by Maggie Cole
I'm not sure how to answer her, or even what I believe anymore. I rise. "I'm going to spend some cuddle time with Abby."
"Good idea." Cee Cee hugs me tight. "You're the best mom. Keep your head up."
"Thanks." I go into Abby's room and crawl into bed with her. For a half-hour, I listen to her breathe, thinking about how much better her medical care can be now that we have better insurance. I make a mental note to schedule her surgery and get a cashier's check for the five-thousand-dollar deposit. I try again not to cry.
She slowly wakes up, tilts her head, and smiles. "Mommy."
I kiss her. "Did you sleep well, sweetie?"
"Mm-hmm." She snuggles closer.
"How do you feel?"
She yawns. "Okay."
I stroke her head. "My work schedule changed today. I won't be home tonight, but I don't have to leave for a few hours. How do chocolate chip pancakes sound?"
She sits up. "Can I have extra chocolate in mine?"
I laugh. "Sure."
She jumps out of bed. "Okay."
At least she wasn't upset I won't be home tonight.
I spend the morning cooking and playing dolls with Abby then I quickly shower and get ready. When the car pulls into the driveway, I pull her into my arms. I kiss her forehead and put my hand on it. "Honey, do you feel okay?"
"Yes."
Cee Cee is working at her desk. She convinced her employer to allow her to work remotely. She's a graphic designer, and it allows her to be at home during the day with Abby. My job doesn't have the option of me working from home, so it was a saving grace her employer agreed. Worry fills Cee Cee's face. "What's wrong?"
"I think she might have a fever."
"I'll get the thermometer."
Abby's immune system is still compromised. Any sickness could be life-threatening or derail her ability to get treatment.
Cee Cee brings the thermometer over, and there's a knock on the door. She hands me the thermometer and opens the door.
The driver says, "Pickup for Ms. Barello."
"She'll be right out. Please go wait in the car."
"Sure." He leaves, and Cee Cee shuts the door.
I press the button and aim it at Abby's forehead. It beeps. "Ninety-eight point seven."
"I'm sure she's okay. We've been up one point before, and she wasn't sick," Cee Cee reminds me.
"But what—"
"Jasmine, you need to go. I will take care of her. If anything changes, I'll call you."
"I'm fine, Mommy."
I smile bravely. "If you feel sick, tell Auntie Cee Cee."
Abby rolls her eyes. "I know, Mommy."
I hate how my little girl knows more about being sick than any child should. It's not right she has to try and comfort me and convince me she's okay.
I kiss her, give her a hug, and tickle her stomach.
She giggles and shrieks, "Mommy!"
"Go," Cee Cee demands and points to the door.
This is an ordinary workday. If I were going to my old job and her temperature was ninety-eight point seven, I would rely on Cee Cee to watch out for her and call on breaks for updates.
Nothing about this is typical.
It's my new normal.
I reluctantly leave. The driver is waiting outside the car. It's black, shiny, and looks like a sore thumb in my neighborhood of dilapidated houses. "Ma'am." He nods.
"Hi."
He opens the door, and I slide into the leather luxury. I take my phone out of my purse and snap a photo. I send it to Cee Cee. Going to try and see the positives. Better than the subway or bus.
She sends three emojis with heart eyes back.
Colton's HR department calls, and the woman on the phone asks me questions and sends me a link to their portal. I sign in and finish all the required paperwork as the car pulls up to La Perla.
I spend the next few hours working with sales associates to pick out lingerie, a dress, and shoes. I send Cee Cee photos of me in everything to get her opinion, between checking on Abby. I've not paid attention to fashion since before I got pregnant. All of this is out of my comfort zone and wheelhouse.
But I can't deny the luxurious material makes me feel sexy, which I haven't felt in years. Maybe it's better I feel sexy if I have to do whatever it is Colton is going to demand of me.
With Cee Cee's approval, I decide on the red satin, halter dress with thin straps.
Cee Cee: It's perfect for the holidays.
Me: Too bad it's wasted on Colton.
Cee Cee: Is it?
My stomach flutters when Colton's chiseled face pops into my mind.
Me: Yep.
I cringe inside. I've come to hate the holidays. Abby asked when we were getting a tree this year, and I made up a lie and told her there weren't a lot of trees available this year, so I wasn't sure if we would get one or not.
All Christmas does is remind me how much I'm failing at everything.
Bree from Bergdorf's hands me a pair of six-inch stilettos. They have crystals on the heels. "These are perfect!"
"Am I going to be able to walk in those?"
She circles her hand from behind her back and reveals a matching pair but with four-inch ones. "These better?"
A bit of relief surges through me. I'm still worried but not as much. I used to wear shoes like this. Well, not as expensive, but when I was younger, I lived in high heels. "Yes, thank you." I take them and slide them on.
Bree has me stand on the platform. A seamstress comes out and pins the bottom. Bree assures me, "We'll have this hemmed and delivered to Mr. Ash's home before five."
"Wow. Okay. Thank you."
"What about jewelry?"
I try to push the thought about how the cost of everything could be another payment toward Abby's treatment.
