I grin and shake my head, quickly getting rid of the offensive diaper before cleaning Isaiah up and putting on a fresh one.
“That’s better,” Jude says, reaching around me to pick the baby up.
“Hey, that’s not fair,” I protest, but he just smiles and walks right out the door with him.
“Time for presents. Our princess is waiting.”
Kelty is the center of attention when we get downstairs, and I’m suddenly a little self-conscious at the prospect of giving her my gift in front of a full house.
Jude is standing across the room next to his father, but when his eyes find me, he hands Isaiah off to Mark and makes his way here. When Kelty starts unwrapping presents, his arm is firmly around my shoulders.
“You may not know everyone, but I promise every soul here will feel the significance of your gift.”
He saw it this morning. I’d just picked it up from the printer and unwrapped it to check, when he walked into the cottage. In hindsight I’m glad he did: it had been an emotional moment for both of us.
“Daddy, I’m opening yours,” Kelty calls out.
“It’s actually partly Mika’s as well. You’ll see.”
She opens the box and pulls out the silver chain and beautiful intricately wrapped silver pendant, holding the red piece of sea glass I found. “It’s so pretty. Can you put it on, Dad?’
Jude briefly lifts his arm from my shoulders and fastens the chain’s clasp behind her neck. She turns to give him a hug, before giving me one too.
“Yours is next,” she singsongs over her shoulder, walking up to the wrapped frame leaning against the wall.
It takes her all of two seconds to rip off the paper. When she sees the print she looks at me with big eyes. “Is that him?”
“Yes, that’s Jamie.”
I’d promised her a picture of him, but it took me a while before I felt ready to share him.
I hope I’m ready now.
The print is a composition, the bottom a close up of Jamie’s smiling face—a picture I snapped of him at a Red Sox game a few years ago—and the top is a recent shot I took of Kelty at the beach. The two images are joined by a red graph line.
“What’s that red line?” Kelty asks, and I glance over at Cassie, seeing the transformation on her face when she realizes what it is. Immediately her eyes seek me out and her feet are already moving in my direction.
Her hug is tight, but so is mine.
Keeping her arm around my waist, she turns us to her daughter and I can feel Jude close behind me.
“That’s your heartbeat,” I explain. “It’s the heartbeat that Jamie shared with you.”
Superimposed on the steady rhythm of their joint heartbeat are the words:
when hope ends…life begins
About the Author
Award-winning author Freya Barker loves writing about ordinary people with extraordinary stories.
Driven to make her books about 'real' people; she creates characters who are perhaps less than perfect, each struggling to find their own slice of happy, but just as deserving of romance, thrills and chills in their lives.
A recipient of the RomCon “Reader’s Choice” Award for best first book, “Slim To None”, and Finalist for the Kindle Book Award with “From Dust”, Freya continues to add to her rapidly growing collection of published novels as she spins story after story with an endless supply of bruised and dented characters, vying for attention!
https://www.freyabarker.com
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BOSS OF ME
Angel Devlin
1
PIPPA
I hadn’t realised the day was going to be life changing.
Walking into Paradise, the high-end hair and beauty salon in Knightsbridge which had been my employer for the last nine years, I nodded to the colleagues already there—mainly the domestic staff—and headed straight for the coffee machine. I didn’t wake up until I had at least two coffees in my system and I’d only managed a few sips of my first before I’d had to be out of the door.
My best friend Zak, a stylist, must have been two steps behind me because his husky baritone called out, “and one for me, Sugar.”
I rolled my eyes at him. He loved me because he said I was the only woman who had never gone weak at the knees for him; or assumed because of his job that he was gay. We’d been friends since the day I started.
I was the receptionist, but my role went beyond that. Clients here were the rich and the famous and they expected a five-star service. Therefore, my sleeve of tattoos on my left arm were hidden by my grey silk shirt and the trail of daisies that went from my ankle and trailed up to my knee were covered in black slacks. A pair of black, patent Jimmy Choos completed the look. My dark hair was back in a sleek ponytail, my make-up on point. It was so far removed from the real me it was laughable. Give me a t-shirt and a pair of cut-off jeans any day. I checked in the mirror to make sure there wasn’t any red gloss on my teeth. If you asked me, I thought I looked a bit horsey around the mouth, but Zak insisted I had the perfect ‘blow job gob’. Huh, the less said about that and the state of my romantic life the better.
I attached my magnetic work badge, letting everyone know that I was Pippa Nettleton, Client Liaison Assistant. What a crock of shit! My job was to make sure the clients in the waiting room were booked in and had everything their spoiled little hearts desired. So that it didn’t seem like they were waiting at all, but rather enjoying a mini-break before they had their hair or nails done.
After making sure everything was ready to go including a fresh jug of water with sliced lemon on the coffee table, I took my position behind my desk, fired up the laptop, and waited.
