“It will be…It has been since you’ve been out of it,” Tara snarls. “No more of your arrogance and mystique. No more having to guess what you’re thinking and how you feel about me. And no more of silently seeking your approval,” she swears before turning to Rayna. “The looks, I get it. The bad boy persona, I understand. How well he can put together his million dollar words, I’ve fallen for, too. His money is a universal draw to all women. The package is unbelievable, but not having all of him will drain you. There will always be secrets of his essence that he will keep. And you will be standing outside of him, just like the rest of us.” Tara blinks back the tears and Rayna studies her features. “No one gets inside of Azmir Divine Jacobs’ head. Remember that.”
Tara then rises from her seat and makes her way to the door. Before I know it, Rayna calls out to her as she stands herself. Tara turns to answer without thought.
“I’m in his heart. I’m not sure what the crux of your issues with him was when you were together, but perhaps if you had focused on that…his heart…” Rayna’s voice trails off. “That’s what I’ve attained and where I believe is a good start at being inside.”
After a couple of seconds of measuring Rayna’s words, Tara leaves the office, slamming the door behind her. Rayna’s chestnut irises meet mine and we gaze at one another, silently posing questions that somehow decidedly won’t pour from our mouths. It’s okay, because oddly, we both express acceptance. Hers of me asking her to come over to witness me saying my final goodbyes to a former life. And mine of her affirming her position in my world. Words aren’t adequate for this moment; only the exchange of kindred energies is.
And before I know it, Rayna reaches over, caresses the side of my face covered with hair and whispers, “I have to get back to work.”
I nod my head, understanding she has patients to see. Rayna bends over and across my desk, covers her lips with mine, giving me the most impassioned kiss. Her tongue tastes of fierce commitment as it moves forcefully and her hand continues to stroke my cheek. The next thing I know, she’s gone. But a piece of her lingers and far beyond her scent alone. I feel a slither of hope for this thing we are building.
Just hang on in there with me, Brimm…
~~~~~~~~~~
Rayna
My morning is moving along well. I just walked out from giving Mrs. Ginn a clean bill of health. Though her constant complaints of who irked her nerve won’t be missed, I know I’ll miss her warm and jovial energy. En route to my office from the exam room, I meet Sharon in the hall as she appears to be directing an olive-toned gentleman in a sloppy suit, dragging a carrycase on wheels.
Sharon’s eyes widen when they land on me as though she had hoped to run into me. “Ms. Brimm, Bertha McDowell is in your office, waiting on you. I escorted her in there just as I’m taking Mr. Miller here to our records room,” she finishes as they approach me in the hall.
“Okay on Bertha. Who’s Mr. Miller?” I ask with my brows furrowed. I’m not aware of anybody being granted access to the records room.
The older man moves forward with his hand extended, “Ms. Brimm, I’m Paul Miller, the interim counselor for Smith, Katz & Adams Sports Medicine Center. I know it may come to some surprise to you. I was just given the contract less than forty-eight hours ago.”
With palpable hesitance, I take his hand on a firm shake. “Then you should expect my shock and slight annoyance at learning about it in this moment,” I try controlling my tone.
“I got the call less than an hour ago from Wilma that Mr. Miller would be here to look into a handful of pertinent files that Mr. Thompson and his team was in the middle of before his departure from the practice,” Sharon attempts to explain. Wilma is Dan Smith’s executive secretary, one of very few who could authorize access outside of the partners. Sharon understands that would have been my next question.
“Okay…” I give myself a minute to recall his name as I’m still jarred from the news and even more bemused by Brian’s Thompson’s unexpected exodus. What in the…! “Mr. Miller, Sharon here will give you the access authorized by the partners. I’m sure I will be contacted by someone today about the switch in law firms. In fact, I’ll initiate it myself.”
He gives me a courteous nod before I continue my way to my office, reeling from this bizarre piece of news. As I enter my office, I see a tall and robust woman, sporting a long denim skirt that opens in the front on a high split. Her wool overcoat provides too many layers for December in Southern California. She dons a denim fisherman’s hat, oversized glasses and plastic rain boots; odd for a dry day. I can now, after speaking to her over the past few days on the phone, confirm that Bertha is a middle-aged woman with a fashion crisis of her own.
She turns in my direction and immediately makes her way over to me. “Ms. Brimm!” she speaks excitedly. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you, officially.”
Snapping out of my stupor, I accept her enthusiastic handshake that nearly yanks my arm off.
“I’m so excited about this opportunity! I haven’t styled in nearly fifteen years. I was over the moon when I got the referral!”
Really?
I point to the seat that’s vacant as I glance over the clothing that occupies the other chair across from my desk. I don’t want to be rude, so I attempt to maintain a conversation with her as I inspect the god-awful pieces she’s brought.