"Well, majority of the members work for her which, with today as an example, shows that we can't trade one evil for another," Mrs. Rossiter said. "The few remaining ones who don't, are not able to commit their time and energy on it full-time."
I glanced at Melissa with a raised brow. She could certainly do it.
She flashed me a sheepish smile at everyone. "So, Tom and I are expecting our second child, if anyone's wondering."
My eyes widened as people, sidetracked by the announcement, offered their enthusiastic congratulations to the beaming couple.
I glanced at Brandon in silent question and he just smiled and shrugged, leaning close to my ear to say, “Guess the only way you’re getting out of this is to have babies with me.”
“I’m not going to start popping out Brandon Juniors just to escape the co-chairmanship,” I muttered under my breath. “I’m just not sure I can do this, Brand. I think I might be having a lucid dream and none of this is actually real.”
He gave me a quick pinch on the rear and I yelped in surprise. “You’re definitely not dreaming.”
I groaned. “Then I really have just been nominated for the job.”
“Don’t worry too much about it, Char,” Jake said murmured conspiratorially. “You have all of us as resources, so don’t be afraid. This is a moment in time that might never happen again. The Championettes are breaking the rules for the first time in history—you might as well let them. It’s to yours and a lot of other people’s advantage.”
Jake’s right. It’s like reality altered for a bit—enough that something this unbelievable could actually happen.
I locked gazes with Layla.
If I said no, they were going to still replace her anyway.
These people were not kidding around.
If I stayed and co-chaired, Layla might be able to keep her position.
And just why are you so concerned about someone who's hated you since day one?
I watched Layla and her husband, and the way she was discreetly wringing her hands together like a stubborn child anxious for the punishment to come.
If her husband was giving her any sort of comfort or support, I couldn't tell. If any of her minions were still left worshipping at her feet, I couldn't see any proof.
Even Simone and Bessy had taken a discreet step back away from her.
It might be an illusion but she seemed utterly alone.
Why did I care? Because I couldn't purchase my happiness at the price of someone else's.
Sometimes, the hero needs to save the villain. Darkness is merely an absence of light.
I took a deep breath. "Alright, I'll do it—so long as Layla co-chairs with me for the rest of the term, after which, the Society can elect a leader according to whatever procedure is in effect at that time."
I gave everyone a crooked smile. "I would hate for every election to require this amount of drama and subterfuge. I don't imagine anyone can afford a sprained ankle every three years."
A ripple of laughter went through the crowd—except for those from Layla's camp, of course.
"How about it, partner?" I asked her gamely. "Are you in or out?"
Don already answered for her earlier but since Layla had a working mouth and brain (as I’d seen them in action more times than what was safe for my health), I preferred that she answer the question herself.
Her pale blue eyes betrayed nothing. In fact, her expression was one of absolute lack of it.
"I'm in," she bit out in a flat, clear voice.
I grinned as everyone murmured their approval.
And now we wait. Fierce winds can always snuff out the light and plunge everything back into darkness.
***
Melissa had done the official announcement.
After the crowd was broken up, she went up the podium to announce mine and Layla's co-chairmanship.
Things almost seemed too convenient that later I dragged Melissa into a private corner and asked her if she had a hand at this seemingly impossible feat of thrusting me all the way up to a co-chairwoman.
I believed in an act of God but I suspected that God probably had more important preoccupations than to worry about the Championettes.
"I didn't do anything sinister, Char," Melissa had reassured me, beaming. "I noticed your first couple of accidents and mentioned it out loud—maybe in a way that would rouse their curiosity. People started paying attention and didn't stop until that magnificent set-down you were giving Alicia and her group."
I settled with that answer.
I didn't like machinations.
I had lived with one for a month with Brandon and I didn't like it.
It made sense that Melissa’s carefully versed observation would make people take notice and see what she wanted them to see.
When I'd asked Brandon and Jake if they had noticed it at all themselves, they both admitted to having thought that something must've been going on as I'd seemed unusually unkempt and distracted. They just didn’t think it was anything bad.
I got a stern ultimatum from Brandon to never keep my discomfort about anything from him ever again, no matter what. I'd sheepishly agreed. It was either that or he was going to spank me right then and there, in front of everyone.
You just have to survive the rest of the day now.
Apparently, the Championettes' brunch extended practically into early afternoon tea.
Who needs that much brunch, you might ask.
The answer is no one but the brunch was there not for the food but for networking and campaigning for sponsors.
Charity was a lot of legwork—and I had a sprained ankle—so I generally sat down most of the time since I refused to go home despite Brandon's insistence.
A sense of purpose surged through me with the recent turn of events.
I wanted a shot at being part of what the Society did but I would be the first person to admit that it had felt out of my reach even from the moment I received their invitation. The more I clashed with the group, the further the opportunity slipped from my hands. And now, it had been dropped on my lap Just. Like. That.
Well, it wasn’t exactly a piece of cake.
