by Eva LeNoir
I answered so quickly, in fact, that it registered too late that I had no idea who was calling me, the number was marked unknown.
“Hello?” I asked tentatively. I usually never picked-up unknown numbers since marketers had no shame and called at all hours of the day and night.
Please don’t let it be a telemarketer.
Please don’t let it be a telemarketer.
Please don’t let it…
“Miss Hughes.”
Holy mother of all that is panty melting.
“This is…”
“Marlon Brooks?”
“Hmmm, you recognized my voice.” Cocky bastard.
“How may I help you, Mr. Brooks?” I asked, knowing that these types of men should never be encouraged lest our will powers be destroyed with barely a few uttered syllables.
I have no plans of being the next notch on your proverbial headboard.
“I was studying your father’s file and while we always tend to encourage our clients to live their best lives, I have a couple of concerns.” God, that voice. It was like honey lip gloss. Delish and practical. And then I thought about his eyes. The different colors that bled into each other. The complexity of it. Just like him.
This is ridiculous.
I needed to get a grip on myself and think of something less…honey-ish.
Calvin. Yes. My boyfriend of five years. My boyfriend that I needed to call before he was no longer my boyfriend. Maybe if I thought the word boyfriend enough times it would fend off the magic voice on the other side of the line.
“Ms. Hughes? Are you still there?”
I cleared my throat and blinked away the fog in my head.
“Ah, yes. I was, um, just looking over the list so I could, um, keep up.” Now, I just sounded like an idiot.
He chuckled as though he knew my excuse was all smokescreen.
So, I rustled a few pages of my shopping list and pretended I was on task.
“Okay, so what activity were you worried about?”
“The first one. Bungee jumping in New Zealand. The Nevis Highwire?” He said, his own papers shuffling on his end.
“Yes, I wanted to talk to you about that. I’m vetoing that wish, it’s too dangerous and just…no. No, no, no.”
“If I may, Ms. Hughes, I don’t think vetoing is going to be the best way to convince your father.” I licked my lips every time he started a new phrase, mentally adding honey lip-gloss to my shopping list.
Or, I could just get a grip.
“You could just refuse. Claim insurance mumbo jumbo and voilà!”
Simple enough, right?
“That’s not an option.”
Or not.
“Can’t you give him your concerns and convince him that it’s a bad idea?” I asked because Dad was sick, but no less hard-headed, and he was the boss in this scenario.
“I could most definitely tell him my concerns but ultimately, it’s his decision.”
What good would that do me?
“So, then, what’s the point in calling me if you can’t do anything.” I was all about teamwork, but Marlon seemed to be on Team-Dad, and I was the evil daughter trying to kill his buzz.
“Ah, Ms. Hughes, I just wanted to hear your voice and wish you a good week.”
There was a heavy silence where only our breaths could be heard. This was not a good idea.
Calvin.
I had to remember that even though Calvin and I were hitting a bit of a rough patch, I was still his girlfriend, and this was no way to carry on a conversation.
“Well, now that you’ve heard it, we can all be on our way. I have to call my fiancé before he goes to bed.” Great one, Jaidyn. It was eight o’clock in the evening and now it sounded like I was about to marry an eighty-year-old. Also, after five years Calvin and I still weren’t engaged. Mostly because I refused his proposal the first time he came to me on bended knee. I was a junior in college and my mind was nowhere near ready to be called a fiancé. I had other priorities. Calvin and his wounded ego refused to ask me again. Sadly, my answer would probably still be the same despite my one wish for my father to walk me down the aisle.
It was a selfish little girl’s dream and I needed to think more practically.
“Hmmm, I didn’t see anything about a ‘fiancé’ in your file, Ms. Hughes.” He said, a sour note coating his otherwise smooth voice.
“Must have been an oversight.” It wasn’t.
“Must have been, indeed.” And he knew it.
“Do you always call your clients on a Sunday evening?” I asked, curious as to why he worked on weekends.
“No, I don’t. In fact, I haven’t taken a case in almost a year.”
I audibly gasped at his admission and I could hear the satisfaction in his chuckle. The man was throwing little nuggets of information my way, enticing me, daring me to give into my curiosity.
But I wouldn’t.
“We should talk again soon so we can go over the entire list before I tell my father my thoughts?” I ended my phrase on a question hoping I didn’t sound like I was giving orders but also not wanting to give him the impression that I was searching out his phone calls.
Because I wasn’t.
Not at all.
I had a…Calvin.
“We should. Sweet dreams, Ms. Hughes,” he practically purred, his voice eliciting dirty thoughts I had no business having.
“Good night, Mr. Brooks.”
“Marlon.” He insisted.
“Mr. Brooks,” I taunted and then hung up the phone before he could tempt me with his witchy voice.
Damn him and his impromptu call on a Sunday freaking evening.
Sighing on an exhale, I shook away the Marlon haze of the last five minutes and tapped away at my phone until I reached the name of my actual boyfriend.
“Hey babe,” Calvin said loudly enough to make me cringe.
Definitely not a honey lip-gloss moment.
