The Fall of the Prodigal by Michelle Lindo-Rice

her off. He gestured toward the door.
    â€œMake sure he signs those papers.” She stomped out the room.
    Natalie referenced the requisition papers Keith had prepared. In essence it was a legal payment plan.
    Bishop Combs hunched over. “What am I going to do? When the board gets wind of this . . .”
    â€œIt’s not the board you should be worried about,” Keith admonished. “It’s God. What does He think? It’s the federal government. Trust me when I tell you, the truth comes out.”
    The bishop groaned. “I ran into trouble with the mortgage and some other business investments. Suzette needed things, a new car, new wardrobe. I planned on returning it,” Bishop Combs mumbled. “I invested the money in the hopes of making a big return, but that flopped. I’m in over my head. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He repeated his apology several times.
    Keith tapped the papers. “This is an agreement stating you will repay the foundation in three installments.”
    The bishop nodded. His hands trembled as he signed the form. Shame-faced, he said to Keith, “Please don’t hold this against me, or God.”
    â€œI don’t see this as a reflection against God. Others might. They will add you to the list of hypocritical ministers out there. But not me. You helped counsel me but you’re human. I didn’t build my foundation on you. Whatever you’ve done won’t shake my foundation or my faith.”
    â€œGood. Good.”
    â€œIt will shake others, though,” Keith said. “You did wrong. But, I’m glad you’re making amends.”

Chapter Eighteen
    â€œDon’t these people have jobs?” Michael asked.
    Verona rolled her eyes. “I didn’t invite you to come with me to Bible Study.”
    â€œI wasn’t aware I needed a special invite to come into God’s house. Doesn’t He welcome everyone?”
    â€œApparently, fleas as well,” she bit back. Sorry, Lord, but he’s trifling as ever.
    Michael creased his forehead. “What’s wrong? We were talking just fine earlier at the board meeting. What could I have done to make you . . .” He stopped, and nodded with a slight grin. “Wait a minute. I know what this is about. It’s about the kiss. I meant to shut down your foolish idea of quitting and it worked. It was just a kiss. Lighten up.”
    Michael’s knowing chuckle made her grit her teeth. Even if it killed her, Verona would not respond. To him it was a mere kiss. To her it was everything. It took everything in her power not to give Michael’s cheek a five-fingered salute at his blasé attitude.
    Verona stormed down the aisle until she was at the third pew from the front. Ugh. He followed her. Gina had told her this small chapel, used for the midweek services, could accommodate about a hundred people. There were about thirty people in attendance.
    â€œYou can’t ignore me, you know.” Michael slid so close to her she felt every breath he took.
    Verona’s sanity was now in question. “I can ignore you, just as you ignored my resignation. How did you even know I was here?”
    â€œI know you’re not serious about leaving. That’s why I ripped up that ridiculous letter,” he said. “You really need to find another way to handle your frustrations. To answer your second question, you told me about Gina inviting you.”
    Oh, yes. She remembered bragging about it on their drive home from the foundation ball. She was surprised he had remembered as Michael had been frazzled after his run-in with Bill Laurelton.
    Verona looked at Michael from underneath her lashes. “I meant it, Michael Ward. Find yourself another guinea pig, because I’m done.”
    His eyes raked her from head to toe, taking in her black Donna Karan jersey wraparound dress with matching Manolo Blahniks. With a salacious grin, Michael said,