by Meghan March
“Agreed, but it’s got to be someone who can handle these kids. They don’t respect just anyone. Though they seem to like that girl of yours just fine.”
“She ain’t my girl. She’s just here doing some work in exchange for a favor.” And don’t forget it, Leahy, I chastised myself. Vanessa wouldn’t have set foot in this neighborhood if not for the prize on the line.
“Whatever you say, boss. I saw the way you were lookin’ at her.”
“Drop it, Reg.”
“Touchy.”
“Seriously, fuck off.” I stopped at the bench and grabbed a roll of tape. “Make yourself useful and tape me up.”
“Yes, sir. Yes, sir.”
Helping the guys in the ring was the cure for any lingering thoughts about Vanessa. Trey and Jojo were both so fucking quick that if I wasn’t on my game, I’d get beat down. And I had my rep to protect.
Ninety minutes and buckets of sweat later, the boys tromped toward the showers, and I ducked into the kitchen. The heavenly scent of lasagna and garlic bread wafted through the air, and the gorgeous girl standing in the center of it all, oven mitts on both hands, a smear of what looked like strawberry jam across one cheek, had me freezing at the doorway.
When she looked up and smiled, I felt something weird in my chest. What exactly, I wasn’t sure. But that shit wasn’t normal.
“I can take those out to the table.” I jerked my chin toward the steaming pans of lasagna on the center prep surface. “If I can borrow the oven mitts.”
She looked down at her hands. “Oh, yeah. Sure.” She pulled them off, and I stepped closer to take them from her.
I glanced at the dozens of brown paper lunch sacks on the counter and raised an eyebrow. Her cheeks flamed crimson. “I made a few extras. Okay, a lot of extras. But I’ll pay for the supplies. I thought if maybe they had brothers and sisters…and once I started making them, I just couldn’t stop. So, yeah. That.”
Her self-conscious rambling had my heart doing that funny thing again.
“It’s okay. And you don’t need to pay for any supplies. I’ve got it covered. I’m sure they’ll appreciate the extras. There are always more mouths to feed.”
Her frown didn’t detract from her traffic-stopping beauty, but it made me want to…comfort her. What the hell? I didn’t have time to question my weird ass reaction when Vanessa started wringing her oven mitt-less hands.
“I just want you to know that regardless of whether you decide to donate the property or not, I’m going to do whatever I can to help fund more programs to feed these kids. I mean, we already do a lot, but clearly we’re not making a big enough impact. And that’s not right. The foundation can do more. Change more. No kid should be going to bed hungry in this city. We have the resources, we just need to deploy them better.” She looked up at me for a split second, before spinning around toward the fridge. And in that tiny glimpse I got of her face, I could swear her eyes were glossy with unshed tears.
“Then join us for supper. Meet some of the kids you want to help change things for. They’ll be on…better…behavior.”
She froze, half-in and half-out of the fridge.
Her voice was small when she said, “I can’t.”
After her impassioned speech, it wasn’t the answer I expected.
“Busy?”
“Ummm…I just…well…” She took a breath and looked at me straight on. “I just can’t.”
My hands clenched into fists. “You want to help feed these kids, but you’re too good to sit down and actually eat with them?”
“No! That’s not it.”
“Then what?”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “I just can’t. Okay?” She turned. “I should go.”
I wasn’t satisfied. For a split second, I’d seen a glimpse of a different woman beneath the layers of polish and ice—one who had a heart that might rival the size of her bank account. She was the woman I wanted sitting down at a table with these boys and me. But apparently what I’d seen was a figment of my imagination—and that pissed me off.
“You ain’t got a hot date with your boy toy, Simon Duchesne. Because I heard that’s over. And that it never really was what it seemed.” I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since Duchesne had spilled the beans to my receptionist, Charlie, that his relationship with Vanessa had been a cover. Because, according to Duchesne, she might be digging someone her dad didn’t find acceptable. That mystery was one that had kept me up more nights than I’d admit.
Her look of surprise was priceless. That sinful mouth dropped open just far enough to give a guy ideas. I wondered if I pushed hard enough, would she spill who this unsuitable mystery guy was? You want it to be you, my subconscious taunted. I flipped it the mental bird. There was no way in hell it was me.
When she stayed silent, I continued, “You think I don’t have my ear to the ground when it comes to you, Vanessa? I know all about your thing with Duchesne. Using him to keep your daddy off your back while you sample men with less-than-perfect pedigrees. So who was it? Some blue-collar guy you’re sneaking around with so your old man doesn’t find out?”
Her features hardened into the same expression she’d worn as she walked out of my bedroom.
“You don’t know anything about me, so don’t pretend you do. Except you’re right—I’m not seeing Simon. I think that’s pretty common knowledge. So if you were going for shock value to get a reaction out of me, you missed.”
Frustration mounted. She was like one of the puzzle boxes I’d gotten from Joy for my sixteenth birthday. I knew there was something cool as hell waiting inside, but I’d never figured out how to solve it. In the end, I’d found a hammer and smashed it—and almost destroyed the St. Christopher medal waiting inside. “Then why? Why won’t you sit down and share a simple goddamn meal with me and some kids?”