The first customer was a regular, Ann Davenport. For a woman in her fifties she had great style and today was dressed in a pair of beige wide-legged trousers with a white wraparound blouse. Her arm bore a Rolex and her Chanel handbag swung as she stood in front of me. She turned so I could remove her coat and I took it to the room behind me, returning with a ticket. Yes, a ticket, because we were so upmarket that sometimes in the past customers tried to go home with the wrong coat—accidentally, of course—it would just so happen to be the latest, rarest, waiting-list item. So ticketing was brought in, so no one forgot they weren’t one of six to receive the latest Givenchy shearling.
“Would you like to see the refreshment menu?” I asked her.
She flicked her ash blonde fringe out of her eyes. To me it didn’t look like a single hair on her head needed any more attention, but then I guess I was neither a stylist nor extremely wealthy.
“I’ll take a strong black coffee please. I swear it takes me longer to wake up every morning. My mornings shall have to start in the afternoon soon.”
I laughed. “I know how that feels. This morning I had to tell Jamie to get up four times. How I manage to get to work on time with him and Liberty, I really don’t know.”
Ann was a rare customer. She was genuinely interested in my life and made time to talk to me, rather than like the majority who were either too busy on their iPads running their businesses—seriously some had to have their hair styled around their fingers constantly zipping over keys—or barely gave me a glance as if I was just part of the furniture of the place. It was rare someone was downright rude. If so, it was usually someone new to the salon, and that would be their last appointment because respect went both ways here. Marvin, the owner of the salon was not to be messed with. But Ann was always early to her appointments, polite, and asked me about myself. Something I reciprocated. There was just something about her that I warmed to.
“So how’s your mum?” She asked me.
I sighed, as I passed her a coffee. Ann never took a seat. She’d just stand and chat to me while she waited.
“Her MS is really bad at the moment. She’s having a flare up. I’m having to make sure she has everything she needs before I come to
work, drop Liberty off at school, and make sure Jamie has everything he needs. I swear he’d go to school in his pyjamas if I wasn’t always two steps behind him.”
Frown lines appeared between her brows. It was a rare client of Paradise’s that didn’t have Botox. “That’s a lot of responsibility on your shoulders, Pippa. You must feel like you’ve done a day’s work before you even get here?”
I shrugged my shoulders. I didn’t feel like talking about my shit life this morning. My mother’s illness meant me doing a lot of housework and childcare; and was the main reason I still lived at home at twenty-five. That and well, a lack of a partner, and general London house prices. My dad had died of cancer five years ago aged forty-four, leaving behind a then one-year-old Liberty and a five-year-old Jamie.
My mum had got pregnant with me four months after she and my father had started dating but had not been able to get pregnant again until my brother’s appearance fifteen years later. That pregnancy had been a welcome shock and then after ‘leaving it to chance’ Libby had turned up four years after that. Within a month of her birth, my father had received a diagnosis of cancer of the pancreas. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, right? Then my mother started getting a lot of tingling and numbness, and balance problems. They were first attributed to stress; after all she’d just had a baby and then lost the love of her life. But a year later, the diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis had devastated us all.
My life was just a laugh a minute, wasn’t it?
“I get on with it. What more can you do? Anyway, how are things with you and yours?”
My question caused her lips to purse. “Hmmm, well, business is good—both the husband’s and my own—but Jude is being his usual difficult self.”
Ann’s husband ran a publishing house and their son worked there in the commissioning department. As we’d got closer, with her frequent visits to Paradise, she’d disclosed that he’d had some personal issues, namely he’d been seeing his assistant and she’d become pregnant. There’d been many problems and the end result was that Jude had become a single dad. He’d become such a bastard at work that his assistants had resigned one after the other until eventually Ann had recruited Irene, a previously retired secretary in her sixties, ‘because surely to God he won’t go there’.
“Oh dear. I thought he’d calmed down of late.”
“Yes, well Irene died suddenly. Heart attack.”
My jaw dropped open. “That must have been so upsetting.”
“Yes, it was. He was fond of the woman, but now he needs a new assistant and he’s being difficult. He won’t have a woman ‘in her prime’ as he says they want to worm their way in to get access to his bank account and inheritance, and now he won’t have ‘one that’s going to die on me’. It leaves me at a loss, as a school leaver hardly has the right credentials. Gerry’s rather had enough of him and says son or not he’s going to fire him if he doesn’t get his act together pronto.”
“Oh dear. What about a male assistant?”
Ann looked heavenward. “Apparently, they just want in his pants too. Anyway, enough about me. How’s the lovely Liberty doing? I know my grandaughter is becoming quite the handful, so I’d expect Liberty isn’t much different.”
“She tried to escape from school last week.” I shook my head. My sister had certainly been given the right name, seeing as she was always seeking freedom.
“She sounds like Jude. He always resisted attempts to get him to behave. He was an imp.”
Another couple of clients walked in, and Ann stepped away while I booked in the new arrivals. Then her stylist came through and she left.
I wasn’t sure what Ann did, though I assumed it was some kind of catering business or interior design because she’d talk about her clients’ demanding tastes. I’d never asked her outright as that was a cardinal sin at Paradise. You handled such wealthy and important clients that you weren’t to pry and often I had to sign a non-disclosure agreement that the client had even been present.
