The Warm Embrace of Love

Sometime when you're looking for love it's right under your nose.

Thank you Brian and Robert for your helpful suggestions.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters are 18 years or older when in sexual situations.

This story borrows one of the main characters, Jonathan David Thornhill, affectionately known as "Skeet," from "The Perfect Season." Skeet is a widower in his 40's, a former University of North Carolina star left tackle, 6'4", trim with salt and pepper hair.

Prologue

Everyone's entitled to fall in love, right? Woe is the person that never experienced the joys of love. So many descriptions. For me? It's a sweet, enveloping feeling, like being wrapped in a thick, fuzzy blanket. You want to push yourself deep into it. To get hopelessly lost in it.

I was once in the warm embrace of love. My wife of 15 years passed away over 10 years ago, leaving me to my work as cold comfort. I did suffer through an infatuation with Mia, a woman much younger than me [ed. note, see "The Perfect Season"], and that episode hurt me deeply, although ultimately I got over it and now enjoy a strong relationship with Mia and her wife Megan (who is still one of my executive assistants).

I hungered for the feeling again. But how do you find true love again when you're in the office practically 24/7?

Chapter One

The Coerced Promise

Do you know any workaholics?

You know, the guy that's always in the office when you go home - after you think it's late.

I'm one of those guys. And you know what's stupid about it? I own the company. I should be paying someone else to work late. I should be enjoying life. Except that I don't know how. So maybe that's one of my many excuses for working all the time. I don't know what else to do with my time.

I was forty-two when I had my epiphany. No, I'm not going to tell you now. That'd spoil the story. But for forty-one years my eyes were on one prize. To make money - lots of it. I started my own company -almost twenty years ago, building it from two to eighty-seven employees.

The material stuff? Yeah, I had all that. The fancy sports cars, the clothes, the big house. Those trinkets didn't really hold my interest. Not really. I'd have some fun, then get bored, looking for the next thing.

And women? Of course I didn't have just one girlfriend, I had several. But none were serious, and none crossed enough hurdles to make the dreaded meeting with my mother. I must confess I've always been awkward around women and having lost Caroline and then getting unexpectedly back into circulation was an adjustment I just never successfully made. Even though I'm great in the board room, I'm not quite as polished in social situations, nor have I been particularly good in managing my mother.

Now my mother would be a long story in and of itself. Suffice it to say that if you searched "piece of work" in Wikipedia it'd show a picture of my mother. My father died young at age 55. My mother had a number of suitors, any one of which would have been a fine match. But my mother turned them all down. Did she do it just to spite me? She would never admit it. I guess I'd be an ingrate to deny credit to my mother. She did encourage me to start my own venture capital firm and even lent me a good portion of my seed capital. I do see her every week for dinner. She cooks, I eat, and she interrogates me.

The year I turned forty-two started the same as the previous one. Business was booming. I was clearing a cool seven figure salary. And experiencing the usual problems. I was having dinner at my mother's house, then almost a weekly occurrence.

"So how goes it these days?" my mom asked as she placed a sizable roast chicken on the table.

I eyed the obscenely large bird. "So when are the other six people showing up?"

That drew a smile from my mother. "It's all for you."

I leaned forward and sliced a big hunk of the breast off, sliding it on my plate. "It's going well. We closed a couple deals last quarter and managed to negotiate a credit line that is 50 basis points lower. But I got this pesky employment tax audit going on. What a pain in the ass. Something about a few independent contractors I hired to work on my latest deal. I had to let my accounting manager go last year and my company's tax compliance hasn't been up to snuff. And I've got a dispute with our landlord over who's responsible for paying for the repairs to our tenth floor data center. Stupid ass maintenance person spilled a cup of coffee into a control panel for the data center."

I decided to change the subject. "What about you? Are you seeing anyone?"

My mom showed surprise on her face. "I thought I was the one asking the questions."

"Well, it doesn't seem like you're being serious about finding someone. You're still an attractive woman and there's still a lot of living for you to do. You're only sixty-two." And I was right about that. My mom still had an attractive figure. She had let her hair go gray, but it was an elegant look for her. She was intelligent and fun. She would hold her tongue for no one. That went double when she spoke to me.

