she said, as they stood side by side in the garage waiting for their cars to be brought down from the upper level, and pretending they weren't inhaling the exhaust fumes that hung in the air like storm clouds.

“I enjoyed it and the company.”

She glanced at him, feeling his stare. Her heart knocked against her chest. How was she going to maintain a professional relationship with this man if she turned into a ball of nerves every time he looked at her?

She's beautiful,
he thought,
inside and out.
This was the first woman in ages who had him thinking about more than just the moment—maybe tomorrow.

He took a quiet breath and looked away. Dione hadn't given him the slightest indication that she was interested in anything more than the services he could provide. So there was no point in speculating.

Dione's car was brought down first, followed shortly after by Garrett's. She walked over to her car and dug in her purse to tip the driver when she felt a hand halt her action. She looked up at Garrett.

“I'll take care of it. Tonight is my treat.”

She'd insisted from the start of the evening that this “wasn't a date” and he'd heartily agreed, but wouldn't give in. They'd had a brief debate at the restaurant about the bill until she finally gave in and let him pay. No sense in challenging the program now, she mused.
It was a guy thing.

He followed the driver to the cashier's booth.

While he took care of the bill and the tip, she got in her car and buckled up. By the time he returned, she was revved up and ready to go, relieved to breathe the recycled air in her car.

He stopped alongside her door, and she rolled down her window.

“Do you want me to follow you home, make sure you arrive safely?”

There was that smile again.

“I'll be fine. But thanks for the offer.”

“Then I guess this is good night.”

“Call the office in the morning and let Brenda know what time you'll be arriving.”

“Sure.”

She started to roll up her window.

“Are you going to tell me how you know Ashford and Simpson, or are you going to leave me in suspense?”

Her smile took on a mischievous glint.

“Suspense is a good thing. Keeps the adrenaline going,” she teased. “I'm sure there are tons of secrets you have.”

His gaze zeroed in on her face. “Maybe I'll share them with you one day.”

Her stomach took a wild leap when the sudden depth of his tone reached down inside of her again. She swallowed.

“Good night.”

“Good night, Dee.”

She pulled off. Quick. Not sure what would have happened if she'd stayed a second longer. But what reality didn't provide, her imagination substituted as she thought of Garrett Lawrence and all the possibilities the entire drive home and through the night.

“I
t's not cool what you're doing, man,” Jason warned as he maneuvered the Ford Explorer that they used to transport equipment through the midday traffic. “Even thinking about getting involved with a client is bad business. If it got out, we could blow the grant. And need I remind you that we desperately need new equipment—equipment that we're planning to purchase with that money?”

Garrett glared at him from the corner of his eyes. He knew Jason was right, but he didn't care. Thoughts of Dione seemed to follow his every waking hour. Maybe they did have some philosophical differences, but it didn't stop him from liking her. He wanted to know her better. But Jason was right, it wasn't worth the risk. Besides she hadn't given him any reason to think she was interested. Hmm, maybe that was the turn on.

“Yeah, yeah,” Garrett grumbled.

“At least wait until the project is over. If it's about anything it'll keep.”

“Yeah, but what about those falling bricks?”

Jason tossed his head back and laughed. “Duck.”

Dione was going over the text that she'd written, working and reworking the words, wanting to convey in sixty seconds a lifelong dream that she couldn't bear to have taken away.

Her intercom buzzed.

“Yes, Brenda.”

“Mr. Lawrence and Mr. Burrell are here.”

“I'll be right up.”

She was seized with an attack of nerves and she knew it had nothing to do with being camera shy. She headed upstairs.

 

“Hello.” She looked at Garrett as she stood in the doorway and a charge ricocheted between them. She averted her gaze in Jason's direction and stepped into the room. “Good to see you again.”

“You, too. All ready for your television debut?”

“Pretty much. What's the plan?”

“I thought we'd get some shots of the office, and the day-care space,” Garrett said, trying to stay focused on the job at hand and not Dione's legs that were beautifully displayed beneath a mint green wool skirt that barely met her knees. Even in her “all business” attire and with her hair pulled back into a tight knot at the nape of her neck, she set his imagination into overdrive. Then Jason's earlier warnings echoed in his head.
Duck.

