Chapter Four
Aaliyah walked into the downtown office, feeling a little self-conscious. The confidence
she had gained from her success this morning seemed to fade, the closer she got to work. In the
lobby now, she felt an urge to run back home and revert to her old self before anyone
recognized her. She made up her mind to turn around and call in sick just as she saw her boss,
Naomi Alvarez, come around the corner. As usual, her uncontrollably curly brown hair flew
about her head. She was dressed in a black power suit and red blouse, with knee-high, laced
black boots covering her fishnet stockings. “Let’s face it,” she thought, “the woman has an
outrageous fashion sense for a lawyer. She probably won’t even notice a change.”

“Good morning, Naomi,” she said.

“Good mor…Wow, Aaliyah?” Naomi asked, stunned.

“Yes, it‘s me,” she answered.

“Well, it’s about time,” she stated, nodding toward her suit. Then, “Put your things
down. We’re meeting with some Hollywood types today, and you’re dressed perfectly for the
meeting. Come walk with me to grab a biscuit from Chick Fil-A, and we’ll talk about it.”

Hiding her surprise, Aaliyah readily agreed, and was soon back inside the lobby. She’d
encountered some surprised, and several frankly interested, looks along the way. As they
walked, she tried to keep her mind focused as Naomi prattled on. However, she couldn’t help
but contrast the subdued and perfunctory greetings she normally received from her coworkers
with this morning’s more enthusiastic welcome. She didn’t know how she should feel about the
abrupt change. On the one hand she was flattered, and on the other insulted. Suddenly, they felt
that she was a worthwhile person to know, but only after she drastically altered her outer
appearance. By now, they were seated in the restaurant window facing Main Street.

“Who cares that I have a brain, or that I’m an interesting person with a great sense of
humor?” she thought. “By all means, just enjoy looking at me.”

“Oh, come on,” said Naomi. “Appearance does make a difference.”

“Oh no, was I talking out loud?” Aaliyah asked, aghast.

“More like muttering, but that’s not the point. Take that guy over there,” she said,
pointing to a man with long hair and an unkempt beard, wearing blue jeans, a stained sweatshirt
and sandals with socks. “Would you go out with him?” Her eyes seemed to bore into Aaliyah’s,
demanding the truth.

“That’s different,” she hedged.

“No, it isn’t. He doesn’t appear approachable. If he came to the firm as an attorney,
would you take him seriously?” She fired back rapidly.

“Well, no,” Aaliyah admitted reluctantly.

“Exactly. A professional appearance is important. You’ve never had a problem
projecting a professional appearance, but you have had trouble projecting an approachable one.
Now you have both.”

“I’ve always been approachable,” Aaliyah argued.

“Yes, as a person, but the only reason I came to that conclusion and gave you a chance
was because Lucas talked about you so much.”

“I wasn’t aware that you knew him so well.”

“Well, it’s not that I know him so well,” she answered hastily. “It’s just that we’ve
known each other, professionally, for a number of years.”

“Okay,” Aaliyah agreed slowly, but knowing Lucas’ past reputation with women, she
had her doubts about the veracity of that statement.

“Let’s get back on subject. Judging by your appearance when we met, I would never
have thought that you were capable of interacting successfully with artistic people. You looked
forbidding, formidable…dull.”

“Thanks a lot,” Aaliyah grated out, insulted.

“Don’t get offended. It’s just the truth and, as your boss, I get to tell you the truth.
Anyway, if you had walked into that interview with your stodgy appearance, I would have never
taken you for a Broadway singing, salsa dancing, abstract-painting poet with a love of all things
musical. I would never have hired you without knowing about the side of your personality your
brother calls “Kitty Kat,” she said slyly, waggling her brows.

“Well, if we’re being honest here,” Aaliyah began.

“We are,” nodded Naomi, as if to grant her approval.

“Based on appearance alone, I wouldn’t think that a lawyer would wear a mini skirt and
fishnets to work.”

Naomi threw her head back and laughed, a vibrant, full-throated sound that caused
people around them to smile. “You’d better be glad I have such a good sense of humor,” she
said.

“I’m sorry. That was kind of mean.”

“Don’t be sorry. You’re entitled. Yes, my wardrobe could say, “Inspired by Erin
Brokovich,” but that’s me. I’m a partner who helped build the firm, and no one can deny the
powerful client base that I have. You, however, do not yet have the privilege of a reputation that
precedes you. People are naturally going to depend more on what they see to tell them who you
are. Just enjoy it, and realize that the person they’re seeing now is exactly who you’ve been all
along. Now, eat up, and I’ll tell you about our clients.”

They arrived back at the firm at around nine o‘clock. Aaliyah went to her office to get
some work done before the meeting. Apparently, a music producer from the Columbia area was
ready to move back home and open his own recording company. He had an interest in two
similar companies in Florida and Atlanta, and wished to gain local representation for an
expansion into Columbia. Naomi had put her to work filling in corporate forms they had to file
to turn the client’s idea into a fact, according to the State of South Carolina. The work kept her
mind fully occupied, because Naomi might be a good boss, but she was also meticulous, and
didn’t tolerate mistakes at all. Suddenly appearances, and her situation with Gabriel, were the
last things on her mind.

* * *

By the time he reached his office, Gabriel felt frustrated and angry. Why couldn’t he
just leave the situation alone? The woman clearly didn’t want anything else to do with him.
They weren’t friends, they weren’t dating and she meant nothing to him. “It doesn’t matter that
she dislikes me, any more than it matters that someone in a passing car doesn’t like me, so just
stop thinking about it,” he told himself.

