The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield

by Ninya Tippett

  I sighed, knowing that there was no stopping me now. “I appreciate the tact you admit your motive with considering how disrespectful it is to slap it on someone’s face just how uninterested you are in their company and make it sound as if you’re doing them a favor by putting up with it anyway. No disrespect intended but I think at this point, it’s hardly fair to call out my insolence when your prejudice provoked it.”

  “We are an esteemed society of female philanthropists and you would do well to remember that!” another member, Catherine Rochner, identifiable by her beak-like nose which she was rumored to always defend by referring to it as a true aristocrat’s nose, spoke up sharply. “We don’t just pick up the next trailer trash to have stumbled into the marital bed with a rich man.”

  Wow. Clearly, someone’s dug my hole so deep I just plunged right into it when I walked in here today. Unbelievable. I never even had a chance.

  I thought of how Brandon would be so disappointed in me for blowing this but I fought the pinpricks of tears in my eyes and thrust my chin up.

  He’d be more disappointed in you if you let them walk all over you.

  I took a deep breath and steeled my spine as I met each of their gazes. “It’s a real pity that the only charity you all seem to be capable of is limited to your glitzy fundraisers and cozy tea parties. If you can’t even be charitable to others with less impressive backgrounds than yours, I can’t figure out why else you would do your philanthropy if not just to simply make yourselves look better by helping the poor and earn the tax credit for it.”

  Layla started to make some kind of protesting noise but I pinned her with a glare. “As for you, I simply regret that someone of your vindictive nature gained the opportunity to make a difference when all that you seem intent in doing with it is to play the high school queen bee.”

  I swivelled my gaze over to Simone who was flushed a deep shade of red, still mute in her seat. What a lovely coward. I wasn’t sure what I really wanted to hear from her but I had some hope that she would be decent enough to say something to call off her attack dog of a friend especially since I had the strongest suspicion that a lot of this was about her.

  “If your fight with me is for your friend Simone, I’m afraid that your crusade is in vain,” I continued telling Layla. “I did not steal anything that was still hers to have. I did not wish for this to be ugly and I had hoped that you would be better than this but if you’re simply taking me down because I happened to marry Brandon, I suggest you give it up. Whether my last name is Samuels or Maxfield, whether I sleep in my old, ratty double bed or in a California king thirty floors up in the sky, whether I’m in Blahniks or sneakers, I’m the same girl I’ve always been—the kind who will not stand down because you feel like kicking me around. I will kick you right back if you don’t back off and it will hurt.”

  With my heart beating rapidly from the dangerous excitement of my declaration, I straightened my shoulders and gave them a half-smile.

  “When you’ve learned to be better than a bunch of petty hypocrites, look me up,” I said with a shrug. “I might be interested to help you then.”

  With that, I turned and strode out of the house, walking until I found myself strolling toward downtown which was only a few blocks away.

  Despite my famous last words from that tea party, I felt defeated—mostly because I didn’t even get a chance. I had known it would be an ambush as much as I had wanted to believe it otherwise. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Having read what I did about the Championettes from gossips online, I had known that they wouldn’t welcome me with open arms. Despite their claims to charity, most of them had reputations for being prissy and arrogant but I had always been the type to cut most people some slack and I thought I could manage that with them.

  The only problem with giving people a chance is that they don’t always return the favor.

  I wondered how I would tell Brandon.

  I wondered how I would tell Felicity. She would be devastated. She had such great faith that the Championettes would meet me and all love me because she thought the world of me. She might be employed as my personal assistant but Felicity held none of her affection back and she’d given me plenty of it. I could tell. And now I failed her in this.

  It’s only failure if it was worth it. To be part of a group who condescends on people like that is no achievement.

  Determined to feel better, I undid the tight bun of my hair and wiggled the braid loose until I could feel the blood flowing back around my head. It also felt strangely symbolic as if I'd liberated myself of the constraints of a Championette. Then I wandered around downtown for a good half hour, grateful for the anonymity that reminded me of how simple it used to be just being good, old Charlotte.

