When I’m With You (Indigo) (2 page)

On this hot Thursday afternoon, the temperature had hit triple digits. She regretted the decision to put the top up on her merlot-red convertible before starting home and would’ve made a deal with the devil himself at that moment to turn on the car’s air conditioner. Despite being mechanically inept, even she knew that turning on the air would cause the car to flat line. Perspiration plastered her shoulder-length hair to the back of her neck like Saran Wrap. She fumbled in her purse and found her mother-of-pearl comb. In between gear changes, she piled the mass of wavy, black curls on top of her head and pushed the comb through.

Her afternoon had ended in a futile attempt to secure the funding needed to keep the doors open at the East Oakland Youth Center. As the center’s executive director, part of her responsibilities included fundraising and grant writing. She did it well by relying on the skills she’d obtained working as the CEO at a corporate philanthropy foundation overseeing hundreds of grants each year. It was the first day of July, and short of a miracle, the center would close by year’s end. After receiving a call from the associate of a wealthy philanthropist who’d expressed interest in funding the center, she’d traveled to Concord for their meeting, only to learn after arriving that the meeting had been cancelled.

To say she was annoyed was an understatement. She’d driven out to no-man’s-land for what? she mused. A cancelled meeting due to an emergency? An argument with an overly secretive receptionist named Sherry who wouldn’t reveal the philanthropist’s identity? Plus, she’d skipped lunch. Her slender fingers drummed against the steering wheel.

“Yeah, I just bet you had an emergency.”

With just a few feet to go before she was out of the tunnel, the car backfired and her frustration escalated. “Darn it. What else can go wrong?”

She wasn’t sure how, but as she did in all the other difficult times in her life, she made it through. Pulling off at the first exit, she spotted a gas station a few feet away. No sooner had she turned into the station’s entrance than the engine died and the car coasted to a halt.

Caitlyn took a deep breath and peered out the front windshield to determine where the heck she was. Even with her sunglasses on, she shielded her eyes against the sun to make out the street sign above. Piedmont Avenue. The name was unfamiliar and she chewed the nail of her right index finger. “Oh, God, where am I?”

She was originally from New Jersey and had lived in Oakland for six months. The only area with which she was even remotely familiar was the two-mile stretch between her one-bedroom apartment in East Oakland and the youth center. Putting in thirteen-hour days to scrape up every dime she could for the center left little time for much else. Saturdays were spent volunteering at the center and on Sundays, she hung out with her best friend since college, Victoria Bennett.

Caitlyn saw a shadow approaching her car from behind. Instantly, her heart began to pound and her palms became clammy. Snatching her purse off the passenger seat, she frantically dumped everything out looking for a can of mace. As the shadow came closer, she locked the doors and prayed her ex-boyfriend, Cole Mazzei, hadn’t found her. Moments later, she breathed a sigh of relief when she realized the shadow was an elderly lady walking her dog.

Once her heart settled, Caitlyn picked up her wallet and counted. Two twenties and some change weren’t much if major repairs were needed. She sighed and bitterly thought about the fact she’d been forced to stop using her credit and ATM cards. Every transaction she’d made for almost three years had been cash only, another painful reminder of Cole. She didn’t even own a cell phone because she feared it would be another way for him to track her whereabouts.

“Come on, Caitlyn, think, think.”

With her head against the headrest, she released a weary sigh. She was sweaty, tired and hungry. Spotting a pay phone, she got out, went to it, and thumbed through the yellow pages. She called the first tow company she found and waited.

* * *

When the tow truck pulled up to the BMW dealership in Oakland forty-five minutes later, Caitlyn glanced at her watch, figuring the service department would close in fifteen minutes. The last thing she wanted to do was leave her car on the back of a tow truck overnight. What if someone stole it? She knew if she stuck to her budget, she had enough money to live comfortably on for a couple of years, at least. But her budget had not been designed to take on a car note.

Grateful for the cool air circulating in the empty service room, Caitlyn stood at the door swiping at the tiny beads of sweat at her temple.

“Hello.” Her greeting bounced off the walls, and her second attempt didn’t fare much better. Since the doors weren’t locked, she knew someone had to be inside, so she walked behind the service desk and headed toward an opening. Two steps later, the heel of her right shoe caught on the floor mat. As she tried to avoid falling, a pair of hands grabbed her at the waist. Straightening, she realized that her rescuer topped her by more than a foot. He had to be six-three, if not more, because she was a half inch shorter than five feet. She was close enough to detect the citrus scent of his aftershave, but had to tilt her head back to see his face. And when she did, her mouth dropped. He was drop-dead, make-you-want-to-scream gorgeous.

“T-Thank you.” Her breath hitched from the fire of his touch and she tried to think of something else to say, but her mind went completely blank.

Beautiful eyes, Marcel’s brain registered. “How can I help you today, ma’am?”

She never took her gaze away from his smooth café-au-lait face and aimed her finger toward the door. “My car died and since you were the nearest BMW dealership, the towing company brought it here.”

He nodded. “All right. Where is it?”

Together, they headed to the door where she pointed to the tow truck and glanced up at his profile. “I know you’re about to close, but do you think you could take a look at it?”

“Not a problem.”

Marcel had made the drive across the Bay Bridge from San Francisco to Oakland in record time. Business was brisk, and once he’d settled in, he learned his service technician, Sean Richards, had taken ill around noon and left. Marcel had quickly changed out of his black linen suit and collarless raw silk shirt and put on Sean’s uniform to lend a hand. Around half past four, things had calmed down and he decided to change and head out. He’d just placed his watch on his wrist when he heard the front door open. At the sound of the soft, melodious voice that called out, he’d gravitated toward the lobby.