Of course he didn’t. He’d walked through the building with a face so stormy that people
he talked to every morning intentionally dodged him. To make matters worse he’d been short
with Mrs. Hickman, his ultra efficient assistant. In response to her customary “Good Morning,”
he’d growled, “Coffee.” Never mind that he was already wired, thanks to the brew his cousin
Miguel had brought back from visiting their relatives in Colombia.

He sat at his desk, head in hands, trying to figure out a way to stave off her wrath. If
there was one thing the formidable Priscilla Hickman did not do, it was coffee. She’d told him
so during her interview, right after informing him that she held a Master’s Degree in Business.
She chose to be his assistant because she liked his startup‘s potential and because she’d been
out of the workforce for a while. If he didn’t like her terms, she’d simply be out of it for a little
while longer. Short on funds and in dire need of her expertise, he’d readily accepted.

It turned out that her husband died in a crash, but not before running the business they’d
originally built together into the ground. That was ten years ago when he was a brash twenty-
five year old, out to conquer the world through real estate. She’d stayed at his side, helping him
out of quite a few sticky situations. In exchange he gave her a generous salary, stock options
and the respect she so rightfully deserved. It was her expertise that kept them out of hot water
when the bubble burst, and made them profits on other companies’ losses. His vice presidents
trembled at her mere presence, while his business rivals gnashed their teeth in envy.

“Coffee.” The mug thumped down in front of him, splashing a few drops across the
granite surface of his desk.

He jumped at her hard voice, removing his hands from his face. He stared for a moment
at the pointed message on the side of the cup: “I Have Menopause and A Gun. Problem?!”

“Anything else?” she asked, unmistakable sarcasm lacing her tone.

“Yes,” he sighed. “Hickman, please, sit down.”

The older woman gave him a long look before settling into a chair, opposite his desk.
Gazing into his face, she could see that he was troubled. His brows were knitted together, and
an uncharacteristic frown marred his handsome features. Generally he was known for his
relatively sunny disposition, despite his intensity, with a mischievous white smile often
breaking open in his darkly handsome features. The raven-colored hair that curled onto his
forehead and collar showed evidence of hands raking through it, something he only did when
greatly disturbed. His broad muscular torso was hunched over and his chocolate eyes, bordered
by thick black lashes, bored into his hands as he braced his elbows on the desktop, bouncing his
fingertips off one another.

“You see…” he began, and then stopped. Sitting up straight he asked, “Why don’t you
fill me in on what happened while I was away?”

Without hesitation, Mrs. Hickman began to recite from a prepared mental list, watching
Gabriel begin to focus. So, he changed his mind about confiding in her. She came to the part
about the break-in, observing as his concentration intensified. As she told him about how the
man had broken into his home with the intent of stalking, then raping Aaliyah Wyndham, his
brows knitted together once again into an angry frown.

“You’ll just need to write a check to cover the expense of the cleaning and repair
services, payable to Aaliyah Wyndham,” she finished.

“I’m sorry, what?” he asked, clearly having zoned out toward the end.

“The repairs and cleaning,” she repeated. “Ms. Wyndham insisted on repairing the
window the burglar broke to get inside your house, and paying a service to clean up the mess
left by the burglar and the police. I went out to visit the site and offered to have the company
advance you the funds, but she said that it would be improper for the corporation to pay for a
personal expenditure, and that she’d take care of it. I take it that she didn’t mention it to you?”

“No, she didn’t,” he said slowly, remembering that Derrick had said something about it
just before he’d gone into the party. He was not happy to be in debt to a woman who disliked
him so intensely, especially when she had a good reason. Then he said, “Here,” handing her a
personal check from his book. “Contact her office and find out how much it cost. Then put a
check in the mail with a little extra for her trouble, and a thank you note from me.”

There, that would solve the problem nicely. He wouldn’t have to face her again, or show
his appreciation in person.

Hickman cleared her throat. “If you don’t mind my saying so,” she began, “that is not at
all your usual style.”

Gabriel sat back in his chair. “Darn! Why did the woman have to know him so well?” he
thought to himself. “What do you suggest, Hickman?”

“Dinner and a show.” Then, when he began to protest, “It is the least you could do.
This…person used your house as a means to stalk and terrorize that woman in her own home.
Rather than simply walking away from the situation, she thought of how you would feel to walk
into your sanctuary, only to find it in chaos. She thought you would probably feel violated.”

“She was right,” he admitted quietly.

“There is a good play coming to the Koger Center this weekend, and another coming to
the Township Auditorium next weekend. I could certainly make reservations at Harper’s for six
o’clock, and buy tickets for the showing at eight.” She got up from the desk, heading toward her
office.

He hated it when she did that. It was as though she knew she was right, and that he
would do exactly as she said. “Okay, I’ll call,” he said reluctantly. Then, just as she was closing
the door, “Do you have her number at work?”

“It’s on your desk,” came her reply, just before a quiet snick as the door closed.

“On my desk?” He looked around, finally locating it on a slip of paper partially hidden
under the edge of his stapler. She couldn’t have placed it there during her most recent visit to
the office, which meant she’d had this in mind all along.

He chuckled to himself as he dialed the number. What would he do without Hickman?
She always seemed to know what to do, even before he asked.

By that afternoon his frustration was again at a high level. He had already called four
times and according to the receptionist, Aaliyah was either “in a meeting,” “out to lunch” or,
his favorite, “unavailable at this time.” He’d left messages, but so far she hadn’t called him
back. He looked at his watch. Two o’clock.

“So, she’s avoiding me,” he thought, refusing to think of how he’d tried to do the same
earlier. Well, there was more than one way to get in touch with her. Sanders, Alvarez and Janig
sometimes did work for Cortez Enterprises when the primary firm was conflicted out. Richard
Sanders, one of its partners, had been courting Gabriel for years, trying to convince him to
make his firm the primary. “I think I’ll make some calls,” he said to himself, smiling.