CHAPTER SEVEN
Angelina had been tossing and turning for several hours. Her bed felt more like a torture rack with every passing minute. “I wouldn’t be surprised if I have bruises all over,” she muttered unhappily as she kicked off the sheets and sat up, sliding her feet onto the floor.
Unable to rein herself in, she sat down behind her computer. Krista’s comment about People magazine had put her brain on overdrive.
Feeling as if she were prying into a file marked “Private” she typed “Will Scott” into Google.
A few seconds later her screen was filled with listings for every kind of information imaginable—interviews, investor reports, gossip columns, and picture galleries.
Angelina’s head whirled. “He’s this famous?” She scrolled through endless links about Will and the multi-billion dollar company he owned.
She blew out a long breath. Suddenly she saw what a complete idiot she must have looked like to him, asking if he programmed computers for a living.
She was angry at herself and even angrier at Will for not letting her in on his little secret. Of course, she had to admit that if she kept up a little more with the news or current magazines, she would have recognized him immediately.
Against her better judgment, she clicked on the top link for a recent interview. “I met Will Scott, CEO of PTI, on a weekend after his morning run. As he walked up to me, hand outstretched, his muscles glistening in sweat, I found myself faltering as an objective journalist. I promise you this, one look in those blue eyes and the hardest soul would have been utterly lost too.”
Angelina snorted and looked for something more substantial. Finding a link for another interview, she read: “Rarely in my twenty years as a financial writer have I met a CEO more charming than Will Scott. Which begs the question: What is he hiding?”
Angelina nearly laughed out loud at the preposterous statement. Still unable to control her wayward curiosity, she clicked on a link titled, “Will Scott: Fan Page and Photo Gallery.”
Staring her in the face were page after page of pictures of Will with women who all looked the same: Big breasts, long legs, blond hair, beautiful faces.
All of her old feelings of inadequacy bubbled to the surface. She was twenty-one again and had just been told, “Did you actually think I’d be serious with a girl like you?”
Feeling hollow inside, she got up without turning off the computer, walked like a zombie back to her bedroom, crawled under the covers, and fell into a fitful sleep.
Images of Will surrounded by a harem of supermodels danced through her head until daylight.
* * *
Will woke up early, went for a jog, then came home and reached into the refrigerator for some OJ. The digital clock on his microwave read 8 am and he decided it was late enough to call Angelina.
He picked up his phone, but before he could press the talk button, it rang. He checked the caller ID, hoping it was Angelina, but instead he was surprised to read his mother’s phone number on the small display.
“Mom?”
“Hi, honey. Did I call too early?”
“No, of course not. What’s wrong?”
“First, promise me you won’t get upset`.”
“Mom...” Will didn’t like the sound of this one bit.
“Well, I was doing a little painting.”
“At your easel?”
Joyce sighed. “No. I thought the window trim out front needed a touch up.”
Will tried not to panic. He had a tendency to be over-protective when it came to his mother, but he couldn’t help it. She was all the family he had.
“The ladder slipped and I had a teeny little fall.”
“Where are you? On the ground? Is anything broken?
“Honey, stop freaking out. Mary from next door heard the fall and drove me to the hospital.
It’s just a small fracture in my hip, so-”
“I’ll be there this afternoon. I'll call you back as soon as I've made the travel arrangements.”
Will immediately arranged for his pilot to be at the airport in thirty minutes. He would call Angelina once his mother’s situation was under control.
For the next several hours he was on the phone, either talking with the best doctors in the country about flying them out to the small hospital in New York, or dealing with urgent issues at PTI.
By the time he got to the hospital, he was exhausted and frustrated.
His mother was propped up in bed sketching when he walked in. She looked up from her drawing and held her arms out, overjoyed to see him.
“Come give me a hug!” Joyce held him tight for a moment. “Well if you aren’t just as gorgeous as ever.” Peering at him more closely, she added, “Definitely tired, though. Anything you want to talk about?”
