Castles on the Sand

By Sherry Boardman

A plum assignment in Mexico could seal a promotion for Leslie Williams who has pulled herself up the corporate ladder in record time. Fortune 500’s Dawson, Incorporated, is one of the city’s largest architecture firms, and she is determined to convince her chauvinistic boss she can outdo the best of them. First, she must learn to keep a lid on her temperament rather than continually being on the defensive due to the fact she is female. Because of prior relationships turned sour, she resists the temptation to recognize her superior’s positive attributes.

Brent Dawson’s primary focus is to rebuild the firm’s business after his father retires and turns the helm over to his son. However, Brent soon realizes his father has not always been straight forward in his dealings with partners and clients. Re-establishing the firm’s image and its revenues are his priorities. Having to deal with a female employee’s ego is certainly not included on the list. But, he realizes she is beyond competent–and possibly an amiable human being, if he can discern how to get through her exterior shell.

(Romantic sexual tension. No erotica)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sherry Boardman
• Release date: May 21, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458142283

Sherry Boardman

After retiring from education and wanting to stay busy, I dug out all the manuscripts written through the years and began a new career, that of author. Smashwords has been amazing in its assistance in preparing for final publications. I was born and raised in Texas. Although I have lived in other states, I always return home to my roots. My books are written from the heart with my readers always in mind. I hope you find much enjoyment in allowing your mind to wander to other times and places and will return to my site often to see the latest creation available.

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Castles On The Sand

Sherry Boardman

Copyright 2011 by Sherry Boardman

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Sandcastle

From the beach its sandy walls rise,

Its turrets reach up to touch the skies.

A tiny moat dissolves the keep.

Its pavers are strong, though only two inches deep.

Tiny footprints embedded in the sand,

where once a child there did stand.

Its grace and beauty a short time will last,

Before the sea washes it into the past.

(Author Unknown)

Chapter 1

Leslie’s fists clenched, and she felt the flush on her face as she stared at the closed office door. How dare that man put her down in front of the others! Who did he think he was? She had sweated blood over those architecture graphs. Now, they might as well be specks in the wind. His sadistic behavior toward the female gender was providing far too much pleasure...for him. She refused to be humiliated, especially in front of the firm’s Board.

Tossing her auburn mane, she whirled around and marched in the direction of her office at the far end of the hall. She paused at the door and stared at the small, insignificant nameplate. Someday, someday letters three inches tall would scream to the world that her position was that above a glorified clerk. She had spent six years studying for her architecture degree and then two more as an intern. It wasn’t one of those fly-by-night online degrees. And, she had just completed two night classes of advanced work at Rice University.

Leslie Williams, you are going to succeed in spite of the holier-than-thou Brent Dawson. With an unladylike grunt, both hands shoved the wooden slab, and she retreated into the impotent, dim room.

Hours passed before Leslie looked up from the stack of blueprints. Leaning back, she stretched her long, lean frame to ease the tension experienced most of the day. Two light taps on the door disturbed the peaceful moment, and, immediately, the young face tensed as piercing emerald eyes took aim toward the sound. She already knew who it was. It was an all too familiar knock.

Yes? she said, faking a forceful voice.

Miss Williams, may I speak to you a moment? came the muffled reply.

Come in, Mr. Dawson, she replied as the door was already being opened.

Glancing up, she gave her superior a quick study. His appearance would soften any woman’s heart. He stood tall and decently muscled, by her standards. His fashionably styled chocolate brown hair and Texas tanned face, from both golf course and beach, accentuated the sparkling blue eyes. Definitely the James Bond image. Perhaps any other woman’s insides would have melted, but not this female’s. Not today!

What can I do for you, Mr. Dawson? Leslie asked.

I thought we might review the reports for tomorrow’s meeting, he answered.

I would have thought you had quite enough of my input after what occurred this morning, she snapped, busily scrawling meaningless notes on the pad in front of her.

An unfortunate happening. I had no intention of the meeting concluding as it did, he said, still standing in the doorway.

Could have fooled me, she shot back. A flush warmed her neck, her ears ablaze.

Brent Dawson stood there studying the woman who, at this moment, appeared older than her twenty-eight years. She was attractive, though not a raving beauty. However, an aura of quaint quality impelled a man to take a second look. She had been with the architect firm for over a year and possessed the intellect for rapid advancement. Although, her quick temper and women’s lib attitude might become a hindrance.

Here are the reports, she said, interrupting his survey as she extended the stack of papers. This really isn’t an opportune moment to enter into a detailed discussion.

Miss Williams, there was no planned agenda earlier to argue your opinions, he said. I just thought that one or two of the per cents were off a bit.

