Comfort Plans by Kimberly Fish

 

Colette Sheridan is being remodeled.

Excerpt, Chapter 1, Part 4
from Comfort Plans

Continued from the Lone Star Book Blog Tours 8/10/17 Stop

He stuffed his fists into the pockets of his wool trousers. “I just don’t want you to be blindsided on Monday. That’s why I wanted you with me at the airport. In my own way, I’m looking out for you.”
She studied the set to his eyes. There were new grooves in the lines fanning out from his mouth. He was practically an edifice for Piccadilly Circle.
“It’s Julian,” he said with the barest hint of a stutter. “I’ve brought Julian to the firm.”
Julian.
Only one Julian was on a first-name basis in this family, and that was the man she’d married during a crazed spring break her last semester of college.
And divorced eight years ago to the day.
This had to be a joke. The worst joke, no less, and one she’d make her grandfather pay for—but still, why mention Julian’s name now? Wasn’t her ex-husband fawning over clients in Singapore or Bangladesh or somewhere far, far away from San Antonio? She’d like to think she could remember, but a red haze had formed over her eyes, and she wasn’t confident she could control her reactions.
“He’s the most logical choice, Colette. No one knows the restoration business better than Julian.” Nathan drew in an uneven breath. “Except for you.”
“That’s not true. Even Raul knows as much as me. He’s been here longer.”
“You know I need a top-drawer candidate to lead this firm into the future.”
Ha! Double ha-ha! There were other words Colette knew she should latch on to, but looking at the resolve on her grandfather’s face made conversation irrelevant. A Sheridan didn’t make rash decisions and certainly didn’t announce it without it being fait accompli. Hadn’t that been drilled into her every time her choices landed her in trouble? What she didn’t know, couldn’t even begin to fathom, was why her grandfather would say something so ridiculous, so radical, so . . . heartless. Today.
Julian.
Of all the people, in all the world, in need of an executive position, why did it have to be him?
She threw the transmission into reverse, spewing crushed gravel from the drive like she was at Indianapolis. The face she hadn’t seen since he’d signed his name to their legal demise beamed onto her windshield. She ran the red light at Wiltshire and New Braunfels Avenues.
Eight years.
Colette hoped Julian had lost his glossy hair and gained fifty pounds. Maybe he was married to a shrew.
Eight years! She squeezed the life out of her steering wheel as she screeched onto Broadway and nearly sideswiped a minivan.
This was most definitely not an ordinary Saturday.