Matter of Choice Page 12

  Her eyes moved across the desk, past the name plate, pencil holder, and candy plate half full with Snicker Fun bars, settling on the wedding picture of herself with Greg. She reached for it, and reclined back, staring at the figures frozen in photographic time. The man, dressed in the tailor-made tuxedo Shannon knew now hung collecting dust in the back of his closet, looked incredible in all of his tall, dark and handsome reality. The woman, shining from head to toe in happiness, elegant in an Amalia wedding dress detailed in Swarovski crystals and detailed embellishments. They both looked as though they had the world at their feet, everything at their beck and call. With money, successful careers and beauty, she figured, as her eyes remained locked on the image, by the world’s standards, they did. Then.

  She reached down and opened the drawer at the bottom of her desk, tucked the gold frame facedown on the pile of paperwork she rarely visited. Whatever that young couple boasted, it was gone, and after the night she spent with Triston, she was all the more certain it was something the couple in the photo would never see again.

  As her fingers traced her lips without touching the delicate surface of skin, she wondered how long the memory of the kiss would linger along her mouth. She rose and circled the desk to the window, mind trailing as her arms wrapped tightly against her shoulders. The kiss shouldn’t have happened, but it did. The divorce shouldn’t be happening, but it was. She knew, as her eyes fixed on the familiar distance, none of it made any sense. Yet, when Triston’s name floated across her thoughts like a beacon of light in the darkness, it was him her every fiber gravitated to. Like static electricity and waking waves across the beach. Gentle, magnetic, undeniable.

  “I am not falling in love with him,” she spoke the words in the empty room, the sound of her voice hitting the windows panes and falling dead. Her heart didn’t believe them, and her mind didn’t like it.

  Her mind was losing the debate, and a yearning to call him swallowed her into a swirling abyss. Shannon’s gaze shifted down to the window sill. There was no turning back now.

  *

  The lobby was buzzing with movement. People checking in, some looking to the makeshift poster set up next to the front desk directing them to the banquet room, signage which should have looked more professional than black letters designed by a Sharpie marker and photo printed and glued by Naomi an hour earlier. Kitchen staff trotted back and forth from the laundry room to the restaurant, and down to the banquet room. Housekeeping flurried to complete last minute vacuuming, dusting and polishing throughout the lobby. Maintenance men with smart phones plastered to their ears struggled with a sound system content screeching in response to the vaguest whisper. Shannon stood at the cross-section of the hallways, greeting and directing traffic, throat constricting with each obvious flutter of disorganization. Even the day of their grand opening ran smoother, and adding insult to injury, she recognized the discreet shared glances between guests as they, too, noticed every blunder made by hotel employees. If Shannon had learned one thing over the years, once an event started out badly, it only got worse. She shivered.

  As the crowds began to filter out of the lobby, Shannon made her way to the banquet room, hoping against hope there were no other mishaps. If the rest of the banquet went well, the morning’s issues could be ignored, or at the very least, easily dismissed. At this point, she was sure it was the best she could hope for.

  Quiet hallways free of mingling guests boded well. Years of experience taught her if guests clustered in the common areas, something usually was wrong with their accommodations. Nearer to the banquet room, the low buzz of friendly conversation eased her mind further, a peak through the cracked door relaxed the tension high in her shoulders. The events team had pulled everything off beautifully.

  Nine tables with five place settings each scattered across the room dressed with crisp white tablecloths, all freshly ironed, and peach plates splashing a hint of color. Fresh cut flower arrangements added a subtle aroma with lilies, peach roses and greens and decorated the center in full elegant arrangements. Each chair covered in white satin covers added elegance in a room already rich with taste.

  A center table stretched across the far wall, complete with a photo display and a small assortment of door prizes. The one remaining issue appeared to be the sound system, and she could see the maintenance manager and Rick Stockard working feverishly to resolve the issues. The guests in the room seemed undisturbed by their presence or the technical difficulties, at least for the moment. Hopefully, before the guests became agitated, the two men would have the technical difficulties solved.