I did my homework, Mr. Dawson, she snapped. "Quite well. Perhaps others should better prepare themselves on what is assigned to be presented." She still gripped the reports, hoping he would take them soon before her hand began to tremble.

He looked at her a moment and decided it wasn’t worth another argument. The remainder of his day would not be ruined by an insignificant incident. He had apologized, in so many words, and with a late lunch engagement at hand, there was no time to rehash what, in his opinion, should have already been forgotten. He despised dealing with personnel’s personalities.

I’ll keep that in mind, he said. If I have any problem analyzing the data, I’ll buzz you. He walked the short distance to her desk and reached for the extended files. Without another word, even a thank you, he turned and exited.

Leslie sank into the worn leather chair, her knees shaky. He’ll buzz me! Well, just buzz me–if you can find me, she sneered in a raised voice to the closed door.

She grabbed her purse and a few tissues. Her eyes were stinging, and the tears she had battled all morning weren’t to be held back much longer. Dialing the shared secretary, Leslie related she had remembered an appointment and would be out the rest of the day. She wanted to slam the door as she left, but decided not to create any disruption for others to wonder what had stirred her ire.

Outside, she inhaled a deep breath of air to clear her thoughts. It was raining, a typical Houston summer day. Leslie popped her umbrella, straightened her drooping shoulders, and proceeded toward the parking lot. If those walking past her had noticed, they would have remarked that the moisture on her cheeks was not caused by the inclement weather.

Chapter 2

It was sultry. This summer was going to be one for the record books. Safe in her apartment, Leslie turned down the air conditioner. Hang the bill, she thought. I’ll deal with that next month. Wilted clothes fell in her wake. Soon, she settled into a cool bath to relax, demanding the thoughts of the unpleasant morning wash away. But they kept crowding back into the forefront of her mind. She didn’t particularly enjoy her job at the Dawson firm; however, it was a step up. There was no way she could continue with her specialized courses without the salary she was making. She had received a grant, but it was a long way from paying for the courses she had on her master plan. Last semester’s three classes a week was almost too much with the schedule Brent Dawson had thrown her way. The slate for the upcoming fall classes would require more sensible planning. But, she wasn’t giving up. She had to go the distance. Her future depended on it.

A crooked smile disturbed her face when she recalled her initial interview at Dawson, Incorporated. The ad for the position was for an architect experienced in both drafting and digital design. Of course, there was no stipulation for male or female. Nor did her resume indicate the gender. When the secretary called to set up the appointment, there was no surprise when a soprano answered, rather than a bass. But it was quite obvious what was expected when a young female applicant walked into Dawson’s office.

Leslie Williams? he asked, glancing back to the application.

Yes, she answered.

But, I thought...or rather, I assumed the applicant was male from the resume.

Does it matter? she had answered.

Well, no. Although, your credentials stated that you had completed engineering and architectural courses at U of H, and I suppose I took it for granted.

If I am qualified for the position, my gender should have nothing to do with it. Should it?

His eyebrows had narrowed as he looked back at the application. Following a lengthy cross-examination, she was hired at a reasonable salary. Enough to pay her rent and stay above the drowning point. There would be no luxuries, but that was nothing new. Treading water had been her style for some time now. When Leslie left his office that day, she knew an uphill battle was in her future to prove that a woman could accomplish just as much as a man. With this job, her lifelong dream of owning her own architect firm would begin to be more than a mere fantasy. And if she couldn’t envision a satisfying future, what was there for her? Her past left much to be desired. Finally, that part of her life was beginning to dim. Somewhat.

The phone startled her. The answering machine picked up on the fourth ring. Relief swept over her when she heard Tim’s voice. He wanted to drop by later. Leslie sighed. She definitely was in no mood for company. Besides, Tim was beginning to spend too much time after work with his buddies. She despised his visits on a whim and had entertained the idea of breaking if off, but that left no one. Sometimes, she thought, I would be better off. Men are nothing but bad news.

No longer in the right state of mind to continue relaxing in the tub, she yanked on the tub’s plug, and water gurgled down the drain. The velvety towel comforted her as it was draped around the curvy frame. Shuffling to the closet, her hand propelled the hangers along the rod as she browsed for a cool outfit appropriate for a boring evening.

Chapter 3

Hi, doll, Tim hailed when Leslie opened the door.

Hello, Tim. It’s a little late, isn’t it?

He walked in and promptly plopped down on the couch. Naw. The night’s just gettin’ started. I brought something to keep us company. The pack of aluminum containers dangled in his fingers, with only five remaining.

Looks as if you have already started by yourself, Leslie remarked.

Just one to keep me occupied while I was driving over. Helped pass the time.