Chapter 7
Marlon
A fiancé.
I rolled the word over in my head a few times, trying to make sense of it.
It didn’t make sense and I didn’t believe it. With no mention of it in the comprehensive file I kept for my clients and no ring on her finger, I concluded that she was lying. But why?
Why would she go out of her way to draw a boundary when having a boyfriend served the same purpose?
Because she felt that pull, too. The chemistry was undeniable and the fact that neither of us could possibly act on it was enough to make me instantly hard.
In any case, I didn’t play the third wheel game.
A week had passed since my impromptu call about the dangers of bungee jumping for her father. Taking into consideration his health, I wasn’t convinced this would be the best course of action.
I wouldn’t call her again until I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she had neither a boyfriend, a fiancé or god forbid, a fucking husband.
I would, however, call her father to fine tune some details and if by the greatest of odds, Jaidyn were to answer, well then, that wouldn’t be my fault. That would be fate working her magic.
“Good morning, Christine. Could you please get Robert Hughes on the line and then put him through?” I asked my assistant as I walked into my office feeling on top of my game and ready to make more dreams come true.
This feeling? It was the reason I created this foundation. The fact that the money we raised with our events and galas as well as our connections were used to make sure our clients lived their best lives even if for a little while. Of course, our employees were paid as well as our bills, but the rest went straight to the wishes and dreams.
The concept was simple even if the execution was extremely difficult.
The participation fee of our clients depended on their income. The higher the means, the more the buy-in.
As with Martha Summers.
She was eighty-six years old and suffering from stage four cancer. But it wasn’t just that one
specific disease, rather a multitude of dysfunctions that told her life was about to turn out the light. Her remission had lasted a few years and when the tumors returned, she refused treatment and decided to take her beloved granddaughter, Talia, to Ghana, her ancestral home. In her younger years, she had been a clerical worker, making a decent wage but not necessarily living the high life. Today, her retirement was the bare minimum needed between her bills and her medical needs. However, Mrs. Summers was frugal, and she had put away as much as she could to live out her dream with her granddaughter. According to her income capacity, we asked a participation fee of two thousand dollars that went into paying the salaries of our employees. Her dream was to plan a journey to Ghana and ultimately finish her days on the land of her ancestors. Her granddaughter had fallen upon a trending hashtag months earlier, welcoming African Americans back home. From there, they planned out the adventure they wanted to share on the land they wanted to walk upon.
I couldn’t wait to make her wish come true at the lowest price possible.
Now, Robert Hughes was a completely different story. His fee would run into the hundreds of thousands between the medical requirements, luxury accommodations and voyage around the world.
“Mr. Brooks, I have Jaidyn Hughes on the line,” Christine called out on the phone’s intercom.
The corners of my lips curled upwards at the mention of her name.
It was fair game if she’d answered her father’s phone, right?
“Put her through, please,” I answered, ready to pick up the phone and hear her voice.
“Ms. Hughes.”
“Mr. Brooks.”
“I hope everything is okay with your father?” I asked, raising my wrist and looking at the time on my old Rolex that I stole from my father before he died. Five to ten. Robert was napping as his schedule indicated.
“Yes, he’s sleeping,” she answered confirming what I already knew. His file specified that he usually woke early and then tended to take a nap around ten in the morning until eleven.
“I’m sorry I missed him,” I said. I really wasn’t.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” Fuck, so many things she could do for me. To me. Let me do to her. For her.
“Yes, I don’t have a starting date for the departure. Also, have you spoken with your father about the bungee jumping?” I asked, a bit more in work mode although my mind was picturing her on the other end of the line. I wondered if she was dressed or maybe still in her bed. Did she wear pajamas or a silk nightgown? Or maybe, nothing at all?
“Ah, yes. We talked about it and he still wants to go, even if it’s just to watch others jump. Something about seeing the excitement on their faces. I don’t know.”
“Okay, we can organize that without a hitch. They insist on taking their jumpers out themselves on their busses since the terrain can be quite rough. I’ll take care of it. When are we planning the departure?” I asked, jotting down the timeline with each of his wishes planned out in a logical sequence from seasonal trips to flight paths.
“Well, Habitat for Humanity is just outside of San Diego, so we’ll start there in July. It gives me time to get things organized after I finish my Bachelor’s.” I could hear papers rustling in the background which meant she wasn’t snuggled up in her bed.
Pity, that.
“I’ve already contacted the Habitat manager and they are grateful for the donation and even more excited about the labor you will be supplying,” I informed her. Joel Cannon had been a bit skeptical about having a man suffering from Huntington’s Disease working on the actual building of the homes. I assured him that his daughter would be doing the physical work while Robert would help in any other way possible. The goal was to see a project through from start to finish. Meet the family and know they helped change someone’s life for the better.
Contrary to popular belief, Habitat for Humanity did not just build and give homes away. The new homeowners had to buy them as well as help build them. It wasn’t charity, it was solidarity. Huge difference.
“I’m not sure how much my father will actually be able to do,” she scoffed, and I could hear her taking a sip of…coffee? Tea? I wondered, in that moment, what it was that she preferred drinking in the morning.
