Chapter 3

Chapter 3

As director of the board of Chicago’s third largest bank, Samantha “Sam” Worthington finished this month’s meeting. The nine other board members all convened around the coffee urn to finish their conversations about basketball and the weather while Sam went directly to her office on the 25th floor of the Worthington building. It was only when she closed the double French styled wood doors to her three room office suite did she finally begin to breathe normally again.

Man, I hate board meetings, she thought. All those stuffy old men just lying in wait hoping to catch me mess up. They’re worse than the big bad wolf that Red had to handle. But, at least that’s over for another month and I can get back to business.
The confidence came easy now, but it wasn’t always like that. Having grown up the only girl and the youngest of four in a strictly patriarchal family, she had to prove herself at every turn. Her mother never understood why she couldn’t just be happy with tennis and volunteer work. But that wasn’t good enough for Sam. She wanted a piece of the action.

Her father and brothers had all laughed when, at nine, she announced, at the country club annual event, that she would take over the family business one day. Even worse than their laughter, were the jokes and taunts at her expense for the next ten years. But, she knew it had made her tough. It didn’t matter that her father owned the bank; she had worked her way up from teller, and she was damn proud of it. So, when her father stepped down from Director of the Board, she outwitted, outsmarted, and outdid all of her brothers and won the position.

And now, that toughness translated into her everyday actions. Nobody messed with Samantha Worthington.

She headed towards the full bathroom to the right of her main office, splashed some water on her face. Taking a couple of deep breaths, she thought, let me at those numbers.

An hour later, she glanced at the clock and smiled. She was meeting Reilly at her favorite restaurant today. The morning had flown by and it was already 11:30. Grabbing her bag from the bottom drawer, she buzzed her assistant and told her she was going to lunch.

The cold blast from Michigan Avenue had the maitre d’ looking up from the reservation book. His eyes widened.
“Ms. Worthington, I had no idea you’d be dining with us today. Welcome.”
“Thank you Pierre. The reservation is in my friend’s name. Reilly Thompson.”

As he led her through the restaurant, every eye in the place followed. Unfortunately, Sam was used to it. Considering herself more striking than pretty, she was one of those women that everyone noticed. She had high cheekbones, wide lavender eyes, and lips so full other women wanted referrals to her collagen doctor. Plus, standing at 5’11” and proportionally built for her size, she called attention to herself no matter where she went.

Looking over the menu at the Grand Lux Café, Sam was trying to decide if she should order the Greek salad and follow her diet, or go for the steak mushroom and cheese sandwich with extra crispy fries when Reilly sat down.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Sam said as she handed her menu to Reilly.
“I think I have, one minor problem, though…it’s me.”

After Reilly had filled Sam in on the details of her morning and included the fact that she’d gotten the brooch dated, Sam not only decided to pick the steak sandwich, but ordered a very large merlot to go with it.
“So, it dates back from the 1500s?” Sam asked.
“1567 actually. The frame is dated back to 1558, but the limning process revealed that the brooch was done in ’67. As a matter of fact, we were even able to tell that it was made somewhere in Northern Europe, probably England or Ireland. I still can’t believe it. How does it look so much like me?”
“Honey, it doesn’t look like you…” Sam handed Reilly her wine glass and gestured to the waiter to bring another. “It is you.”
“But how? How is it possible?” She absently rubbed her brooch. “How could someone in the 1500s create a perfect portrait of me?”
The two friends spent the better part of the next hour trying to figure out that very confusing question, but came up with nothing. Frustrated, Reilly changed the subject.

“So, what’s new in your world?”
“Oh, not much. Had our monthly board meeting today. I swear I can feel the hatred coming off some of those guys. Oh, my aunt’s birthday is tomorrow. I’d love for you to finally meet that side of the family.”

“You mean, you want me to finally meet your cousin.”
“Sure. What’s wrong with trying to set you two up? You’re perfect for each other.”
Reilly sighed. “You know I’m not into dating right now. Not since what happened with the ex.”

“Yeah, from what you’ve told me, that was harsh. Strutting over to your table to brag about his new wife and baby. I wonder how he knew you’d be at that restaurant. It sounds like he planned it. But, still. It was three years ago. Don’t you think it’s time you move on?”