  It didn’t completely cheer me up though so I thought of Felicity’s formula for banishing the blues—shoe shopping.

  The booties were beautiful and surprisingly comfortable despite the height but after an hour of standing and briskly walking in them, I was starting to feel my arches ache.

  I went into one of my favorite shoe stores. I used to gaze at some of the pretty shoes here that I couldn't afford before. When I was done gazing my fill, I would go purchase a new pair of Chuck Taylors once I’d worn a hole into my old ones.

  “Hello,” a young girl greeted me as I surveyed a rack of leather ballet flats. “What can I help you with today?”

  “Oh, I’m just looking,” was my automatic reply out of habit. I would never even bother the store clerks before with trying on anything because I couldn't afford it then.

  She smiled at me in understanding. It was in the middle of a Wednesday afternoon so the store traffic was slow. “No worries.”

  She nodded to my shoes. “Those booties are fabulous. I saw them in Vogue and a couple other magazines. They’re one of this season’s most coveted pairs and they’re crazy expensive.”

  I felt myself blush because I didn’t really know how to react properly. I didn’t even know how much they cost. Armina had them in a long line of shoe options and I just picked them out. “Um, thanks.”

  The girl shook her head as if she was trying to snap herself out of the dreamy gaze she had been directing at my shoes in the last sixty seconds. “Anyway, I just thought I’d pay them the compliment they deserve. We don’t sell anything like them here—nothing as high-end anyway—but if there’s anything that catches your attention, I’d love to grab you a size so you can try them on.”

  Knowing that the girl could probably use some commission on a slow day like this, I pointed to another rack that featured the different sneakers they carried. “I’d like a pair of those high-top Chucks in white and women’s size six and a half, please.”

  Surprise flickered across her face but she quickly recovered her composure and nodded before heading to the back room.

  Twenty minutes later, I emerged from the store wearing my new pair of Chucks and carrying my booties in a paper bag where I tossed in my clutch as well.

  I still had about half an hour before Felicity and Gilles picked me up from Clifton House and I needed to be somewhere they wouldn’t need to come get me. That way, I’d avoid explaining anything yet to Felicity about the tea party spectacle. I also needed a friend.

  I took out my phone and texted Brandon.

  [B, what u doing right now?]

  A minute later, my phone buzzed with his reply.

  [Big meeting about a possible acquisition. Been at it since this morning. How’s your tea party?]

  I resisted the urge to be forthcoming right away. He was in an important meeting and I didn’t want to distract him with my problems.

  [Done. Can I come to ur office? I’ll wait till ur done. I’m in downtown anyway.]

  [OK. Done for the day after this but it might be another hour. We can dine out after. I’m starving.]

  [Sure. How many ppl u meeting with?]

  [Six. Why?]

  [Just curious. OK. See u soon! Kiss!]

  [Kiss. Kiss agai
n. And again.]

  [Get back 2 work, u lazy bum. =P]

  [Yes, ma’am. =P]

  I grinned, imagining Brandon’s expression as he interrupted his meeting to send me silly replies. I wouldn’t put it past him.

  Spotting the Maxfield Towers a short distance away, I headed toward it with a renewed sense of purpose.

  I stopped by Burpee’s, one of my favorite pizza places, and grabbed two large pizzas and a dozen-pack of soft drinks. Working at Marlow’s trained me on hefting large and heavy orders in my arms but I was a bit out of practice and my sprained wrist just got unbound this weekend. I was sweaty and panting by the time I made it to Maxfield Towers.

  It wasn’t until I walked through the front door and faced a reception/security desk that stood between the turnstiles that I realized I’d never even been inside the building before and I had no ID or security pass of any sort.

  This will be tricky. I don’t think they’ll let you Google yourself this time.

  I upped the wattage of my smile as I approached the counter. A tall, intimidating man looked up and frowned at me and the stack of pizza I had my chin perched on.

