Joy (2 page)

“Hi, Anya. I have a couple of—”

Anya raised her hand, stopping her assistant mid-sentence. She skimmed through the pink slips Dianna handed her and sighed deeply. “Just take messages for the rest of the afternoon.”

Without saying another word, Dianna nodded knowingly. The entire office had been tense as the date approached for the final pitch to Linden Communications.

Anya threw her briefcase on her desk and flopped into her leather chair. She swiveled and turned to face the large floor-to-ceiling glass windows that extended over two walls of her corner office.

It was a sparkling clear southern California day. The day after one of those El Niño storms that washed all the smog and dirt from the air and removed much of the shoreline from the southern Pacific Coast as well.

Anya stood, pulled her silk suit jacket over her hips, and strolled to the windows. This was why she had chosen this space. When shed needed to expand her office, shed been determined to find one with a breathtaking view of the city. These windows removed her from the present and took her to a faraway place when she needed to escape.

What is wrong with me? Anya wondered, as she looked down at her ring. She wanted to feel it—all of the blessedness that had been there at the beginning. But all she felt was what shed been feeling the last few weeks: She was falling headfirst into an abyss.

She did remember the happiness that consumed her the day Braxton proposed. They were in church, in the middle of the service, right after the offering, when Pastor Ford had called his name.

“Braxton Vance, can you come up to the altar?”

Anya had frowned and pulled Braxton's hand. “What's going on?” she whispered with narrowed eyes.

He stood, looked down at her and smiled but wordlessly slipped away. Her eyes focused on him, as he trotted down the green-carpeted aisle.

Braxton moved up the two steps to the altar and took Pastor Ford's outstretched hand. She led him to the podium.

Clearing his throat, he pushed his thin gold-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose, then ran his hand across his almost bald head before he spoke. “Good morning, family.” He paused as the congregation responded. “As many of you know, I'm a writer and this isn't the easiest career. In the beginning it was a struggle, but I am blessed that it is no longer. And now that the trial has passed, people everywhere remember me when and want to befriend me now. But most important to me are the people who were with me when times were thin—people who never cared about what I did for a living, where I lived, or what I drove.” He looked directly at Anya. “Anya Mitchell, would you please come up here?”

It took the nudging of the woman next to her to make Anya stand. She moved haltingly through the silent congregation until she was by Braxton's side. Her trembling hands were hidden behind her back. What is he doing? she thought, as possibilities ran through her mind.

Braxton took her left hand. “Anya, you've always been there for me and our friendship has turned to love. So now …” He slowly lowered himself until he was balanced on one knee. Then he removed a glinting object from his sports jacket.

Anya was frozen in place. Her glazed eyes fixed on the image in front of her. But she could hear the soft, growing rumble that moved through the six hundred or so parishioners sharing this moment with her.

“Anya Mitchell. In front of God, Pastor Ford, and our church family, would you make me the happiest man on earth and agree to become my wife?”

While the congregation cheered, Anya just stared. Pastor Ford's voice brought her back to consciousness.

“Anya, you haven't said anything,” Pastor Ford said, as she joined the two at the altar.

Anya allowed herself to smile but didn't trust herself to speak. She nodded.

“Braxton, I think you can take that as a yes!” Pastor Ford laughed.

The congregation roared when Braxton slipped the ring onto her finger. As the cheering continued, Anya allowed herself to relish the moment in front of hundreds of onlookers.

Anya smiled now, as she remembered that moment a little more than six months ago. She'd loved Braxton so much then and she certainly loved him now—even more. So what was wrong? Obscure emotions had unnerved her for several weeks, making her believe something bad was going to happen. But there was nothing specific she could pinpoint causing all of this doubt.

Braxton Vance was everything shed hoped for—he was a man of God, professionally successful, and financially stable. And there didn't seem to be any dirty secrets or angry women lurking in his background, waiting to pounce upon them. Topping it all, he was certainly easy on the eyes, as the women in her office told her whenever he came to visit. He was the perfect package.

