by Ali Parker
“Do you know why they started arguing?”
“Raven said Kayla laughed at her when she got an answer wrong in class.”
“Could that be true?”
“Probably. Does it matter? According to the teacher, Raven jumped up and pushed Kayla right out of her seat.”
I sucked in a sharp breath.
“This could be it for that girl.” Joyce gave me a pointed look. “Expulsion. And good riddance. We’ll all be better off without such a prissy brat around.”
“I want to arrange a parent-teacher meeting,” I quickly said. “Will you tell Mr. Stafford that? Before he lays down the law. Maybe I can get to Raven. You’d be surprised how quickly some kids turn around with a bit of the right kind of attention.”
“I’ll tell him.” She dubiously shook her head as she scribbled what I’d said down on a notepad. “Don’t hold your breath.”
I glanced at Principal Stafford’s door. His monotonous, deep voice could be heard from the other side, but none of the words came across clearly.
“She’s one of the reasons the last counselor quit, you know.”
Joyce had my full attention once more. “No, I didn’t know.”
“Not that Raven is the only kid here with issues. Some of them have real problems, you know? Parents addicted to crack. Can’t even afford a pair of sneakers. But Leslie was able to help them. Raven, well, she doesn’t want any help.”
At this point, the rock in my stomach was so heavy, it had me anchored in one place. Surely the last counselor had more experience than I did, and if she couldn’t help Raven, I wasn’t as sure about my odds.
No. I couldn’t think like that. If that was the attitude I was going to take, then I needed to go ahead and quit.
“Please give Principal Stafford my message.” My smile didn’t reach my fearful heart, but I kept it going regardless. “A meeting as soon as possible would be best.”
Joyce nodded, and I returned to my office, where the scholarship papers still waited on the floor. After picking them all up and setting them neatly on the desk, I pulled Raven’s file once more. I’d been too busy to give it anything other than the brief glance I did the day before, but now I sat down and read every single word.
“All Bs and As until last year,” I read out loud. “A member of the German club and soccer team until quitting suddenly. Father, Andrew Marx.”
A wave of realization swept over me. Andrew Marx. Wasn’t that the guy Erica said owned the giant company or whatever?
If so, that would explain why “brat” was basically Raven’s official nickname. Often, the assumption with kids who came from money was that they were given everything they wanted, and that led to them thinking they could do what they pleased.
But I’d seen spoiled kids before. They whined and expected everything to be easy. This wasn’t what Raven was doing.
Something else was going on.
The second my eyes darted to the page, I found the next bit of needed information. Mother deceased as of ten years ago.
To sum it up, Raven came from what could only be surmised as a busy, single-parent household. That was assuming her father hadn’t remarried.
It was all I needed. Even without yet meeting Raven’s father, I could take a good guess as to what the main problem likely was.
Making assumptions was wrong, but my counselor senses were tingling, telling me there could be some kind of abuse or neglect happening at home. That clenching, rock-hard sensation returned to my gut. I didn’t even like to think about what Raven could be going through at home, but it was my job to find out.
Good thing was, I’d already requested a parent-teacher conference.
Bad thing was, it couldn’t come quickly enough.
Chapter 6
Andrew
I curled my fingers around the golf club, the new gloves Maggie had ordered just for this occasion clinging snugly to the grip. Sinking into my stance, I pulled back, set my eye on the ball, and swung with precision. The club’s head hit the ball with a satisfying smack, sending it flying through the air and onto the grass, about five feet away from the hole.
A booming laugh echoed across the green. “Well done for a man who says he’s rusty.”
I grinned at Paul Nordmeyer, polo shirt stretched tight across a bulging belly and neck red from the sun. “Guess I’m a natural.”
“Beginner’s luck,” he good-naturedly mumbled through his caterpillar mustache. “You’ve been away for so long, you might as well be starting over. How long did you say it’s been?”
I shrugged. “About a year. Used to play all the time, though.”
“All the time” was an exaggeration, but what Paul didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.
I stepped to the side, watching as Paul took his turn. The course was close to empty, with the few other people out there probably taking business meetings just like the two of us.
Shit. If only every meeting could be like this.
They couldn’t, though. Only the most important ones I made out-of-office exceptions for. Paul was an important potential client. He owned the second-largest grocery store chain in the United States. That meant he needed to be mine. This afternoon was the chance for me to take his interest in investing with me, dig my claws into it, and get what I needed from him.
“I took a look at those files,” Paul said, bending down to retrieve his ball from the hole.
“Uh-huh.” I nodded to show I was listening.
His mustache wiggled as he scrunched his face. “You know, I’ve been talking to Samson and Walker.”
Just hearing the name of my biggest competition coated my tongue with a bitter taste. “Paul, I can assure you—”
Heavy vibrations against my thigh interrupted me. Gone was the bitterness, replaced instead by a dry tongue. Though I didn’t want to do it, I pulled my phone from my pocket and snuck a peek.
Just as I’d expected. Raven’s school.
Mother fucker.
“You got an important call there, Andrew?” Paul jovially asked—but in that way that made it clear he was really annoyed.
