Then There Was You Read online

  Kat put her cup down. “Had. He had a daughter. She died.”

  “Oh, my gosh.” Paige’s mug slipped in her hands and she almost dropped it. “What happened?”

  Kat leaned back into the pillows. “I don’t know. I’d forgotten about it until right now. It was long before I started at Harvest. I only know anything because I heard Janine mention a granddaughter once, and Connor and Amanda only have boys.”

  Paige swallowed. The chocolate macaroon that had looked so tempting a few minutes ago now felt like sand in her mouth.

  “Don’t lead him on, Paige. If you’re sure the life that he leads is not the one for you then get out now. Whatever the story is, Josh has already had enough heartbreak for one lifetime.”

  Thirty-Two

  “That’s the best you can do?” Paige tried to channel her incredulity through the phone.

  “Yes, ma’am. That’s as low as we can go.”

  “You heard me, right? You understand I’m talking about fifty thousand bottles of water, not fifty?” Maybe the magnitude of her order was getting lost in translation.

  “That’s right, ma’am. And one seventy-two plus GST is what we can offer.”

  She couldn’t believe this. Back home, she would have had companies falling over themselves to provide product at cost to get the exposure Grace could provide. That was if they didn’t give it to them and write it off as a marketing expense.

  Yet here, Paige was reduced to haggling over every cent. There was no way she was paying more than a buck for a bottle of water. She was supposed to be getting them for seventy cents. But then her original supplier had called that morning to say they’d suffered a major equipment malfunction at their bottling plant and couldn’t guarantee it would be fixed before Grace.

  “Well then, thank you for your time, but we’ll be looking elsewhere.” She’d heard of vendors doubling prices the minute someone mentioned a w-e-d-d-i-n-g, but she’d thought getting a good deal for a church would be easier.

  “Okay, thanks for calling.” The man at the other end didn’t sound the slightest bit bothered. “Please keep Wellspring Water in mind for any future refreshment needs you may have.”

  She breathed deeply, trying to channel something gracious and Christ like. The best she could manage was a neutral farewell as she returned the phone to its cradle. She leaned forward, to cross Wellspring off her list of potential suppliers.

  Pushing her chair back, she stood up and stretched her arms toward the ceiling, her wrist aching from hours holding her phone. She grabbed the bottle off her desk and headed down the corridor toward the water cooler.

  Three somber gentlemen in suits sat in reception. Briefcases by their sides, two of them scanned their surroundings as if taking in every little detail, while the third tapped away on his phone.

  “Gentlemen.” Geoff, the church’s Chief Financial Officer, entered reception and gestured back toward the door he’d just entered through. “If you’d like to come with me.”

  They stood, not one of them cracking their stoic expression as they followed Geoff toward the other end of the floor where all the larger meeting rooms were.

  “Who were they?”

  Chloe glanced up from reception with a wrinkled brow. “A.T.O.”

  “Who?”

  “Australian Tax Office.”

  “Oh.” Paige leaned over the fill her bottle from the cooler. “Is that bad?”

  Chloe nibbled at her bottom lip. “It’s unexpected. They were here yesterday, too.”

  Oh. She was guessing a surprise visit from the A.T.O. was about as wonderful as having the I.R.S. show up on your doorstep.

  “Why would they do that?”

  Phoebe shrugged. “Who knows? Usually it’s because someone has complained, like making accusations the church is doing something dodgy with money.”

  “Like you could, even if you wanted to.” Paige had never worked in an organization that was more meticulous about documenting and approving expenditure. Not to mention checking and counterchecking before any invoices were paid. It was a wonder any money was spent, considering all the hoops involved with accessing it.

  Chloe shook her head. “I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve been audited. They’ve never found anything. In fact, every time they’ve found we could have claimed more write-offs than we did and they owed us money. Greg makes sure that’s the case because of the beating we’d get in the media if there was ever a hint that we might be evading tax. They’d crucify Greg and Janine.”

