Six Of The Best Of Desire 2016

Carson put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and shook his head. “Not to worry. It did the trick, for now, at least. I wouldn’t count on him letting it go entirely. Like he said, he’s not that kind of man. Then again, who would want to compete with me for a woman’s affections?”

At that, Georgia giggled, and the tension of the moment slipped away. Thank goodness he hadn’t read more into her naming him as her lover. “Hopefully no one was listening in on the conversation. I’d hate for rumors to start about us.”

“Oh, I’d say half the room heard you blurt out my name, but don’t worry about the rumors. Your boss knows it isn’t true, and he’s the only one who can fire you.”

“I’m relieved to hear that. The last thing I want to do is put my position at the Newport Corporation in jeopardy.”

“Well, if nothing else, I hear Sutton has a position open,” he said with laughter lighting his eyes. “Come on,” Carson said, slipping a comforting arm around her shoulder to guide her into the crowd. “No more hiding in the corner. This is your party, too. Let’s celebrate.”

* * *

Carson never went into the office on a Saturday if he could avoid it. He always tried to make the most of his time away from work so he could have a life. Or at least, so he’d have the time to have a life when he actually decided to get around to it.

The Newport brothers passed that same work-life balance philosophy on to their employees. That was why Carson was so surprised to see a light on when he walked down the hallway. It was Georgia’s office.

Curious, he paused in the doorway, hoping not to scare her. She was working intently at her computer, probably not expecting anyone to appear suddenly. He took the quiet moment to admire her without her knowing it. There was just something so appealing about Georgia. Of course, she was the blonde bombshell that most men desired, but even the little things drew him to her. At the moment, he found the crease between her eyebrows as she concentrated on her work appealing.

Today her hair was in a casual ponytail, something she would never wear to the office on an average workday. She was wearing a tight-fitting T-shirt and jeans. Carson realized in that moment that he’d never seen Georgia look like this before. She was always so professional and put together, even on a casual Friday. He appreciated that about her, but she looked so much younger and more easygoing today.

“You know, it’s rude to stare.”

Busted. Carson grinned wide and met Georgia’s amused gaze. “I wasn’t expecting to see anyone here today. Nor did I think I’d find you in jeans.”

Georgia looked down self-consciously at herself. “Is that okay? I didn’t think anyone would see me. I’m usually here alone on the weekends.”

“It’s absolutely fine,” he said, although he was concerned by the rest of her response. “Are you here most weekends?”

“Yes. I like the quiet of the office. It lets me catch up on things and focus without calls or people coming by. I know the company is big on spending time with family, but I don’t have a family.”

Carson tried not to frown. He didn’t know much about Georgia. She was all work during business hours, so they hadn’t spent much time socializing. Her office was tidy and well decorated, but there weren’t any photos of family or friends on her desk or bookshelves. Now he knew why.

“What about you?” she asked. “Why are you in today? I thought after all that champagne last night that most people would be laid out until noon at least.”

He had woken with a slight headache, but nothing he couldn’t handle. As for why he was here, that was a good question. He’d gotten into his car, fully intending to drive to his mother’s home and make good on his promise to clean out the house. The next thing he knew, he was at work. “I thought I’d come in and check on some things.”

Georgia wrinkled her nose. “You’re avoiding something,” she said without a touch of doubt in her voice.

He sighed and slumped against her door frame. Was he that transparent? “I guess I am.”

“Anything I can help you with?”

Whereas he hadn’t been looking to drag anyone into the slog of work, he realized that he didn’t dread the task so much when he envisioned Georgia there with him. “No, no. You’ve probably got better things to do,” he argued.

“No, tell me,” Georgia insisted.

“I’m supposed to be cleaning out my mother’s house. I told Brooks and Graham that I’d go through everything and start getting it ready to sell. That’s where I intended to go today, but I ended up here instead. I don’t know why.”

“I can imagine that would be difficult,” she said. “Would you like me to go with you? I’d be happy to lend a hand. At the very least, I can offer moral support.”

