G A—Glenda—Redford the artist, author and loner.
Bryan Traylor, owner of Fantasy Magazine, team player,
the man who destroyed her reputation.
When her professional reputation comes under suspicion,
will he back her up or leave her with another broken heart?
Clueless at Christmas
Jane Carver
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Jane Carver
Smashwords Edition, License Note
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
“You two are so damn clueless!” Amy crossed her arms over her minimal chest and frowned at the man and woman across the lunch table from her.
“Says who?” Jordan Mathis raised shapely brows and finger combed his bright blond hair.
“Says me, that’s who.” Amy tossed each one a frustrated glare and proceeded to destroy her best friend’s life.
“Look, Jordan, you and Glenda have been best friends since you were kids. And you probably love each other. But that doesn’t mean you have to get married.”
“Fat lot you know.” That grumble came from Amy’s best friend Glenda Redford.
“I hate to point this out but the very way you just said that means you know I’m right.”
“Do not!”
“Yeah, keep telling yourself that. For a smart lady, you can be pretty dumb.” Amy tossed her head toward Jordan and added, “And blind.”
“Where do you come off saying I’m blind?” Glenda had just about had enough of this short but blunt conversation. So much for a nice summer afternoon on the boardwalk.
“Glenda. For pity’s sake, look at Jordan,” Amy hissed. “Look,” she whispered.
Curious as to why her friend was talking softly, Glenda turned to see that Jordan had tuned out the conversation and was watching… Who? She scanned the wide walk outside the café window and saw few in the heat of a midsummer afternoon. An older woman leaned against the rail facing the ocean. A younger woman—probably an older teen—maybe her granddaughter—leaned next to her. On a nearby bench sat a woman with a baby. While healthy and clean she was not beautiful, and Jordan was all about beauty. At least that’s what he always told her. Stumped as to what exactly her fiancé was watching, she leaned forward but not near enough to touch him, to distract him from his deep study.
For he was studying someone. His gaze intent, his focus was honed on one person. Jordan’s profile, so clean and god-like it was perfect, told Glenda whoever had caught his attention was worth the look.
So she scanned the boardwalk again. The only other person she saw was a man, a rather scrumptious man too. His long blond hair waved in the sea breeze. Despite his fair skin—and Glenda could see a lot of it—he wasn’t tanned. Nor sunburned. His eyes were light—what color she couldn’t tell. His chest was nicely sculpted while his waist was tucked into the skimpiest denim shorts she’d ever seen on a man. Long smooth legs ended in large but finely boned bare feet. His face was sensual but oddly sweet and innocent looking. Whoever the god-like man was, he sat with legs stretched out, calm as a cucumber, licking an ice cream cone.
Matter of fact, Glenda almost wet her panties just watching that long pink tongue slide out from between lusciously sweet lips to wrap around the ice cream. The man licked slowly, as if he savored each taste, each moment. Oh dear God, she fell into instant lust.
Her eyes glued to the Adonis sitting so innocently on the bench, she failed to feel Amy squeezing her hands until pain shot through her fingers.
Quick as a flash she turned an angry glare on Amy, her mouth opened to say, “What the hell?” when Amy put her finger to her lips, begging for silence. One tiny move turned that finger from her mouth to point to Jordan.
This time Glenda tuned in on her best male friend—the man she planned to marry. His eyes glittered, while his cheeks flushed a hot pink. His mouth hung open. The final clue fell into place when he licked his lips, slow and wet while one hand fisted hard in his lap.
“Oh, my poor Jordan,” she whispered.
So many things about their relationship fell into place.
How to let him know his choice was okay? How to hide her disappointment that her best friend found a man more appealing than her? For Jordan had never looked at her like that, with desire and passion in his eyes. Beside the naked need in this man’s eyes for the man outside, their relationship was more that of brother and sister. Comfortable and safe. His wish to take her as a virgin on their wedding night had always suited her. And now she knew why. He really didn’t want to be physical with her—a woman. And she had no wish to make love to someone more suited as a brother than a husband.
What a mess!
But she had to let him know…let him off the hook. Let him go to that man without regret or shame. Treat his heart and love tenderly.
