Love Redeemed, Book 4
Love Belvin
“May these words of my mouth and this meditation of my heart
be pleasing in your sight,
Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer.”
(Psalm 19:14 New International Version)
Chapter 1
Rayna
I jump right into work with an interview for an assistant position. The candidate is the last of many screenings over the past two weeks. Sarah-Megan Shepller is a promising twenty-three-year-old student, studying to be a licensed physical therapist. Secretly, her name tickles me. I have to call her Sarah-Megan as she has two first names like the actress, Lisa-Raye McCoy. She’s sharp and extremely knowledgeable about techniques and treatment plans. She seems to say all the right things and projects the confidence needed to command my attention. Sarah-Megan is the only qualified candidate that’s available to start right away, which furthers my intrigue. According to her renowned affiliations, she’s committed to the profession. We even know a few people in common, professionally.
Ahhh! So there is a bit of sunlight after yesterday’s bitter storm.
Yesterday was god-awful. Learning the paternity of Tara’s baby not only sheds light on my future with Azmir, it also brings with it increasing doubts about being able to fully trust him. He has so many layers, countless secrets. It makes me wonder what other pieces of him are floating around, hiding themselves from me, the woman who’s agreed to be his wife. The prospect is frightening. These discoveries: learning of his pseudo affair with Dawn Taylor, him withholding the paternity results, his lying about his knowledge of it just before proposing—they counteract my efforts to settle my heart and find security in my relationship with him. All day, these dubious thoughts loom despite my efforts to push them into the recesses of my overactive mind.
After the interview, I attend to two patients who actually follow their treatment plans. I can tell their rehabilitation is progressive and can give approximations for complete repairs and healings. A busy workday is providing the best short-term remedy to my wrestled mind. My morning is going well until Sharon pages me, informing me of a visitor. She knows to have them wait until I instruct her otherwise. Since Harrison’s visit and our current A.D. Jacobs imposed security, there is now stricter protocol to follow.
“Who is it, Sharon?”
“Ms. Tara Harrison.”
My heart skips a beat and I let out a deep sigh. I knew this morning was going too well to be true! I don’t want a show and feel that I could handle Tara physically if she has plans to become recklessness.
“Show her to my office, please.”
“Okay,” Sharon agrees.
Moments later, there’s a knock at the door and I know it’s Sharon showing Tara in.
Tara is always flawless, well—poised, with no detail out of place. She’s wearing fitted indigo blue jeans, a black sheer shirt, and an off-white blazer with black booties. It’s clear that she’s fashion forward. Every time I see her she dons something impressive. I wonder how much of her style is attributed to Azmir. How much of my style is accredited to Azmir? Her large hoop rhinestone earrings level her high and very long ponytail. She looks great. I’m relieved to see she doesn’t have her baby with her. She was entirely out of line for that last night.
“Tara.” I stand and greet her, trying to sound as if I’m raising the white flag, though deep inside I’m trying to command the wherewithal to battle another round with her. This will be difficult because I’m still fatigued from the events of last night.
Sharon turns on her heels, leaving the door slightly ajar.
“Rayna…or is it Dr. Brimm?” she asks with a hidden sneer.
“Rayna Brimm will work just fine. How may I help you?” Seeing as you are in the stalkerish habit of visiting me at my most intimate places. What’s next—church?
“I need to talk to you. I think I have a handle on you now.” She walks the short walls of my small office, observing my accolades.
“A handle. Oh?” My favorite line used to bait people.
When she makes her way to my desk Tara takes a seat, slowly depositing herself into the chair across from my desk. After a beat, I follow suit.