It sounded great, but he still felt anxious about it. “Are you sure? Her house is about a half hour from here, up in Kenilworth.”

Georgia closed her laptop and stood up. She picked up her massive black purse and slung it over her arm. “I’m sure. Let’s go.”

He wasn’t going to argue with her. Without even making it as far as his own office, they turned around and headed back to the elevator.

They were on the expressway north before they spoke again. “So tell me,” Georgia began, “what’s going on here? I mean, if you don’t mind. I get the feeling this is about more than just sorting through your mother’s things.”

Carson gripped the leather-wrapped steering wheel and focused his gaze intently on the traffic ahead of him. “Do you really want to know my tragic life story?”

Georgia snorted delicately. “I think I can trump you on tragic life stories.”

“Tell me about you, then.” Carson was far more interested in Georgia’s life than he was in rehashing his own.

She shook her head adamantly. “Nope. I asked you first. And besides, this trip is about you. I need to know if I’m treading into a mine field here.”

His brothers wanted him to dig up the truth about their father. If she was going to be there helping him, she needed to know. “Okay,” he relented. “My mother is the only real family we ever had. Our aunt Gerty died a long time ago, and she wasn’t really related to us. Losing Mom, we lost any connection we have to our roots. It’s been a difficult realization for us all.”

“I understand what that can be like,” Georgia said without elaborating. “Did your mother ever speak about her family or your father to you?”

“Rarely, and when we pushed her, nothing she said was good. She insisted that our father was abusive and she ran away from him in the middle of the night when we were still babies. She never would tell us where we lived before, his name or anything about the past. She made it very clear that she didn’t want us to find him when we were older.”

“That must be frustrating for you all,” Georgia noted. “Wanting to belong, yet having that fear that the truth would be worse than being alone.”

“Exactly,” Carson said with surprise in his voice. He didn’t expect her to be able to understand it all so easily. “Brooks and Graham want me to look for clues in the house. They seem convinced that the answers are hidden away somewhere. I’m not so sure, but I told them I would look. It’s our last chance at the truth. The rest died with Mom.”

That was probably the hardest part. Carson had gotten the feeling that maybe one day their mother might tell them the rest of the story. They weren’t children anymore. She had nothing to fear from her past because the boys could protect her, no matter what. Cynthia probably thought she had time to share the whole tale about where they came from, and then it was stolen away in an instant.

“I’ll help you find out the truth,” Georgia said.

As Carson exited the expressway and headed toward the house in Kenilworth, he found himself nearly overwhelmed with gratitude that she was here with him. That she understood. “Thank you” was all he could verbalize.

“I don’t know my real family, either,” she offered. “I grew up in the Detroit foster care system because my mother was a teenage runaway. She got into drugs and a lot of other nasty things and they took me away. I have no idea who my father is or anything about my family. My father’s name was left off the birth certificate. I don’t even know for certain that my last name is really Adams. She could’ve just picked that name out of the sky. Not having that link to your past and where you come from can make you feel like discarded paper drifting on the wind.”

Carson was surprised by her confession, but it made a lot of the pieces of the Georgia puzzle fall into place. Maybe that’s why he was so drawn to her. They were both lost, anchorless. “Have you kept contact with your mother at all over the years?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head and looking down into her hands folded in her lap. “I haven’t seen her since I was three and social services came for me. I wouldn’t really even know what she looked like if my caseworker, Sheila, hadn’t given me an old photo of her. I keep it in my purse.” Georgia reached for her bag and pulled out the photo.

Carson turned in to his mother’s driveway just as she handed over the picture. He put the car in Park and studied the worn photograph. The blonde girl in the picture was holding a towheaded toddler. She looked very young, not more than fifteen or sixteen. The late ’80s influences were evident in her big hair and heavy makeup, which didn’t hide the dark circles under her eyes or the hollowed-out cheeks. There were purple track marks on the girl’s arm.

“I think she looked a lot like me, but thinner. Harder. There wasn’t much life in her eyes by that point. Aside from that, I don’t have any memories of her that really stayed with me. I just remember the homes.”