Gently she laid her hand against his far shoulder and rested her chin on the near one. Both of them watched the man outside for several seconds before she blew a resigned sigh passed his ear. “He’s so handsome. Luscious, don’t you think?”
Jordan didn’t even look at her though he nodded like a robot, a mechanical response.
“He makes eating ice cream look like having sex on that bench. Right out in the open.”
Heat rose in Jordan’s face, and he swallowed so hard she heard.
“It’s okay, Jordan. I finally understand.”
At that, Jordan turned his head and met Glenda nose to nose. She didn’t pull away, merely patted his shoulder and gave him a sad smile.
“I can’t compete with that,” she nodded toward the stranger. “I’ll never be able to.” Just to test if she got it correct, she asked, “Right?”
Jordan took a big breath—as if to deny her statement, but he must have read the truth—and acceptance—in her expression. He blew the air out slowly and dropped his head. Both hands clinched in his lap.
Glenda could only assume he had a hard big as Dallas that he was trying to tamp down.
“Time to let you go, sweet man. I’m not enough for you.” She nodded sideways while still holding Jordan’s gaze. “That’s the one for you. I bet he’d love to take a stroll along the sand.”
“But, Glenda… We… I…” Jordan fumbled to finish his thoughts.
She read them, knew how much he wanted to go but knew too that he was hurting her.
“I’ll be fine. I think…” She paused, suddenly clear about life and how it was and how it would be. “I think we were only fooling ourselves. He might be your destiny. That ice cream cone is almost gone. If you don’t hurry, he’ll leave, and you’ll never know.”
She slipped the thin small diamond engagement ring off her finger and slid it into his shirt pocket. “We don’t need this anymore. You’ve found what you’re really looking for.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Go out there before you lose your courage, and he leaves.” Her smile was genuine. Despite the sudden revelation of Jordan’s true orientation, peace settled into her heart. If he was happy, she was, too.
She slid out of the booth and held out her hand. “Love ya, Jordan.”
He hesitated for only a second before getting out. “Love you, too, Glenda.” Like she’d seen in the movies, true love ran out the door to its own.
Amy settled an arm over Glenda’s shoulder. She squeezed it hard and whispered, “Guess you’re not so clueless anymore, huh.”
“Yeah. I’m happy for him, but where does that leave me and my wedding plans?” she asked as she watched Jordan slip onto the bench next to the handsome stranger.
“Clueless again,” Amy sighed.
“Huh?”
“Darlin’, with your charm, brains and looks, do you honestly think there’s no one else out there to love you? I mean,” she amended, “Love you like a man loves a woman?”
“Charm I got. Brains I grant you. However men find love with their eyes first then their balls. Their brains kick into gear twenty years later. Being a plain Jane doesn’t help the situation either.”
“Plain? You? Honestly, Glenda. Your mom named you after Glenda the Good Witch in the movie. She was a gorgeous woman, witch or not. You’re what five-seven, dark auburn hair, green eyes and a mouth a man would die for.”
Glenda gave her friend a funny look before Amy added, “That’s what some of the guys say about you. I’m just saying…” She raised her hands and cocked her head as if she’d said the last on the subject.
“Yeah, well, that was a movie. This is real life.” Glenda patted Amy’s hand where it rested on her shoulder. “I think I’ll go home and soak in a tub of bubbles and shed a few tears.” She grazed Amy’s cheek with a kiss. “If that’s okay with you,” she teased.
Glenda gathered her purse and cute sun hat and left money on the table for hers and Jordan’s portion of the bill. As she walked down the aisle, men turned to watch her. She noticed out of the corner of her eye but thought they admired Amy who followed.
She had no idea why her friend sighed and muttered ‘clueless as usual’.
* * * *
Bryan Traylor sat at his desk, looking over covers for the latest issue of Fantasy. His magazine had found a gold mine of readers when authors started putting out novels about the paranormal. Beings like vampires, werewolves, fairies and magic were the bread and butter of his dream—Fantasy. With a circulation worldwide now and millions of readers, he basked in the glow of success.