Anya sighed deeply, and walked back to her desk. As she sat, her fingers did a syncopated dance atop her marble desk and she let her eyes wander around the office, finally settling on her brass desktop clock. Hastily, she pulled the Linden Communications folder from her briefcase and turned on her computer, determined to work efficiently during the next half hour. But within moments, she was leaning back in her chair, twisting the ring on her finger.

Two short knocks at the door interrupted her thoughts. Before she could utter a word, the door opened and David Montgomery strolled in. Anya hated when he did that, just walked in without her permission. But no matter how many times she brought it to his attention, he continued doing it.

“Alaister finished all the numbers for the presentation.” David sank into one of the cream-colored leather chairs in front of her desk and crossed his legs. “I've looked it over, but you can glance at it before tomorrow's meeting.”

Anya gazed at him, sitting so casually, decked out in one of his tailored suits that looked like it had been sewn directly onto his muscular frame.

“How does it look to you, David?” Anya asked in her most professional voice.

“It's fine, I'm just giving you this professional courtesy.”

Anya cringed, took a deep breath, and willed herself not to blow like an over-inflated tire. David had been working with her for a bit more than a month, but this wasn't the first time he had spoken to her in a tone bordering on insubordination.

She had to remind herself why she had hired David in the first place—University of Virginia M.B.A., certified financial planner, ten years of financial-planning experience with American Express in the Dallas office, national top-producer awards. Anya knew that David could help Mitchell & Associates Financial Services achieve all of her objectives.

Still twisting her ring, she stared at him, hoping her eyes delivered her message. She took off the ring, placing it on the desk before she spoke.

“Is this the complete report?” Her voice was stiff.

“Yep, all numbers have been triple-checked. You know I never bring you anything unless it's perfect.”

Anya pursed her lips, leaned across the wide desk and took the report from David's outstretched hand, tugging at it just enough for him to feel it, and just enough for her to regret it. She shouldn't be acting this way—it wasn't David's fault she was in a bad mood.

“I'm getting ready to leave, so I'll take this home.” She tried to soften her voice.

David raised his thick eyebrows. “You're leaving? I thought you'd review this right now. The meeting is set for nine. So if you have any changes …”

Anya lifted her chin. “If I have any changes,
I'll
handle them in the meeting.”

David held up his hands in surrender. “Whatever you say, Boss.” He walked to the door, then turned back suddenly. “You know we're going to get this account. All of the numbers show that we can save them almost $100,000 a year on their benefits. I know Linden will be ours.” He grinned, his deep-set dimples becoming even more visible.

The moment she was alone, Anya stuffed the report into her briefcase. He probably thinks I'm suffering from PMS or something, she thought. But she didn't have time to think about that now. If she hurried, she would still be on time for Braxton. She picked up her briefcase and rushed out, without saying a word to her flustered assistant.

Anya leaned into the soft seat and the tension of the day began to ebb from her shoulders. The traffic flowed easily down Wilshire—a surprise because shed expected the trek from Wilshire to Melrose to be, at best, sluggish and stressful.

She popped the CD of her church's choir into the player and started swaying as the melodious sounds filled her car. This is what I should have done before, she thought. Praising the Lord always took her back to where she was supposed to be.

She drummed her fingers against the steering wheel pretending she was Sheila E., when she was jolted by the shrill ring of her cell phone. She debated whether to answer. It was either Braxton checking on her or Dianna calling with an urgent message that she didn't want to know about. “I'm not going to answer!” she yelled at the portable phone. On cue, the ringing stopped.

With a wide smile, she continued tapping her fingers to the music, but groaned a few seconds later when the phone rang again. She picked it up on the second ring. “Yes!”

“Anya?”

Who else would be answering her cell phone? “Yes, Dianna. What is it?”

“God, I thought I would never get you. You ran out so fast and you didn't tell me where you were going. So I figured the only way to get you would be on your cell phone and I am glad—”

Anya rolled her eyes. She loved Dianna, who was more than competent. But sometimes… “What is it?” she interrupted.