In that moment, Carson was extremely thankful to his mother for everything she’d done for him and his brothers. They hadn’t had much, but she’d done all she could to keep them safe and healthy. Georgia hadn’t been so lucky. He handed the photo back to her. “Did you move around a lot?”

Georgia chuckled bitterly as she put the picture away. “You could say that. It was a blessing and a curse. If the family was horrible, I had the solace of knowing I wouldn’t be there long. If they were amazing and kind, I would cry every night knowing that eventually I would have to leave. The only constant in my life was Sheila. In a way, she became my family. She’s the one that helped me get into college by helping me write a million scholarship essays. She insisted that I make something of myself.”

“That was my aunt Gerty for us. She took us in after her husband died and made us her family. When she passed away, she left enough money for my brothers and me to go to college and start our business. Our mother insisted that we become the best version of ourselves we could possibly be. Without that kick start, I’m not sure what would’ve become of us. Everything we are is because of my mother and Gerty.”

Georgia reached out in that moment and took his hand. Her touch was warm and enveloping, like a comforting blanket. They sat for a moment in the driveway, silently acknowledging all that they’d shared.

His mother’s home stood like a monolith in front of them. Inside were all the memories, secrets and emotions of her life. Going inside felt like disturbing her grave somehow.

“Are you ready?” Georgia prompted him after a few minutes.

“No, but let’s go inside anyway.”

They climbed from his Range Rover and walked together toward the front door. Carson unlocked it and they stepped into the tile foyer. The house had always seemed so warm and welcoming before, but now it was cold and silent like a tomb. His mother had given it life.

“Where should we start?”

Carson looked around and pointed toward the staircase. “Let’s focus on her bedroom. If she was keeping any kind of secrets, I think that’s where they’d be.”

“Okay.” Georgia started for the stairs, but paused and turned back when Carson didn’t follow her. Her gray eyes questioned him.

Thank goodness she was here. He wouldn’t even have made it this far without her prompting. It was better this way. Get it done, get it over with. If Carson didn’t find anything about their family history, so be it. At least he and his brothers could move on with their lives. “I’m coming.”

Georgia reached out her hand to him until he took it. “My past may be buried forever, but we’re going to find your family, Carson. I can feel it.”

Five

Carson was getting discouraged. They’d gone through almost everything in his mother’s bedroom. Drawer by drawer, box by box, they’d sorted through for any personal effects and then bagged the remaining items up. Some clothes and accessories were for donation, some things were for the dump, and others, like her jewelry, were to be split up among the brothers.

Hours had gone by without a single discovery of interest. No skeletons under the bed, no dark secrets hidden away in the underwear drawer. They’d checked the pocket of every coat and the contents of each old purse. Nothing but used tubes of lipstick and some faded receipts. All that was left was a collection of shoe boxes on the very top shelf of the closet.

Carson eyed the boxes with dismay. They were likely to find nothing but shoes in them. Most of the boxes seemed like fairly new acquisitions from her life after he and his brothers had made their fortune—Stuart Weitzman, Jimmy Choo, Christian Louboutin... But one box caught his eye. On the very top of the stack, in the far back corner, was a ratty old box with a faded and curling Hush Puppies label on it. There was no doubt that box had been around in his mother’s closet for a very long time. Maybe even thirty years or so...

“There’s a shoe box in the very back corner that looks promising,” Carson said. Looking around, he was annoyed to find that it was out of his reach even with his height and long arms. “How can my mother not own a stepladder or something? I guess I’ll run downstairs and get a chair.”

“No,” Georgia insisted. “I’m sure I can reach it. I just need you to give me a boost.”

Carson looked at her with concern. “A boost?”

“Yes, just make a step for me to put my foot in your hands and boost me up. I’ll be able to reach it.”

It would be just as easy to go get a chair, but he wasn’t going to argue with her. He wanted into that box as soon as possible. Crouching over, Carson laced his fingers together and made a steady perch for Georgia’s shoe.

“One, two, three,” she counted, hoisting herself up.