“Uh, it’s just ...” I cleared my throat. “No. Not important.”
Sliding my phone back into my pants, I took my turn, the annoyance running through my veins making me swing too hard. My ball sailed right over the hole, ending up in a bush at least ten yards away. Both Paul and the caddies chuckled.
Face burning and teeth clenching, I mentally ran through every curse I knew. I was in the middle of a meeting with one of the most promising clients I might ever nab, and, once again, Raven was ruining it.
We finished the game, my phone burning a hole into my thigh the entire time. By the time we reached the clubhouse, Paul had given an “I’ll think about it.” Definitely not good enough for me, but at that point, there was a limited amount I could do about it.
“How about dinner this weekend?” I asked as we shook hands at the edge of the parking lot. “My friend just opened this great new steakhouse downtown.”
Paul’s caterpillar mustache did its little dance. That meant he was thinking.
“We’ll see,” he finally said. “It’s going to be a busy one. Good game today.”
“Yeah,” I tensely responded. “Good game.”
I watched him get in his sports car and peel out of the circular drive. Letting out a long breath that was more of a hiss than a regular exhale, I pulled my phone out. One voicemail. But of course.
“Mr. Marx, this is Joyce from the office at South Seattle. I see you signed the note we sent home about Raven’s altercation with another student yesterday. I’m calling because the guidance counselor here would like to meet with you as soon as possible. As I’m sure you’re aware, Raven is treading on thin ice. Expulsion could be in her future. Please give me a call, and we can set up a time. The new counselor is available to meet as early as tomorrow. Thank you.”
The message ended with both a click and buzzing that filled my ears. Raven. Where the hell had
I gone wrong?
I’d seen the counselor last year, and she hadn’t been much help, but Joyce had said there was a new one now. Maybe we’d be able to get somewhere with this one.
Hitting the return call button, I called the office and set it up. Tomorrow morning, nine o’clock sharp. Perfect, as I had another meeting that very afternoon that couldn’t be postponed.
But first, a drink.
Inside the country club was a little busier than outside. People chatted quietly over small tables, and the shiny, wooden bar only had one customer—an older woman drinking what looked like tea.
“A whiskey,” I told the vested bartender as I took a seat. “Neat.”
He set the tumbler down in front of me, and I took a long sip that burned my nose and throat. It didn’t help any. My problems were still there.
What was I going to do if the meeting with the counselor led nowhere? Take Raven to see a specialist outside of school? What if that didn’t work?
She never talked about school, but that had to be the problem. Home was fine, somewhat. Nothing went on there.
Come to think of it, maybe that was the issue. It had been years since Raven had a friend over. That wasn’t normal. When I was her age, I was practically glued to my friends.
If South Seattle wasn’t working out, I could take her out of it. Her senior year had only just started. She could get in at another school. Not private. I still couldn’t get behind that idea, but maybe the school board would agree to transfer her to another public one.
Maybe what she really needed was a truly fresh start. We could leave Seattle and go somewhere else. My business had offices in New York and San Francisco. I could work out of any of them. It wasn’t ideal, of course.
I pulled out my phone again and brought up the text message thread with Raven. The last message she’d sent me said “okay,” after I’d texted her reminding her to set the house alarm before going to bed. That had been a week ago, and just getting the short response from her had been a surprise.
My thumbs hovered over the keyboard while I sat unsure and full of anxiety.
There was nothing left to say, I realized. I’d already said more than I should have when it came to her. Why couldn’t she wake up and realize how good she had things? She had been born into one of the best situations on the planet, and here she was, throwing all of her advantages away. And making us both look bad in the process.
Pushing my fingers into my hair, I stared at the bar. This was ridiculous. There I was, coming up with crazy schemes to fix things when I still didn’t know what the problem was.
Raven would never tell me what was wrong. I knew this. Somewhere along the line, I’d failed as a father.
Maybe there was no hope left for us.
“What are you doing here?” a familiar voice asked.
Dropping my hands from my head, I turned around. Saxton, a leggy brunette on his arm and a tennis racket in his hand, looked me up and down.
“You don’t take breaks from work,” he said.
I smirked. “I do when they involve taking business meetings.”
Saxton barked out a laugh. “Sorry to have to tell you this, Andrew, but that’s not a break.”
“Hm.” I took a long drink of whiskey, remembered I had another meeting in an hour, and put the tumbler down. Christ, when had keeping my head clear become so hard?
“This is June,” Saxton said. “June, this is Andrew Marx.”
An escort?
I couldn’t tell.
June offered me her hand, her eyebrows having gone slightly up at hearing my name. I could practically see the dollar signs in her pupils as she quickly calculated who was worth more, me or Saxton.
Nope. Not an escort. Just a regular gold digger.
“We’re going to play some tennis.” June gave me a coquettish smile.
Saxton had never played tennis a day in his life. Apparently, like me, he only showed up at the country club when there was something other than casual leisure in it for him.
“Great.” I gave him a smile that probably looked fake.