The truth was, I acknowledged, as I sat back in my seat, that I’d grown tired of this job a long time ago. But I stayed because it was a regular income, albeit not a high one; and I got to spend time with a good team of people, including my best friend. There were far worse jobs, and I needed to be able to contribute towards the bills seeing as Mum couldn’t work.
I felt my eyes fill with tears and berated myself inside. There was no room for a pity party. I could be my mum, cut off in her prime. At forty-five she was a widow with a debilitating condition. She continually told me she felt like a burden, so I did all I could to create a happy home life. But I didn’t see how things were ever going to improve and that left a feeling like a heavy stone in the pit of my stomach all the time.
I just needed for Mum to get a period of remission or a trial of a new medication that could help her. And for my brother and sister to grow up super-fast so they could help. Basically, I needed a miracle.
“Can you get back to work and stop staring out of the window?” Zak walked past me. “What are you staring at anyway?”
“I was looking for flying pigs, or a fairy godmother. Something needs to change in my life, Zak. It’s just so… mundane and exhausting.”
He walked over and hugged me into his manly, muscular embrace. He smelled of our exclusive shampoo that contained all matter of rare plant extracts from around the globe; yet smelled to me like vanilla ice-cream. Then again, what did I know about wealth?
“Have you ever thought of providing a cuddling service? I’d pay you.” I snuggled in more, enjoying the brief interlude and the warmth emanating from his body.
“No one would be able to afford me.” He looked down at me winking.
I moved out of his embrace trying to keep a straight face. “That’s what I need.”
“Amazing charisma?”
“A cocky confidence and huge belief in myself, along with everyone loving me so much they’d pay for me to cuddle them. That’s a job that would be a win-win for me.”
Zak wrinkled his nose. “Not if they had bad BO. Anyway, no normal person is going to pay for hugs, are they? They’d think you were a prostitute of some kind. As soon as you put an arm around them they’d fondle your tits or something.”
“Only a man would think that. Only a man. I was having a nice talk about cuddles and you’ve made it about sex.”
I noticed then that Ann was standing waiting to be booked out. Oh shit!
Zak gave her one of his winning smiles and walked away, swinging his hips in the way he knew made his arse look its finest.
I met Ann’s gaze with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t worry about it. If I got chance to have a hug with a man like that, I’d go for it.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Are you two dating?”
I scrunched my face up, my tongue coming out. “Ew, no. He’s my best friend.”
She grinned. “I bet there aren’t many women who wriggle their nose in distaste at the thought of dating Zak.”
“That’s why he’s my best friend. I’m immune to him.”
Her head tilted to the side as she studied my face. Her lips parted and she lowered her voice again. “So, I couldn’t help but overhear what you were saying. Are you looking for alternative employment; something with a lot larger salary?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I’m not sure. I do like my job here, but it has crossed my mind given my circumstances that I might be forced to make a change.”
Her eyes lit up and she smiled. “I have a proposal for you. Come and be Jude’s new assistant.”
My eyes widened. “What? I can’t do that. I’ve hardly used my secretarial experience, plus he doesn’t want a female assistant; they all want to bed him, remember?”
“Oh I know what Jude said. But you see, you’ve shown me a strength just now that’s needed. Immunity from good-looking men. Also, you are used to handling high levels of stress. Yes, the more I think about it, the better this idea is.
Anyway, obviously we can’t discuss it here.” She passed me her business card. “Call me tonight. Don’t make any decisions yet until you’ve let me talk to you about my whole idea. But all I can say is it will help you with your family’s home life as well as your own.”
I stood looking stunned.
Ann touched my arm gently. “Now why don’t you get me booked in for my next hair appointment? That’s one thing about my own job. I always have to look my best.”
As she looked at me her lip quirked.
“It’s okay, you can ask me what I do, I’ll not tell the boss.” Her eyes flashed with mischief.
I hesitated, but curiosity won out. “So, erm, what line of business are you in, Ann?”
She leant over and whispered in my ear. “I run an escort agency, darling. No sex, just companions for dates. There are a lot of very wealthy men who can’t get a date for a high-profile function, or who in the privacy of their own homes prefer the company of their ‘butler’.”
I couldn’t help the gasp that escaped my mouth.
“Now, Jude has no idea. He believes I spend my time on charity work; and as you have to sign an NDA about anything I disclose to you, I know you can’t tell anybody. Anyway, I’m very astute at putting people together and I know you would be just the person to keep Jude on his toes, and finally make him realise that some women are hard-working family people, and not gold-diggers.”
I passed her a new appointment card.
“So I’m guessing your husband knows what you do?”
Again, I received another smirk.
“Darling, how do you think we met?”
2
JUDE
I walked into the Heads of Department meeting empty-handed and grumbling under my breath. None of the words coming from my mouth were ones that needed to be overheard.
Then There Was You: A Single Parent Collection Page 120