  “Party going on?”

  Shannon ducked out of the room to see Greg standing next to her, the liquor on his breath curling her nose.

  “Only a private meeting. It’s nothing you would be interested in.” She stared into intoxicated pupils, and wondered where the concern was as only a sickening disgust rose from her stomach like bile. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  His eyes darkened, the lines of his angled jaw tightening. “Baby, nobody tells me where I should or shouldn’t be.” He stepped forward, his shoulders widening with aggression.

  “I’m telling you, as the hotel manager, you have no business in this part of the hotel. I must ask you to leave so as not to disturb my other guests.”

  “I don’t care who you are. I go anywhere I want to go, and no one, especially not some woman, is going to tell me I can’t. Move out of my way.” He took another step forward, towering over her despite the mere three inch difference between them.

  Her breath hitched, eyes wide, yet she held her ground. “No, I will not have you disturbing my guests. Please leave the hotel, or I’ll be forced to call security.”

  He snorted and chuckled. “You’ll call security on me? Like anyone in security scares me? That Stevens Rent-a-Cop, he’s a joke. I said, Get out of my way!”

  The hands which had spent the better part of ten years caressing her skin, holding her with happiness and in sorrow, shot out and grabbed her shoulders, his grip hard against her skin. She yelped, then screamed as he pulled her off her feet, glaring with angry eyes, and threw her against the wall. Unable to gain her balance, Shannon shrunk to the floor in a crumbled heap, staring as Greg turned away without a second look and strode into the banquet room. Tears spilled down her cheeks as his booming voice blasted through the air, and terror struck as Rick looked up, past Greg to meet her with eyes morphing from startled to acrimonious.

  Shannon’s voice didn’t find its way out of her mouth in time to stop Rick from barreling towards Greg, arms wide and ready to tackle. Shrieks and gasps ricocheted out of the banquet room and bounced off the walls, bee stings pummeling Shannon as Greg glowered at the teenager. A single hook landed hard and precise against the boy’s temple, sending him sprawling to the ground. Senators and chair people rushed to his side, and others wrapped their arms tight against Greg’s drunken rage, encasing him with immobilizing restraint.

  Shannon stumbled to her feet, rubbing both shoulders with crossed arms where angry bruises bubbled to the surface. Senator Johnson rushed to her side, wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her as one of the chair people yelled out, “Someone call an ambulance! The boy’s unconscious.”

  Another yelled out, “Someone call the police!”

  Several angry eyes glared at Shannon, while another voice, Megan Savoe Shannon thought, ordered for the banquet to be postponed.

  Legs wobbled as she sunk to the ground next to her employee, a hand reaching out to brush hair away from his forehead and grazing the swollen lump where Greg’s fist left its mark. Her responsibility. All of it.

  And she failed.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Triston flipped the page of the Wall Street journal, but couldn’t shake the uneasiness percolating from the lobby walls. Flipping through the pages, he looked past the ink and paper, concentrating on the surroundings. Usually the atmosphere was comfortable, easy. Now hushed whispers and melancholy circulated through the a
ir, suffocating the space. His brows furrowed as he folded the paper, laid it down, and leaned forward. Something felt wrong.

  A couple walked past, their child sandwiched silently between them, as they chattered quietly. He recognized the family immediately, as the couple whose daughter lagged behind a week earlier when he arrived at the Grande and was waiting for Shannon. Triston cleared his throat and stood.

  “Excuse me. I’m sorry, but has something happened? If you don’t mind me saying, something seems out of place here today.”

  The man nodded, signaling his wife to continue on with their child. He stepped closer to Triston, the tenor voice hushed. “You haven’t heard?”

  His eyebrows rose. “I’m sorry, heard what?”

