Crazy Sweet Love: Contemporary Romance Novella, Clean Interracial Romantic Comedy (Flower Shop Romance Book 3) (19 page)

Chapter 11

That night, Tessa knelt in her garden, with her hands shoved into the loose, fertile soil. She'd forgotten to wear her gloves, and the black dirt stained her fingers and got stuck under her nails. She knelt there, unmoving, tears welling in her eyes. She couldn't think, couldn't focus. Even her garden didn't seem to be able to relieve her stress that day.

It was a chilly day, and no one else was in the garden. Though Tessa felt like there was someone watching her. She glanced over her shoulder, seeing no one. Until she looked into one of the apartment windows and saw her elderly neighbor, Mr. Jones, looking out at her. He often sat in his apartment and watched the gardeners, though since she was the only one out there, he was watching only her. There was a sad, sympathetic look in his eyes. Like he knew the pain she was feeling.

He raised a hand to her in a small wave. She pulled her hand from the dirt and waved back.

A few moments later, it started to rain. The water came down in a harsh downpour, soaking her almost instantly. She got up and hurried to her apartment, only to find the back door was locked.

“Damn.” She patted her jeans, searching for her keys. Then she remembered. In her emotional daze, she'd forgotten to take them out of her purse, which was sitting inside.

She tried her bedroom window, but of course it was also locked. She had a friend on the other side of town who had a spare key, but of course her cell phone was inside the apartment too, so she couldn't even call for help.

Tessa stood out there in the rain, her shoulder slumped, until her tears started to flow freely. They mixed with the rain on her cheeks, invisible against the storm. She couldn't get her thoughts to clear, and in that moment, nothing really seemed to matter anymore.

Then suddenly, the rain stopped falling on her head. The storm still raged around her, but no longer touched her. She looked up and saw a red umbrella being held over her head. The rain drops splattered against it and slid off, playing out a staccato rhythm in the night.

“Not a good night to be out in the weather.”

She turned around and saw Mr. Jones there, holding the umbrella, protecting her from the storm. “Lock yourself out?” he asked.

She nodded, wiping her face on the back of her damp sleeve. “I'm an idiot,” she said. “I left my keys inside, and...”

“Come on,” he said, taking her hand. “Let's get you inside and get you dry. You can use my phone if you like.”

“Thank you.” She let him lead her into his apartment, which was warm and cozy after the cold rain. The furniture was old and worn, most of it looking like mismatched pieces bought from yard sales or the Goodwill store. The lights were subdued, almost as if Mr. Jones were afraid to see himself in the light. Red cloths covered several of the lamps, giving the apartment the feeling of eternal dusk.

“Here,” Mr. Jones said, handing her a towel. “Make yourself at home. It's not often I have company.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jones. I really appreciate your help.” She wiped her hands on the towel, scrubbing off the rain and the dirt.

“Oh, call me Terry,” he said. “We're neighbors, after all.”

She gave him a grateful smile, though she didn't feel like she deserved his neighborly aid. She'd never spoken to him much, beyond the occasional chat while getting her mail.

She used Terry's phone to call her friend, then settled in to wait. It would be at least thirty minutes until her friend could get there, particularly with the storm. Terry made a pot of tea and set out a plate of gingersnaps.

“So,” Terry said as he settled into the recliner across from her, “you seem like a woman who has some troubles weighing her down.”

“Was it that obvious?” she asked with a wry laugh.

He smiled and blew on his tea to cool it off. “Well, after the life I've lived, I know a thing or two about troubles.”

Tessa hesitated, then decided to finally ask the question that she'd had on her mind since she first met him. “Is it true you were in jail?”

He nodded, a sad look in his eyes. “Thirty five years. Half of my life, wasted. All because of a stupid mistake.”

“Do you mind if I asked what happened?”

He got a distant look in his eyes, as if looking back across the long years. “I had a problem with drugs, back then. But the real problem was how I let that problem affect everything else.” He looked her in the eye. “You see, I let myself do a lot of stupid things, all because I couldn't face my real problem. I was arrested for armed robbery, and for accidentally shooting a man when the gun went off. I just thank God the poor fellow wasn't too seriously hurt.”

“Oh, wow.” Tessa looked down into her tea mug. “I can't imagine.”

“Most people can't.” He chuckled. “The thing of it was, I know now that if I'd made the right decision, admitted that I had a problem, I could have stopped things from spiraling out of control. I was deluded back then. Didn't want to admit that the drugs had a hold on me. I thought I was in control of them. That I could do whatever I wanted. And I ended up hurting people, and ruining my own life in the process.”