“Oh, you left your ring.”

Dianna spoke so casually, it took a moment for Anya to realize what she was saying. Confused, she looked down at her left hand as her right one clutched the steering wheel. The third finger was bare.

“Oh, no,” she groaned, vaguely remembering when she'd taken it off.

“I went into your office to straighten your desk and your ring was just sitting there, sparkling. I still think it's one of the prettiest rings I've ever seen. I can't wait until—”

“Di-an-na!”

“Sorry.”

Anya considered her options. “Look, I'm supposed to meet Braxton”—she glanced down at the clock and moaned—“in five minutes. And I'm five minutes from the restaurant.”

“I'll bring it to you! Where are you and Braxton going to be?”

“No!” Anya shook her head at the thought of Dianna popping into the restaurant saying “Surprise! Here's your ring.” What would Braxton think?

“I'll turn around and drive back down Wilshire. Meet me at the corner of … Wilshire and LaCienega. I'll be waiting for you right in front of the Red Lobster.”

“Okay.” Dianna seemed to sing the word.

“And, Dianna”—Anya softened her voice—“thank you.” Anya clicked off the phone and looked at her naked finger once again. How would she have explained it?

She made an illegal U-turn and headed back toward her office, shivering as goosebumps rose on her arms despite the closed car windows. Just the other day, she had found her ring on the edge of the kitchen sink.

Is this a sign? she asked herself. She shook her head and sighed deeply. The tension of the day was gone, but replacing it was a feeling of deep uneasiness.

By the time Anya pulled up in front of Crossroads, she was thirty minutes late. She jumped from the car and tossed her keys to the valet. “Thanks, Michael,” she called to the young man who often parked her car when she and Braxton came to her favorite restaurant.

Her heels clicked against the brick walkway as she rushed through the entrance, then stopped short behind a couple talking to the waitress. She squinted into the dark room and, seconds later, saw Braxton waving at her. She tried to read his expression, but he was too far away for her to discern his mood. The hostess motioned for Anya to follow her.

Heads turned as Anya made her way to the table. She strolled with the confidence of royalty, gliding by the restaurant's packed tables.

Anya kept her soft brown eyes fixed on Braxton and never noticed the admiring glances from men and women alike. When she was close enough to see Braxton's smile, she exhaled.

Braxton took her raincoat and handed it to the hostess. “I got a call from my editor just as I was leaving, so I just got here myself.”

Anya was relieved when Braxton pulled her close, hugging her. He was a head taller than she was, and he had to lean over slightly to rub his smooth face along her cheek. She eased her hand up his back, feeling the toned hardness, and closed her eyes trying to enjoy the moment. Braxton had a way of contacting her emotional nerve-endings with one gentle touch. But she didn't feel it today, and pulled back.

He hesitated for an instant, then brushed his lips against her cheek.

Anya responded with a smile. “How are you?”

“Wonderful, now. You sound like you had a tough day.” He pulled the chair out for her, then moved his chair closer to her. With gentle fingers, he massaged her shoulder.

She nodded and closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of her muscles relaxing. “We're jamming in the final changes for the presentation tomorrow, and I got stuck on the 405 and then I got into a little thing with David.” Anya's words rolled over each other. She opened her eyes, glanced at the ring, then said a quick, silent prayer of thanks.

“Another little thing with David? What was it this time?”

“Oh, nothing,” Anya said, waving her hand and ring in the air.

“Just the usual …” She left the sentence unfinished and picked up the menu. The aroma of the Creole spices teased her, reminding her just how hungry she was.

“Well, I don't want you to think about work. I have something that will take your mind off it.” He reached to the chair next to him.

A bunch of yellow roses suddenly appeared on the table. She dropped the menu and brought the bundle to her face. “Thank you!” She smiled. “But what's the occasion?”

Braxton kissed her fingers. “The same as every day. I love you.”

His light brown eyes enveloped her. She did love this man.

“Oh, those are beautiful!” the waitress exclaimed as she came to their table. “Are you guys celebrating something special tonight?”