  “There was an altercation here yesterday. The hotel manager’s husband threw her against the wall, and knocked out one of the maintenance men. Police were here, ambulance, it was quite a scene.”

  “The manager?” Rage boiled in his gut. The bastard hurt her. He didn’t wait for the man’s response.

  *

  “Ms. Winters, I appreciate that you can not bear all the responsibility for last night, but I have many people who are very angry and disturbed by what took place. My supervisors are considering, at this point, locating another venue for next year’s gala.”

  “I understand, Megan. They have every right to be disappointed. I can not apologize enough, and only wish there was something more I could say.”

  A silence engulfed the phone call, and Shannon’s eyes drifted to the letter Rick’s parents sent by messenger an hour earlier. The boy was at home, with a minor concussion, the parents threatening suit against Greg. A hand drifted up and rubbed a bicep, bruised with black handprints. All these years, it finally happened. And her mind still couldn’t process it.

  A deep sigh echoed across the line. “Ms. Winters, everyone knows you can not control your husband.”

  Shannon felt her heart stop. She thought she had hid it so well. How many more knew the truth?

  “And we all have the utmost respect for you and the Grande Marquis. But you must understand, our people require professionalism at all times, and not just from you, but as an overall atmosphere. The Grande Marquis lost that highest level of prestige last night, and that is unfortunate. I will talk with my boss again, and do my best. We have never been disappointed before, I hope we wouldn’t be again.”

  “Thank you, Megan, I appreciate the kindness.” Shannon paused, fingers massaged her forehead, pinching the center shallow creases. “I am at a loss for words and can only apologize again, and ask we be given another chance to prove our reputation. Steps are being taken to assure this type of thing does not happen again.”

  “I trust that they are, not just in the interest of our people, but I must say I am concerned for you as well.” Silence overtook the line, and Shannon sensed Megan wanted to say more. She didn’t. “I will be in touch shortly to either confirm or cancel the reservation for next year.”

  “Thank you, Megan. I look forward to hearing from you.”

  Shannon hung up the phone, fingers rushing to her temples as the pounding against her skull worsened. Security had removed Greg from the premises and detained him until the police arrived. She didn’t know if he had been released from custody, hadn’t bothered to call the station to check on his status. She couldn’t.

  She lifted an arm to brush hair away from her face, grimacing as the bruises screamed in protest.

  The office door swung open, bouncing off the wall as Triston caught it with his shoulder.

  Furrowing her brows, she asked, “Triston? What are you doing in here?”

  He rushed to the desk, eyes jungle wild, “Tell me the rumors aren’t true. Tell me that man didn’t put his hands on you.”

  She looked away. “What have you heard?”

  He rounded the desk, his hands covering the bruises concealed by the business suit. Shannon winced, and Triston loosened the grip, expression tightening with fury. “He put his hands on you. The rumors are true.” Triston’s fingers pinched his nose, drawing downward to circle his mouth. “I’m going to kill him. Where is he?”

  She shook her head and rested a hand against his cheek. “I’m okay. Greg’s in jail, or at least he was. Maybe he’s at home now, I don’t know. I’m fine.”

  He pulled her upwards into a waiting embrace, the trembling voice unmistakable. “You are not fine, and I’m going to kill him. Or at least put him the hospital. Who does he …”

  With quickening breath, she buried her head into a shoulder. “No, I don’t want that. I just want … please just hold me.”

  The warmth of his arms and rhythm of his heart engulfed her, the recognizable safety blanketing her. Shannon closed her eyes and breathed in his scent, clinging to a promise broken long ago at an age promises shouldn’t be made. All the years melted away as she pressed against Triston, and all she could think of was how badly she wished never to be let go.

  “I could lose a lot of business because of this. I almost don’t care. One of my employees has a concussion because of what Greg did. And he’s a kid. Eighteen years old. He was just trying to protect me.”

  Triston smoothed her hair, kissing the top of her head. “Is he going to be okay?”

