Unearthing passions, p.1
Unearthing Passions, page 1
Indigo Love Stories
An imprint of Genesis Press, Inc.
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All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author and all incidents are pure invention.
Copyright© 2006 by Elaine Sims
ISBN-13: 978-1-58571-519-0
ISBN-10: 1-58571-519-0
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For Alvin
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Special thanks to those who helped me achieve this sometimes unfathomable, goal. First, to my aunt Costella Bowden, who raised me to believe I can accomplish anything given a little effort. Next, of course, to my critique partners (in alphabetical order): Carol, Emily, Kathy, and Shirley who’ve been in this with me from the very beginning. To Ann H. White, who read this work in its infancy and told me it was only a matter of time before it sold. To Haywood Smith, who shared her time and wisdom. To Carmen Green, you’re truly an inspiration. To the members of Georgia Romance Writers, there’s no way I could have done this without your support. To my wonderful agent and champion Michael Psaltis, whose wise counsel has kept me sane through it all. To my wonderful friend, Pauline Morin, for allowing her statue of Suzy to appear in this book. To Sandy Brewer and Sandy Shephard, who read my manuscripts and liked them. To my husband, Alvin Brewer, for babysitting, cooking and cleaning, and doing laundry so I could write. I promise I’ll do some housework now; well, at least until I start the next book. And, to my beautiful two-year-old daughter Sierra, who was born three months premature, weighing only one pound, thirteen ounces, for growing so big and strong, and being considerate enough to listen to her iPod mini while Mommy completed this book.
CHAPTER ONE
At eight-thirty on Sunday night, Asa Matthews stepped out of the shower in his Savannah, Georgia hotel suite and wrapped a towel around his waist. Shoulder-length dreadlocks dripping, he tucked a second towel under them as he crossed the room in search of his robe. He looked on top of the unmade bed, underneath it, then in the closet, before he gave up and jerked on a worn pair of gym shorts instead.
In the living room, he collapsed on the couch and dropped his feet on the coffee table where his cell phone lay, mocking him, but he didn’t pick it up. Didn’t call Harold, his boss. Why bother, there was no doubt Harold would call any minute. There would be the inevitable lecture about Asa’s recent conduct, of course. But what could he do? What’s done is done.
He flipped from one cable channel to another without focusing on the programming. He’d had a minor slip up—well, maybe offending his foundation’s biggest donor was more than minor—but still. He was a damned good archaeologist. He’d proven himself repeatedly over the past seven years that he’d been chief archaeologist at the Coleman foundation. Besides, he—
His cell phone chirped, cutting off his musings.
The number on the readout was Harold’s. Asa blew out a breath and answered it.
“Harold,” he said in a weak attempt to force some enthusiasm into his voice. “How’s it going?”
“We’ve got a couple things to discuss, Asa, as I’m sure you know.”
It was probably safer if he didn’t comment, so Asa waited for Harold’s lecture.
“First of all—”
A loud knock sounded from the door.
“Sorry, Harold, could you repeat that?” Asa tossed the towel still on his shoulders, into the bedroom and walked to the door. “Crap,” he muttered when he checked the peephole. Rachel.
“Asa?”
“Sorry, Harold. Can you hold on a sec?” Asa muted the phone and opened the door.
“Hey, baby!” Rachel Burton, his petite, well-endowed, sometime lover, posed seductively in the doorway, a sultry smile on her face, and a tight black dress wrapping her feminine curves. She dragged a blood red nail down his bare chest and sashayed close until their thighs were touching.
“Rachel.” Asa grabbed her arms before they snaked around his waist. “I thought we decided to drop this?”
Her bottom lip puffed out in a pout, with big brown eyes adding to the sad effect that used to fool him. She brushed her lips over the rise of his left pectoral muscle. “I just came to talk, sugar. You’re not going to turn me out in the cold are you?”
Knowing he had to get back to Harold, Asa sighed loudly. But, since slamming the door in Rachel’s face would only cause a scene, he dropped her arms and stepped back to let her in. She was part of the reason he was in hot water to begin with. “I’ll let you in, Rachel, but you have to be quiet until I’m off the phone.”
She smiled suggestively and flounced past him into the room and to the bedroom beyond. “I’ll be good. I promise.”
Yeah, right. Asa closed the door and un-muted the phone. “Harold. Sorry to keep you waiting, I—”
“Asa, baby?” Rachel yelled from his bedroom. Asa hastily covered the phone’s mouth-piece.
Rachel appeared in the bedroom doorway. “Sweetheart, you’re becoming a slob …”
“Rachel, damn it.”
With a self-satisfied smile, she disappeared back into the bedroom. God, when did I turn into such an idiot? Asa turned his attention back tothe phone call. “Sorry about that, Harold—”
“I think there are three things I need to discuss with you instead of two. That Rachel—”
“Harold, why is my private life on the table? What’s it have to do with my work?” He rubbed his temple and eased back down onto the couch.