Tessa thought about the mistakes she'd made over the past few weeks. They paled in comparison to what Terry was describing, though there was one similarity. She hadn't wanted to admit that she was in over her head. One mistake had led to another, and now the consequences were starting to spiral out of control.

“How do you fix something like that?” she asked. “I mean, once you can see that it's all out of control, how do you stop it? It's not like you can go back and undo the things you've done.”

He looked at her, weighing her, and she was sure he knew she was really talking about her own problems. “The answer is a lot simpler than you realize. You just need to come clean. I thought I could cover up my problems. Hide from them. Take matters into my own hands. And I just kept making things worse. But if I'd gone to someone, to my friends, to my parents, and admitted that I had a problem, I could have gotten help.”

“But weren't you afraid of the consequences?”

“Sure I was.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I was afraid that I'd end up in jail. But guess what? I ended up worse off, with a longer sentence than I would have had for just the drugs. If I'd accepted my mistakes and been ready to face the music, instead of running from it, then yes, I would have suffered the consequences. But running from those consequences made things so much worse in the long run.”

Tessa hung her head. She knew that Terry was right. Maybe, she thought, she could minimize the damage if she just came clean. She might still lose her job. But if she could stop the situation from getting any more out of hand, then maybe she could protect the jobs of her coworkers.

“I know it sounds cliche,” Terry said, watching her carefully. “But honesty really is the best policy. Lies always catch up to you, in the end.”

Tessa set down her tea. She nodded, keeping her eyes lowered. “You're right. You're definitely right.”

When her friend arrived, Tessa thanked Terry for the tea, and for the company. “You should come out and join us sometime,” she said. “It'd be nice to see you out in the gardens. There's a couple of unclaimed plots, if you want one of your own.”

“Oh, I have my little garden,” he said, nodding out the window.

Tessa looked outside and followed his gaze. He was looking right at the Mystery Plot. “That...that one's yours?” She laughed, shaking her head. “We could never figure out who it belonged to! It's so beautiful. Why don't I ever see you tending it?”

He shrugged. “After so many years in isolation, I tend to get nervous around crowds. I go out early in the mornings, before the rest of you are up. Or check in on things at night. It's my way.”

“Well, if you ever change your mind,” Tessa said, “just know you've got a friend out there.”

She gave him a hug, then left his apartment, buried deep in thoughts about the things he'd said.

Chapter 12

Tessa knocked on Samson's door, rehearsing in her head what she was about to say. He answered wearing only a pair of sweatpants, his bare chest glistening with moisture and his hair damp. He was rubbing a towel along the back of his hair, sopping up the dampness from his pony tail. “Hey there,” he said, stepping back to invite her in. “What's up?”

“I think I need to confess.” She walked right past him and sat down on his couch, wringing her hands together.

“Okay.” He shut the door and came over to join her, sitting on the coffee table and taking her hands in his. When she kept fidgeting, he wrapped his hands gently around hers, holding them until she stopped trembling and settled down.

“What do you think?”

“I think it's your choice,” he said. “Do you want me to come with you? I'm a part of this, after all.”

“No,” she said. “No, the worst they can really do is fire me. You, they could possibly press charges against.”

“I'm willing to face that risk if it means supporting you,” he said. “I can't just stand aside and let you take all the blame.”

“But it was my idea.”

“And I helped you with it.” He reached up and caressed her cheek.

She closed her eyes and nuzzled her face against his hand. His touch, his support had meant the world to her while she worked through this crazy situation. But she knew she couldn't risk letting any of the consequences from this fall onto him.

“My mind's made up,” she said. “This was my idea, it was my mistake. And I'm going to go face the music.”

Samson sighed. She looked into his eyes, making sure he knew how serious she was. “All right,” he said. “But is there anything I can do?”

Tessa thought about what she was going to have to face. The likelihood of getting fired. The public humiliation. She imagined being paraded before a board of directors and told she had to explain herself. She wasn't sure she would be able to handle that.

“Just hold me,” she whispered.

Samson moved onto the couch with her and pulled her close against him. She closed her eyes and laid her head against his chest. He stroked her hair and held her tight. his warmth, the comfort of his touch, made her feel like maybe there was a chance that everything could be okay.

* * *

Tessa walked into the office Monday morning wearing her best suit, with her hair done up in a chignon knot. She felt more like she was dressed for a job interview than for the meeting that would end in her termination. But, she figured, if she was going to go down, she would go down in style.