  Paige took a sip of her water, watching as Janine walked back from the direction of the meeting room and turned toward the reception desk. “Chloe, can you make us some coffee, please, for our close friends from the tax office?” Her trademark smile was absent.

  “Is everything okay?”

  Janine blew some air out from between her teeth. “They think we’re hiding a yacht.” Throwing her hands up in the air, she directed her next sentence to the ceiling. “With some kind of custom spa! What on earth would we do with a yacht with a spa? Seriously! Who makes up this kind of stuff?”

  The words bounced around Paige’s brain like a ball on the roulette wheel. A yacht. With a spa. A yacht, with a spa. Coffee. Kat forgetting her purse. Jokes about Paige earning the big bucks.

  Janine tugged the cuffs of her white shirt down and tugged a stray hair into her chignon. “Pray for us ladies, because for some reason it seems there is nothing Geoff can say, or show them, that will convince them we haven’t lost our minds and ordered up some floating palace with church money.” Turning around, she strode back toward the meeting room like a woman prepared to do battle.

  Paige froze, remembering the suit behind them who’d been standing on her shoe. Who’d looked like the same make and model as the tax clones now in Geoff’s office.

  This could not be happening. It felt like she was trying to breathe through a straw. Her knees gave out, water sloshing out of the top of her bottle as she managed to catch herself on a spare chair. What had she done?

  Five minutes later, Paige forced herself to walk the plank to Janine’s office. Her knock echoed against the open door. She had to do this now. Before she lost her nerve. Before it was too late.

  Janine looked up from her laptop screen, her face creasing into a smile that would soon be erased. “Paige, come on in.”

  Stepping through the door, Paige closed it behind herself with a click.

  “Is everything okay?” The concern etched in her boss’s voice caused a few renegade tears to start forming. Don’t cry. You cannot cry.

  Janine stepped out from her desk. Her feet were bare, a stark contrast to the suit she was wearing. One look at her neglected toenails would have told the tax guys all they needed to know about Janine and spas.

  “Here, let’s sit.” She gestured toward the couches a few steps away. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “No, no. I’m fine.” Paige’s knees gave way as she dropped onto the couch.

  Janine took the spot next to her.

  “I . . . It’s all . . .” Paige would have to resign. It was the only honorable thing to do.

  “Take your time. I have plenty of it.”

  Paige stifled an ironic laugh. Anyone who saw Janine’s calendar knew time was one thing she did not have. Drawing in a shaky breath, her fingers plucked at non-existent lint on her pants. “About the tax guys out there.”

  “Oh, honey. I’m sorry. I should have thought to let you know this was going on sooner. I promise you it’s nothing unusual. We’ve been audited many times by the A.T.O. because of a malicious rumor. Though they will deny that until kingdom come. They’ve never found anything untoward. I can show you the previous reports if you like.” Janine stood. “Just give me a couple of—”

  “No!” The word burst out. “The rumor’s because of me. I need to go talk to them and then resign.” She snuck a look up and caught a glimpse of Janine’s mouth dropping. “This tax audit. Investigation. It’s all my fault. I’m so
sorry.” The words started tumbling out and over themselves. “Kat and I were joking. I had no idea anyone would think that we were serious.” The renegade tears started to breach.

  “Whoa, whoa, slow down. Can you tell me what happened?”

  “Kat and I were out for coffee. She forgot her purse and made a joke about how I could pay since I was earning the big bucks here. She was kidding. She knew how broke I was until payday. And I made a comment about getting her access to the new yacht. With the custom spa.”

  Janine leaned back against the couch, closed her eyes, and blew some wispy bits of blonde hair off her face. “I was wondering where the yacht part came from.”

  “I can clear my desk out today—”

  She was interrupted by a burst of laughter as Janine’s eyes flew open. “Do you know how we got landed with our first big tax audit?”

