by May Sage
He’d have to say something about it today, no doubt - and the idea made him feel uneasy, vulnerable.
Damn it. Damn her. Cursing under his breath, he got in, punched the new button granting a direct access to the last floor, glad to see maintenance had come through during the weekend, and prepared his speech as the elevator took him up.
When the doors opened, he was ready - he knew exactly what he was going to do. First, he’d start with “good morning,” then he’d look at her seriously, meaning business, to take control of the situation, before admitting to his fault.
Ben felt something strange, unfamiliar; a sense of pride he wasn’t used to. Like…his mother would have been proud of him. Maybe even his father.
How strange.
His good feeling disappeared when he pushed the glass revolving door and looked up to his personal assistant’s desk, expecting a sensual, beautiful brunette with green eyes behind it. Instead, there was a young woman he didn’t even recognize.
What the…
“What are you doing here?” he barked, and the woman jumped, practically shivering. But she stayed silent, so he tried again. “Where is Piper?”
He didn’t think he’d said that name out loud - ever. It felt strange on his tongue, somewhat familiar; which was inappropriate and ridiculous.
The woman started muttering unclearly, so that he didn’t understand.
This just wouldn’t do. Sighing, he walked past her, and into the breakroom, heading for the coffee machine. He brewed himself one cup, and prepared a second one, before coming back to the desk, where the annoyingly unPiperish girl was still shivering.
“There. Coffee. Drink.”
She looked at him like he’d grown a second head; he sort of felt like he might have.
Tentatively, she took a sip, as if expecting it to be poisoned.
When she dropped the cup back down, Ben tried again, keeping his temper in check as best he could.
“I’m a little confused to see you here. Care to tell me where my assistant is?”
He’s spoken softly, slowly, and he had to admit it did sound a little intimidating, so no need to wonder why the girl’s eyes bulged, but she stayed put, and finally managed to get her voice to an acceptable decibel.
“I… I’ve been sent by HR. Temporarily. To replace Ms. Stone.”
This didn’t make any sense, and he told her so; but the little blonde apparently wasn’t aware of that.
“Sir, we assumed you knew. She resigned.”
Lost for words, shocked, feeling like she’d just dropped a bucket of ice on his head, he was unable to move for so long the girl softly prompted, “Sir?”
He ignored her, turning away slowly.
He remembered her saying it, of course; but he’d taken it for what it should have been: a fucking joke.
How dare she. How fucking dare she! She got paid six figures to make coffee and organize files. He’d picked her out of pure nepotism, bypassing dozens of options, either more qualified or deserving than her, and that was how she repaid him? By throwing it in his face?
Ben was fuming. He treated her with respect - his infatuation hadn’t led him to take any liberty with her. Sure, he might be curt, and a little strict but no employee had ever resigned on his watch. He fired people, dammit.
“Sir, should I call HR…”
“No, that’s quite alright. I… I will deal with this misunderstanding myself.”
The girl still seemed worried.
“Actually, yes. Yes, you can call HR. I need Ms. Stone’s employee file brought up immediately.”
He had an address to fetch from it.
Bennet
It was lucky that the ride took longer than he’d expected; his white-hot rage diffused a little in the next few minutes, morphing to something calmer, colder - and perhaps even more dangerous.
“We’re here, sir,” the driver told him.
Ben’s clenched fists loosened as he stared, unable to understand what his eyes told him.
“That can’t be right,” he whispered, getting out of his car. “Wait for me,” he instructed the driver. Then, seeing at least two different groups of tattoo skinheads eyeing him and his car with interest, he backpedaled; “Or drive around the block - stay close-by. I’ll call shortly.”
This couldn’t be where Piper Stone, one of the Stones of Fifth Avenue lived. The dilapidated exterior chilled his bones. Broken windows, graffiti on the walls.
What the hell?
He walked straight into the building listed as her address; the front door lock was broken, allowing anyone to get in without being checked.
Climbing in the staircase, he found that some floors smelled of piss, while others smelled of pot. Finally, he arrived at the seventh floor, and found the number 13.
Knocking at the door, he half expected it to open in front of a total stranger; that would have meant that he needed to set his private investigator on a wild goose chase to work out where the woman actually lived, but at least, he wouldn’t have to shout at her for living somewhere where she could get raped and murdered any given day.
“Who’s there?” asked a little voice that most definitely didn’t belong to Piper.
It was a child. Ben exhaled in relief. Wrong address. Definitely. Unless she had some friends around…
“I’m… I’m here to see a Piper Stone.”
The child on the other side of the door stubbornly repeated, “And who might you be, sir?”
He had to smile. She sounded very young, but that was the kind of thing he’d expect to hear from an adult.
“Bennet,” he replied. “Bennet McFinnley, lady. Is Piper around?”
Please say no. Say there’s no Piper here. It was bad enough that he knew children lived in such dumps.
“You’re Ebenezer.”
He stayed silent, unsure how to respond to that.
“Tell me: what Christmas decoration is there in your office?”
“None?” he replied, wondering what that was all about.
