Read Online Trouble's Brewing by Eva Marie Everson, Linda Evans Shepherd - Free Book Online

newspaper Chris had delivered to the office.
    Back inside, I moved past tables of gift items and the displayed stacks of Hallmark cards divided by category. Because the card shop doesn’t open until 10:00, and Chris’s office officially comes alive at 9:00, I was alone in the building. Not a single light on. It was, somehow, comforting. There is a peace in the early morning blues and grays that I enjoy spending in solitude.
    Sadly, that time had to come to an end. As I made my way up the staircase leading to the office, I flipped on the light, then did the same as I entered the main room of our offices and welcomed a new workday.
    The aroma of coffee greeted me. I laid the newspaper on my desk, walked into the break room, and poured two cups of coffee, preparing the first as Chris preferred his and the second as I preferred mine. I then took both cups to my desk, where I deposited mine, and picked up the paper and stepped into the large office at the end of the hall.
    There, I turned on Chris’s computer, laid his paper out neatly in the center of his desk, and placed the steaming cup of coffee next to it.
    By the time I reached my office, I heard Chris coming in the back door.
    “Morning, Goldie,” he greeted me, sight unseen.
    “Good morning. Your coffee and paper are on your desk.”
    Chris walked into the front office, his overcoat slung over his arm and a briefcase dangling from one hand. “Here, let me take your coat,” I said, bustling toward him.
    Chris smiled at me, handing his coat over. “Ready for your first day at the desk without Jenna?”
    I took the coat and squared my shoulders. “I’m ready.” My brow shot up. “Did Carrie and Jenna get off okay?”
    Chris moved toward his office. “Bright and early this morning,” he answered without looking back. “Give me about a half hour, and then we’ll go over my schedule for the day.”
    “Yes, sir,” I said, reverting to my Southern upbringing of referring to those in superior positions as “sir” and “ma’am.”
    I grew up in one of the most rural sections of Dixie: Alma, Georgia. I’d still be living there today had it not been for our high school’s senior trip to Washington, D.C., where I met Jack Dippel. Met him, fell madly in love with him, and then married him a few years later after a long-distance relationship that sappy love novels are made of.
    I shuddered, then took Chris’s coat into the break room to hang on the coatrack. Moments later, I was back at my desk, switching on my computer and giving the phone set a “cautionary eye,” wondering who the first caller would be.
    “Good morning,” I whispered to it. “Chris Lowe’s office. This is Goldie, how may I help you?”
    Okay, Lord. We can do this. Yes, sir, we can.
    “Good morning, Chris Lowe’s office. This is Goldie, how may I help you?” I answered my first call of the day at a little after 9:30. The emphasis was placed on none of the words but rather on keeping my tone professional and kind.
    “Hi, Mom.”
    It was Olivia.
    “Olivia? What’s wrong?”
    I could hear Olivia’s sweet smile through the phone line. “Nothing. I just knew you were nervous about answering the phone, so I thought I’d call as soon as I had a minute and let you practice. How’s it going?”
    I smiled. “It’s going. So far, everything that Jenna taught me is making me more competent by the minute. She’s a smart girl. I wish I’d gone to college like she’s doing. Maybe I wouldn’t be in my fifties working for the first time in goodness knows how long, sweating over a silly telephone.”
    “You’ll do just fine. You always do. I won’t keep you. Just wanted you to know I was thinking about you.”
    “Thank you, my sweet thing. I’ll see you after 5:00.”
    “Bye, Mom.”
    I returned the handset to the phone and turned back to a stack of invoices to be mailed. I stamped the signature space of each one with Chris Lowe, Attorney at Law, then folded them and placed them in