You’ll be doing time if a cop sees you drinking behind the wheel.

Don’t worry, he countered. I keep my eyes open. And he popped another top, foam spewing onto the couch.

Be careful, she said, irritated at his carelessness. This furniture is rented. Rushing to the kitchen, she grabbed a handful of paper towels and returned to soak up the spots. Tim, I wish you would be more responsible. There will be an extra charge for cleaning when I return this. Her annoyance was accented when well-shaped eyebrows furrowed.

Don’t worry about it. He took the towels from her and tossed them on the carpet. Grabbing her arm, he said, Quit playing the housekeeper and sit down by me. I haven’t even had a kiss.

Leslie sat down and leaned over to give him a peck on the cheek. The all too familiar odor of alcohol and smoke made her want to retch. She pulled back.

What’s the matter with you? he asked, his words slurred. His eyes weren’t glazed over. Yet. But it was only a matter of time.

I hate that smell, she said.

What smell? I took a shower this morning, he countered, sniffing his shirt.

Liquor and cigarettes. I really detest it, Tim. Why can’t you come over here before you go out with the guys? An argument was in the making. Why did she always feel as if she was the one on the short end? This definitely was not needed tonight, especially with the morning’s office episode still pounding at her senses.

Well, it’s just not always easy to get away. Our work is heaped up, and when we leave the office, there has been so much pressure that we need to hang out and unwind.

And I am just supposed to sit around four or five hours after a phone call and be convenient when you decide to show your face? she asked. Her ears were heating up...for the second time that day.

Just calm down, he said, waving his hand. Then, he switched on the television and turned his attention to a second rate rerun.

Leslie sat there watching him. He had changed since their first date almost nine months ago. His usually neat dark hair was tousled as if he had just left his bed. The suit, which was probably immaculate at nine o’clock that morning, was now a mass of wrinkles, partly from the damp weather, mostly from slouching around in a bar booth. Stains on his shirt evidenced his being careless with his drink. A shadow of a beard etched a 3-D effect. Tim had been one of the better looking men whom Leslie had dated. He was in his late twenties, but at the moment, closer to fifty would be a more apt description. She presently stared at a fragment of the past she longed to forget.

I think you’d better go, Tim, she said softly. Picking up the soaked paper towels, she stood up and started to the kitchen.

What’d I do? he asked, surprised at her sudden decision.

It doesn’t matter. I just think you’d better go.

Just like that?

Yes, she said. She pitched the towels into the garbage and, rather than returning to the sofa, continued to the door.

What’s gotten into you? he asked.

Don’t cause a scene. I’m just not good company tonight, and you need to go home while you can still drive. Or, I’ll be glad to call a taxi for you.

I’m fine! But, what’s wrong with you? His words were yet understandable, but his eyes weren’t looking any better, and the tinge of anger in his voice crossed the line.

All right, she said. I’ll tell you. Looking straight into his eyes, she began to vent what had been suppressed far too long. I cannot abide your coming over here in this condition. I’m tired of it! If you cannot visit me without a gut full of booze, then perhaps there is no reason to come at all. She took a deep breath. This seemed to be her day for getting things off her chest.

Just a few lousy drinks with the guys. What’s wrong with that?

Leslie glared at him for a moment, her hands on her hips, and then it spilled out. I can’t abide it, Tim. I grew up with booze and drugs. My father had a top-notch job, making maximum dollar at his firm. He began coming home with liquor on his breath when I was ten. By the time I was twelve, the smell of pot gagged me every time I went into the garage to get my bicycle. When I was fifteen, the shooting-up had begun. In the meantime, I watched my mother withdraw from life, and everyone in it, year after year.

So, that’s your life’s story? he questioned with a lopsided grin.

Not quite, she said. She was just warming up. All the memories from the catacombs of her mind pushed forward as she began pacing back and forth in front of the television, blocking his view. My friends weren’t stupid. When they tuned in to what was going on, they began to find excuses for not coming over. My dad’s after-work gatherings soon turned to overnight binges. He would call my mother the next morning, and she would dutifully go and pick him up, from wherever, in time for him to clean up and go to the office to begin the whole routine once again. Her pacing ceased, and she looked through Tim as if he were not there. Meanwhile, I began to notice meals were becoming slimmer. Mother’s usual monthly shopping sprees became almost non-existent. I still had everything I needed, not fully realizing the financial hole engulfing us. Mom took in sewing to buy necessities. Her voice trembled, and beads of perspiration had popped out on her upper lip. Wisps of hair fanning her face were swatted back when she paused for a breath. She turned to a small lamp table and delicate fingers traced the picture of a woman and child. Her heart