by Leah Atwood
“I can promise you, he’ll be well-compensated for bringing you to us.” Bryce stared at him, waiting for a response.
Turning down his dream just to stay with his agent would be an incredibly dumb move for his career. Larry would understand, but Dominic wished he didn’t feel like he’d be throwing him under the bus in the process. A whoosh of air grazed his lips as he exhaled. “I guess it will be the first of many changes to come.”
Sighs of relief circled the room.
“Your loyalty to him is to be admired. We’ve all been with Caroline for so long, I couldn’t imagine putting our business in someone else’s hands.” Adam took a drink of his tea then continued. “Caroline’s a gem, and she takes good care of us. It will be an adjustment, but I think you’ll like her.”
“I’m sure I will.” He spun his cup, watching miniscule ripples of water roll from edge to edge. His brain worked overtime to keep up with everything. “What are the other issues you wanted to warn me about?”
“There’s a lot of risky behaviors played out in the entertainment industry. There was a time I was heavily involved in them, but I’ve cleaned up my act, along with the others.” Bryce cleared his throat. “We’re not trying to be the ethics police, but there is a morality clause in the contract, that states you will not use any illicit drugs or participate in any illegal activity.”
All the nervous energy of the day and the irony of the morality clause clashed into an eruption of laughter. Four sets of eyes with raised brows were trained on him and he explained. “I didn’t mean to laugh, but you all looked so serious like that clause might actually change my decision.”
“Then I assume it’s not a problem?” Bryce twisted his mouth, still appearing skeptical.
“Let me put it this way.” He steepled his fingers. “I’m not about to risk everything I’ve worked hard for to do something illegal, and I’ve never so much as had a sip of alcohol or smoked a cigarette and don’t plan to, so I don’t think illicit drugs are a problem.”
“Man, not many people can say that.” Admiration tinted Bryce’s words.
Dominic breathed in. Might as well lay out the truth now. “My mom is an alcoholic and on drugs at any given time. My sister and I vowed at an early age to not turn out like her, and that means staying away from it all.”
“Still, not many would have that fortitude.” Jay’s mouth rested in a straight line for several moments. “I didn’t.”
Rolling his shoulders, Dominic tried to alleviate the tension that always accompanied any mention of his mom. He was curious about Jay’s statement but it was neither the time nor place to press for details. In time, he was sure the story would come out.
Chapter 4
Maisy finished changing Ava’s diaper and slipped a clean onesie on the six-month-old. “Such a cutie,” she cooed, tracing the pink elephant design.
Ava rewarded her with a smile and gurgle.
“I’ll miss you when I go back to my normal work.” Continuing to smile and speak baby talk, Maisy carried Ava and placed her in a bouncy seat.
“You’re a natural with the babies.” Jada Mullins looked up from disinfecting a highchair. “Sure you don’t want to stay with us?”
“Tempting, but I love being in the office and working to bring all the programs together.” A pacifier hit Maisy’s hand. She chuckled and scooped Brady from the crib. “Didn’t we talk this morning about throwing things? I know, I know, you can’t understand what I’m saying.”
The infants at the community center were precious, and she loved that the center provided childcare for teen moms so they could finish school. The temptation to fill the vacant daycare position was strong, but she had other career goals in mind.
Mrs. Cohen walked into the room. “Maisy, I’d like a word with you in my office, please.” She ducked out, not giving Maisy a chance to respond.
“I bet she’s going to talk to you about the directorship opening.” Even though no one else was in the room besides the babies, Jada leaned over and spoke in a hushed voice. “Everyone knows you’re being groomed to replace her when she leaves this month.”
Goodness, she hoped so. She’d heard the whispers, but the formal application process wouldn’t open until next month. “I guess we’ll find out.”
Smiling widely, Jada pushed her to the door. “Go and find out. And hurry back to let me know.”