  “You need to call the number of the person who ordered the pizza because they’re expected to come down and pick it up on their own,” he said without preliminaries.

  Really? You think I’m a pizza delivery person? Who goes around delivering pizza in a dress and enough pearls to buy a luxury car with them?

  I had a feeling that whether or not I was still wearing my sixteen-hundred-dollar booties (according to Cindy from the shoe store), it wouldn’t have made a huge difference with this guy.

  I fixed the smile back on my face and glanced at the name tag pinned on his shirt. “Hello, Roger. I’m not really here to deliver pizza—” He raised a brow at me. “—I mean, not technically like a pizza delivery guy, or girl. What I’m trying to say is... I’m here to, uh... You see, it’s because—”

  Well, that was articulate. It’s really going to win you some big points with Robo-Roger here.

  When the man just raised his brows at me, obviously waiting for me to keep tripping over my words, I sighed and blew the hair off my face.

  “I’m here to see my husband,” I blurted out. “He’s in a meeting and I’m bringing him some food as a surprise since they’ve been at it since this morning apparently. I don’t know where his office is. I’ve never been here before.”

  “And what’s his name?” Roger asked, exhaling sharply as if he was drawing for patience from some inner well.

  “Brandon Maxfield.”

  Roger looked at me with a You’re-shitting-me face. I wish I were, buddy. I wish I were.

  “Can I see some ID please?” he asked warily. I would guess from his cautiousness that he was probably aware that his boss had married but since he didn’t seem the type to read the gossip rags, he probably had no idea who the new Mrs. Maxfield was. I would twirl and dance if I wasn’t carrying an armful of food and wasn’t about to get kicked out of the building.

  “Sure,” I said, placing the pizza boxes on the counter and digging into my clutch for my mini-wallet. Since I didn’t have a driver’s license, I usually provided my passport as photo ID but I didn’t bring that with me today. I pulled out a credit card that Felicity gave me instead when she gave me my banking stuff right after I got engaged to Brandon.

  “Here you go,” I said, handing the card to Roger.

  He took it and with narrowed eyes, looked up at me in question. “It says Charlotte Samuels.”

  I bit my bottom lip. “Yes, well, I haven’t had a name change yet. I just got married a couple weeks ago and a lot of things were going on. My assistant is getting it all done by the end of this week. She’s been hounding me for it but I’ve just been so busy.”

  Roger didn’t seem swayed by my explanation. “This is a credit card.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I know that. It’s a black credit card, you see? It’s supposed to mean something. Apparently, really rich people have it. If I was just a pizza delivery person, would I have one?”

  “It depends whether a certain Charlotte Samuels is missing a credit card somewhere,” Roger replied baldly, handing me back my card. “You’re going to have to do better than that, miss. There’s no food delivery past this door unless you have authorization.”

  I groaned and bumped my forehead softly against the edge of the counter.

  I was screwed.

  The pizza was cooling down and I needed to sit down soon but I wasn’t going to drag Brandon out of an important meeting for this.

  “I know!” I exclaimed as the light bulb in my head lit up. I dug out my cellphone and scrolled through some photos I took of Brandon sometime this week.

  I pulled up the one of him in a white T-shirt, holding up a book in front of him that he had been reading when I took this shot. It was the only one that had a clear profile of him. The rest of the photos were a little too intimate—like him sleeping or walking around the bedroom in just his pajama pants without a shirt on—and I didn’t want to show those to just anyone.

  “Here, look at him,” I said, trying to shove my phone at Roger’s face but he quickly stepped back, refusing to even look at the screen.

  “Listen, miss. I asked for ID and that’s what I’ll need to see if we’re going anywhere with this,” he said sternly. “I am not looking at your credit cards or photos or anything else that doesn’t qualify as ID.”

  “Fine, fine,” I muttered with a loud sigh, slipping my phone back into my clutch. “Alright. How about you give Marissa a call? She’s Brandon’s personal assistant. She knows me.”