She didn't even bother to go to her desk. She'd stop by later to get the few photographs she kept there, and her coffee mug. But to begin with, she would face her fate and do it with her chin held up high.

She walked right into Mr. Morgan's office and found him waiting there behind his desk. He looked up at her. “Ahh, Tessa. I'm glad you're here, I was about to call you in.”

She froze mid-step. Why had he been about to call her? Had he already discovered what she was about to confess?

She stepped over to the desk and sat down, her confidence wavering. “Yes?” she asked.

“There've been some leads in the situation from the Pennsylvania sorting facility.”

Her heart hammered in her throat. If he already knew, then confessing wouldn't help her. She'd hoped to take the high ground, with the possibility that maybe her honesty would dampen the consequences. But it seemed like it was too late.

“I wanted to get your take on this,” Mr. Morgan said, holding up some papers. “Since you were the one who first brought it to my attention. I'm thinking we might have been set up.”

“Set up?” She took the papers and looked them over. She recognized a few of them immediately. They were the falsified forms that she'd had Samson fill out, signing his forged “Jebediah P. Morgan” signature. Some of the other pages were printouts of emails, including some from people claiming to be environmental activists.

“I...I'm afraid I don't understand,” Tessa said. “What do these emails have to do with it?”

“The company gets ridiculous things emailed to us all the time.” He gestured to the papers. “Most of the time we just sent out form letter responses, unless a complaint has some greater amount of weight. Some of the more preposterous things we get are threats from environmental groups and wacko liberal hippies who claim we're destroying the environment.” He snorted and shook his head. “They threaten to sue, or to expose us as frauds, that sort of thing. Our official company policy is not to bother responding to such threats. They're completely baseless, and responding just encourages these people.”

“I'm still not following,” Tessa said.

“Read this one.” He reached across the desk and pulled out one page from the stack. Tessa took it and read it over. Her throat started to feel tight as she read it.

“This person says they have proof we're selling people contaminated goods,” she said, scanning the page. “But...but I thought we knew everything was clean? There's nothing more than harmless trace amounts of any pesticides.”

“You know that, and I know that,” Mr. Morgan said. “But this nut job obviously doesn't. Probably some college kid with a home chemistry set and no idea how to tell the difference between actual contamination and trace levels that fall within the USDA safety guidelines. I'm betting whoever this guy is, he's the one who snuck into our facility and stole samples of our produce.” He tapped his fingers on the pages with the forged signatures. “Because that sure wasn't me. I've never even been to any of the sorting facilities in person.”

Tessa flipped through the pages. Her head was spinning. “So...what are you going to do?”

“Show these to that reporter,” Mr. Morgan said. “Make him realize that someone is trying to set us up. He'll know that there's no story here once he sees what a whack job this guy is. I mean, just look at those emails.”

Tessa read the emails again. They certainly sounded like they'd been written by someone who was imbalanced. Most of the text was written in all caps, with lots of excessive exclamation marks and plenty of cursing and threats. It didn't sound like anything that someone could ever take seriously.

She could see the scenario playing out in her mind now. Mr. Morgan would show these emails to the reporter. The reporter would realize that his “lead” on the story was probably this same person, someone who looked more like a conspiracy theorist than an actual environmentalist. The story would be dropped when the reporter realized he might be risking his reputation as a journalist. Dunham Enterprises would be safe. And no one would have to lose their jobs.

All Tessa had to do was lie. Say she hadn't been involved. That she agreed with Mr. Morgan's analysis of the situation. She could encourage him to proceed as he planned, and he'd never be any the wiser.

“So what's your take on this?” Mr. Morgan asked. “You've read up on the inspection reports from that facility. And you've read all of our internal reports on the subject. What do you think?”

Tessa opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She cleared her throat and licked her lips. She didn't know what to say. This was her way out. The universe had handed her the perfect scapegoat. All she had to do was say the words.

“Tessa?”

“I have to tender my resignation.”

Mr. Morgan stared at her, dumbstruck. “What? Tessa, what are you talking about?”

“I...I'm the one who did it. These documents,” she shuffled through the papers in her lap, “I forged them. I snuck into the Pennsylvania facility, and I stole samples to be tested. I...I was wrong. I shouldn't have done it.”

“I don't understand. Tessa, what is this? Are you saying you called this reporter?”

“No...no! Not that.”