He laid the cover to one side of his desk and leaned back in his chair. Fatigue seemed to settle over him like a blanket. How he’d like to close his eyes for a few minutes and take a power nap. However other drawings and short stories as well as articles lay on his desk, demanding his attention.
Hoisting his lanky frame upright in the chair, he pushed his glasses back up on his nose and shuffled through the art work and stories until he located two pieces done by writer/illustrator G A Redford. No matter his mood, this person’s work always lightened his day. All he knew about G A was she was female and private. Rabidly private. Long ago he’d forgiven her the lack of communication on places like Facebook and Fantasy.mag.com because her work put her at the top of the heap. Her illustrations seemed so life-like, almost magical. Her stories captured his imagination, and magazine readers always asked for more Redford pieces.
Bryan had been toying with an idea for some time now. Hire G A Redford to work for him exclusively. Harness her talents for exclusive work for Fantasy Magazine. He had a stable full of editors as well as some top notch writers for the articles. But illustrators were hard to come by in the fantasy genre. Most were like Redford—private and not willing to be part of a team.
G A Redford has supplied few details about herself when she sold her work to Fantasy. An IRS tax form, a mailing address and PayPal account for depositing her royalties. No phone number or photo. Bryan had no idea where she worked other than supplying his magazine’s needs. Nor did he know her age. She might be a teenager or a grandmother. He didn’t care as long as her talent was locked to his company.
* * * *
“Ms. Redford?” Bryan had meetings back to back. His calendar allowed not a spare moment to meet G A Redford in person. Rather than send a letter asking her to join the Fantasy Magazine family, he phoned.
“This is she. May I ask who’s calling.” The voice was soft. Almost tired sounding. Her area code indicated they were in the same time zone on the east coast, so he assumed his call hadn’t awakened her.
“My name is Bryan Traylor. I own Fantasy Magazine.”
“Yes?”
For a moment, Bryan’s brain went dead. He really expected a more excited comment. He cleared his throat as he shifted the cell phone from one hand to the other. Leaning back in his chair, he gathered his stymied thoughts and proceeded to the point of his call.
“We publish quite a few of your stories and illustrations. Our readers follow you and ask when your next story or graphic will be out.” He let her have time to absorb that compliment. Starting out his case with flattering remarks should soften her up. Like praying, give thanks first then do the asking.
“I knew the readers liked what I write, but I had no idea they were that eager for my work.” G A Redford truly sounded incredulous. The fatigue he heard earlier seemed to lighten a little.
“Ms. Redford, I’d like to present a proposal to you.”
“Yes, I’m listening.” If anything her voice grew softer, as if what he might say was intimidating.
“I’d like you to work for Fantasy Magazine full time. Still write and draw but work exclusively for me…for us…for the magazine.” For the life of him, Bryan stammered over his words, tongue tied by a light feminine voice. A highly appealing voice.
Silence.
He really wanted to jump right in and ask if she’d accept his proposal but made himself wait. For no reason he could name, letting her make the next move seemed the right thing to do.
“Oh,” she finally whispered.
Oh? he thought. That’s all she can say? This is an international magazine that showcases her work, and all she can say is oh?
“That’s very nice of you to offer, Mr…Traylor, was it? But I have other obligations that I can’t give up for a full time job with your magazine. And I love it, don’t get me wrong,” she added hastily. “I’d like to continue submitting, but I can’t possibly accept the offer. I appreciate you thinking of me though.” She sounded pleased, as if her refusal would make him happy.
“Uh, Ms. Redford, this is a really good package I’m offering.” He proceeded to tell her the hours, pay and working conditions—her own office in the company. Benefits. Everything anyone could ask for—except her.
“That truly is wonderful. I appreciate you asking me…offering such a great deal. But I can’t. Thank you for calling.” With that she blithely hung up.
Bryan sat with his mouth opened, his eyes glazed and glued to the small cell phone in his hand that displayed the message, Call Ended. “Well, I’ll be damned. The little witch just turned me down!”His temper soared. The sweetest deal he’d ever offered anyone and she turned him down…in her delicate wispy warm voice she turned him down cold. A vicious snap closed the cell while he swiveled with a jerk in his chair. “I hope you never need a favor, Missy. ‘Cause I’m fresh out,” he growled as he slammed the poor communication device on his desktop.
