Faking Grace by Tamara Leigh

Author:Tamara Leigh [Leigh, Tamara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-76944-2
Publisher: The Doubleday Religious Publishing Group
Published: 2010-11-03T04:00:00+00:00

THIRTEEN

If I get fired, it’s Grandma’s fault.

Regardless of what I said, she had insisted on allowing William to show her around Nashville. Thus, I did what any concerned granddaughter would do: called in late. Fiala was not pleased, but it allowed me to meet William before he and Grandma embarked on their tour. He seemed harmless enough and appeared only a little offended when I had him write out his plans for the day so I’d know where Grandma was at all times. As for Grandma, she was definitely offended and, as she allowed William to help her into his baby Hummer, gave me a look that would have melted a teenage me.

When I step from the elevator at Steeple Side, a glance at my watch confirms I’m an hour late. Everyone has settled into their day, and all is quiet—at least until the door of Men’s Publications whooshes inward and a young man flies out. Right into my path and into me. I stumble back with a squawk, unable to balance on two-inch heels.

We go down—me on the bottom, Flyboy on top.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry.” He scrambles off me, but before he can right himself, he’s lifted by Todd Wynde.

“Look what you did.” Todd sets the young man on his feet. “You okay, Grace?”

I am flat on my back, one shoe has gone south, my at-knee skirt is no longer at-knee, and my tucked-in blouse is untucked. So embarrassing. And soon to be the talk of Steeple Side if those streaming out of the two departments are any indication of how thirsty these people are for something to gab about.

“Grace?”

I catch a glimpse of Fiala’s wide-eyed face before accepting the hand that Jack thrusts out to me. “Thanks.” Though I could blame the sensation that zips through me on frazzled nerves, I know some of it is from Jack. More than some of it.

He pulls me to standing. “All right?”

Unsteady on my feet, largely due to one side of me aspiring to rise two inches above the other, I smile. “I’ll be fine.”

He releases me, and none too soon, as the onlookers have begun to murmur.

I smooth my skirt with one hand and work my blouse into my waistband with the other.

“Clear out, people,” Jack says. “It was fun while it lasted, but it’s over.”

Fun? For whom?

As I accept the shoe retrieved by my fellow editorial assistant, the onlookers siphon back into their respective departments.

Jack turns to Todd. “What happened here?”

“Sir”—Flyboy raises a hand—“it was my fault. I was having a little fun with the guys, and it got out of hand.”

“He crawled under my desk and tied my shoelaces together,” Todd grumps.

Then how did he …? I glance down. Sure enough, he left his shoes behind in his pursuit of the rascal.

“I did it.” Flyboy looks momentarily sheepish. “But I’m telling you, it wasn’t me who glued your pants to your chair.”

As I step into my shoe, Todd crosses his arms over his chest. “Well, I’m the one who coated the inside of your baseball cap with axle grease.

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