There was silence on the other side of the line. Not a good sign. Harold was pissed. “Asa, Alexander Duncan is the biggest donor on the Ridgeway project, and he’s one of the most conservative members of the foundation’s board. You know that.”
“True. But I also know he thinks I’m the most qualified archaeologist in the country to excavate Ridgeway Plantation. He wants the best, and that’s me.”
“He’s also very old-fashioned,” Harold interjected. “And if he has to choose between moral values and his choices for charitable giving, moral values win every time.”
“Duncan’s wanted this site restored since the nineteen seventies, Harold. It’s the most important slave plantation left in Georgia. He’s not going to—”
“What, have you been replaced with another archaeologist? He has the clout to demand what ever he wants.”
“Asa, baby?” Rachel stood in front of him wearing a black lace bra and matching panties.
“God damn it, Rachel.” Asa pulled the phone away from his ear. “I told you I was on an important call. Would you please wait?” He pulled her down beside him.
“Asa … Asa …” Harold’s voice echoed tinny and small from the cell phone, and Asa looked down in horror. He’d forgotten to mute the phone. He glared at Rachel. Their indiscretion had turned into one giant headache—one that could cost him his job if he didn’t get his act together. “Harold, Harold. I’m sorry.”
“I’m giving you fifteen minutes to take care of your business. Then, I’m calling back. At which time, I expect to have a focused and professional discussion.”
The phone line went dead.
Asa stared down at the phone. Harold had just hung up on him. The man who had championed him even before he’d completed his Ph.D. The man who had mentored him as a graduate student, sponsored the excavation for his doctoral dissertation research, then brought him on-board the Coleman Foundation three years later and guided him up the ladder until he’d become the foundation’s chief archaeologist. The man who only lost his cool when someone he admired and respected had completely let him down.
Asa turned to Rachel, who had discarded her bra and was playing with her breasts. Disgust at himself, and at Rachel, roiled inside of him.
Asa stood. “Get dressed and get out.”
“What?” Rachel jumped up, rubbing her bare breasts over his back as he bent to pick up discarded research journals from the floor.
With his With his jaw clenched so tightly he felt the beginnings of a headache, Asa turned, grasped her by the forearms and pushed her away from him. “I-said-get-dressed-and-get-out.”
A pink flush filtered through her nut-brown complexion “Nobody talks to me like that, Asa Matthews.”
“I just did.” He gathered more of the papers and folders scattered around the room, placing them in neat piles on the table in the corner. For the next five minutes, he continued to straighten, and Rachel didn’t move. When she finally stomped into the bedroom to get dressed, Asa sighed in relief.
Dossiers for the short-listed firms bidding on the Ridgeway Plantation Welcome Center design were in his hands when a light touch brushed his back.
“Asa….” Rachel’s voice was a light as her touch. “Baby, I’m sorry.”
As if he h adn’t noticed her, he stacked the dossiers and his notes about each firm on the coffee table. Harold would want to know his thoughts on them when he called back and Asa intended to be ready. When he turned back to grab a group of reference books, Rachel was still standing there.
“I asked you to leave.”
Rachel reached for him, but he stepped back. “Baby, you don’t understand … I didn’t mean to—”
Asa walked to the door and opened it. “I understand all I need to, Rach. I’m not letting some petty jealously and inconsequential love affair ruin my professional reputation, or my career. I’ve worked too long and too hard.”
Rachel walked to the door, an angry frown on her face. “So this is goodbye?”
“Looks like.”
“Nobody treats me this way.” The vehemence in her sneer was lessened by the glistening of unshed tears, but Asa was unmoved. He was very familiar with Rachel’s tears. Too bad they didn’t mean anything.
He shut the door, politely, but firmly.
Before he reached the couch, his cell phone was ringing.
Satisfied that Rachel was no longer a problem, he grabbed his notes and the phone. He knew which firm he preferred, but wanted to give an overview of each one. “Harold, thanks for calling back. Let’s get down to business….”
* * *
Kai Ellis’s loud yawn filled the interior of her car as she turned into the parking garage of the Kapman, Trent and Gannon building in Midtown. She’d been up late into the night reviewing designs for the Ridgeway Plantation project. Her team made their last site visit three weeks ago and completed their final proposal, but the restoration project was still, all she thought about.
If they won, the Ridgeway job would be an exciting departure for KT & G. The last two projects the firm’s historic preservation studio completed were loft renovations, and since Atlanta had been going through a “loft” trend over the past ten years, everyone in the city wanted to either live in them or develop them. Drexel Development, where Kai’s soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, Kenneth Roselle, worked, had bought several dilapidated warehouses near downtown and contracted KT & G to redesign them. The commissions were great press for KT & G’s historic preservation studio, giving junior architects experience in renovation work, but Kai still preferred to handle more historically significant preservation jobs. Jobs like Ridgeway Plantation. Which wasn’t preservation exactly, but new development, including the design and development of a new welcome center to compliment the rice plantation’s Big House and slave quarters. Winning the contract for the project would be a dream come true for Kai, and meant that the partnership at KT&G was hers.