* * * *
“I don’t believe it! How can they do this to me?” Glenda felt nothing like a good witch as she read the certified letter the mailman handed her. Her legs gave out under her, and she flopped with little grace on her sofa. She leaned forward and rested one elbow on her knee and rubbed her hand over her face, trying to digest the news. Bad news. Really bad news.
Harry Digger, an elderly man who served as a private agent for the sale of her paintings, had passed away. The letter came from the law firm that represented his family. In a nut shell, his grown children didn’t want to continue their father’s business. Harry took Glenda’s paintings on commission, sold them all over the world then deposited the money into her PayPal account. She cared nothing for the names of those who bought her work; Harry knew the names, and that was enough. She painted, he sold and they both profited. With five to ten thousand rolling in every month or so for one of her paintings or graphics, she managed to live modestly and buy as much painting supplies as she needed. Her stories came when one painting was finished but before another started.
Now it seemed her pipeline to financial security had dried up. She tossed her long auburn hair out of her face and smoothed out the crumpled letter. In her panic she’d wadded it into a tight ball. A few deep breaths loosened the tightness in her chest. Staring at the page, she blindly reached around the coffee table for her glasses. Once on, the words that ended her life as a profitable artist jumped out big and black.
Jones, James and Johnson Law Firm
New York, New York
Ms. Redford,
This letter is to inform you that Harry William Digger passed away November 2, 2011. Per the request of his family i.e. children, his business, Digger Art Company, will be closed. All necessary forms will be sent to you regarding taxes. Final payments have been sent to your account. Three paintings will be crated and returned to you.
If you have any concerns, please address them to this firm.
Sincerely,
Franklin Jones
Despite reading the letter three times, the words—the implications for her future—didn’t change. Today’s forecast was bleak. Tomorrow’s wasn’t any shinier. She didn’t need to consult Amy or Jordan—or his new beau Bradley—to know she had to find a job. A real job. One that paid well. And she had to find some way to return her paintings to the market.
For the first time she cursed herself for not being more business oriented. That was her creative right brain drowning out the logical left brain side that said you really need to know to whom Harry sells your work. Just in case…
Well, just in case just happened, and as Amy was going to say when she learned about this, she’s clueless.
Glenda finally stood, her legs cramped from sitting on the sofa, bent over the small table. Her eyes unfocused, her inner thoughts jumbled, she roamed her studio apartment, making her way by feeling a counter top here, a chair back there. Her hand came to rest on a box of supplies she’d just charged to the one credit card she owned. Geez, a couple of hundred in there that wouldn’t last long as much as she painted. Leaning against the chair were four large white canvasses. Another smooth hundred. The sudden thought of debts mounting and her work not going anywhere to bring in money cramped her stomach. Bile rose in her throat and she swallowed hard several times to keep from vomiting all over her work table. She left her work area and mumbled her way passed tables and cabinets, chairs and bookshelves then past her desk where her computer sat in dark screen sympathy.
She flopped back on the sofa, cut a glance to the table and noted the letter was still there. For some reason, she’d hoped the paper delivering the bad news had been a figment of her imagination. But no, it laid there looking as crumpled as it had when she left minutes before.
What Glenda needed was someone to help shoulder this bad news.
Jordan was out. He was so head over heels in love with Bradley they both had problems concentrating on anything but each other. Thankfully both were solid businessmen so their work didn’t suffer, but helping Glenda out of her predicament wasn’t something she wanted to put on their lust-filled plate.
She ran a hand over her face then leaned her head back on the rounded edge of the sofa. No double about it, for clear thinking she needed her best friend, Amy. Glenda knew Amy would once more dig at her for not being more a part of her art business with Harry Digger. She’d reiterate that Glenda was once again clueless.
No matter.
She was stupid not to take active part in what earned her bread and butter. She was oblivious as to what to do next. She was sooo in need of a friend and a robust margarita right now.
* * * *
“I won’t say it. You already know what I’m thinking,” Amy said quietly as she leaned both elbows on the booth table and sipped a tiny bit of golden ‘rita.