It wasn’t until she pushed her sunglasses on top of her head that he got an unobstructed view of the woman’s oval face. Oh, yeah, he liked everything he saw. He’d bet his year-end bonus she didn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds. She was stunning in a red silk dress that draped below a slender waistline and fell just short of her knees. The straps on her pumps wrapped around slim ankles that connected to a pair of shapely legs. But it was those eyes he’d first noticed. Dark brown and slanted, they were mesmerizing, and he was spellbound.

“Tell you what, let me go and take a look at your car.” He motioned to the space behind her. “Have a seat in the customer waiting area. Shouldn’t take me more than a few moments to see what’s going on.”

* * *

Ten minutes passed, and Caitlyn surged to her feet when she saw him open the door. But the sudden jolt made her lightheaded, and a wave of nausea hit her. She slumped back to the chair and rested her head on top of her knees.

Marcel squatted in front of her, his voice filled with concern. “Ma’am, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry.” Caitlyn managed to say the words a few moments later, embarrassed. She flashed a weak smile. “Guess that’s what happens when you don’t eat all day.”

Marcel stood. “Here, let me get you some water.”

She shook her head. “No, please. I’m fine. Just moved a little too fast, that’s all.” God, she’d taken up enough of his time. The woeful look in his gray-green eyes concerned her, and she sensed it was bad news concerning her car. “Can you fix it?”

“I can, but not tonight.”

Caitlyn looked away, then back at him again as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “Any idea of what it’ll cost to fix it?”

He shook his head and answered truthfully. “I won’t know that until tomorrow.”

Worried the expenses would be astronomical, Caitlyn was almost too afraid to ask the question, but she did anyway. “Are we talking a…lot?”

“Well, that depends on what you consider a lot.”

“A thousand?” She held her breath and waited.

“Hmm, not that much. You’ve got a problem with your fuel line and a couple of sensors. My best estimate right now is around five hundred.”

Caitlyn swallowed the urge to scream. Tension seeped along the space between her neck and shoulders, and the sharp, prickling sensation felt like stickpins. She needed her car, period. But five hundred dollars? At that moment, she was so tired, she couldn’t think straight. She figured the best thing to do was head home, get a good night’s sleep, and worry about the car expenses the next morning.

“I see.” She stood and extended her hand. “Well, thank you for your help anyway. I’m sorry I bothered you.” She placed the strap of the purse on her shoulder and headed for the door.

The cloud of distress that pierced her eyes didn’t go unnoticed, and Marcel certainly didn’t want to add to her frustration. From behind, he called out. “Wait. How are you getting home?”

She stopped and turned around. “I’ll call a taxi.”

Marcel walked toward her. “Tell you what, let me give you a loaner car for tonight, Mrs.—”

“I’m not married, and I prefer to call a cab.” She glanced around the room. “Perhaps there’s a phone I could use?”

“Ma’am, you don’t need to call a cab. The loaner is part of our service.”

Marcel quickly turned and made his way toward the service desk, subtly making the sign of the cross to whatever fate that had landed this Nairobian beauty at his doorstep. Grabbing the necessary paperwork, he placed the key to the loaner in his pocket and took the seat next to her. “We can settle up your bill tomorrow when your car’s ready, and I’ll do my best to stay within the five-hundred-dollar range.”

He looked over the information she handed back to him and frowned slightly. C. R. Thompson. That couldn’t be her full name, he thought. And even if by some off chance it was, it didn’t tell him a whole lot. He wanted vital statistics, like her address, telephone number, and whether she was single, and not necessarily in that order. His thick, black eyebrows bunched as he reviewed several sections of the form she’d left blank. “You didn’t put down all your information.”

Confused, she stared at him. “Like what?”

Turning to face her, he tilted his head and gave her a quizzical stare. “Address, phone number, you know, the things people give to other people so they can be contacted.”

With a pointed look, Caitlyn jerked around in her seat to face him. “You have my car, so there’s nothing to worry about. I’m not a thief, and I’m not going to steal your loaner.”

“Listen, lady, you’re not getting my loaner if I don’t get your contact information.”

“Fine.” She huffed and pointed her nose in the air. “I’ll call a cab then.”

“Are you always this elusive?”

With a trembling hand, Caitlyn swiped a strand of hair back that had fallen across her face. “No…no. It’s nothing like that.” At that moment, she was in no position to be ungrateful. He no doubt had a car in working order; she didn’t. She took the clipboard, added the information and handed it back. “I’m sorry I was curt and I’m really not trying to be evasive.”

You could have fooled me,
Marcel thought, dropping the clipboard in the seat next to him without bothering to glance over what she had added. He stood and reached inside his pocket.

Caitlyn focused on the key dangling from a spiral ring on his left index finger. “Uh, listen, thank you for all your help.” She grabbed the key and rushed out without a backward glance.

* * *

The next day, Marcel abruptly ended a conversation with one of his service managers the moment he looked across the room and noticed Caitlyn standing quietly by the door. “Hi, buddy, give me a sec, okay?” He moved past several customers straight toward her with the grace and agility of a panther ready to pounce.

“I told you I’d be—”

“Come with me.” He placed his hand under her elbow and walked them down a hallway.

“Wait. W-Where are you taking me?” Caitlyn’s voice was strained and she tried to back away from his hold, not sure what he had in mind.

He didn’t bother to answer. Instead, he opened the door to a small conference room, ushered her inside and whirled around. “Why did you run off from me last night?”

“I didn’t run from you. I told you I’d be back.” Her voice trembled, along with her hand, as she reached inside her purse and pulled out a brown envelope. “How much are the repairs?”

“Five hundred.”

She placed the envelope in his hands. “It’s all there. You can count it, if you’d like.”

He took the envelope and placed it on the table without looking inside. “Listen, we got your car up and running for now at least, but I’m not sure how much longer your engine will hold up.”