He groaned. He had forgotten about her eagle eye. Hoping to deflect her, he said, “I’m here to talk about you. I’ve called several specialists from New York City and-”
She held up a hand to halt him. “I know you want the best care for me, honey, and I appreciate it, but I’m just fine here with the local doctors.” Will opened his mouth to protest. “I won’t hear any more about it. The doctors have been wonderful and I’ve seen the x-rays. All I’ve got is a slight hip fracture.”
“But Mom-”
“My favorite son just flew all the way out here to see me and I don’t want to argue with him.”
“I’m your only son.”
Joyce grinned merrily. “That’s right, isn’t it? So then, let’s talk about you.”
He pulled up the nearest chair and plopped down into it, knowing he wasn’t prepared to deal with Sergeant Mom in his current state of mind. Somewhat sarcastically, he said, “Would it help if I just gave you my diary?”
“I didn’t know you kept a diary?”
“I don’t.”
His mother’s peals of laughter could be heard down the hall, which brought in the troops. Half an hour later Will was sure he had met every doctor, nurse and secretary who worked in the hospital.
He was too tired for all of the hand-shaking and small talk, but it was a heck of a lot better than the maternal inquisition.
When the meet-and-greet had ended, Joyce said, “What do you bet every mother with an unmarried daughter within fifty miles is getting on the phone right about now?” Seeing his look of alarm, she said, “Sorry honey. Word travels fast when an unmarried, good looking, successful man comes to town.”
Taking pity on her son, certain that the troubled look on his handsome face had something to do with a woman – and that there would be plenty of time to get to the bottom of everything tomorrow –she said, “Why don’t you head out to the cabin before the wanna-be-blushing-brides show up? The guest room is all made up for you.” Glancing out the window she said, “I’d hurry to the house if I were you. I think I see the young ladies arriving already.”
Will grabbed his car keys and gave her one last peck on the cheek. “I’ll be back first thing in the morning.” He raced out to his rental car, pretending he didn’t hear any of the women calling after him.
* * *
Angelina just barely made it to the end of an awful day.
Frankly, she was surprised by her own behavior. She had never been a bitter or jealous person, not to mention the fact that she was the one who had done Susan wrong, not the other way around.
But now, the dam on her feelings for Will seemed to have broken and she couldn’t figure out how to rebuild it.
Hoping to clear her heart and soul by working up a sweat in her garden, she grabbed her clogs and gloves from the closet, stripped off her professional clothes, pulled on her comfortable, faded gardening duds, and headed out to the backyard.
“Weeds. Perfect.” She bent down and started yanking them out. With wild abandon she weeded like never before.
Just as she was laying into another patch of weeds, she heard the phone ring and ran inside, kicking off her clogs. She tried to convince herself she was anxious to get the call because it might be an important client, but knew she was hoping it was Will on the line.
“Angelina?”
Hearing Susan’s perky voice on the other end of the line, Angelina stifled a groan and pulled off her gardening gloves.
“Susan, it’s so nice to hear from you,” she lied.
“I wanted to call to thank you for working so closely with Will.”
Angelina gulped in a mouthful of air and choked. She had never dreamed that her life could turn into such a ridiculous soap opera.
“His office looks better than I’ve ever seen it before. But that’s not really why I’m calling. I hired you because of your reputation as a Feng Shui Cupid to reunite me with Will, as you well know, but I wanted to let you know that I’ve changed my mind.”
“You've changed your mind?” Angelina echoed. “Why?”
“I've finally accepted that I'm not the woman of Will’s dreams. And he isn't the man in mine.”
Angelina’s mouth had fallen open and she was completely speechless. “I, uh...” she began, but thankfully, Susan was on one of her rolls.
“And Angelina, it’s okay. For the first time, I have a feeling that Will is going to be really happy. Even if it’s not with me. In fact,” Susan added, “I’d like to have you come over to my house for a consultation. It’s time for me to finally get on with my own life.”
Moments later, as Angelina hung up with a new consultation penciled into her calendar, all of her preconceived ideas about Susan had flown out the window. Susan certainly wasn’t the fly-by-night, ditzy blonde that she looked to be. Hidden beneath her surface perfection seemed to be a deeply intuitive heart.
Which then made Angelina wonder: If she'd been wrong about Susan, could she be wrong about Will too?