“Let's get started then,” Dione said. “You can hang up your coats in the closet behind Brenda's desk.”

Brenda got up and pushed open the wooden sliding door and pulled out two wire hangers, handing them to Garrett and Jason.

With that little chore aside they followed Dione downstairs.

“Is that all the equipment you have?” she asked realizing that all Jason carried was what looked to be no more than your basic camcorder with a directional microphone attached.

Jason chuckled. “Yep. But believe me, this little baby is powerful. Gives you the same quality as the big studio cameras without the hassle of size. It even has a built-in monitor so I can see exactly how the shot looks.”

“Modern technology,” she mumbled in amazement, opening the door to the day-care room.

They were immediately greeted by a wall of noise from crying infants, to rambunctious toddlers who darted around the room in what looked like a game of tag.

“I'd love to get a shot of this. As is,” Jason said. He balanced the handheld camera against his shoulder.

“Why don't you just walk into the room, Dione,” Garrett instructed. “Look around as if you were giving a tour.”

She heard that intense, focused note in his voice again.

She took a breath and stepped into the room, following Garrett's instructions. At first her heart was thumping so loudly she'd bet money they were picking up the beat on the microphone. Then she started getting into it, loosening up as she talked with Betsy who was bottle-feeding one of the babies.

The whole thing probably took about ten minutes and she was stunned to hear they'd probably only use about five seconds of footage.

“Why?” she asked a bit undone after what she thought was a stunning performance on her part.

Garrett smiled. “It has nothing to do with you,” he assured. “We want to get a variety of shots. You'll be doing the v.o.'s—voice overs,” he clarified when she frowned. “Then we'll come back to you at the end. Now let's get some shots of you in the main office, then your office and maybe something in one of the apartments.”

She wasn't accustomed to people coming into her space and telling her what to do. And she was pretty sure she didn't like it. She cut Garrett a look, which he missed, while he talked to Jason about what he wanted.

She wanted to be annoyed at his “I'm in charge” attitude. She wanted to feel put upon and maybe a tiny part of her did. But actually she was intrigued by his in-control, challenging behavior. She could tell he was in his element. In the zone as the kids would say. Again she saw and felt his passion and for a moment they were on level ground.

 

What would only be a sixty-second public service announcement, had taken a full day to shoot and would take several days to edit. Just being a part of, and watching the process, was exciting, but Dione quickly understood the mammoth task of what putting together an hour-long tape and everything that went into getting it ready for viewing would take.

Dione was on pins and needles waiting for Garrett to call and say it was finished. She kept having this recurring vision that she was going to come across like the guy who does the Champion commercials. “When your bank says no, Champion says yes.” Then he gives the worst smile as if it pained him to tell people he would give them money.

If she came across like that, she would simply die. That's all there was to it.

She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear then toyed with the gold hoop in her earlobe. She'd thought about Garrett a lot since she'd last seen him, the strange, almost sensual kind of closeness they'd developed as they worked together with him guiding and coaching her as she read her lines, turned toward the camera or moved around the building.

“Yes, just like that,” he would encourage in a heavy whisper. “A little more to the left. Yeah. Let me see that smile. That's it.” It was like an erotic, verbal game of foreplay.

A hot flash streaked through her. She shook her head, scattering the thoughts, but the feeling which had, against her will, burrowed beneath the surface, refused to go away.

Faintly she heard the front door buzzer and the distinct rumble of a male voice—one which had begun to haunt her.

The first thought that flashed through her head was that the video was so bad, he needed to tell her in person.

Her intercom buzzed.

“Yes, Brenda.”
Did she sound as nervous as she felt?

“Mr. Lawrence is here to see you.”

“Uh, you can send him down.” Quickly she looked around the small space, straightened her desk, smoothed her hair into place and returned several files to the cabinet. Returning to her seat, she adjusted her jacket and turned her full attention to the computer screen, and couldn't make out a thing in front of her.

She felt him before she actually saw him, before she heard the short, sharp knock on her partially opened door. Still her body reacted with a start.

“Hell-o-o,” he singsonged, sticking his head through the door opening.

She looked up, appearing to be totally unaware of his presence.