  “No?”

  “I made a joke at a conference about the church paying for me to have a tummy tuck. Sarah was a baby. I’d gained a lot of weight during the pregnancy, hadn’t been able to shed it as fast as I had with the other two, and was feeling self-conscious about it. Next thing I know, we have a bevy of auditors in here trying to find the secret cosmetic surgery account.”

  She shook her head, a wry smile on her lips. “Greg got us landed with one once too. Can’t for the life of me remember why that was. Then media accusations have set off at least a couple, though the A.T.O. will deny that until the cows come home. Then a disgruntled employee landed us with another.”

  “But if I hadn’t . . .”

  Janine shrugged. “Then it probably would have been someone, or something, else. We’re high profile. We take in a lot of money. A lot of people are convinced there must be something dodgy going on, because it’s happened in so many churches. Some people flat out don’t like the tax breaks we get for being classed as a charitable entity. It’s been a few years since the last one, so we were probably already on the list.”

  “Could I go and tell them—”

  Janine shook her head. “You could, but it wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference. Once they start an audit, they’re bound to see it through. And since it would be almost impossible to steal so much as a communion wafer in this place, they won’t find anything. Again. It’ll just be a few weeks of admin pain and a few caustic headlines if the media get wind of it, and it’ll be done.”

  “There must be something I can do?”

  Janine shook her head. “Look, if I thought it would help, I’d tell my GP to release two decades of medical files that show I suffer from insane sea sickness and am pretty much the last person on earth to buy a boat. But once things like this are out, the truth doesn’t matter. It has to run its course. There has never been and never will be a yacht, and we know the A.T.O. will vindicate us. In the meantime, we hold on and ride it out.”

  “How do you do it? All of it?”

  “Because I know it’s what God has called us to do. That’s the only way we can do it. If there was any doubt . . .” Janine shook her head. “It wouldn’t be possible.”

  There was a knock at the door, and Greg stuck his head in. “Sorry, can I interrupt for a second?”

  Janine flashed him a smile. “Perfect timing, honey. I’ve got great news. We’ve found the missing yacht!”

  Paige wished she found it as funny as her boss did.

  Thirty-Three

  His plane hit earth with a hard bump and then seemed to bounce back up into the air.

  There was no need for Josh to assume the brace position, since he was sure the entire plane would have to come apart before he’d be released from the economy seat confines he’d been jammed into for the last fourteen-plus hours.

  Never again would he pass up an upgrade in an attempt to show solidarity with the band. At least Paige wouldn’t be able to mock him for not having appreciation for how the less fortunate traveled.

  A smile snuck up on him at the thought. They hadn’t had much contact in the past two weeks, and he’d found himself counting down the days like a lovesick teen. The lack of contact wasn’t because he was trying to play it cool. It was more that he didn’t want to pass two weeks in semi-flirtatious electronic banter when there were bigger issues they needed to address.

  How on earth was he going to tell Paige about Narelle and Hannah? Even now, eight years later, just thinking their names churned him up inside. He didn’t even know how he was going to get through telling her the whole ugly, horrible story. He couldn’t even bring himself to decline Narelle’s Facebook friend request. From two years ago.

  Even if Paige was still open to something once he told her about them, he still didn’t know her plans for her future or the status of her visa. And before anything progressed, he wanted to talk to his parents and get their thoughts. He wanted—needed—to do this right.

  The sun rose through the windows, casting a pink hue across the airport. He checked his watch. Just after six. The seatbelt sign clicked off, starting a mad stampede as everyone escaped from their seats and accessed their bags, as if cramming a couple of hundred people into the narrow aisles would get them off the plane any faster.

  The queue started shuffling forward, allowing him a bit of space to lever himself out, his back cracking with the effort.

  Two hours later, he cleared the final biosecurity hurdle and walked, blinking into the fluorescent lights of the arrivals hall.