Making partner was only part of the effort. If KT & G was to be taken seriously in the field of historic preservation, they desperately needed more stepping-stones like Ridgeway.
Ten minutes later, she exited the elevator onto the fifteenth floor of the office building. Crossing the reception area, she followed the colorful post-modern corridor, before turning left into her corner office. She dropped the drawings she carried on her drafting table and put away her purse, then headed to the wet-bar in the far corner of the room.
Focused on making fresh coffee, she didn’t hear Jeremy Fuller, one of her studio heads, poke his head in. Tall and slender, he hadn’t yet grown into his height, but despite his slight build, with his head of closely cropped, curly ebony hair and Hershey bar complexion, he had to beat the women off him.
“Got your email. What’s up, boss lady?”
Kai nodded at the automatic drip machine. Cup at the ready, sugar packet in hand, she tapped her foot impatiently. Everybody in the studio, and probably some of their relatives, knew not to expect conversation from her until she had mainlined several hundred milligrams of caffeine.
Jeremy took a seat on the couch in front of her desk. His specialization was plantation architecture, and he was one of the best young architects she’d ever encountered. She successfully snatched him from a firm in Philadelphia when KT & G let her start the preservation studio.
A smirk curled her lip as she poured liquid adrenaline into her mug. Well, Jeremy was one thing she had to thank Kenneth for. His connections in Philly had put her onto Jeremy’s scent. Jeremy had been with her for four-and-a-half years now, and when she made partner, he would follow her right up the corporate ladder. She took a long drag of coffee, then crossed back to her desk.
“Guess it’s safe to talk now.”
“Smart-aleck.”
“Yep. So, what’s up? You’re not still worried about the Ridgeway job are you?”
Kai nodded and set her mug on the warmer in front of her. “I’m always worried.”
He rubbed his hands together. “True, but I think we’ve got a good shot at this project.”
“Yeah, so do I; but, you know me.”
“We’ve paid our dues, right? We’ve done a lot of good stuff since you started this group.” He was preaching to the choir, but Kai let her studio head talk. She needed to hear the positive words, too. “Even though we haven’t been the lead on any of the big ones, we’ve had some pretty decent jobs. That’s gotta count for something.”
“We can do this, Jer. They’ll see that we can.” She smiled when he rubbed his hands on his jeans. “You’re nervous about this project aren’t you?”
“The Kid?” A sheepish smile crossed his face. “Well … kinda, sorta—a little.”
“You’re doing great. The team you put together to do the Design Intent Documents is top-notch. I’ve gone over the DID’s we sent Coleman in the final bid package again, and I have to say, I couldn’t have done any better myself. For the rest of the week, we’re going to act as if that project is already won. Tell your team to get their questions together, because we’ll be heading back to Savannah for a site visit before you know it.” Jeremy grinned at her optimistic attitude and relaxed in his seat, just as Kai had intended. “And make sure your decorative arts lead gets her research notes together,” she continued. “Angela’s role is one of the most important.”
Jeremy nodded enthusiastically. “She’ll have ‘em.”
“Good. She has to be completely satisfied with the data the archaeologists give her, because she’s our ace in the hole. We didn’t bring a Ph.D. on board just to add initials to our letterhead. We want to do this thing right.”
“Right.”
“Great. Now—” The phone on her desk trilled. She hit the speaker button. “Yes Christine, what is it?”
“Mr. Roselle is on line one.”
Kai almost rolled her eyes, but caught herself. “I’m in a meeting. I’ll have to call him back.”
“He says it’s urgent.”
She spoke before she could catch herself. “Yeah, right.”
Jeremy’s eyebrows shot up. “Whoa. Guess that’s my cue. I’m out.”
Kai waited for Jeremy to leave before speaking again. “Christine, I’m going to take this call, but from now on, I’d like you to take a message from Mr. Roselle, all right?” She hoped her voice didn’t sound too strained. Christine wasn’t known for her discretion.
“No problem, boss. I’ll just make myself a little note,” Christine mumbled. Then, her cheerful voice piped through the tinny speaker again. “Okay, got it. Anything else?”
At that, Kai used the eye roll she’d stored up for Kenneth. “Put him through, please.”
“Kai … Kenneth,” came his standard reply.
“Yes, I know.” She reached under the drafting table to retrieve a few rolls of Mylar that fell off when she dumped her drawings there earlier. She raised her voice to make sure the speaker caught it. “What do you want?”
“Can you take me off speaker, please? We need to talk.”
Kai cut her eyes toward the phone, then continued to stack drawings. “I can close the door.”
“We have things to talk about. I’m not going to do it over a speaker phone.”
“And I’ve got work to do, which I’m not getting done gabbing to you.”
“Have dinner with me.”
Knowing if she said no, Kenneth would simply persist until she was on the verge of strangling him, she sighed. “Might as well get it over with,” she muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing, Ken. Just talking to myself. How’s the Cheesecake Factory sound?” Her mouth tilted with a smirk. “At least I can get a Raspberry Swirl Cheesecake to go along with the punishment.”