  I had only met the woman a couple of times and she was like the female version of Roger actually, now that I come to think of it. She was pleasant enough, efficient to a point of being robotic, and stayed out of Brandon’s way most of the time.

  Roger’s brows furrowed. “I don’t disturb Ms. Felix unless it’s something she’s directly dealing with. I haven't received any memo from her detailing your arrival.”

  I glared at him. “Of course not. Didn’t you hear what I said earlier? I said it was a surprise. Who announces they’re coming when it’s a surprise?”

  When Roger’s expression just tightened, I shook my head and scrolled through the contacts list on my phone. “I’d really hate to do this but you’re not giving me any choice.”

  I called Brandon’s office number and after a couple of rings, Marissa Felix picked up.

  “Mr. Brandon Maxfield’s office, how may I help you?”

  “Hey, Marissa!” I greeted brightly and loudly enough for Roger not to miss a single word. “It’s me, Charlotte. I’m just down here at the front lobby actually. I brought food for Brandon’s meeting but I don’t have any ID with me or anything I can use to get through security. Could you please let me in or something? I don’t mean to impose but I just didn’t want to stand here and wait with the pizza or it’ll get cold.”

  “Oh, Charlotte,” Marissa said in surprise. “Of course. I’ll call the front desk. Don’t you worry. Hang on, please. I’ll just put you on hold while I make that call.”

  I kept the phone to my ear as the hold music played and smiled sweetly at Roger. It wasn’t my intention to throw my weight around but he wouldn’t even bother to inquire about me and whether I was telling the truth or not.

  The front desk phone rang and Roger eyed it nervously before picking it up.

  “Yes, Ms. Felix,” he replied into the receiver, a thin film of sweat forming on his upper lip. “I understand. Yes. I apologize. Yes, I will. Thank you. Alright, bye.”

  Marissa came back on the line with me as Roger lowered the phone back to its cradle. “You’re cleared, Charlotte. I’ll make sure to have facilities and security updated with your info so this never happens again. I apologize if you had a hard time.”

  “Oh, please, don’t worry about it,” I assured her. “I totally understand that Roger is just doing his job. I’m good now so thanks. I’ll see you in a
bit.”

  I hung up with Marissa and grinned at Roger. “I’m so glad we sorted that out, Roger. I’m sorry for the trouble but I couldn’t think of anything else.”

  “I apologize Mrs. Maxfield,” the man said awkwardly. “I, uh...”

  I shook my head. “Please, call me Charlotte and don’t worry about it. I won’t get you into trouble.”

  “Thank you,” he said in obvious relief as he guided me through the turnstiles. “Would you like me to find someone to escort you to the office and help you carry all of this?”

  “No, I’m good. Thanks,” I told him as I took the pizza from him. “I used to be a waitress in a diner so I have strong arms. By the way, how do I find Brandon’s office? I forgot to ask Marissa.”

  “Twenty-ninth floor. Turn right when you arrive at the lobby. The hall leading to it is labeled.”

  “Awesome, thanks!” I gave him whatever wave I could manage before walking toward the bank of elevators.

  There were a couple of people in the elevator when I got in and one of them held the door open for me.

  “Which floor?” the guy who held the door for me asked since I was barely able to see the panel from the edge of the pizza box.

  “Twenty-ninth, please,” I told him with a grateful smile.

  “What? Is the boss throwing a pizza party or something?” he joked as he punched some buttons on the panel and the door slid close. “And Burpee's sent its prettiest delivery girl to bring the order?”

  “No, Burpee's didn’t,” I bristled. “It’s a surprise.”

  Keep your mouth shut, Charlotte. Just get through this elevator ride or you’re going to have another episode like the one with Roger.

  The elevator gradually emptied as people got off different floors until I was left alone to make the rest of my way up.

  Following Roger’s directions, I walked down the hall on the right and stepped in through the open office door until I saw Marissa look up from a desk.