Carson held her up and patiently waited for news. “Can you reach it?”

“It’s just beyond me. Hold on. Wait... I’ve...almost...got it!” A moment later, it came tumbling off the top shelf along with several others. Georgia lost her balance and dropped from his hands, colliding with his chest.

“Whoa there,” he said, catching her before she could bounce off him and hit the floor. He’d instinctively wrapped his arms around her, holding her body tight against his own. The contact sent a surge of need through his veins, making him hyperaware of her breasts molded to his chest. Every muscle in his body tightened, his pulse quickening in his throat as he held her. “Are you okay?” he asked as he swallowed hard.

She looked up at him with momentarily dazed eyes. “Yeah... I mean yes. I wasn’t expecting it to all rain down at once.” She pressed gently but insistently against his chest. Carson relinquished his hold and she took a step back. He breathed in deeply to cool his arousal and tried to focus on their discovery instead.

Georgia looked down at the floor of the closet and the mess they’d made. There were several pairs of shoes scattered around the floor. The shoe box they’d sought out, the oldest one in the bunch with the peeling Hush Puppies label, had come open, too. As expected, there was not a thirty-year-old pair of shoes in it. Instead the paper contents had scattered everywhere, making the closet look as if a blizzard had struck.

They both crouched down and started sorting through the mess. Carson found a few pictures bundled together with a piece of twine. He untied them and sifted through the images. A couple were of him and his brothers when they were small. Things like Christmas morning and school pageants. There was one of his mother when she was very young, maybe even a teenager. After that were a few with his mother and some other people he didn’t recognize. He flipped the pictures over, but there was no writing on the back, no clue as to whether the other people were family or friends.

Setting them aside, he picked up some old newspaper clippings. Most of the pieces were about a missing girl named Amy Jo Turner. He scanned one of the articles looking for clues about his mother, but all it talked about was the circumstances surrounding the teenager’s disappearance and how the authorities presumed the worst. Her boat had been found drifting empty in a lake. A single shoe and the sweater she was last seen in had washed up a mile away about a week later.

The header was for a paper in Houston, Texas, and the dates were all in the early ’80s before Brooks and Graham were born. Their mother had never mentioned Houston, much less that she might have lived there at some point. Who was Amy Jo Turner? What did any of this have to do with his mother? It was important enough for her to keep the clippings for thirty years, but he didn’t understand why.

“Carson,” Georgia said, drawing his eye from the photos. “Look at this.”

He took a discolored envelope from her hand and unfolded the letter inside it. It was a handwritten letter addressed to his mother. Impatient, he skimmed through the words to the bottom where it was signed “Yours always, S.” Returning to the top, he read through it again, looking for clues to the identity of the writer that he might have missed the first time.

Dearest Cynthia,

You don’t know how hard it’s been to be away from you. I know that I’ve put myself in this position, and I can’t apologize enough. I seem to destroy everything that I love. You and the boys are probably better off without me. I hope that one day you can forgive me for what I’ve done to you. Know that no matter how much time has passed, my feelings for you will never fade. You have been, and always will be, the one true love of my life.

Yours always, S

That was totally and completely useless. All Carson got from it was an initial. He flipped over the envelope to look at the postmark. The date sent a sudden surge of adrenaline through him. It was a Chicago postmark dated seven months before he was born. That meant something. Could this lover, this “S,” actually be his father? Why couldn’t the man have written his name and made it easier on them all?

“What do you think?” Georgia asked tentatively after a few minutes.

Turning the letter over in his hand, Carson ran his gaze over the words one last time. “I think the person who wrote this letter is my father. It’s the biggest lead I’ve ever had and yet somehow, I don’t feel like I’m any closer to finding out his identity than I was before. What good is one initial?”

“It’s more than you had before,” she said in an upbeat tone.

Carson wasn’t feeling quite as optimistic. “Anything else interesting?” he asked.

Georgia shuffled through some more envelopes that were bound together with a rubber band. “These are old pay stubs. She’s kept them going back for years and years. Other than that, not much, sorry.”