  “Did we arrange a shuttle or something?” he asked Connor, who was navigating another equipment-laden trolley behind him.

  His brother-in-law checked his watch. “Yeah, but our flight was early, so it’s probably still another fifteen minutes away.”

  Perfect. Josh was going to need to set up an IV of espresso to make it through today. “What can I get you?”

  Connor put his hand over his mouth to stifle a yawn. “Something strong.”

  “Anyone else?” Josh looked around, and saw that pretty much the rest of his crew were being greeted by family. Small children wound themselves around their fathers’ legs and there were a few passionate embraces that were borderline inappropriate for public display.

  “When was the last time anyone suffered the M5 for us?”

  Connor looked at the chaos reigning around them, shrugging his broad shoulders. “Probably last millennium. When it didn’t cost a fortune in tolls.”

  For a second, a vision flickered in his mind of walking through the glass arrival door to find Paige waiting for him after a long flight. He shook it away before it could take root. Even if they were dating, which they weren’t, Connor was right. The tolls to the airport cost a fortune.

  Far better for her to be waiting at home, cooking a nice dinner—enough. This was ridiculous. She probably couldn’t even cook. And heaven help him if his mother ever heard he was expecting someone waiting at home ready to serve him dinner. He’d be out on the street before he knew it. Coffee. He needed coffee. Good strong coffee.

  There. Hudsons’. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and started digging through it for some Australian dollars among the sea of US green.

  “Two flat whites, extra shot in both please.”

  He glanced down at the newspaper on the counter. What the? His mother looked up at him from the front page. An old photo, judging by the haircut. The headline seared his eyeballs: A.T.O. investigates Harvest purchase of luxury yacht.

  A yacht? Seriously? He scanned the article only long enough to gather that some lunatic thought his mother had ordered a luxury launch, and the A.T.O. would once again be tearing the place apart trying to find it. Just like the cosmetic surgery she never had.

  He flicked the paper over the counter. “And this, please.”

  Whoever had landed them in this better be watching their back. He was finished with watching his parents get done over in the court of public opinion without anyone fighting their corner.

  After dropping off Connor, Josh bypassed home and headed straight for church, the newspaper clasped so tightly between his fingers,
he could see the ink rubbing off the pages.

  Why, God? All his parents wanted to do was serve Him. It was what they’d spent their entire life doing. And because they happened to end up with a large church and an influential ministry, this was what they got—derision and suspicion. Heaven forbid the media should ever report the great things they were involved in, like supporting single mothers, funding clean water projects in Africa, raising money for scholarships for underprivileged kids.

  No, all anyone seemed to care about was that his parents lived in a nice house and his dad drove a nice car. Never mind his mum’s decade old clunker. Or that they crisscrossed the world most months and worked 340-odd days a year. So much for a worker being worth their wages.

  And don’t even get him started on how even the most hack journalist could have worked out his mother hadn’t set foot on a boat in about thirty years.

  The shuttle pulled up in front of the main entrance, and Josh opened the door before it had even stopped. He jumped out of the van, and counted out the fare while the driver unloaded his bag and guitar.

  Great. Media in front of the building. He kept his eyes to the ground, blocked out the insulting questions shouted his way, and got inside as fast as he could. Stashing his gear in a nearby coatroom he took the stairs to the offices two at a time, his feet pounding against the wooden boards.

  He passed reception, and headed down the hall leading to the staff offices.

  Both his parents’ doors were closed, so he turned around, pulling out his phone to text them and let them know he was back.

  Where to now?

  A flash of golden hair caught the corner of his eye. Paige. It had slipped to the back of his mind that she’d be here in all the turmoil since seeing the paper.

  He stilled. The blinds to her office were open. She sat in her chair, her hair pulled into a messy bun on top of her head. Her brow furrowed, bottom lip pinned by top teeth, she looked like the textbook definition of a stressed logistics coordinator as she stared at the Gantt charts on the wall.