by C. Morgan
I leaned back in my chair and recalled the days where we used to send each other sexy text messages. Now our conversations felt like the emails of two colleagues, minus her signature “xoxo” signoff at the end of the email.
I had confirmed my room at the hotel but I wished I hadn’t. In fact, I wished I hadn’t agreed to go to the wedding at all. To hell with Mona and this shiny new husband of hers. To hell with them both and their romantic whirlwind wedding in Paris, of all the damn places. Where did they get off running away to the most romantic city in the world to have a wedding that most likely cost Logan’s parents eighty to a hundred grand?
All of this was the last thing I needed right then. Not only was I drowning in my work, but it was closing in on Christmas. I usually looked forward to the holiday, and I was especially looking forward to it this year because it was my year to have Cora. Next year, she’d spend Christmas with her mother and her stepfather.
Barf.
I hated that word more than I hated the thought of attending their wedding and enduring their ceremony.
I closed my laptop with a disgruntled grumble. There was no sense in responding to the email right now. I would come across as pissy, which aptly described how I felt about this whole affair, pun intended, and that wasn’t the kind of energy I wanted to bring to the table right now.
I had a child to wake up and get ready for school and a full day of work at my veterinary office to see to. Mona had already consumed enough of my thoughts for the day.
I strode out of my home office and down the hall to Cora’s bedroom, where I shouldered the door open and poked my head in to find her bundled up in her unicorn-printed bedding with one arm dangling off the side of the bed and only her messy brown hair poking above her blanket. With a smile, I went over to the bed, perched myself on the edge of it, and nudged the blanket down to reveal rosy cheeks, a button nose, and the longest eyelashes known to man.
“Cora?” My voice was soft and low as I reached out and ran my fingers through her curls. “Time to wake up. It’s eight o’clock.”
Cora moaned, squeezed her eyes closed, and brought her tiny fists up to her face to rub her eyes. When she was done, she blinked up at me. “Morning, Daddy.”
“Morning, sweetheart. How’d you sleep?”
“I dreamed about Paris.”
“Did you now?” I got to my feet as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. My daughter was small for her mere five years. Her mother was a small person too and they looked very much alike with their upturned noses, dainty ankles and wrists, and big brown eyes.
She hopped out of the bed. “Yep. You took me to the Iffil Tower.”
“Eiffel.” I led her into the bathroom in the hall where I brushed her hair and secured it in a ponytail with a neon yellow elastic. I made sure it wasn’t too tight. She hated when it was too tight. “Did we do anything else while we were in Paris in your dream?”
“We ate bread and cheese and I made friends with a boy who spoke French and wore striped pants.”
“He sounds French indeed,” I mused. “Go to the bathroom and wash your hands. Then get dressed and meet me in the kitchen. We’re running a bit behind. You’ll have to eat breakfast in the car.”
“We’re always running behind, Daddy.”
Mona had been the one with the good time management, not me. And it was her email this morning that had distracted me and led to me waking Cora up a half hour too late.
“We can’t all be the best at everything,” I said.
“I’m the best at positivity, according to Mommy,” Cora said.
“Your mother is right,” I said.
I could do with taking a page from my daughter’s book of unending optimism. Where I saw roadblocks and reasons to frown, Cora saw opportunities and reasons to smile. She was a ray of sunshine according to her Kindergarten teacher and every adult who crossed her path. She made friends in grocery store lines, shared her food with all her classmates, and gathered up her old toys to donate to kids in need and hospitals on the first week of December—of her own volition.
She was good to her core, but I couldn’t take credit for all of that. Mona and I had instilled good values in our little girl. Values that, unfortunately, Mona herself hadn’t been able to uphold herself, and now we were a broken family.
But there is always room for more positive, I thought to myself as I made my way to the kitchen to pack up a muffin and a banana for Cora to eat in the truck on the way to school.
I smirked at my own inner monologue. If my college friends ever heard me say something like “there is always more room for positivity” aloud, I’d never hear the end of it. Grady might have it printed on a T-shirt and mail it to me from Vegas.
Cora met me in the kitchen where I handed her the muffin and banana and a juice box. I took her backpack to the front door where she sat on the bench and took her time tying her laces. We were closing in on being too late to be respectable and I considered taking a knee and tying her laces for her. I could hear Mona over my shoulder telling me a few extra minutes wouldn’t hurt and she needed the practice and letting her do things for herself was how you raised a confident and capable little girl.
It started with the little things, like laces.
So I swallowed the itch to help and get out the door faster. We locked up and got in the truck parked in the driveway, and I buckled her into her seat in the back. She dug into her banana before I even started reversing out of the drive.
All the way to school, she told me about this French boy in the striped pants from her dream. She said she didn’t remember his name, but that he was a nice boy with a funny smile. She told me I would like him.
I doubted that but I didn’t say anything.
We pulled into the drop-off line in front of the school, where I got out, unbuckled my child who had left muffin crumbs all over the back seat, and set her down on the sidewalk so I could help her put her backpack on. I took a knee, gave her a hug and a kiss, and told her I’d be back to pick her up when school ended at two thirty.
“You’ll have fun today?” I asked.
