“Hi Ray,” I say as I walk into the Safe Harbor lobby.
“Daphne!” he cries, opening his arms.
He’s a small man without teeth or hair. Looks like a sweet little grandpa, until you get within two feet of him.
“Ray,” I say, putting a hand out in front of me. “You only get to hug me if your hands stay on my back and your mouth doesn’t touch any part of me.”
“Aw, come on! Gimme some sugar!”
He comes toward me, and I dart behind the front desk, moving the wheeled chair to block his access to me.
“I mean it. You can’t grab me inappropriately, Ray,” I say firmly. “If you do, you won’t be allowed in here anymore.”
“I just wanted a hug.”
He’s filthy. I can smell him from ten feet away, and his face and neck are caked with dirt. I remind myself he’s mentally ill and doesn’t process things the same way others do.
“If I give you a hug, will you go take a shower?” I ask. “I can get you some soap and a towel, and I can wash your clothes while you’re in there.”
He thinks about it, then gives me a toothless grin. “Yeah, I can take a shower.”
I walk around the desk and give him a hug, breathing through my mouth.
“Thanks for the candy bar and socks,” he says. “I want to marry you.”
“You’re very welcome. Are you staying at a shelter? It’s been really cold at night.”
He shrugs. “I like my tent.”
“Well come on, then. Let’s get you a hot shower.”
“You should wash my back.”
I lead him to the back of the building, where we have three separate bathrooms, each with a sink, toilet and shower stall.
“You’ll have to handle that yourself,” I tell Ray.
“You’re beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
I open a closet and take out a towel, bar of soap, clean sweatsuit, socks and underwear for Ray. I know all his sizes—we do this about once a month. I’m certain those monthly showers are the only ones he gets.
“Now remember, Ray, when you’re finished, you have to dry off, get dressed in these clothes, and put your used towel and dirty clothes in the metal bin right over there.” I point at it to remind him.
“I got it,” he says, starting to strip off his shirt already.
As I duck my head and leave the room as quickly as I can, he calls out, “You’ll be here when I’m done?”
“Yes, I’ll still be here.”
“Okay, hot stuff.”
I laugh to myself as I walk back to my office. Ray drives me crazy sometimes, but he can be very sweet. His family has no interest in helping him. I don’t know how anyone can look at a human being who needs things as basic as food and clean clothes and turn their back.
When I sit down behind my desk, I grab the collar of my shirt and bring it up to my nose to sniff it. I can’t tell if I smell like Ray, but I definitely feel like I need a shower now.
One of the first lessons Ty gave me when I started this job was that if you’re disgusted by people, you can’t empathize with them. You have to let go of thinking about yourself sometimes and think about what the person you’re helping needs. We don’t judge at Safe Harbor. That’s why we’re able to hand out clean needles to drug addicts. By meeting people where they’re at instead of where we think they should be, we can help them. And if and when they get ready for rehab, a job or housing, we’re there to support that, too.
I open my email and see that nothing new came in when I was gone. I grab my cell phone and see that I have two new texts. One is from my sister.
Julia: Come over tonight if you can. I need adult conversation. Andrew is in San Diego for work.
I write back.
Me: I can, but I have to stop by home first. Is 7 too late?
Julia: OMG anytime works, just please come. I can’t anymore with the Paw Patrol, mac and cheese and legos.
Me: Mac and cheese is delicious, you snob.
Julia: I eat it for lunch every day. My body is crying out for a vegetable. Any vegetable. Let’s get delivery from that Thai place.
Me: Okay, see you in a few hours.
Julia: Great!
There’s no contact name on the next text, just a number, and I have to scroll up to the text I sent last week to figure out that it’s from Olivier.
Daphne, hi. Apologies for taking so long to respond. I was on a week-long trip with my daughter and I suggested we leave our phones at home.
He has a daughter?
Me: I didn’t know you had a daughter.
Olivier: Yeah, Giselle. She’s 16.
Me: Where did you guys go?
Olivier: Paris. She just needed to get away for a bit. We had a great time. Ever been to Paris?
Me: Once, yes.
Olivier: I’m glad my poem gave you a smile. Will you reconsider on dinner?
I think it over, and realize I actually want to. Gah. I’m letting myself be charmed.
Me: If I do, I want to be upfront. I’m not looking for anything serious. I just got out of a long relationship. Can we just hang out?
Olivier: Of course. Just dinner. Saturday night?
Me: Okay.
Olivier: Great, I’ll make a reservation. Send me your address and I’ll pick you up. I’ll let you know on the time.
“Ray! No, Ray stop! Oh shit. Daphne!” Nina yells from the lobby.
Crap. I type out a quick reply to Olivier.
Me: Sounds good, see you Saturday night.
I jump up from my office chair and run into the lobby just in time to see Ray, naked as the day he was born, dripping all over the floor as he runs across it. He stops, grins at me and shakes his hips, making his penis flop from thigh to thigh while spraying more water across the floor, and then keeps running toward the door.
“Ray, no! You can’t go outside, it’s freezing!” I say.
Ty comes running from the back room, a couple of clean towels tucked under one arm.