“Hey, June and I are having a few people over tonight for drinks.” Saxton poked me lightly with the tennis racket. “You should stop by.”
“Sounds like fun, but I can’t. Thanks.”
“Yeah, I know. You’re busy being successful and dad of the year.” He looked at June. “Andrew has a teenager.”
“Oh, how sweet,” June cooed.
I kept the smiling and nodding going. If either of them knew what my life was really like, they’d be gagging.
“Have fun on the court,” I told them, tossing some cash on the bar and standing.
“Join us,” June begged, clinging to my arm.
I shot Saxton a quick, questioning look. He shrugged, a goofy grin still plastered on his face.
Guess he didn’t mind his date flirting with me. Probably because she was only the flavor of the week, anyway. Come next Monday, and the tall, model-thin brunette would be replaced by whatever was next. A curvy Latina. A Swedish blonde. Who knew?
I kept my gaze on the floor. “See you around.”
As I walked away, Saxton said something, and June laughed in glee. My stomach knotted up, but I only stuck my hands in my pockets and kept walking.
Truth was, I wanted what they had. Or a variation of it.
Women who were looking for sugar daddies weren’t my thing at all. But a girl to go out with, to laugh with, what man didn’t want that?
It had been so long, though. I didn’t even know where to start anymore. The internet? Tried it. Blind dates? Been there.
Not that what I wanted right then mattered. Even if I met the perfect woman for me the very next day, there would be no space for her in my life.
Chapter 7
Lanie
I took a deep breath and stared in the mirror, turning one way and then the other. Was the black eyeliner too much?
Yes. Too loud. I was going to work at a high school, not to a nightclub.
Grabbing a makeup wipe, I went to rub it off, then remembered it was liquid and would smear all over the place.
“Shit,” I murmured, dropping the wipe in the bathroom trash.
Heart racing, I adjusted the little strands of hair around my ears and frowned. The look would just have to do. At least I was dressed somewhat conservatively in a button-up and wool sweater.
Checking the time, I grabbed my purse and keys from the hook by the front door and locked my ground-floor apartment behind me. There was still plenty of time to get to work, but with my nerves making me shake, I knew I’d be more comfortable once I got into my office.
This was the day. In less than an hour, I had my first parent-teacher conference.
Hopefully, I’d make it through the meeting without vomiting.
I’d had plenty of parent-teacher conferences in kindergarten. But this was different. Five-year-olds didn’t threaten to punch each other in the face. Not usually.
Just as I slid behind the wheel, Erica’s name lit up my phone’s screen.
“Hey.” I put her on speaker and buckled up.
“Hey. I forgot. Did you say you’re making pesto tonight?”
“Oh. Yeah. I’ll probably bring over the ingredients and make it there if that’s okay.”
With the morning’s meeting taking up all my brain power, our traditional Thursday night dinner had completely slipped my mind.
“Okay. Cool.” A car honked near her, and the phone crackled from a gust of air. Best guess was she was walking into her office building.
“I have my first parent-teacher conference this morning.” Just talking about it made me tense up.
“Awesome! Are you excited?”
“Yeah?” I checked for traffic and pulled out of the apartment complex.
“Wow,” she dryly responded. “Don’t pee yourself from joy.”
“I’m just nervous.”
“I know,” she said soothingly. “It’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Hey,
before I forget, do you remember Joanna Gunter?”
“Mm, maybe? Was she at that party on your rooftop the other month?”
“Yeah. Exactly. She has a new exhibit opening Saturday. You should come. It’s at the Monty. The cheese and cracker selection is supposed to be out of this world.”
“What about the art?” I laughed.
“Oh. Yeah. That’s going to be good too.”
“Will you be there?”
“Uh-huh. But, Lanie, one thing.”
My stomach sank. “What?”
“Bring a date.”
I sighed as I rolled to a stop at a red light. “That’s a joke, right?”
“No. It’s me looking out for you. I want to hang out with you all night long, but come on. Bring a date. He doesn’t have to be the one. I want to see you let loose and have a little fun. Please. For me.”
“And where am I supposed to find this date?”
“How about at school?”
“That’s illegal.”
“Gross! Stop. You know what I’m talking about. Don’t tell me no men work at that high school.”
“Now that you mention it, it does seem to be mostly women.”
“There’s not one hot teacher you can ask out?”
“Not that I know of.”
“What about the PE teacher? They’re usually at least semi-attractive.”
“Haven’t met him yet.”
“Okay. What about the creepy, grizzled janitor who’s worked there for forty years and is always casting weird, strangely spot-on predictions? Or telling you that the kid you’ve been hanging out with all semester died decades ago.”
“That stereotype doesn’t exist.” I laugh.
“Yeah. Whatever.”
“The parent coming in today does happen to be a man,” I said, turning onto the street South Seattle was on. Hands down, the best perk of my new job was it was only a few minutes’ drive away.
“Ooh, la la. All right. Now we’re talking.”
“Remember that student I told you about? Raven Marx? I think her dad is that guy you thought he was, the, ah, techie guy?”
“Investing,” she immediately said.
“Right.”