by Rosanna Leo
On the wall hung the ladder Michael had salvaged for her family photos. Nonna Olivia smiled in approval.
“Michael,” Emily said through her tears. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
He gave her a hug and lifted her off the floor. “Welcome home, Em.”
Everyone applauded and Emily ran around hugging and kissing members of the crew. Even Lacey patted her on the back.
When the cameras stopped rolling, Michael pulled her into his arms. “Are you happy?”
“Yes,” she almost shouted. “Of course! My store rocks! I love it. Thank you so much.”
He stroked a finger along her chin, tipping up her head. “I have one more surprise for you.” He retrieved a paper from his pocket.
Emily recognized it immediately from the tear and the crumpled texture. It was the invitation to the reception at Toronto Police Service. “Michael, you didn’t…”
“I did. I called and accepted the invitation.” He breathed in and out. “How would you feel about attending this shindig with me on September eighteenth? It looks pretty fancy. There might even be a shrimp ring.”
She burst into laughter. “For you, I’d go even if there wasn’t a shrimp ring.”
“I’ll have to wear a suit. I can’t remember the last time I wore one of those.”
“It’s a date. There’s no way I’m missing you in a nice suit. That’ll fuel my fantasies for the next ten years.”
“Oh, yeah? There’s an old tux at the back of my closet. I may just dust that off tonight.”
Someone from the crew handed them both glasses of champagne.
“It’s official.” She clinked her glass against his. “This day just gets better and better.”
* * * *
September Eighteenth
“In my role, I often hear stories of incredible heroism and dedication.” Toronto Police Chief Ed Witherspoon nodded toward each of the evening’s honorees. “Some of my favorite moments have involved hearing stories of community engagement, of civilians helping those in need. My colleagues on the force understand what it means to lay one’s life on the line. We do it every day. When civilians put themselves at risk in order to assist others, the community stands up and takes notice, and so do we.”
Emily squeezed Michael’s hand. He squeezed hers in return, but his gaze was glued to the podium. His nostrils flared as he breathed in and out. She knew this entire event was a trigger for him, but he was managing it well. He’d already shaken hands with attendees who’d spotted him as they waited for the presentation to start. Now he’d have to stand in front of them all, including the various reporters, and receive his award.
He certainly looked the part of an award winner. She’d never seen Michael quite so smooth and slick. Wearing a dark gray suit and a black shirt, he looked more like a bank executive than a contractor. He’d shaved, so close she couldn’t see a hint of shadow, and she’d had fun on the car drive over, caressing his chin.
She glimpsed dark circles under his eyes, but no one else would see them. He’d had a bad time the previous evening and had had his worst nightmare in months. However, she’d been there for him and they’d gotten through it.
They hadn’t spent a night apart in months and she didn’t care to ever spend another away from him. She’d long since sold her condo and had moved into the Kingsway house, although Michael constantly teased her about using him for his bathroom.
Chief Witherspoon began to call names and welcomed honorees to the stage one by one, saying a few words about each. With every award, Michael’s grip on her hand tightened. It didn’t hurt, so she didn’t mind.
He looked down at one point. “Ah, shit,” he whispered. “I’m crushing your hand. I’m sorry, Em.”
“It’s okay. I don’t need that one.”
“And now,” the Chief continued, “a man whose heroism and selflessness has made him a hero in his community. I hear he can build a pretty good house too.”
When everyone laughed, Emily was relieved to see Michael did too.
“Michael Zorn faced grave danger, subduing a man who was armed, one who had already taken a life. Forsaking his own safety, he rescued a group of children when they were trapped inside their daycare with the assailant. I know a dozen families who are very thankful for this hero. Please welcome Michael Zorn to the stage.”
Emily gave him a quick hug. He stood, calm and noble, and walked toward the podium. He took his spot next to Chief Witherspoon, who shook his hand heartily and said something away from the microphone. Michael smiled as the chief presented him with a plaque and he stood next to the other honorees so the reporters could take pictures.
Emily met his gaze. He smiled and nodded.
A lady sitting next to her leaned over and whispered, “Your husband is so handsome, dear.”
“Oh, he’s not my—” She cut herself off. What did it matter if the woman thought they were married? “Thank you. He is handsome, isn’t he?”
“And such a hero.”
Emily smiled at Michael. “He’s definitely my hero.”
* * * *
“You were awesome today.”
“Thank you. You were pretty awesome yourself.” Michael twirled Emily around the dance floor. “Did I tell you how incredible you look in that dress?”
“You did, about seven times.” She winked. “But keep it coming.”
Because they were already dressed up, he’d suggested they take a spin at a nearby supper club. Emily had quirked her head in surprise. He had never struck her as a supper club kind of guy. However, he’d expressed an interest and she figured they could use a release after the fraught emotions of the day. The place had a retro vibe, with a jazz band and waiters and waitresses in nineteen-forties-style costumes. It made for a nice change.