Maisy left the room, gliding on air. And I did it without Father’s help. Ahead of herself, she reigned in her thoughts. There could be any number of reasons Mrs. Cohen wanted to speak with her. As she walked down the hallway, she looked at the pictures hanging on the walls, each one an original artwork of the center’s children. She loved her job, thrived on providing a safe and nurturing environment for parents’ most precious belongings.
The office door was propped open and Maisy walked through, her heart skipping a beat when she saw Linda Dawson, the human resources director. Then she saw the grim expression on Linda and Mrs. Cohen’s faces, and her heart dropped.
“Have a seat.” Linda gave a brisk nod toward the black, faux-leather chairs.
When she sat, the padding sunk but didn’t feel comfortable as it had the many other times she’d been in the seat.
Mrs. Cohen looked at her, the corners of her mouth slanted in a downward position. “There’s no easy way to say this, but we have to let you go.”
The muscles on Maisy’s face entered paralysis. She must have misunderstood. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“In light of recent information, we have no choice but to terminate your employment at Dillonton Youth and Rec Community Center.” Linda slid a packet of papers across the desk. “We are prepared to offer you a severance package equal to one month’s pay. You are also entitled to your health care benefits and will receive your COBRA information in seven to ten days.”
“What information?” Maisy rubbed her temples. This was surreal. She’d come in expecting a promotion—not in her furthest thoughts had she anticipated her termination.
Uncomfortable looks passed between Linda and Mrs. Cohen.
“You’re one of the best employees we’ve ever had.” Blinking several times, Mrs. Cohen averted eye contact. “But it’s your father—my hands are tied.”
Everything clicked. Her father had made good on his threats from the winter. Let’s see who gets the last laugh. “I’m not signing anything. I’ll speak with my father and have this taken care of. I’m sorry he’s interfered and caused problems.”
Linda coughed into her hand. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple. The decision is final whether you sign the package or not. Once you decide, I will escort you to get your belongings and see you out.”
Salty tears burned her eyes, and a disappointed anger wove its cords around her lungs. She didn’t know exactly what her father hoped to accomplish, but she wouldn’t let him win. There had to be something she could do, but it was obvious it wouldn’t happen in this office today. She picked up the papers, but the words were a blur through the moisture in her eyes.
“You have up to ten days to sign the paperwork and still receive your severance.” Mrs. Cohen finally looked directly at her, compassion and regret filling her expression.
“I’ll have to get back to you.” When she stood, her legs were as wobbly as her voice. She pointed to the wall. “There’s no need to escort me. My purse is in my locker, and everything I have here is in it.”
“Very well.” Mrs. Cohen nodded her head. “For what it’s worth, I truly am sorry that this has happened.”
Maisy didn’t answer. She bit her lip to keep from sobbing and walked to the row of lockers. It took her several minutes for her trembling fingers to enter the correct combination. The lock freed and she opened the door. She gathered her belongings and walked out, refusing to look at her former boss.
The sobs came before she reached the parking lot. Her father had gone too far this time. Once she was in her car, she sat for ten minutes until the crying subsided. Even so,
the biting resentment would not abate. When nothing had happened after a few weeks, she’d wrongly assumed her dad had let the issue drop. That was your first mistake. Since when has he ever allowed a dictate to go unfinished?
She’d made the error of getting too comfortable. She needed answers. Now. Yet, she didn’t think she could confront her father face-to-face and took the chicken way out. Reaching into her purse, she felt for her phone. She pulled it out, dialed her father’s cell phone. When he didn’t answer, she tried the office.
“Rothchild Realty,” answered the strained voice of Mrs. Wright, her dad’s secretary.
“I need to speak with my father.”
“Maisy, is that you?”
“Yes.” She softened her words—Mrs. Wright didn’t deserve her wrath.
“Now’s really not a good time, dear. Can I take a message?”
“This is important.” Irritation seeped into her tone again.
Mrs. Wright sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Soft jazz filtered through the phone line while Maisy waited. She hated jazz for that very reason—it was a reminder of all the times she’d needed her dad and he wasn’t there. The music stopped, and she released a breath. Whose voice would she hear?