“Oh, hi. I didn't even hear you. Come in.” She put on her best smile, hoping it wouldn't begin to fray around the edges when he dropped his bad news. Her eyes darted to the rectangular package in his hand, then casually back up to him. “Have a seat.” She extended her hand toward the paisley padded chair at the edge of the desk.

Although the furnishings had been purchased secondhand, Dione had no intention of them appearing to look that way. The old, scarred metal table she'd camouflaged with a large fabric-trimmed desk blotter, color-coordinated with her desktop accessories: pencil holder, Rolodex and appointment book, which she'd purchased at an African crafts shop, were all covered in mudcloth. Of course she couldn't afford original art, but she knew a good frame purchased cheaply could do miracles for a so-so picture.

Captured beneath glass, gleaming wood and silver were ordinary landscapes and portraits of unimportant people all enhanced by some added creativity.

She had great taste, Garrett thought really paying attention to the room for the first time, as he sat down and absorbed the aura of tranquility that the room and Dione's presence gave off.

“So what brings you all the way over here?” she asked, hoping she sounded casual. She folded her hands in front of her to keep them from shaking.

She's always in control, never a hair or a movement out of place or wasted. How long had it taken to get that whole image down to a science?

“Actually, I thought I'd bring this by in person.” He put the package down on the desk.

To Dione it sounded like a nuclear explosion, and she felt the threads that were holding her smile in place begin to unravel. It sat there between them like a frog on a rock.

“Got a VCR? I'm anxious for you to see it.”

“Really? Why?”

“You don't have to look at me like you think I stole the family inheritance,” he deadpanned.

A burst of laughter released the tension that had held her captive from the moment she'd heard his voice from upstairs.

“Now that's more like it,” he grinned. “I thought you were going to put me in front of the firing squad.”

“Nothing quite that dramatic.” She angled her head in the direction of the tape and wrinkled her nose. “Is that it?”

He flashed that dimple and his eyes crinkled when he smiled, she noticed.

“Is that why you're so tense?”

“I'm not tense.”

“Hmm.”

“I'm not,” she insisted.

He held up his hand. “Hey, I believe you. And if you're even the slightest bit worried about the tape—well—you should be.”

“What!” She popped up from her seat as if she had springs. Her heart was thudding. This was it. She'd made a complete fool of herself, on videotape no less. And there he sat smug as he wanted to be, enjoying her humiliation.

She covered her face with her hands then began to pace. “I knew I shouldn't have done it. I came out like that guy, what's-his-name from the Champion commercial.” She spun toward him. “Didn't I? You might as well tell me.”

When she stopped ranting long enough to focus on his face, she saw that he was grinning like a fool.

“What's so funny?”

“You. I thought a little payback was in order. You asked after dinner the other night what secrets would I have that you'd want to know.”

She planted her hands on her hips, the challenging ninety degree stance kicking in. Then she gave him “the look.”

“Okay, okay. What I was saying was that you should be concerned because after this gets out on the air, casting directors will be beating down your door.”

Her eyes widened in confusion.

“You were great. You're a natural.”

“Really?”

“Trust me. I have an entirely different approach when the talent is lousy. It's usually a phone call.”

“You know you're an evil man, Garrett Lawrence. To the bone.”

“I've been called worse. So—do you have a VCR?”

“There's one upstairs in the visitor's room.”

He handed her the tape, then stood. “Well, take a look at it and give me a call. I know you'll be pleased.”

“You aren't going to stay?”

“No. I have a ton of work to do.”

“Oh.” She was a bit let down but touched that he made the trip.

Was that disappointment he heard in her voice, or wishful thinking?

“But if you really want me to. I—”

“No. I understand. I probably won't get to this until later anyway. I'll just take it home and watch it tonight.”

He nodded. “I better get rolling. Call if you have any questions or comments.”

“I will.”

He started toward the door, then stopped and turned toward her. “We'll be here first thing Monday morning to start gathering footage for the documentary. We're going to try to get it done as quickly as possible. There are a bunch of questions that we'll need to ask and releases to be signed. We'll be doing some sit-down interviews with you and the staff and whatever girls have agreed to participate.”

“Fine.”

“See you Monday.”

“Have a good weekend.”

“You, too.”

He walked out and Dione suddenly felt as if all the energy had gone with him. She looked down at the tape in her hand.