The door unlatched, and opened in front of a girl wearing a headband, leggings, a sparkling tutu and a Christmas jumper. A girl with blond hair, green eyes, a turned up nose, and a little cherry mouth he recognized stood before him.
Fuck.
Mini Piper proceeded to inform him, “You really are as grumpy as Ebenezer Scrooge, then. Christmas decorations are the best.”
She turned and with a wave of her hand, invited him to follow her through the small, tidy entryway. Ben shut the door behind him, finding it entirely too thin. Someone could break it down with barely any effort.
“Leave your coat and your shoes, Ebenezer, there are slippers under the hanger.”
He shook his head, willing himself to wake up from the weird-ass dream. As he couldn’t seem to, he just obeyed Mini Piper, trading his Italian leather loafers for a pair of sheepskin slippers a little too small for him.
“My name is Bennet,” he informed the little firecracker, who smiled. “I go by Ben.”
“I know. But Ben could be short for Ebenezer, and it fits. Can you catch the cereals on the top shelf?”
Stunned, he followed her through a lounge decorated in red and gold, with Christmassy things absolutely everywhere. He had to admit, the place looked pleasant, in a simple, lived in kind of way. If someone had showed him pictures, he would never have visualized it in a building as decrepit as the one where they were now standing.
The kitchen was relatively tidy, although there were a couple of plates in the sink.
“Where’s your mother?” he finally asked.
The words felt strange on his tongue, but there was no denying it. Piper Stone was a mother.
Fuck.
“In her room. I was ill, so mama took care of me this weekend and I’m better now. But she didn’t wake up this morning.”
Yeah, he was an asshole. An asshole and a half. She’d wanted to go early to take care of her sick child.
There was a special place in hell for me
n like him, he was sure of it.
What could he do now?
“Ebenezer,” the child called him. “Cereals.”
He snorted at her tone, and opened the cupboard she was pointing to, to fetch her Lucky Charms.
“Aren’t those pure sugar?”
“Maybe - they taste like it. I can only have them when I’ve been good. Let me assure you, I’ve been quite good this month. I want my Christmas presents.”
He had to laugh. Ben realized all trace of anger or displeasure had been sucked out over the last five minutes. It was impossible to resist that kid.
“Alright,” he said, pouring her a bowl, and getting another one for himself.
The least he could do was make sure that she was alright until Piper woke up. Then, they’d calmly discuss their issue like adults. He would apologize, and she’d come back.
Moving to the fridge to get some milk, he was surprised to see a legal document pinned to it – her divorce agreement. Did she leave that out in front of the kid? That seemed rather cold.
“Now, what’s your name little one?”
“Maya. Maya Lucy Stone-Kennedy.”
“I see. Well, Maya Lucy Stone-Kennedy, that’s a bit of a mouthful. You’ll excuse me if I just call you Maya the Honey Bee.”
She frowned, not catching the reference.
“What, you haven’t seen the show?” he sang the tune of the opening credits, but she just shook her head, looking at him funny.
Ben sighed; it was probably his age showing. Nowadays, kids probably had other cute stuff to worship.
“I’d be quite interested to know more about that Maya Bee,” she told him, so Ben got his phone out of his pocket, and went on YouTube.
Half an hour later, he was a little bored - although Maya couldn’t say the same, since she’d kidnapped his phone and was currently occupied with a forty-year-old show.
Two hours later, after getting them both another round of snacks, he asked Maya, “Should we try to wake up Piper?”
She nodded eagerly, and showed him through a tiny corridor leading to a small bedroom.
The first thing he noticed was how picturesquely beautiful Piper was, her thick hair thrown over her pillow; she’d pushed the covers off, and was hugged in a pair of grey silk pajamas. Her ex, or soon-to-be ex-husband, was an idiot. Possibly an insane one. How else could he have so carelessly given up on this?
“Mama,” Maya cooed softly, brushing her hair back.
Nothing. She didn’t even move.
In three large steps, Ben was next to her. Now he was closer, he could see it. The sweat on her skin, the dry lips, the shivers.
Shit.
He grabbed hold of her neck and pushed his forehead against hers. Her temperature felt sky-high, he almost burned at the touch. Fuck.
Ben removed his jacket, pulled his sleeves up and slid his arms under her back and her knees, pulling her up.
“What are you doing, Bennet?” Maya asked in a small voice.
“Your mama is…” fucking dying, or that was what it looked like at least. Dammit. He settled on, “Not very well.”
The kid looked so worried.
“Don’t worry Honey Bee. We’ll take care of her.”
Maya nodded.
Walking with Piper in hand, it hit him that he couldn’t exactly call his driver that way.
“Do you know how to make a phone work?”
Another nod.
“Good. There’s a contact called…” It hit him then. The kid could probably not read yet.
“Called what?”
“Marc. Marc Driver.” She nodded, scrolling down, and pressing on the right button.
“Great. Tell Marc that Mr. McFinnley is ready to be picked up now.”
She nodded, and told the man to come fetch Ebenezer. If anything could have made him smile right then, that would have.
By the time they’d managed their way down the seven flights of stairs, the car was in front of the door.