“What is it, Macilynne?” Her father’s tone was nothing short of annoyed. Almost mad. “Mrs. Wright insisted I answer your call.”
Nice, Dad. Way to make me feel like I mean something to you. “Why’d you have me fired from the community center?”
“That is a harsh and unfounded accusation.” He paused. “Some could make a case of slander, even.”
“Get real,” she hissed, rolling her eyes, all pretense of respect lost. “It’s exactly something you would do, and Mrs. Cohen said as such.”
“Watch your tone,” he snapped. His cell phone rang in the background. “If that was your reason for calling, we have nothing more to discuss.”
“You haven’t answered—”
“There’s nothing to answer.” His tone changed and he sounded weary. “Change is absolute, Macilynne, life happens. Always be prepared.”
His cryptic words sent a chill through her body, but she couldn’t probe further because he’d disconnected. She pounded a fist against the steering wheel. What was she supposed to do?
One thing was certain—she had to get out of the parking lot. The constant glimpses back to the community center only fueled her angst. What day was it? Tuesday, that’s right. She’d go visit Roxy. Maisy looked at her watch—Roxy should be home from the baby’s check-up by now. She needed her friend’s calming presence and Roxy had given her an open invitation to stop by anytime.
She flipped the sun visor and glanced in the mirror. Good grief she was a mess. Puffy bags rested uncomfortably under her eyes and mascara ran down her cheeks. More strands of hair were out of place than where they belonged from the many times she’d run a hand through her tresses.
The bottle of water she’d grabbed this morning still sat in the cup holder. She unscrewed the lid and poured a tiny amount onto a napkin. Gathered a corner and dabbed her face until all the mascara streaks were gone. Next, she pulled a compact from her purse and patted powder over her face to smooth out her skin tone left uneven from her crying. Finally, she grabbed the hairbrush she kept in the glove compartment and made her hair presentable.
Not that Roxy would care how she looked. She was the first friend Maisy had ever had, besides Dominic, who accepted her, one hundred percent, for the person she was. Theirs was a strange friendship—one comprised of a tattered history and divisive social classes. By all accounts, they should hate each other, or at the very least avoid eye contact if they happened to pass one another on the street. Who knew her ex-fiancé’s sister would become a dear friend. Fate had a sense of humor, for sure.
Satisfied she no longer gave the illusion of a madhouse escapee, she stowed the hairbrush back into its permanent spot and dropped her powder compact into her purse. She gripped the radio knob with the intent to increase the volume but decided she’d rather have silence. Her hand rose to press the button that opened the car’s moon roof. Warm rays of sun burst inside as the tinted glass slid back, and Maisy smiled. There was nothing a dash of all-natural vitamin D on a bright spring day couldn’t help, even if only by way of boosting morale.
Her mind went blank on the drive, concentrating only on the road and thinking nothing of her father. No use stressing over something that couldn’t be changed at the moment. She was sure Roxy would help her clear her mind further and form a plan of what to do next. When she pulled into Roxy’s driveway, her smile had lost its strain and her mood much improved. Granted, the bar hadn’t been set very high when, an hour ago she was in a near panic, ready to throttle someone.
She spotted Roxy’s fifteen-year-old minivan parked near the cement stairs at the front door. Good, she’s home. Grabbing the bottle of warm water and her phone, she slipped out of her seat, went to the door and knocked.
The door swung open. Roxy appeared, curious eyebrows arched but a welcoming smile on her face. “Hi, come in.”
“Thanks.” Her eyes danced around the room. “Where’s Hallie?”
“In her high chair. I was getting ready to feed her.” Turning around, Roxy waved a hand. “Follow me.”
In the kitchen, a jar of baby food with orange pureed mush sat on the counter next to an unpeeled banana.
“Can I help with anything?” She’d been so ingrained to never show up at a person’s home empty-handed, that now she felt obligated to help in some manner to atone for not bringing anything. Unless a half-full bottle of tepid water counted. Which it didn’t.