She nodded.
“You promise?”
“I promise, Daddy.”
“And you won’t give all your food away to the other kids?”
She giggled. “Not all of it.”
“They have their own lunches, you know.”
“But they don’t like their lunches,” she insisted. “Melanie’s mother makes icky sandwiches with too much mayo on them.”
“That does sound icky,” I agreed, “but you need your food for your body and your brain so that you have energy to learn. Remember?”
“Maybe you should start packing me two sandwiches.”
I laughed. “Maybe Melanie’s mom should cool it on the mayonnaise.”
Cora gave me a toothy smile, said goodbye, and turned on her heel to run rather haphazardly—her backpack was too big for her—to the front doors, where she chimed friendly hellos to her teachers, who waved at me and followed my daughter, the last kid to arrive, into the classroom.
Chapter 3
Natalie
I wanted to go back up to my tried and true coffee shop for another peppermint mocha to have with my lunch that Friday afternoon, but I settled for my water. I lounged on the deep red velvet armchair in the sitting area of the office while girls milled about talking about the events they attended last weekend and the men they were with.
Moira talked about her gentleman, a new client named Henry, who’d stopped on the way to drop her off outside the office.
“He was a real doll,” Moira said as she sat down across from me. “He was uneasy dropping me off outside the office like that, but when I explained why, he came around.”
We never had a client drive us back to our homes. It was another safety policy of mine. Under no circumstances could a client ever know where one of my girls lived. They caught a ride back to the office where they either had someone pick them up, drove themselves home, or called a cab.
“He stopped on the way to pick up burgers because he was starving and the gala food was deplorable.” Moira snickered. “He insisted we eat something proper before calling it a night. I suppose he could tell by my lack of daintiness that I’m a girl who likes to eat because we ordered milkshakes and burgers. It was glorious.”
Kelly, one of my most recent hires, also took a seat. She crossed one long leg over the other and fixed the hem of her skirt over her knees. “I need a guy like that. And I know what you mean about some of the gala food. Escargot and caviar? No thank you. I want French fries and gravy.”
“Amen,” Moira agreed.
I finished the last bite of my sandwich and tucked my Tupperware back in my lunch bag. “I used to eat before I went out for the night for that very reason. You never know what to expect from some of these places. I once attended a fundraising event with a gentleman. It was seven hours long and all they served was liquor and shellfish. You know how much I hate shellfish.”
“What did you do?” Brianna asked, batting her faux lashes dramatically.
“I told him I had to powder my nose, slipped out a back door where I met the delivery boy who was dropping off my pizza order, stuffed my mouth, and went back inside with marinara sauce on my cheek.”
The girls giggled hysterically.
“Did your gentleman find out?” Moira asked.
I shook my head. “Nope. I told him it was shrimp sauce.”
“The definition of class,” Brianna said.
“You know it.” I smiled. If I was being honest with myself, I kind of missed those nights. There was always the chaotic rush of getting ready in time—of anticipating what your gentleman wanted and expected and hoping you knocked it out of the park with your new dress and heels. It was a thrill unmatched by anything else I’d ever done with the business. Yes, there were downsides, but that rush? That anticipation? Nothing beat it.
Victoria poked her head around the black curtain that hung behind my reception desk. It separated the lobby from the rest of the office where men hardly ever entered unless they required a consultation before booking a girl. It was a home away from home back here for most of us girls. We had glamorous furniture, minimalist paintings in glossy black frames of Audrey Hepburn, a mini fridge stocked with sparkling water and chilled brewed tea, and a snack bar. There were magazines all over the place and a candle flickering on the coffee table between us.
“Boss?” Victoria called. “There’s a gentleman on the phone asking to speak with you. I told him you were on your lunch break but he says it’s important. He’s kind of a cocky jerk.”
“Did he give you a name?” I asked.
“Grady something or other.”
I cocked my head. “Black?”
“Yeah, sounds right.”
“I’ll take it.” I left Moira and Brianna to talk amongst themselves and made my way to the front of the office where I was momentarily blinded by the sunlight streaming through the windows. The back of the office was always dimly lit. We preferred ambient lighting. It was softer, more elegant, and made for a sexier environment. I picked up the phone, pressed the hold button, and lifted it to my ear. “What’s so important you had to interrupt me while I was enjoying my lunch, Grady Black?”
A familiar chuckle rolled through the line. “It’s good to hear your voice, Natalie. Long time no talk.”
“What’s it been? Six, nine months? Maybe more?”
“Something like that,” Grady said. “How’ve you been? Keeping busy?”
“Always. And you?”
“Likewise. Vegas keeps things interesting. You know how it is.”
I did indeed know how it was. I’d known Grady a long time. I’d even accompanied him as his date on some of his special event nights. He’d returned the favor by passing my name around to every man he knew with pockets as deep as his and he’d led me to some pretty wealthy clientele. For that, I was eternally grateful, and there was always room in my ledger to do Grady Black a favor.
“What can I help you with, Grady?” I asked.
“I have a friend who’s in a real pinch. He’s a good guy. A single father.”
“A potential client?”
“Why else would I call you about him?”