But this was not the time. She was a client and more importantly, she had a fucking fiancé. Maybe.
“Right. About that,” I started, pausing for effect. I hadn’t yet told her that she would be doing the grunt work. It was the only way Joel accepted the deal. The fear of anything happening to Robert on his watch made him skittish.
So, I improvised.
“I’m not sure I like where this is going. Did the manager refuse my dad? That would devastate him…” she started, her pitch rising with the stress of letting her father down.
“Ms. Hughes,” I tried, but she just kept going.
“I mean, it’s only the beginning and already things are going wrong…”
“Ms. Hughes,” I tried again, my tone a bit sharper.
“If you can’t get this done, how are we going to make it to Finland or…”
“Jaidyn, stop.” That got her attention, “Are you listening, now?” I asked, needing her to calm down.
“Yes,” she said, her voice breathy as though my commanding tone had a second, more interesting, effect on her.
I took a mental note of that intriguing information and continued.
“Good. Joel is fine with you and your father participating in the construction of a house,” I told her firmly.
“But?”
“But, he can’t be near the tools, especially the electric ones. Which means, you’ll have to take his place.” I told her, waiting for her reaction.
This could go one or two ways. Either Jaidyn was too worried about her manicure to handle a hammer or she would jump in with no hesitation. She didn’t strike me as the vacillating type.
The image of Jaidyn wearing a tool belt around her waist, her light brown curls set in a ponytail I could wrap my palm around and pull like a savage had me harder than the hammer she would be pounding into the wood.
Jesus Christ.
I was so wrapped up in my fantasy that I almost missed her answer.
“Oh, that’s it? I can replace him, and the deal is good?” she asked, as though I’d simply told her to write a check.
Gritting my teeth and squeezing my cock to alleviate my hard-on, I did my best to answer with an even voice.
“Yep, that’s it.”
“Are you okay? You sound like you’re in pain,” she asked. Her concern was cute but not helping. I’d bet my left nut that she wouldn’t be so concerned if she knew I was imagining her half naked and riding my cock up against the unfinished walls of a home destined to a family without means.
Yeah, real fucking cool, Brooks.
“Nope, it’s all good. Just, um, stubbed my toe.” Jesus.
“Yeah, I hate that. Did you know most of our nerve endings are located in our extremities? That explains the pain factor,” she said, her tone a bit on the doctorly side.
“I did, actually. So, how was the fiancé?”
Fuck.
None of your business, Brooks.
“Who?” she asked then gasped.
The little minx.
“Why, Ms. Hughes…did you lie to me?” and that’s when my construction fantasy turned abruptly into a spanking scene starring Jaidyn’s reddened ass and my itching palm.
If I didn’t get a grip on myself, this story would not end well.
Chapter 8
Marlon
“Got it!”
I ducked out of the way as Luca called out from behind me, ready to spike the ball over the net, landing just shy of the out.
“Nice shot, man!” I laughed, as Ethan aimed an almost animalist snarl our way. We high-fived like the two brats we were knowing damn well that the only reason we were beating Ethan, twelve to four, was because the other half of his two-man team was our 12-year-old neighbor, Justin. The kid was
just happy to have us there for the weekend. His parents both worked long hours, trying to balance family life and the American dream.
We knew something about that, and we respected their work ethic yet knowing damn well that later in life, it wouldn’t be the money Justin remembered but the fun times. Lucky for him, we bought the house next door on Sunset Beach and we’d been his fun uncles for the better part of the last four years. Can’t deny that Liberace being the new addition to the weekend parties was another plus for Justin. He loved that little guy almost as much as I did.
At first, we didn’t understand why this kid didn’t hang out with other kids his age. We figured he was shy or maybe his parents were too strict. Turned out, Justin was homeschooled by some hotshot Ivy-League professor because his parents didn’t think the schools were up to par with their gifted son’s capabilities. Essentially, Justin had no friends to speak of. We were his weekend fun and part-time babysitters. Until sundown, of course. After that, it was adult-time.
“Come on, man! You gonna serve or just stand there and look pretty?” This coming from Ethan, who was probably just dreaming of a cold beer to wash down the brutal ass-kicking he was getting.
Luca served, aiming straight at Ethan’s head. Never one to be outplayed, Ethan bounced back two steps, hand over palm, to keep the ball in place and passing it to Justin who, after years of playing with us, knew just how we liked our balls set-up for a spike.
Problem was, we also knew how he liked to play. As Ethan jumped to smash the ball on our side of the sand, I jumped with arms up and blocked his shot.
With barely any effort, the ball bounced off my hands and landed perfectly on the line, giving us the win.
Child’s play. Quite literally.
“Good game, guys,” I called out as I ruffled Justin’s hair, full of sand from the number of times he dove for the ball. Liberace ran out onto the deck that was safely closed off from the beach with a waist-high wall of glass and waited for us to walk up the three steps and through the small gate.
“One day, I’ll be on the winning team,” Justin said looking up at me with a smirk, one hand lovingly caressing Libs, “When I’m still young and you’re all old men.”