Although Ben didn’t require it of him, Marc got out to open the door for him, and helped Maya onto her seat as he got Piper in. The man didn’t even blink at him carrying an unconscious woman, professional as ever.
At least, until he looked down to Bennet’s feet, and arched an eyebrow.
Shit. He was still wearing the fluffy slippers.
“Let’s get out of here.”
Piper
Piper’s eyes felt like they’d been pulled shut and superglued, plus a hedgehog had climbed into her throat and died in there.
With great effort, she managed to somehow open her eyes, and that’s when things started to become weird.
Nothing around her made sense. It looked like she’d woken up in a barren, high tech room that belonged in a Star Trek ship.
Low bed that seemed to float without any furniture; pillows so perfect the usual ache at the nape of her neck had disappeared. The carpet was white, luscious, and the walls, space grey. There was a live orchid on top of a square, minimalist console with thin draws.
None of that was familiar. Blinking, she expected to find herself in her small room with traces of dampness when she refocused her vision, but she was still in the strange room.
“Maya,” she croaked - her throat was so dry it sounded like a grunt.
She shifted, wincing as her muscles ached absolutely everywhere. As she wore nothing except slightly damp, yucky PJs, she pulled the beige comforter around her, just in time for the door to open.
In front of none other than Scrooge McFuck.
Piper groaned, and rolled back into bed. She was obviously dreaming. Good. When she’d wake up, everything would be normal. When she woke up, she’d be in her own bedroom, and her little girl would be sleeping next to her.
The strange dream didn’t stop there. Her muggy brain came up with the most extraordinary of things. In her imagination, Ben McFinnley spoke softly, reassuring her that everything would be fine, that Maya was good. That he was taking her to ballet classes. Which made no sense because she had ballet on Thursday, and this was Monday. He forced her to sit up - that, she could buy; even in her dreams, Ben was an unbearable bossy pants. She told him so, and he laughed. Then, he gave her something to drink that felt like the Nectar of the Gods. He lied and said it was just water, but it couldn’t be, because her head, her throat, and everything felt so much better after she’d drunk it.
As this was just a dream, Piper wasn’t ashamed to drop her head on his lap, and leave it there until her vision blacked out. It had been a while since she’d felt that sort of comfort… a decade; maybe two.
Bennet
Ben stood at the door for the longest time, watching the curvy frame bundled under his covers, star-fishing his bed. He couldn’t quite decide what he felt about that, but it was strong. Potent. Possessive.
She’d slept for so long he’d called Devon again after his initial visit. He’d diagnosed her with the flu, and cautioned Ben that he might possibly catch it afterwards. Ben didn’t fucking care. Not one bit.
After the third visit in as many days, the man finally managed to appease his worry.
“She’s fine,” he swore. “Just run down. I think she needs the rest.”
He’d nodded, trying to let go of his guilt. She did need to rest, between working for an ass like him and singlehandedly raising a child on top of everything. Recalling how he’d bullied her into staying late, made him sick to his stomach.
Forcing himself to move away, he pulled the door halfway shut, and headed to the kitchen, where Maya was dutifully coloring the book he’d grabbed for her after work.
Glancing over her shoulder, Ben’s frown morphed into a ready smile. The girl was coloring the space around the characters and leaving them blank. Clever little thing.
“Looks good, Honey Bee,” he said, ruffling her hair as she beamed at him like he’d just grabbed the moon from the skies and offered it to her on a silver platter. “Want some cookies?”
“Are we making them?”
&n
bsp; Ben turned around, intending to say something along the line of don’t be ridiculous, but looking down towards her, he was assaulted by the most potent puppy dog eyes ever used on an unsuspecting man.
The girl was holding her hands folded in prayer over her heart, and her mouth was forming a little O. The big green eyes she’d stolen from her mother were bulging, and her long lashes stayed fixed, as she held her breath.
This was cheating. Unfair. Unwarranted. Probably outlawed, too.
His throat dried, and he croaked a weak. “Course. Of course we’re making cookies.” In his pristine kitchen that he’d never used a day in his life. With a five-year-old. “We just need to go shopping for ingredients first.” Then, as the adorable little demon in a tutu skirt started dancing around, he made his escape, “Wait one minute, okay? I just need to grab my coat.”
He tried to be silent, to let Piper take the rest she needed as he got into his walk-in closet. Shutting the door, he took his phone out and called the only person who could help him.
“Mom? Please send me a dummy’s guide to making cookies. Like, a really easy one.”
On the other side of the line, Wendy was silent for so long he wondered if she’d heard.
“Mom?”
“Who are you and what have you done to my son?”
She sounded half serious.
He sighed, knowing he couldn’t get away with not giving an explanation.
“I have a… sick friend at home. I’m entertaining her daughter while she recovers.”
There. That was vague enough.
“Hm. Would that have to do anything with the fact that dear Piper hasn’t answered your father’s phone calls for a couple of days?”
Dammit. How did mothers do it? They always knew.
“Maybe.”
He could hear her glee through the phone.
“Well, it’s past time I give you the family recipe. I’ll send it shortly. Take care of that girl, son. She deserves it.”