“Just making sure, darling,” I purred. “You’re giving me a lot of details I don’t really care about.”
He laughed. I’d always thought he had a nice laugh. It was deep and warm all at once, and it made me smile in turn.
“I’m trying to paint a picture for you,” Grady said. “Be patient with me. He’s a good guy but he’s about to be dragged through the mud. He has to go to his ex wife’s fancy-ass wedding in four weeks. A Christmas wedding in Paris, if you can imagine. And he’s not quite over this woman. He should be by every standard, but he’s not. Poor bastard. I want to throw him a bone by finding a pretty girl from your company who can be his date to the wedding. Sometimes, all a guy needs is for everyone in the room to believe he’s okay.”
“And is this friend of yours okay?”
“No,” Grady said honestly. “Not yet. But he will be. And it will make all the difference in the world if people aren’t worrying over him and he has a pretty girl on his arm.”
“This is out of character for you, Grady. It’s such a nice gesture.”
“I can be nice.”
I laughed softly. “I think I can work something out for this friend of yours. Does he have a type?”
“Apparently, he goes for disloyal, sneaking, untrustworthy snakes.”
“This ex of his really did a number on him, huh?”
“You could say that again.” Grady sighed. “But in all honesty, I’m not really sure. I think someone sweet and gentle might be best. The guy’s been having a rough go and I doubt he could handle anyone spicy or bold. Besides, he has to behave. A lot of his old friends and family will be there. Let’s keep it clean.”
“Truly, this is so out of character for you. Keep it clean?”
Grady laughed again. “Look, if I were hiring a girl for myself, we both know how differently this would go, all right? But I am capable of coming at things from a different angle. Give me a little credit.”
It was impossible not to tease Grady. It was just too much fun. “I think I have a girl in mind that would check all the boxes. What are the dates of the wedding?”
“The wedding is the nineteenth, but I’m not sure what dates his flights are. Can I get back to you?”
“Of course. When you do, send along his personal info as well. You know what I need. Two pieces of identification, one with his current address, and I’ll need him to sign my policies. I can email them to you. Same address as usual?”
“Same address,” Grady said. “Glad to see you’re still the badass businesswoman you’ve always been, Nat.”
“Damn straight,” I purred.
Chapter 4
Rylen
My mind raced a mile a minute as I flipped through the remaining files of patients coming into the veterinary clinic this afternoon. I had two canine dental removals, four standard feline checkups, and a minor surgery to remove a cyst from behind a dog’s ear. As a single vet clinic, that was more than enough to keep me busy all day.
My vet tech, Drew, joined me in the back room where I was checking on yesterday’s patients. He had a coffee in one hand and a clipboard in the other.
“Morning, boss,” he said as he set his coffee down, tucked the clipboard under one arm, and proceeded to open the kennel on the top right of the wall unit of small cages. A young cat who had been spayed yesterday was in there recovering.
She had a cone over her head and a good temperament, and she started purring as soon as Drew put his hand in the cage and gave her some affection between the eyes and on the end of her nose.
“How’s the princess this morning?” he cooed to the female cat. “You’re such a sweet girl, aren’t you? Yes, such a sweet girl.”
“You know you pay more attention to them than yo
u do to me?” I asked.
“They don’t get mad at me when I’m late for work.”
I rolled my eyes. An apt observation. “I wouldn’t get mad if it didn’t happen every single Monday.”
“I’m not a morning person, okay? Being here by nine o’clock on Mondays is torturous.”
“Having you for a vet tech is torturous,” I muttered.
Drew closed the cage and moved onto the next. “I heard that.”
“I wasn’t trying to be quiet.”
Drew laughed as he continued checking on the recovering animals. He administered morphine to those still recovering from traumatic injuries or healing from invasive and intense surgeries, and made notes on their files so that when he did follow-up calls with their owners this afternoon, he’d be able to provide them with in-depth updates about their furry friends.
Even though Drew wasn’t all that punctual, he was exceptional at his job, and he made me a better vet. He was the only vet tech at my disposal, and the only other member of our team was my receptionist, Kelly. Both were young, only in their early and mid twenties, and they made for a good work environment with their endless energy and fun-loving spirit. The world of working with animals and their owners hadn’t crushed their souls yet.
I wondered how they’d feel about it all in another ten years or so. I’d been bright-eyed and bushy tailed at the start of my career too. I’d never lost my love for it or my skill, but I had fallen out of the “everything is wonderful” mentality after losing more animals on my table than I could handle without cracking a little bit.
Still, there was nothing I would rather do. Animals couldn’t judge you, couldn’t betray you, and couldn’t lie to you. They were loyal to their own detriment. Their love was limitless. They deserved better than us, in my opinion, and it was my job to take the best care of them I possibly could.
“Have you been sleeping, Dr. Maddox?” Drew asked as we made our way past the line of kennels toward one of the clinic rooms where our first appointment was waiting for us. His white coat matched his very white teeth. His girlfriend was a dental hygienist and she’d used him as her practice person a dozen times over when she learned the various ways to do teeth whitening. Apparently, he was a perfect candidate because he had such good enamel. Now he looked like a walking, talking toothpaste ad.