She inhaled sharply and looked away. “I just…I just can’t, Con.”
My expression hardened into a mask to rival hers as my temper slipped its chain. “You’re not too good to make them dinner—because that’s your daily act of fucking charity—but you’re too good to actually sit down and eat it with them.”
Her spine stiffened visibly. “If that’s what you think of me, then I’m sure you were never going to donate the property anyway.”
“Yeah, because let’s not lose sight for a second why you’re actually here: you need something from me.”
“Why else would I be here?” she asked quietly.
I just shook my head. “I think it’s time for you to go. Probably just in time, too, because for a second I thought you might actually be more than a stuck-up bitch.”
She snatched her purse off the counter. “Then I’ll just get out of your way.”
“You’re kissing that property goodbye.”
“Like I said, we both know you were never going to give it to me anyway.”
Her skirt flared as she turned on her flip-flops and headed for the door. It was an exit to rival the last notable one she’d made out of my life.
And just like the chump I’d been then, I once again followed at a discreet distance behind her and made sure she got home all right.
I sorted papers and filed until my desk was spotless. That much easier for packing up my stuff when I resigned my position. I hadn’t taken my diplomas off the wall, and my heart sank when I realized that if I followed through with my plan, that was exactly how I’d be ending my day.
I’d always regretted that my mother didn’t live long enough to see me become the skinny girl she’d always wanted me to be. The full effects of my late growth spurt hadn’t been readily apparent before she’d passed. In my grief, it had been hard to appreciate the extra five inches bestowed on me in less than a year. That vertical magic, combined with months of barely eating, had taken me from a chunky five-foot-three eighth grader to a willowy five-foot-eight high school freshman.
Well, now I suppose I ought to be grateful that she hadn’t lived long enough to see me leave the L.R
. Bennett Foundation with my tail between my legs. A failure. It was especially hard to stomach because even when I’d been the chubby girl, I’d always been the smart girl. The straight A student. The one with the answers. And in this, I was admitting defeat. My melancholy attitude would require copious amounts of wine. And I already wanted to kick myself for being grateful that my mother wasn’t alive to see this. Who thought stuff like that? Me, apparently.
Elle interrupted my pathetic moment of self-reflection.
“You’ve been avoiding me all day. That shit has to stop.”
There were a lot of good things about working with your childhood best friend, but there were also some bad things. Like not being able to hide anything—personally or professionally—ever. She’d been the mastermind behind the plan of me begging Con. She’d also advocated the on-bended-knee-and-in-the-dirtiest-way-possible method, but I’d demurred.
Elle dropped into the chair across from my empty desk.
“I was going to stop by as soon as I delivered this to Archer.” I plucked a single sheet of paper from my credenza, and Elle snatched it out of my hand.
“Oh, fuck me. You did not write your letter of resignation.”
“What else am I supposed to do?”
“You’re supposed to fight for this. Leave no stone unturned until we figure out a solution. And if we can’t figure something out, then you go to Archer, and you tell him that it was a legal problem. You explain that it wasn’t your fault, and you still deserve to run this place.”
“You know it won’t work like that. You know he’ll expect me to admit that running this project was more than I could handle, which means running the foundation is clearly too much for me to handle, which is just as good as tendering my resignation.”
Elle shook her head.
“I’m disappointed in you, Vanessa.”
Her words crushed my already battered self-confidence. “Thanks. I’m disappointed in me too.”
“Not because of the project, you idiot, but because you’re ready to walk away from your dream without even fighting for it.”
“I fought, Elle. I went to Con, and he said—”
“I don’t care what he said. You have to go back. I will not let you walk away from this. Besides, what do you really have to lose now, if you’re so sure you’ve already lost it all?”
I closed my eyes for a beat. “My pride.”
“I think you left that at the door when you did your walk of shame two years ago.”
“Thank you for the reminder,” I clipped out. As if I really needed one.
She stared me down. “Seriously, Vanessa. You’ve wanted to run this place for as long as I’ve known you. I don’t understand how you could give up so easily.”
My shoulders stiffened. “This isn’t easy. I’m trying to put the foundation first.”
Elle’s snapping brown eyes bored into me. “And you are what’s best for it. So go fix this shit and prove it.”
I exhaled a long breath before replying, “Okay. I’ll do it.”
“Good girl.” She slapped a small piece of paper on the desk in front of me. “And this is where it’s going to go down.”
My swirling emotions slowed in confusion. I looked down at the cream-colored embossed invitation. “The Boys and Girls Club Banquet?”
She produced several more sheets paper. “Here’s the guest list. And guess who’s on it.”
I grabbed it from her and stared at the highlighted name. “No way. Why would Con be going?”
Elle shook her head. “That’s a question you’re going to have to answer for yourself, because I think I’ve hit my limit of solutions for the day. I’ve earned a bottle of wine. Or two.”
I scanned the invitation. There were awards being handed out to several of the kids who participated in the program. Good money said one of them trained at Con’s gym.
And he’d RSVP’d to a $5,000-a-plate fundraiser to be there in support of the kid.
I looked back to Elle. “Do I have a date for this?”