“Nina, stay here. Daphne and I will get him!” he says.
And then we race out the front door and chase Ray down the icy sidewalk, pedestrians parting to make way for him, and then us.
Just another day at the office.
Chapter Nine
Olivier
I’m yelling as loud as anyone in the stands at the Carson Center when Luca Campbell slides the puck into the net and ties the game at 2–2. From the owner’s box or the nosebleed seats, the excitement is the same.
It’s a Friday night home game, and even though I’m wearing a charcoal suit and white dress shirt, I have my Chicago Blaze red tie on to show my spirit. I wear Blaze hoodies and T-shirts at home, but when I’m here, I always have a suit on.
“Hell yeah!” Corey Zimmerman says, fist pumping.
He’s an investor I work with, and a big Blaze fan. I always fill up my box with friends and colleagues, or I host families who have seriously ill children. There’s nothing like sharing the game I love with people who are seeing it live for the first time or simply enjoy it as much as I do. The excitement in the Carson Center—both the excitement and the red sea of shirts in the stands—is incomparable.
These days, there’s often an empty seat in my box—the one right beside me. It’s reserved for Giselle, who comes to about half of the home games with me. When she was younger, she wouldn’t have dreamed of missing a Blaze game. Now she prefers to be with friends or alone in her room.
We had a good time in Paris. Despite missing the text from Daphne, I know leaving our phones behind was the right choice. I took her for a quick tour of Sorbonne University while we were there, and she loved it. It’s still a bit early for college campus visits, but I wanted to show her that there’s a big world outside of Chicago, where she can do and be anything she wants.
Corey leans over to say something in my ear. “Hey, I saw that you’re not trending on Twitter anymore. What’s up with that?”
I smile and shrug. “I guess everyone
figured out I’m not all that exciting.”
“Do you ever talk to the woman you rescued? Was that all just a bunch of bullshit about you guys getting together, or is it a thing?”
I’m doing my damnedest to make it a thing, but I don’t let Corey know. I only share my private life with my closest friends.
“You know how Twitter is,” I say dismissively.
“Yeah.” He takes a long drink of his beer. “She’s hot, though, from the pictures I saw. You should at least get some action out of the whole thing.”
I ignore his comment, because that’s actually the last thing I want. I hit my stride with my first business when I was twenty-four, and every woman I’ve been with since has been attracted to my money. They don’t have to say it for me to know. Renee spent money like it was her job when we were together. She wanted it all—vacation homes in exotic places, a yacht, and of course, chefs, housekeepers and other staff at her disposal no matter which property she was staying at.
I’m intrigued by Daphne for many reasons, and her disdain for my money is actually one of them. But even though she’s not after my money, I don’t want her to give me a chance just because I saved her life.
I want Daphne to see who I am, not what I did or how much I have. How do I accomplish that, though? I’ve racked my brain trying to decide where to take her for dinner tomorrow night. Hassan made reservations at five places and I’m going to cancel four of them when I make up my mind.
The place needs to be nice, but not too fancy. Romantic, but not obviously so. Low-key, but still private.
I considered taking her to Madeleine, the restaurant attached to the homeless shelter I funded. Reese Deveraux runs it, and the chefs who work there train homeless people for careers in the food industry.
If Daphne doesn’t already know I’m affiliated with Madeleine, though, I don’t want to call myself out. I’ll never know if she likes me for who I am if I’m trying to impress her with what I do. So our first dinner will just be the two of us talking over a good meal…but not too good.
My gaze is trained on the ice, but my mind is on Daphne. I’m pretty sure I’ll know the moment I lay eyes on her if she’s only going out with me so she can say she tried and there was no chemistry or if she actually likes me, too. Even a little. I just need something to build on.
She’s a strong woman who clearly doesn’t need a man. But she can want one. Preferably one in particular.
A St. Louis player scores a goal and I look away from the game. I can be competitive, and I want my team to win.
It’s what I do with my work, too—I try to win every day in ways big and small.
I buy companies that are on the verge of bankruptcy and make them run better, saving the jobs of the employees. I take eyesore buildings and breathe new life into them through renovation. I run the Blaze organization to be a team Chicago is proud of. A team with a fighting chance at the cup every year and happy coaches and players who get to do their jobs without me micromanaging.
I’m a lot more than a man sitting on top of a big pile of money. Tomorrow night, I have to make sure Daphne sees that.
Chapter Ten
Daphne
“It’s not a date,” I tell Julia as I shimmy out of a pair of jeans.
“You mentioned that about thirty times already.”
“It’s not.”
“Thirty-one.”
I glare at her. “Try to be helpful, will you? Pass me that black dress.”
My sister shakes her head. “You’re not wearing that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it covers every inch of you but your face and hands. Save it for the next funeral you attend.”
I groan with frustration. “What am I going to wear?”
She reaches into the suitcase she brought over to my apartment.
“My black leggings and booties, your purple cami and this gray cardigan I haven’t even worn yet. And some long silver earrings. Go take a shower and I’ll do your hair and makeup.”
“I’m hungry, let’s eat first.”
Julia looks at me like I just grew another head. “It’s 3:15, Daphne.”