I had a ruined shoe, a mussed-up hairdo, a ripped dress accessorized with thistles and a coffee stain, and a sprained ankle to show for it.
With my excitement came a nervous fluttering at the thought that I could go down as fast and as easily as I’d shot to the top.
Everyone would have their eyes on me, watching my every move, determining whether I was worth all that trouble they went through pressuring the Society into taking me on.
I didn’t want to disappoint.
But you can’t forget either that this isn’t about you. Just do your best.
“See you around, Charlotte,” Mrs. Rossiter said as she gave me a smile and a quick wave before getting into her waiting car.
I smiled back and waved at the woman as her limo pulled out of the driveway.
We were among the last of the guests to leave, only a couple of people getting into their waiting vehicles.
“How are you feeling?” Jake asked as plopped down on the bench next to me. I was sitting in the shade by the corner of the house, just off to the side of the front entrance.
“My ankle’s still throbbing a little but it’s nothing some ice and rest can’t fix,” I told him cheerfully.
He leaned forward to peer at it. “Probably have to bind it for a few days. And keep your weight off it. And no high heels.”
“Jake, I’ve sprained something before, you know?” I teased him, rewarding me with a frown.
“Don’t remind me of just how susceptible you are to injury,” he grumbled, sighing and stretching back against the bench. “Where’s Brandon anyway?”
“Getting my jacket,” I answered with a small yawn. “Freddy's on his way with the car 'coz we sent him home earlier when I realized we were going to be here for practically an entire day. How about you? Where’s your driver?”
Jake shru
gged. “Sent him home hours ago too. I’ll walk for a little bit then take a cab home. But you look tired so maybe I’ll sit here with you until Brandon gets back.”
I shook my head. “It’s been a long day. Don’t stay for my sake. Although we can give you a ride home if you’d like.”
“I don’t think so,” he said with a crooked smile. “After sharing you to everyone all day, I doubt that Brandon would be happy delaying having you all to himself for much longer. If the look on his face as you danced earlier is any indication, he’s going to growl at me and rip my head off if I get in his way.”
I wrinkled my nose. “You make my husband sound like some barbaric, rutting animal.”
Jake laughed. “I’m his oldest friend, remember? I know him well enough.”
I grinned. “Well, you better go before he catches you regaling me with things he probably doesn’t want me to know. He’ll be here any sec as long as he didn’t get accosted by one more person who just has to talk to him.”
“Alright,” he said, standing up. “I’ll see you around, Char.”
“Thanks again for sticking by me today, Jake,” I told him softly as he leaned down to kiss my cheek. “You and Brandon are the best cheerleaders.”
“Comes from having known several of them over the years,” he quipped with a mischievous wiggle of his brows before I smacked him on the arm.
He laughed and ruffled my hair. “I know you’ll do great, Char. I’m simply letting the inevitable happen.”
I was still smiling as I watched Jake saunter down the front steps of Clifton House.
At the sound of footsteps from somewhere behind me, I looked up and glanced to my side, thinking it was Brandon.
It was Layla—dragging behind her husband who kept a firm hold on her elbow and practically clipped her to his side.
They didn’t see me—they were probably too busy being Mr. and Mrs. Thundercloud together, based on their expressions. Don was openly scowling and Layla looked... resigned.
Somehow, Queen Bee doesn’t strike me as the type to be resigned to anything.
I watched in curious silence as Don marched down the steps with his wife and practically shoved her into the town car that just pulled up.
I didn’t realize I was still frowning at the town car as it pulled out of the driveway until I felt warm lips press on the top of my head.
“For a second, you looked like you were solving some extremely intricate mathematical equation,” was Brandon’s amused murmur as he slipped my white, pearl-beaded tweed jacket over my shoulders. "Either that or you're plotting a military strike."
I smiled, relaxing against him as he put an arm around my shoulders. "That's right. I'm Commander Maxfield after all."
Brandon gave me a suggestive look. "Somehow, that conjures in my mind a very inappropriate image of you in a naughty camo uniform."
"Brandon!" My cheeks heated up but I couldn't resist laughing along with him. "I might just dress up that way if it means I'll be your boss for a while."
He reached for my legs and helped me lift them up to the bench. "I think you've been my boss since day one, love."
I looked up to find him already smiling down at me, his hazel eyes warm and tender.
"Being your husband is the best job in the world," he murmured before kissing me softly on the lips.
I closed my eyes and kissed Brandon back, my fingers tangling in his hair, my heart dancing in my chest.
Anyone could walk past us and roll their eyes or express their disapproval at our PDA tendencies which many have witnessed today, but based on the way Brandon's arm tightened around my waist, he cared about it even less than I did.
While I basked in the sheer joy of the moment, the memory of Layla's pinched face earlier as her husband dragged her with him, flashed in my mind, startling me a little.
What a contrast that was to this. If this were an ad, Brandon and I would be the happy tourists while Don and Layla would be the poor victims of the traveler’s diarrhea you keep getting warned about.