It's not coming out of your wage. Deal with it.
"I'm good. Just the dress and shoes, please."
Bree purses her lips. "Are you sure? We have several—"
"Yes. I'm sure. Just the dress and shoes, please." My voice is harsh, and I cringe inside when Bree winces. But I don't apologize. I need to get out of here. The amount of wasted money on this outfit when it could be paying for better things eats at me.
She nods. "Okay."
I leave and go to the salon. It, too, is somewhere I would never normally go. It's huge and also has spa services. When I check in, the woman has me fill out all sorts of waivers.
"This seems extreme for hair and makeup," I mutter.
She laughs. "Did Mr. Ash not tell you what he booked you for?"
"I'm assuming hair and makeup for the event we're going to tonight."
Her smile widens, and her eyes light up. "No. You get everything."
Dread fills me. "Everything?"
"Yes. Well, not the facial. I talked Mr. Ash out of it when he said you had an event tonight." She leans forward. "You know men. They don't understand the intricacies of facials and downtime."
Downtime? I have no idea what she's talking about, but I nod. "So, what am I booked for?"
"A ninety-minute massage, mud bath, full-body wax"— she waves her hand in front of her and whispers like it's a secret—"he left that at our discretion." She winks. "A pedicure, manicure, and your hair and makeup."
I gape at her.
I'm away from my child, who might be sick, so I can spend the day getting plucked and groomed so I'm acceptable for him.
So much for his declaration that I'm perfect how I am.
"Susie will take you to the locker room."
I go through the motions and text Cee Cee after I get my robe on.
Me: How is Abby?
Cee Cee: She's fine. Go enjoy the spa!
I'm too worried about Abby and upset I'm wasting precious time here when I could be with her.
Right before I get into the massage room I get another text.
Cee Cee: Abby's temperature is ninety-eight point eight. I called Dr. Plax to be safe. As I suspected, he said to watch her but not to wor
ry yet.
Me: I'm coming home.
Cee Cee: No. I have everything under control. This is work. You wouldn't come home right now if you were at your other job.
Me: I'm at a spa. This isn't work.
Cee Cee: It is. And the five thousand you are earning today is too much to lose.
I can't argue with her.
Me: Please tell me if it goes any higher.
Cee Cee: Of course I will. Go relax and enjoy your spa day.
I close my eyes and softly bang my head against the locker.
"Are you Jasmine?"
I spin. "Yes."
A woman beams at me and holds out her hand. "I'm Sarah. I'll be giving you your massage and mud bath today."
I take a deep breath. "Okay." I slip my phone into my pocket.
"I'm so sorry, but we have a strict policy. No phones in the treatment rooms. You'll have to put it in your locker."
"I need my phone. I'll keep it on silent."
She smiles bigger. "I'm sorry, but I'll lose my job. The members are rather strict about it."
"Members?"
"Yes. Did you not know this is a spa club? Only members and their special guests are allowed in."
Of course it is. Why would Mr. Lickable send me anywhere that wasn't exclusive and you had to pay just to step inside?
"I didn't. How much is the membership?"
She raises her eyebrows. "I'm not the membership director, but I believe they start around one hundred thousand a year. If you want, I can add her to your schedule so you can discuss joining?"
I laugh. "No, thank you. I'm a normal person. Somedays, I can't even afford McDonald's."
Sympathy crosses her face. "I know the feeling." She points to my phone. "If you stick your cell in the locker, we can get started."
I spend the next few hours worried, my chest in knots. By the time I'm able to look at my phone, I feel like I might have a nervous breakdown.
As soon as I get back to the locker room, I text Cee Cee.
Me: How is Abby?
She sends me a picture of her curled up on the couch, sleeping.
Cee Cee: Her temperature is back to ninety-eight point seven.
I should be relieved it went down and not up. But it still is not perfect.
She texts again when I don't respond.
Cee Cee: She's fine.
Me: Okay. That's good.
Cee Cee: Yes. Try to enjoy yourself.
But there's no amount of pampering that can make my worries disappear.
7
Colton
My day's one fire after another. The merger I'm in the middle of closing has several issues arise. As soon as I fix those, a notification pops up on my phone with the Bergdorf's invoice.
I call Bree. "Thanks for taking care of Jasmine." Bree is Janelle's sister. Between the two of them, I never have to worry about what I'm wearing.
"She's sweet."
I smile. "Yes, she is." When she's not trying to fight me. I'm still a tad bitter she won't let me pick her up.
Bree stays quiet. I know that silence.
"Do you have something you want to tell me?" I ask.
"I'm worried about her accessories."
"What about them?"
"She didn't get any."
"Why not?" I growl.
"I asked her to look at jewelry, and she refused. I was taken aback. Your girlfriends usually go to the jewelry section before the dresses. So I didn't even think about her evening bag. She's not going to have anything to carry her phone or lipstick in."
I crack my neck, staring out my window and watching the cars race across the Manhattan Bridge. "Did you send the dress to my house yet?"
"No."
"Pick a purse for her. Text me some jewelry pieces, and I'll let you know what to send."
"Will do."
She didn't want it? What kind of woman doesn't want jewelry?