She laughed, a cackle if I’d ever heard one.
“I love that you have to ask me if you have a date. Do I look like your assistant? I’m surely not.”
“Sorry. I just…”
“I know…I’m the keeper of your social calendar by default. No, you don’t have a date. Simon was originally going to go with you, but…”
“Right. Okay. So I’m going alone.” Which meant it would be easier to corner Con and make my last ditch effort at begging without an audience.
“But you’re seated at the VIP table. With the keynote speaker,” Elle added.
“That’s fine.”
I mentally flipped through the contents of my wardrobe. My confidence was going to need a serious boost to do this. There was one dress I hadn’t yet worn. It wasn’t scandalous, just more body-conscious than I was usually willing to wear. When I’d tried it on in the dressing room, I’d felt…strong. Capable. Like a woman who knew what the hell she was doing and what she wanted.
I looked at the clock. I had three hours until the fundraiser. Three hours to apply my war paint and armor and come up with a strategy. I had to find some way to get Con Leahy alone and convince him to donate that damn property.
Elle was right. I’d had a moment of temporary insanity. I was not walking away from my dream—my heritage—without a fight.
I stood in the shadows of the bar, nursing my Jack and Coke, as I watched her flit around the crowd. A perfect social fucking butterfly. She moved from one group to the next, making conversation and smiling her polite company smile. That smile was nothing like the one I’d seen on her face when her cheek was smudged with strawberry jam—before we’d both lost our tempers, and she’d walked out on me. Again.
I didn’t know when I started making a study of her different smiles, but I could tell this one was practiced. It was the one that graced the society pages. While she always looked fucking gorgeous, this smile wasn’t going to launch a million ships or whatever the hell the saying was. There was something missing from it. It didn’t reach her eyes.
She turned and visibly stiffened. Apparently my subtle observation of her was actually several notches less than subtle. But it wasn’t shock I saw on her face. Whatever that emotion was, it was wiped away so quickly I wondered if I’d really seen it. Her perfect façade was in place again—except for the pointed look in my direction and one raised eyebrow.
Yeah, princess, you caught me. I’m watching you. I’d watched her from the sidelines more times over the past two years than I would care to admit. Hell, even longer than that. I wondered if I’d ever get out of the high school mindset where I was the charity case and she was the perfect princess I’d accused her of being. God I hoped so. It was time to grow up. I shifted and adjusted the collar of my tux.
And yeah, you heard me right. My tux. I would’ve worn jeans and a T-shirt if I hadn’t given a shit, but I did. Not because I’d expected Vanessa to be here—which I had—but because I was here to support Trey. I couldn’t very well force him to wear a tux and not wear one myself. Even though I’d rented his, you couldn’t help but see the pride in his eyes when he’d walked out to my car tonight. He looked good, and he deserved his moment to shine.
He was the poster boy for success of an organization like this one. The only son of a single mother working three jobs, raised in the projects, and completely at risk for joining a gang. But he was smart, and his mama wanted more for him than a short life that would end with a drive-by bullet. So she started sending him to the Boys and Girls Club when he was young. They kept him out of trouble and up to his eyeballs in activities. He’d moved up to be part of the afterschool staff and a mentor. He’d started training with my guys over a year ago and dropped down to two days a week at the Club. The program director had been downright suspicious and had hauled his ass over to the gym to talk to me himself to make sure Trey was staying out of trouble. We came to an understanding: Any of the boys who wanted to box or had ange
r issues that required a little more…physical activity…to keep them in line, he’d send my way, and I’d vowed on my mother’s grave to keep them on the straight and narrow the best I could.
So tonight, Trey was receiving the Boy’s Award for Excellence. His mom had been excited to come, but at the last minute, she’d been called in to work. Too afraid to say no and lose a vital piece of their income, she’d consented. So I was the only one here for him. I turned to watch Trey being paraded around by the director to meet all of the big wigs. He hadn’t yet been introduced to Vanessa, and in this town, she certainly qualified as a big wig. I wondered if he’d recognize her in a designer dress, since he’d last seen her in a T-shirt and simple cotton skirt. My guess was probably not.
I looked over to where she stood, that dress clinging to her every curve. Goddamn. For the thousandth time, I wished I’d been fucking sober that night. But then I probably would have said or done something to fuck it up. I needed another shot—a do-over. But after the way we left things yesterday, that wasn’t likely.
Except…I had something she wanted. Desperately, considering she’d voluntarily sought me out. If nothing else, that should at least give me another opening.
That deed was leverage. A better guy wouldn’t dream of using it to his benefit. A better guy might do the charitable thing and donate the property and hope he’d win the girl over through his generosity and kindness.
I wasn’t a better guy.
Did I really want to get her back into my bed that way? Knowing she was only with me to get something from me?
Who was I kidding? I didn’t fucking care how I got her back there. Now that she’d walked her fine ass back into my life, I refused to let her walk out again without getting my second chance. With Simon Duchesne out of the picture, and me holding all the cards, there was nothing standing in my way.
Well, except for Vanessa herself. I allowed myself another long, lingering look. I cataloged her every dip and curve as I dragged my gaze from her red-soled stilettos to her slick, red lips.