“I can’t. That was also the night my parent’s plane went down. I don’t know. Maybe it’s stupid, but I feel somewhat guilty about their deaths.”
“Look, you didn’t cause the crash.”

Reilly took a sip of her wine. “How can you be so sure? It was like I was there. What if my thoughts actually made it happen? I thought it was a dream, but it wasn’t. I was wide awake. I could feel the horror and the fear my mom experienced as their plane dove into the mountain range. My body felt as if it had been in the wreck. There was so much pain. And then, it was calm and I knew. I just knew they were dead. How can I not be the cause?”

Sam looked at her friend and put her arm around Reilly’s shoulders, “It wasn’t your fault, hon. You need to let it go.” Then Sam smiled the grin she was known for. “And the best way to move on is to take a lover…and speaking of my cousin….”
Reilly smiled and shook her head. “If you keep this up, I’m gonna have to kick your butt in karate class tonight.”
“Yeah, like that could happen.” They laughed and finished their lunch.

Back at work, Reilly hit the right corner of her desk twice; opened and closed the middle left drawer; opened the center drawer and voila, the hidden bottom in that drawer just opened right up. She remembered when she’d first found it. She had been eight and her reward had been her father’s stash of chocolate caramels. According to her father, the desk was dated back to the early 1500s and he claimed had been used by Mary, Queen of Scots.

She wasn’t sure about that, but it did have its own charm, like an old book or worn down stone, that reeked of ancient documents and important treaties being signed on it. Dark, imperfect wood gleamed from years of polishes and the desk even spoke of romance. Carved into the wood, hidden under the top were the initials IM + R something.

Reilly used to imagine the handsome lord who’d carved his initials into the rich wood. Who had been his lover? Was it someone of high lineage or a simple maid? She would spend hours sitting under that desk and dreaming of the handsome couple giggling while they made their mark. It made her feel like she was back in some fantastical romance taking place in medieval Scotland.

It was almost seven by the time she came up for air and realized she was going to be late for her Karate class if she didn’t leave now. They were sparring again today and that was Reilly’s favorite part. On the drive over, she remembered the first time she sparred for her black belt.

Reilly and the tall blond woman in the dojo had beaten every other opponent, men and women, and were set to challenge each other. The Sensei looked at them both and knew this was going to be exciting.
Both hard driven.
Both determined.
Both tough as nails.
Both ready to do whatever it takes to win.
Both equally matched.
They sparred for a total of forty-five minutes before the Sensei called it a draw. Exhausted and beaten up, they bowed to each other and smiled. Sam crooked her head towards the door, “Don’t know about you, but I could really use a drink.”
They became instant friends.

Reilly walked into the dojo smiling at the memory of that first meeting three years ago. She spotted Sam and walked over.
“Hey, girl.”
“Hey! So, how’d the rest of the day with the spooky brooch go? Any news?”
“Nothing really. Billy did some more research. He came up with a couple of famous artists from that time, but nothing concrete. I read through some of it today, but that had more to do with a sport called curling. I’ll finish reading it later at home. Maybe he came up with something we can latch onto. ”
“Well, if not, give Billy time. He’s a whiz with research, and will go to the ends of the earth to help you.” Sam winked.
“Quit it, Billy’s my assistant, he’s 24 and he’s not my type. I’ve already had this conversation with you about thirty times. C’mon, let’s spar. I’m ready to kick your skinny butt.”

A few hours later, Reilly was back at home and reading all the information Billy had gotten from the internet earlier. Although she knew a lot about the time period, clothes and customs, Billy’s research hit on topics she was less than familiar with. He had gotten information about artists specializing in limning. There was one in particular that caught her attention. Ian MacDougal.

The sketch of what he was supposed to look like had her doing a double take. Strong jaw line, long black hair tied back from his face, eyes that even in 2-D made you want to confess to anything. He was definitely the epitome of the “sexy artist”. Looking over his biographical information, Reilly learned that he was from Scotland and had made a name for himself by not only painting portraits but through revolutionary inventions.