“Those emails?” He pointed to the pages. “Are those from you?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Then I don't get it. How are you saying you're involved in this? Why would you steal from the company? What was going through your mind?”

She hung her head, feeling ashamed. She'd started out with such noble intentions. She'd thought she would be exposing the corruption of an evil corporation. Saving people from harmful contaminants. But really, she'd just been a fool, seeing a conspiracy where there was none. And it had cost her everything.

“I have no excuse,” she said. “I'm sorry. I...I'll go clean out my desk.”

She got up and headed for the door.

“Tessa,” Mr. Morgan said. “Wait.”

She stopped, but couldn't turn back to face him.

Mr. Morgan got up and walked over to her. He took the papers from her. She hadn't even realized she was still holding them.

“Sit back down,” he said.

Numb from head to toe, Tessa went back to the chair and sat. Mr. Morgan sat on the edge of his desk, holding the papers in his lap. “Now, I want you to start at the beginning,” he said, “and tell me what happened.”

So she confessed the whole thing, from her first suspicions, to the files she'd taken, to the insane plan to take products from the sorting facility to be used for independent testing. When she finished, she sat there, her shoulders hunched over, her hands folded in her lap. She felt drained. Though at the same time, she felt free. The burden of her lies and her secrets had finally been lifted away.

Mr. Morgan sat there, watching her and rubbing his chin. “So,” he said, “you really thought I was trying to cover something up?”

“I'm sorry, Mr. Morgan. I didn't mean to accuse you of anything. I just thought...”

“You just thought that Dunham was a big, faceless corporation where people try to get away with things?” He chuckled and walked over to his filing cabinet, then pulled out a folder. He handed it to her.

“What's this?” She opened the folder and started looking through it.

“One of the recent reports from QA. About one of our old inspectors, who used to work at that Pennsylvania facility. Have you ever wondered why we have such a high turnover rate on our inspectors?”

“I thought they were getting fired for digging too deep,” she said. “And finding out things the company didn't want them to know.”

“They were fired,” Mr. Morgan said, “for not digging deep
enough
. Some of them do a good job, and we transfer them to a bigger facility, where their hard work can have the most impact. Other times, though, we have people like that,” he gestured to the file in her hands, “who try to cover up failing reports. See, some of the inspectors think that if their facility gets a failing grade, it looks bad on them. They think they'll be held accountable, so they fudge the reports. Make it look as if everything is fine.”

Tessa skimmed the pages. She recognized the inspector's name. He was one of the inspectors who'd written some of the reports she'd read at the start of this whole mess. One of the ones who had reported nothing at all wrong. When she first read his reports, she'd assumed he was hiding some kind of contamination in order to protect the company from exposure. But according to the internal investigation, he'd been doing it to protect his own job. And he'd been fired once the company had found out what he'd done.

“You see, Tessa,” Mr. Morgan said, stepping behind his desk and sitting down, “there are three kinds of people in this business. Dishonest people like that fellow,” he gestured to the file in her hands, “who do whatever they please without considering the moral issue. Then there's the bulk of our workers,” he gestured out his office window at the rows of cubicles in the main room, “people who keep their heads down, do their work, and never question anything. People who ignore problems that don't affect them directly, because they don't want to rock the boat. Those are the type of people who never get anywhere, because they're too afraid to take risks.”

He folded his hands and leaned forward. “Then there are the risk takers. People who have conviction, and are willing to do what it takes to stand by what they believe in. People like you.”

She stared at him, her mouth dry. She couldn't get her thoughts in order. “What are you saying?”

“I'm saying that you took a big risk, because you thought it was the right thing to do. Oh,” he made a dismissive wave with one hand, “I suppose I should be mad at you for going behind my back. And I am, a bit. But then I think about what might have happened if there really had been a problem, if our products had been making someone sick, and if someone on the inside had been covering it up. That wasn't what happened this time, but that
has
happened before. And we need people with strong convictions to track down that sort of thing, uncover it, and report the truth.”

Tessa licked her lips. She took a deep breath. “Mr. Morgan, are you saying...?”

“I'm saying I want to transfer you to QA.” He leaned back in his chair. “You've been here, what, six, seven years? I've thought for awhile now that you were being wasted in data entry. You're a talented woman. But I never thought you had the moxie for real advancement. You've always stood in line with everyone else, like you were too afraid to stand out. Too afraid to rock the boat. Until now, that is.”

Tessa shook her head. She couldn't process this. “So...instead of firing me, you're promoting me?”