“Would you mind halving and slicing that banana while I make a bottle?” Roxy pointed to the ripened yellow one on the counter before grabbing a container of formula. “I started her with real bananas last week instead of the jarred ones. She seemed to like them better.”
“No problem.” She helped herself to a butter knife from the drawer, pulled back the peel and removed all the strings from the flesh. “Did you know they make a banana slicer tool now? I saw it on a commercial last week.”
“People will spend money on anything, I tell you.” Roxy laughed and shook the baby’s bottle. “At the grocery store, there’s a hot dog slicer that looks like one of those wiener dogs. Every time Darryl sees it, he asks if I’ll buy it for him.”
“A good old butter knife will do the same thing.”
“Exactly.” After handing her daughter the bottle, Roxy grabbed the jar of baby food and pulled a chair in front of Hallie. The eight-month-old gurgled happily as she gummed a pink-tipped spoon. “Unless you want carrots on your shirt, stand back. I can’t promise she won’t spit any out or grab the spoon and fling it.”
Heeding the advice, Maisy sat the banana pieces on the table and returned to the counter. She was silent as Roxy fed the baby.
After a few minutes, Hallie lost interest in the carrots and Roxy gave her the fruit. “I know you didn’t happen to be in the neighborhood, so are you going to tell me why you stopped by? I’m happy to see you, but I get the sense there’s a reason for this visit.”
Maisy sat down and folded her hands in her lap. “The community center fired me.”
“They what?” Roxy’s mouth gaped. “Why?”
Her eyes rolled. “Take a guess.”
“Vincent finally made good on his threats?” Elbows on the table, Roxy leaned forward.
“Yep, except he won’t say anything and the community center wouldn’t give me any details.” She bit down on her tongue, freshly irate.
“Is that even legal?” Roxy’s eyes stretched wide with dismay.
“Knowing my father, I’m sure he covered his bases, but I doubt I’ll ever know how.” Her back ached from the tension, and she arched backward in her seat, seeking relief.
“I’m so sorry.”
Hallie’s giggles interrupted them. They looked to see her smashing a piece of banana against the tray, oblivious to the attention s
he drew.
“To be so young again…” The thought drifted away and all the implications of losing her job struck her. “What am I going to do?”
“Is there anyone at the center, higher than Mrs. Cohen, whom you can call?”
Maisy shook her head. “No. She had the director of human resources with her.”
“Call a lawyer?” Roxy scrunched her face. “Or do you even want to pursue any type of action?”
“No. All I want is to live my own life, free from my father’s control.” A heavy breath relieved little pressure from her chest. “Is that so much to ask?”
“For your father, yes.” A pin could have dropped in the room and been heard. Roxy pressed a hand against her mouth. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s okay. Sadly, it’s true and you know that better than anyone.”
“He’s not entirely bad.”
Maisy rose her brow, daring Roxy to name a single positive thing about her father. Maybe when she wasn’t so mad, she could think of one herself.
“He’s philanthropic.”
“Tax write-offs.” As a father and a businessman, Vincent Rothchild did nothing that didn’t benefit him.
Roxy gave her a sympathetic smile. “I really am sorry. For everything.” She bent to pick something off the floor, then sat upright again. “Are you going to be okay?”
“I’ll be fine.” Thanks to a trust fund and years of practice dealing with a controlling father. “There are jobs out there, I just might have to move far away to escape my father’s iron hand.”
“You won’t really move, will you?” A hitch in Roxy’s voice made her cough. “I mean, I’ll understand if you do, but I don’t want you to.”
“No worries yet. I came straight here after it all went down and haven’t had time to think about the future yet.”
“I’ll be praying for you.”
In the past months, Roxy’s words of God and prayer had always slid over Maisy. They hadn’t been unwelcome but glossed over her in a vacant spectrum with no meaning. This time they landed on her ears. Although she didn’t know what she believed about God and had yet to see evidence He was looking out for her, Roxy’s statement soothed her. If there really was a God, it was nice to know someone cared enough to beseech Him on her behalf.