"I'll let you know when I'm serious about someone. Now let's get back to my favorite topic - you. You took the question out of my mouth. Are you seeing anyone?"

I drew a long breath and went through the collection of women that I was seeing on a casual basis. Should I subject any one of them to my mom's probing? Discretion was called for. "No, not now."

My mom's eyes narrowed. "Really? A good looking forty-one year old man? Bullshit. I cooked you a nice dinner. Give me some information, and now."

It's too bad my mom wasn't in the CIA. They could have done away with all of those "enhanced" interrogation techniques. All they needed was my mother, a chicken dinner, and her glare. The most hardened criminal would spill his guts to her.

I made a snap judgment on who to give up first. "Terri. I'm still seeing her."

"Terri? Is that one of the women on your outside legal team? You showed me a picture of her sometime back, isn't that right?"

I wasn't going to get anything past my mom. I think she has an archive of everything I've ever told her. "That's right."

"She's a lovely girl. Why don't you bring her over for dinner?"

"No. I don't think we're ready for that." I meant that. I liked Terri. I didn't want to subject her to my mom's withering questioning.

"Look. I know what you're thinking. I won't scare her away. I'll be on my best behavior. I just want to see who my baby is dating. Can't you give your mother that small measure of satisfaction? Don't forget I gave birth to you."

Jesus. My mother pulled out the "I gave birth to you card." She wasn't going to give up on this one.

"All right. I'll ask Terri over. But you have to promise me that you'll be nice and won't ask her a thousand questions."

My mom's face softened into that "You're a good boy" look. "I promise. I'll limit it to no more than a hundred."

"Mom, I'm serious. No interrogation."

She held up her hands in surrender. "I'm just your sweet mother. You don't need to worry about me."

I laughed. "That's all I do about you. Don't forget, I've known you all of my life."

We finished the dinner, which was great. I had three helpings and didn't do it to please her. I was hungry and it was delicious. I helped her with the dishes and then got my coat to leave.

As I was standing in the doorway she kissed me on the cheek. "Go and make your mother proud."

I took one step out the door and then turned around. "I've been doing that for forty-one years."

She smiled and closed the door.

I walked to my car, wondering what I had gotten myself into. It had been a month of Sundays since I brought a woman home for a dinner with mom. I slid into my Jaguar F-Type convertible. It was my new favorite. Yep, the supercharged V6 in a 6 speed. Carpathian gray, a darker shade of gray that speaks of rain slickened roads and moonless nights. I always enjoyed the throaty growl when I started it. I put the top down and enjoyed the drive back to my house, all the while thinking about how I was going to break the news to Terri.

Chapter Two

The Dinner Invitation

"Your mother? Are we getting serious now after two years?" Terri was a bit flabbergasted by the dinner invitation.

"I panicked. My mom cornered me." I stared at my phone. That sounded like a cowardly answer.

"So we're not getting serious?" Shit. Now she cornered me. Was there a good answer to this question?

"Ummm. Let's just say that we're taking our relationship to the next level." That sounded good.

Terri was a seasoned attorney. Her bullshit meter went off. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that I want to see more of you."

There was a pause. The wheels were turning on the other end of the line. "OK. I'll bite. When did you want to do this?" Her voice sounded cautious. This conversation was out of character for me. She knew it and I knew it.

"I'll have Vickie set it up and get back to you."

"OK. I'll see you soon."

I stepped out of office and waved my executive assistant, Vickie, to come inside. Vickie was on another call and signaled that it would be a minute. Megan, my other executive assistant, was on maternity leave. She and her wife Mia had adopted a baby a few weeks back so she was going to be out of the office at least eight weeks. I went back behind my desk and moments later she walked in and closed the door behind her. Vickie was a 20-something who was wise beyond her years. She had fine reddish brown hair with a slight wave to it, a cherubic face, a buxom figure that filled out her business appropriate suit and slender legs accentuated by her omnipresent four inch stiletto heels.