“So what? I didn’t eat lunch because I was busy cleaning.”
“I’ll make you a little plate of cheese and crackers. I brought snacks.”
“You brought snacks?” I ask, amused.
“I’m a mom. I always bring snacks. You’re getting Goldfish and string cheese.”
I make a face. “I was thinking more like a giant sub sandwich from the deli down the street.”
“You can’t eat a big meal this close to your date. You won’t be hungry enough. Good guys like women who eat on dates.”
“Jules, if all I get is some Goldfish and string cheese, I’m going to start gnawing on my own arm by the time we sit down at the restaurant. You want me to be hangry?”
Her grin is confident. “You won’t be. I’m also allowing you one glass of wine to loosen you up. I can tell you’re nervous.”
“I’m not nervous because it’s not a date.”
Julia rolls her eyes. “This is me, Daph. Lie to yourself if you want, but you can’t lie to me.”
“We’re just hanging out.”
“Andrew and I were just hanging out, too. And then all of a sudden we’d done anal and were shopping for a china pattern.”
Laughing, I say, “But you wanted to get married. After Aiden, I don’t want that anymore.”
“Aiden’s a tool. You guys would’ve broken up a lot sooner if our parents weren’t friends with his parents.”
She’s right, and it’s a sore spot for me. It shouldn’t matter what family he comes from, the guy broke my heart. But my parents want me to give him another chance.
“Yeah, Dad still wants him to be his son-in-law,” I say bitterly. “Even after he cheated on me.”
Julia sighs. “We both know Mom and Dad have shady moral compasses. You can’t make it in politics if you don’t.” She grabs the glass of wine she set on top of my dresser when she arrived and takes a drink, sitting down next to me on my bed. “Speaking of Mom, have you talked to her in the last few days?”
“No. She left some voicemails but I never listened to them. That’s probably why I’m in such a good mood.”
“You know how she makes dad’s Coms people update her on everything that hits the news about our family, right?”
“Yep.”
“Well, the good news is I think she’s over you getting back together with Aiden. But it’s because she got wind of the picture of Olivier going to your office and she’s pretty much planning your wedding with him.”
I cringe. “Fuck her. Seriously, she never had a care for how Aiden made me feel or what I want. All she cares about is having shit to brag to her bridge club friends about.”
“I just wanted to let you know. Let’s not let it ruin our good mood, okay?”
I grab her glass of wine, take a sip and pass the glass back. “I’m getting in the shower.”
“Take your time. I’m going to drink wine and lie here and enjoy the silence. No one asking me to come wipe their butt or get them a snack or read them a story. I’m going to turn something tawdry on TV that I can’t watch when the kids are around. Are the Real Housewives still a thing?”
“I don’t know,” I call from the bathroom, “but will you come wipe my butt?”
“Fuck you!” She shouts, as we laugh over the sound of the shower starting.
I undress and step into the shower, standing under the stream of hot water for a couple minutes. I’ve been busy from the moment I woke up this morning, which isn’t how Saturdays usually go for me. I like to sleep in and be lazy until at least noon. Sunday is usually my day to accomplish things.
There’s nothing left for tomorrow, though, because today I cleaned, did laundry, got groceries and hung a few new pictures in my apartment. It’s hard for me to admit it, but I am nervous.
I don’t want to want a man in my life. Aiden burned me hard, and t
hat was just four months ago. Olivier is handsome, thoughtful, sweet, successful…and deep down, I know I shouldn’t hold his wealth against him. He also saved my life. He even charmed my bulldog grandmother, which is no small feat.
What’s not to like? I get why everyone around me is asking that.
The issue, I admit to myself as I lather up my hair with coconut-scented shampoo, isn’t that I don’t like him. It’s that I’m scared of liking him. I feel like a fool who vowed never to love again and then got all heart-eyed over the next man who crossed her path.
I can be hard-headed. I had to fight my mother so hard as a kid for things other children take for granted. When I wanted to play outside, she wanted me to practice piano. The year I wanted to donate my Christmas gifts to less fortunate children, she laughed and told me it was their parents’ fault they didn’t have more and that I was being ungrateful. I had to secretly try out for my school basketball team, because she forbade it, saying basketball was unladylike.
Nothing was easy for me. My mother wanted her daughters to be miniature versions of her, and that just wasn’t me. Stella and Julia didn’t do everything she wanted, but they did most of it. I was always the stubborn one.
Because of that, I grew into a woman who tends to dig her feet in first and ask questions later. It’s not all bad. Fighting for marginalized people comes naturally for me. I’ve lived on the other side of the coin, where everything is about who you know and how much money you have.
“Your Goldfish and wine are waiting!” Julia yells as I’m drying off after my shower.
I inhale the food and sip the wine slowly as my sister blow dries my hair. Then she uses a curling brush to style it in big waves. She spends lots of time getting my makeup just right before letting me look at it.
“I like it,” I say, admiring my smoky gray eye makeup and contoured cheekbones. “I haven’t had makeup like this in ages.”
“Are you going to sleep with him?” my sister asks nonchalantly.
Olivier: A Chicago Blaze Hockey Romance Page 6