In my opinion, not every couple had to wear their hearts on their sleeves but they should at least look happy together—or at the very least, act without hostility to each other.
When someone cleared his throat loudly, Brandon and I pulled away and glanced down the driveway where Freddy waited next to the town car, smiling a little at us, not even attempting to conceal his amusement at all.
Brandon and I glanced at each other before we broke out into a grin.
“Come on, Commander,” Brandon said as rose and suddenly scooped me up in his arms. “Let’s get you home so I can seduce you properly.”
I feigned a shocked reaction. “But I’m injured!”
Brandon smirked and nuzzled me by the ear as he carried me to the car. “Don’t worry. Ankles aren’t required for what I have in mind.”
I was still laughing as he slid us into the car and heaped me over his lap, carefully pulling off my already-loosened shoe and inspecting my slightly swollen ankle.
"Does it hurt very much?" he asked gently, his expression serious now as he lightly pressed his fingers around my injury.
Sobering up, I shook my head. "It's not too bad. Probably just needs a little bit of ice."
"You should've told me sooner," he said, exhaling sharply. "I would've put a stop to it before you could've gotten hurt."
"I'm fine, Brand," I assured him. "These heels are sky-high. I would've sprained my ankle with them at some point anyway. It was bound to happen."
He gave me a pointed look, clearly unconvinced.
I rolled my eyes. "Okay, maybe not. But it's done and over with, Brand."
"Which pisses me off more," he muttered, sagging back into the seat. "I should've been paying more attention to you."
"You can't protect me from the entire world, you know," I told him, smiling and touching the side of his face. "You're just as mortal as I am, and I love you too much to let you jump in and take a bullet for me or something crazy like that."
A smile twitched on the corner of his mouth, which he resisted for a moment, before he grinned and groaned, burying his face on my neck.
"Charlotte, I swear," he murmured against my skin. "You make me want to put on an armor, swing up a white horse, and slay dragons for you."
The warm, heavy ache in my heart almost hurt as I wrapped my arms around him, rubbing his back in soothing circles.
My handsome, wonderful white knight.
Smiling softly, I kissed the side of his face as my fingers lightly threaded through his hair.
I felt a strange sense of serenity despite the throbbing ache in my ankle and the fatigue of the harrowing day we just survived.
Today, I signed up for something completely unexpected with the last person on earth I thought I’d be working side by side with.
It should be filling me with dread but instead, I felt completely at ease even as uncertainty loomed over the future.
The best things that happened to my life lately had all been unexpected.
Here’s to hoping my luck keeps going.
Chapter Twenty-One: Phantoms Of The Past
“It’s an octagon. Okto means eight.”
My brows raised at Mattie’s confident statement as he leaned over the table and pointed the tip of his pencil to each side of the polygon on Rose’s coloring book, counting them out loud.
Rose scrunched up her little nose as she followed Mattie’s finger during his count. She peered up at him, her brown eyes big with curiosity. “Is that why the okthopus has eight arms?”
Mattie smiled and nodded. “Yes. That’s one reason they gave it that name.”
The little girl nodded solemnly, as if digesting that bit of information and filing it away with grave intent.
Everything’s strange and fascinating in the eyes of a child. They see the world without the filter of painful experiences. I sometimes envy that.
I couldn’t help the smile on my face as I watched the two resume their coloring.
It was several days later and I was baby-sitting both kids.
Martin had to go out of town for the weekend to see a new specialist in Seattle and Aimee had a graveyard shift at the hospital.
I rounded up the kids and took them back with me to the condo where I set them up to bunk with each other in one of the guest bedrooms that had two twin beds.
The two of them were now sprawled on the floor, dressed in their pajamas and hunched over their coloring and sketch books. I was sitting on the couch and reading through the request letters of the two-hundred-plus charities vying for the Championettes’ assistance.
Yes, that many.
The Society wasn't a charity in itself really. It was originally patterned from a sort-of gentlewomen's group, ergo, socialites who had time and monetary resources at their disposal. They started endorsing charity groups until it eventually became the main thing the Society was known for.
Hundreds of requests come to the Society but they only picked one to add to the three they constantly did every year—the Art Foundation, the Children's Hospital, and the St. Bartholomew Youth Home (for children who couldn't stay in foster care).
The privilege to become the fourth and biggest charity fundraiser the Society did each year was much coveted, and it was up to the board to select among the requests the one that would best benefit from it so long as they met certain qualifiers—they needed to be high-profile and high-class.
Which is bloody ironic if they're supposed to be a charity.
During our first meeting yesterday, I'd argued that the shiny gloss on a charity group shouldn't be a consideration but most members insisted that the Society needed to maintain a certain image in order to keep attracting the same deep-pocketed benefactors.
Apparently, some of the benefactors only felt inclined to donate if they could get a nice, glitzy gala out of it that would put their faces on the society pages.
I had to bite my tongue down, along with the stinging comment it was about to deliver. I reminded myself that they had a point, even if I disagreed with it, and that not everyone had the same motivation.
The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield Page 52