"What's up?" she asked as she sat on the corner of my desk, crossing her legs to give me a good look to her mid-thigh. It was a good view.

"I need you to set up a dinner next week with my mom, Terri and me."

She raised her eyebrows. "Getting serious, are we?"

"Vickie, give me a break. I've already been interrogated by my mother and questioned by Terri." It was a plea rather than an order.

She decided to be merciful. "Fine ... fine. I can draw my own conclusions. I'll set it up."

I told her, "You're a sweetheart," as she hopped off desk and made her way to the door. "Let me know as soon as you know."

She looked over her shoulder. "Save it for next week. You're going to need it." She gave me a devilish smile and shut the door.

She reopened it moments later. "I forgot to tell you. The auditor is in the lobby waiting to see you."

Fuck, just what I needed. I had to figure out how to handle this dinner with my mother and Terri and then the auditor. Does everything in life have to be this complicated?

I poked my head out the door. I asked Vickie to retrieve the auditor and bring her to my office. I pulled a stack of papers on my desk and started going through them. I wanted to look busy when she showed up. Within a minute there was a rap on the door. "Come in," I called. The door opened and Vickie walked in, followed by the auditor. I was picturing a balding man in his 50's. Her body peeked out from behind Vickie. It was a blonde with gorgeous thick, wavy hair. Blue eyes of course, the color of a deep lake. She was wearing a business suit, well-tailored, the skirt cut a couple inches above her knee and pumps with a low heel. It was clear that there was something special under that suit.

"Well, I'll leave the two of you." Vickie ducked out of my office.

The auditor remained standing as I tried to focus my eyes on hers instead of on her body. I was certain I was unsuccessful. She cleared her throat. I snapped to attention. "Yes, you are?"

"May I be seated?" she asked in a voice dripping with false politeness.

"Of course, of course," I said as I pointed to the guest chair she was about to occupy. I was starting out this meeting looking like a complete jerk.

"I'm Rachel Parkside. I'm a Senior Auditor IV for the State Department of Revenue. I 'm here to audit your employment tax returns. You've been expecting me." It was curt and to the point. I liked that.

"Yes, we have. We received a letter about a week ago telling us an auditor would visit."

"Yes, given the time periods we've selected and the employees and contractors we'd like to sample I'm anticipating a full week of work on site." Shit, that was not a statement I liked. A week? How much trouble were we in? I knew there was going to be repercussions from my departed accounting manager's incompetence.

I looked at her again, now seated but much closer. She was hot. I was trying to imagine what she'd look like in a sexy top. The image was making me smile.

"Was what I was saying funny?" Ms. Parkside asked sarcastically.

I wiped the smirk off my face. "Sorry, I was thinking about something I was going to do after work." This was the best lie I could come up with on short notice.

"And what was that?" I didn't have to answer that question, but given my rocky start I thought I should give it a shot.

"I'm going out on a date with my girlfriend Terri, if you must know." That was a better quality lie.

She looked at me sternly. "You were thinking about me, weren't you?"

Jesus Christ. This woman could read my mind. I felt a sudden urge to run. Somehow my courage kept me glued to my chair. She said it with such certainty that I figured it was futile to resist. "I was. I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"Sorry for ... sorry for telling you something that wasn't true." So carefully worded was my response.

"You mean sorry for lying to me." She waited for me to answer. It was an uncomfortable silence.

"Yes, I'm sorry I lied to you." I had just committed a cardinal sin to a tax auditor. I had admitted that I was capable of lying. But somehow I wasn't horrified. She was molding me with her questioning. To what end I did not know.

"Let's just hope you didn't lie on your employment tax returns." Ouch, a stab right to the heart.

"My accounting manager prepared them. I'm sure they're fine." What I really meant to say is "My idiot accounting manager prepared them so I'm pretty damn sure that they're fucked up."

"I'll be the judge of that. It was good meeting you Mr. Mr ..."

"Mr. Thornhill, but my friends call me Skeet."

"Really?"

"Yes, yes. I got the nickname when I was a kid. I got it from being an expert on the skeet range with a 12 gauge."