Is she trying to prove a point to me?
What am I even doing with her?
Any free moment I've had, I've asked myself this. When she told me I couldn't pick her up because we aren't dating, it didn't lessen my obsession for her to become mine.
She hates me.
She was going to work at the club. I couldn't let anyone else have a chance with her.
She needs money. I have it. She should be thanking me.
I'm such a prick for these thoughts.
Bree texts me several photos of jewelry options. Some are ridiculously flashy. Most of my past girlfriends would have loved them. But something tells me to tone it down with Jasmine. I pick a matching diamond necklace, earring, and bracelet set. It's classy but not over the top. It reminds me of her.
The intercom buzzes, and Janelle says, "I have the file you requested."
"Bring it in."
Janelle comes in, hands me the folder, and says, "You know you aren't supposed to look at these things, right?"
I clench my jaw. "Your point?"
"Nothing. Just checking," she sings, smiles, and leaves the room.
I open the folder and scan through the information Jasmine entered into our portal.
Thirty-two. Lives in a rough part of Queens. Manager at the local credit union near her house. One dependent. Degree from—.
I flip farther into the folder, but all I can find is that she has a six-year-old daughter named Abby.
That's why she didn't want me to pick her up.
Where's the baby daddy?
I search all the social media platforms, but Jasmine has her profiles on lockdown. I can't see anything, not even a picture of her.
Janelle interrupts me. "Dexter is on line three."
I groan. "What now?"
"You don't want to know."
I spend the rest of my afternoon moving from one catastrophe to another. By the time Janelle intercoms me it's time to leave, I'm a ball of pent-up stress.
My phone never stops ringing. I continue to solve problems, which only irritates me since I pay people to create solutions and not involve me. When I get to the house, I'm chewing out my accountant.
I storm into the bedroom and remove my jacket and tie. "How do you screw up numbers at this point, Jack?"
"There was a data error—"
"I don't give a shit about your data error. You cost me half a million today."
"The important thing is we got it solved."
I shake my head. "You're not the one paying for your mistake. I'd be careful what you claim isn't important on this call."
Jack sighs.
I drop my pants and unbutton my shirt, holding the phone to my ear. "We're talking more about this tomorrow. No more fuckups on my dime, Jack." I hang up and toss my phone on the bed. I open the closet and freeze.
Jasmine gapes at me then crosses her arms over her body to cover herself up.
My pulse was already high from my conversation. Now I might have a heart attack.
I forgot she would be here. How that's possible, I don't know. But she's an apparition of an angel and temptress all in one. Her black lingerie is lace, strappy, and barely there, accentuating every curve she has.
I swallow hard and step forward. "I didn't know you were here."
"I'm sorry. I wasn't sure where to change. Your housekeeper told me the dress was in the closet. I didn't know you would be in here."
"You don't need to apologize."
She stays frozen but takes shorter breaths.
"You look beautiful." Her hair is in long, black curls. Her hazel eyes pop, and her cheekbones are a creamy mix of tan porcelain and rose.
Those pouty red lips...oh fuck.
My dick starts to harden. I step closer to her. "Are you going to be scared of me all the time?"
"I'm not scared of you."
"No?" I arch an eyebrow and focus on her hands, which are still trying to hide her breasts.
"I'm half-naked right now if you haven't noticed."
"That, you are." Like a pervert, I slowly take in every detail of her.
When I get back to her face, her cheeks are scarlet red, but I catch her checking out my chest tattoo.
I step closer, take her hands, and wrap them around my neck.
She inhales sharply.
"Don't move," I order her.
She obeys.
I slide my hands down her arms, and her eyes flutter. When I get to her shoulders, I move one hand down her back and palm her ass. I tug her tight to me. My other hand cradles her head. Her warm breasts push against me. I lean down to her lips. "Did you have a relaxing day?"
Confusion fills her face.
"Shopping? The spa?" Her confusion turns to anger. I suddenly get the impression something went wrong.
My heart beats faster. "Did someone not treat you right?"
She shakes her head. "No. Everyone was fine."
"You didn't like my gift?"
She turns away and takes a shaky breath.
"Look at me," I growl.
She turns back.
"You didn't like it?"
"I was not required to be there? If it was a gift?"
My head jerks back. "You didn't like my gift?" I repeat.
How can she not like my gift? Every woman I've ever dated loved to shop and go to the spa.
"You made it sound like I didn't have a choice whether to go or not."
Was it her choice?
What am I doing with her?
She continues in an angrier tone, "So I could have been home? I could have come here and gotten ready and not been gone all day?" Her body shakes, and her heart beats harder.
Or maybe it's my heart.
"You don't like to shop? Or hang out at the spa?" I ask in disbelief.
"How often will I have to go for upkeep? Is there a way to get all my outfits at once so I don't have to spend my hours and multiple days shopping?"
"Upkeep? What are you talking about?"
"The spa. All the things you wanted them to do to me so I could look however you wanted me to."
"That's not—"
She holds her hands in my face. "Like these nails. It's an entire hour of my time. And during that time, I can't text or..." She turns away.