Carson nodded and started putting everything back into the shoe box. “That’s okay. We found something. That should make my brothers happy. I’ll hand this over to them and let them analyze to their hearts’ content. Let’s pack up the last of these shoes and call it a day.”

They slowly gathered up all the bags and boxes and hauled them downstairs to the foyer. When he looked down at his watch, Carson realized he’d kept Georgia here far longer than he’d expected to. “Wow, it’s late. I’m sorry about that. I hijacked your whole Saturday.”

Georgia set down a bag of clothes and shrugged. “I would’ve spent it working anyway. I told you I’d help. I didn’t put a time limit on it.”

“Well, thank you. I got through that faster with you here. I might have given up long before I found that box. There’s still more to go through, but I think what I was looking for is right here,” he said, holding the old shoe box. “I’d like to make it up to you. May I buy you dinner?”

Georgia studied his face for a moment, her pert nose wrinkling as she thought it over. Finally she said, “How do you feel about Chinese takeout?”

* * *

“Can you pass me the carton of fried rice?”

Georgia accepted the container and used some chopsticks to shovel a pile out onto her plate beside her sesame chicken and spring roll. The Chinese place a block from her loft was the best in town. She ate there at least three times a week. Carson hadn’t seemed too convinced about her dinner suggestion at first. He must have wanted to take her someplace nice with linen napkins or something, but she’d insisted.

They drove back downtown to her place, then walked up the street together to procure a big paper bag full of yum and grab a six-pack of hard cider from the corner store. That was her idea, too. Lobster and expensive wine were nice, but honestly, nothing topped a couple of cartons of Jade Palace delicacies eaten around the coffee table.

“Wow,” Carson said after taking a bite of beef and broccoli. “This is really good.”

“I told you. It’s all amazing. And really, you have to eat it while you sit on the floor. It adds to the experience.”

Carson chuckled at her and returned to his food. She’d expected him to turn his nose up at eating on the floor around her coffee table, but he’d gone with it. She had a dining room table, but she almost never ate there. It was the place where she worked on her laptop, not ate.

“I lived with a family for a while that ate every meal around the coffee table,” Georgia explained. “They didn’t watch television or anything. It was just where they liked to be together. There were about six of us who would crowd around it and eat every night, talking and laughing. I really enjoyed that.”

“Those moments are the best ones,” Carson agreed. “There are some days when I’d give up every penny I’ve ever earned to be a kid again, watching old movies and eating popcorn with Aunt Gerty and Mom. My brothers and I get together and do it every few weeks, but it’s not the same.”

Georgia watched her boss’s face softly crumble into muted sadness as he stared down at his plate, shoveled some chicken into his mouth and chewed absentmindedly. She knew what it was like to miss people that you could never have back in your life. She’d always consoled herself with the idea that there was something better in her future. “You’ll make new moments,” she reassured him. “And one day when you have a family of your own, your children will treasure the little things you share with them just the same.”

“That feels like it won’t happen for decades. Honestly, just the idea of a family of my own seems impossible. I work so much. And even if I found the perfect woman, I’d feel like a fraud somehow. How can I be a father when I don’t know what it’s like to have one?”

“You’ll figure it out. Just start by being there and you’ll already have both our fathers beat. You’re a good guy, Carson. I have no doubt that it will come naturally to you.”

“What about you? You’re not going to have a family of your own while you spend all your free time at work.”

Georgia knew that. A part of her counted on it. What good was starting a relationship when it was just going to end? People always left her—life had proven that much—so she kept her relationships casual and avoided more disappointment. “Right now, the Newport Corporation and its employees are my family. The only family I’ve ever had. For now, that’s enough for me.”

“So you’re not dating anyone?” Carson asked.

Georgia’s gaze met his with curiosity. Was he really fishing for information or just being polite? “Haven’t you heard? Carson Newport is my lover.” She punctuated the sentence by popping the last bite of food into her mouth and putting her chopsticks across the plate in disgust. She could really put her foot in her mouth sometimes.