  “I think so. His parents are livid. Understandably. I don’t think he’ll be coming back to work and they want to sue Greg. They’d sue me if they could figure out how, I’m sure. I would if I was in their shoes.”

  “What can I do? I’ll do anything.”

  She looked up at him, eyes glassy. “Don’t leave tomorrow. I know I don’t have any right to ask, I don’t even know where my life is going right now. If there’s any way we could …” she couldn’t say the words. What life could they have together? Why did her heart want it so badly? “I just know I need a friend, and you’re the only one I have right now. I’ll comp a room, just please don’t go.”

  Triston pushed backwards, cupping her chin gently. “I told you before, Shy, I’m not going anywhere. You don’t even have to ask.” He smiled. “I’ll take that comp’d room though, if it’s all the same to you. It’s not cheap staying here, you know that?”

  Shannon laughed and wiped away her tears. “Thank you, Triston. I don’t know what I’d do without you right now.”

  “So there’s hope after all.”

  Shannon smiled, her heart begging to be confessed. She swallowed the urge, and allowed a kiss to her forehead.

  “Okay, I’ll let you get back to work. If you want to come by my room later, or get out of here, or whatever you would like to do, just let me know.”

  She watched as he turned and left the room, closing the door gently. Shannon sat at the computer, reserving Triston’s room for two more weeks, blacked out the accounting fields. Dropping against the back rest, she stared at the monitor. Triston staying for a couple of more weeks would help keep her sane, Megan may be able to save the banquet for the following year, and Shannon was resolved to visit Rick’s home to apologize personally to him and his parents for what Greg had done. The divorce would be filed and Greg would have to figure his way through the darkness alone, or with any of the women he chose to find company with. Choices were being cemented, and as she leaned her head back, it seemed like all the right ones.

  Now she only needed to figure out what to do with her heart.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Stockard home was twenty minutes from the hotel, further inland within a small neighborhood populated with colonials and cape cods, SUVs and minivans. Shannon drove down the road, gazing at houses able to fit in the first floor of the house she shared with Greg, and couldn’t help but fall in love with the community. Smaller homes, less money, simpler lives. The ache inside swelled, and she wondered for the first time if she had always been out of place in the world she married into with Greg. An outsider doomed to fail. A fairytale without the storybook ending.

  Blinking away the stray thoughts, she concentrated on the street numbers: 781, 779, 7
77. Shannon glanced down at the employee file resting on the passenger seat: 745. A couple more blocks. Her pulse quickened as she drove closer to the home where Rick must still be lying in his teenage bedroom or sprawled out on the couch with a temple still throbbing from the punch of an older, stronger man. She gritted her teeth, ignoring the soreness of her arms. Greg stepped over a line she never anticipated, and someone else was injured because of it. Was he really that lost within his mind? Amnesia didn’t change a person like that, not from what she’d read. But the alternative answer didn’t make sense either - he’d never acted like that before.

  Shannon slowed and pulled into the Stockards’ driveway leading to a two story colonial which stared back with perfect symmetry. White siding, navy shutters, decorative door. A white picket fence restrained a barking dog only visible in a mid-size outline. Shannon stepped out of the car, wondering if the Stockards also had the cliché two and a half children, then chuckled at the image of perfection. If she’d learn anything in the past couple of years, it was that perfection was an image portrayed for rest of the world. It didn’t exist in reality. Like a desert mirage, it could be seen, never reached.

  Triston’s face danced before her heart and Shannon shook it away. Why she couldn’t keep her heart under control where that man was concerned was beyond her.

  She strolled up the flagstone walkway, hoping against hope she looked the picture of confidence, despite feeling anything but. The Stockards had every reason not to want to see her, she knew, to be angry, hate her. It would be a perfectly reasonable response. Steeling herself against the greeting she was sure would come, Shannon reached out and rang the doorbell, listening to the ding singing behind the door. An image appeared behind the oval glass, obscured by the frosted floral design.