She did not seem to be amused by my nickname or the back story. "Sorry, I'll go find Vickie and she can show me to my temporary office. Thank you." She walked to the door and opened it, but instead of walking out she paused for five heartbeats and then looked over her shoulder. "You can call me Rachel." I could swear her eyes twinkled when she said it.

I must have been star struck because I didn't hear the alarm on my computer go off. Crap! I had a meeting with the building's lawyer over the damage caused by their maintenance man. Fuck, I forgot that Terri was going to be representing my company. I didn't have the time to set up the dinner with my mother before I saw her. I ran out of my office, trying to put on my sport coat while I was running.

CRUNCH. I walked straight into Ms. Parkside, who was unceremoniously put on her backside. Fortunately she wasn't carrying anything, like a hot cup of coffee. I didn't fall and caught myself. "Ms. Parkside ... I mean Rachel. I'm so sorry I ran into you," I said breathlessly.

Her legs were bent as she sat. Her skirt had ridden up so I could practically see her panties. I couldn't drag my eyes away from her legs.

"Enjoying the view?" She glared at me. Honest to God laser beams.

"Rachel, you've taught me to be truthful to you. I am enjoying the view."

Her face softened. "Here, this is for you." She tugged on her skirt so that her panties were exposed. They were white and they were frilly. There was a lump in my pants. I extended my hand to her, only accentuating the growing bulge in my pants.

"Thank you," she said sweetly as I pulled her up.

"It's all my fault. I'm sorry." I was contrite as could be.

"I accept your apology." She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. Vickie was watching the whole time. I could see her grinning. Rachel bent over to retrieve her purse, giving me one more unobstructed view of her delectable ass.

She went off with Vickie, the two of them chatting as if they were old high school friends. They were probably talking about me. I went to the conference room where Terri was standing next to the conference table with her hands on her hips. There were three other people sitting at the conference room table, looking bored.

"You're late," she said, stating the obvious.

"I'm so sorry. I ran into someone I knew on the way here." That was literally true.

"Let me introduce you to the folks sitting at the table. There's Kendall Hunter, the landlord's attorney, and two people from the management office, Jack Brandon and Kerri Gertmanian. I scanned the group. Jack and Kerri looked pleasant enough. Kendall was a thirty-ish brunette with emerald green eyes. She was wearing a black jacket and a cream colored blouse that was cut just low enough to see a hint of her impressive cleavage. This was going to be a tough meeting.

I sat down and Terri slid a folder of papers in front of me. "It's the damage assessment prepared by the building." Then she leaned over and whispered, "Did you settle on a date for the dinner?"

I shook my head. Fuck, she's on this one. She thinks we're getting serious.

Kendall kicked off the meeting. "As you'll see from the damage assessment, the coffee only shorted out a small amount of equipment. The rest of the damage was caused by faulty wiring that your electrical contractor installed. The building is prepared to write you a check for $5,000 for their share of the damages."

I flipped through their report. She had accurately summarized their findings. The total repair bill was $75,000.

I was about to protest when Terri stepped in. "Mr. Thornhill finds your offer completely unacceptable. The wiring issue wouldn't have been relevant if the coffee hadn't been spilled on it. As I see it, both parties were equally at fault and each party should be responsible for half of the damages."

I couldn't have said it better myself. I guess that's why I have a lawyer.

"Nonsense. Our findings showed that your wiring would have failed soon enough. We're not going to pay for your defective workmanship." Kendall was staring at me when she said it. I was about to melt into those hauntingly beautiful emerald eyes.

Terri had the perfect response. "I've got a copy of the lease agreement, which by the way you drafted. It provides that in the event of a dispute between landlord and tenant, the matter goes to binding arbitration. Kendall, you know and I know that an impartial arbitrator will assign the fault to you, because your maintenance man was the proximate cause of the damages. Remember the "eggshell skull" case in law school?

I took a few law classes while I was in business school. The "eggshell skull" case held that you take your victim as you find him. If you happen to strike a man on the head and he has a particularly thin skull and he dies from his injury, you can't defend yourself by arguing a normal person would have easily withstood the blow. Terri had successfully parried the thrust.