The last couple of months had been a whirlwind of activity, with Michael doing more shows and Emily’s business taking off. From Scratch was a hit in the Little Italy community and she had people placing soup orders from all around the city. She’d been featured on a local morning news show, and since then, it seemed the bell at her front door was always tinkling. She’d hired some great people and had even started teaching one of them her recipes.
As the band transitioned into a ballad, she rested her head on Michael’s shoulder. They swayed, caught up in the moment and in each other. His hand was firm at her back and he guided her across the floor as if he’d been born to it.
“I never knew you were such a good dancer. You’re full of surprises.”
“Oh yeah?” Michael’s lips traced the shell of her ear. “You like my moves?”
“I do.”
“There’s one I’ve been practicing.”
When he stepped back and reached into his jacket pocket, her pulse began to race. She couldn’t help it. He looked so devastating in that suit and his face was full of love and hope.
He went down on bended knee, right in the middle of the dance floor. The band conductor put a stop to the music and turned to Michael, grinning, his baton lowered. Michael produced a velvet box and opened it. Inside was the loveliest ring she’d ever seen. Diamonds sparkled from the vintage band.
“Oh, my God…”
“Emily.” He took her hand. “You know I love you. You have been my strength and my light. When I look at you, I see everything that’s good in the world. With you, I find my peace. I won’t be happy unless I can spend the rest of my life making you happy. Please say you’ll marry me.”
“Yes.” She didn’t stop to consider a single thing. She didn’t need to take a closer look at the ring. She knew. “Yes, yes, yes.”
“I’m sorry,” he deadpanned as he stood, his hand at his ear. “I couldn’t quite hear you. Was that a yes?”
“It’s a yes, you bum. Now get over here and kiss me!”
Michael drew her into his embrace and kissed her hard, so hard her lipstick would be smudged for days to come. The band started to play a jazzed-up version of The Wedding March and everyone in the club chee
red. They were still kissing minutes later when other couples began to dance around them and the band had resumed its normal play list.
“Now,” he said, gazing at her through hooded eyes. “Can you please stop groping me long enough for me to get this ring on you?”
She extended her hand. “Put it on.”
He slid it onto her finger. “I hope you like it. It took me a month to find the right one.”
“It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”
“I’m not perfect, Em.”
“You are for me, and I love you.”
“I love you too, Dimples. You’ve made me so happy.” He cast a glance around the dance floor. “Now I think if we play our cards right, we can probably milk this thing and get free drinks from these people all night long. Or, if you prefer, we can go home now and I can spend the rest of the night worshipping your sexy body. What do you say?”
“Um, Monty, I’d like to pick curtain number two, please.”
“I knew I liked you. Let’s go home.”
Emily couldn’t stop smiling as he grabbed her hand, led her back to their table and retrieved their things. Her grin was still ear to ear when he led her out of the club and toward the parking lot.
Michael might not realize it, but she’d found her home the moment they’d met at Nonna’s place.
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Women on Top:
The Plumber and her Billionaire
Larissa Vine
Excerpt
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Christa, the housekeeper, stood in the doorway of the mansion with her arms folded across her chest.
“I said I’m the plumber,” Tegan repeated.
Christa’s dark eyebrows jumped toward her hairline. “You?”
Tegan nodded. She was used to this reaction.
“Yes,” she said. “We’re a rare breed, us female plumbers. We’re like unicorns.”
Christa didn’t laugh like Tegan had expected.
“But you can’t be,” she said. “You’re a—”
“What? A woman?” Really, Tegan thought, we’re going around in circles, getting nowhere.
“Listen,” she said. It was hard to rein in her anger. “I didn’t ask to be here. You were the one who called me up unexpectedly and asked me to come. I was just about to have supper. Maybe we shouldn’t—” She stopped herself.
She wanted to tell Christa that maybe they shouldn’t bother. But she couldn’t, even though she really wanted to, because she needed the cash.
There was a pause. At last, Christa let out a deep sigh then jerked her head, gesturing for Tegan to enter. A Labradoodle stood at her heels, tick-tocking its plumy tail. Tegan stepped into the vast foyer and followed Christa through the house. The dog led the way, its claws tapping on the marble. Abstract art hung on the walls. Everything was so white that Tegan felt snow-blind.
The hall opened out into a living room that was about the size of a basketball court. Its low leather furniture was the same dazzling white as the walls. Tegan had guessed that the house would be fancy. It was on Cornwall Street, or Billionaires’ Row as the Vancouverites jokingly called it, a prime stretch of land by the water and close to the city. Not that Tegan was intimidated. What had her dad always said? That folks were just folks, no matter their money. They all got up in the morning, all sat on the toilet, the same as everyone else.
She looked forward and gasped, almost dropping her tool bag. A floor-to-ceiling window dominated the entire back wall. Through it, she could see the beach and specks of flashing sea glass. Across the bay reared the skyscrapers of the downtown core. These were framed by mountains, turning purple in the setting sun.
“Wow,” Tegan breathed. “How do you ever get any work done with a view like that? Now I see why these houses cost so much.”
Christa pursed her lips. She clearly had no time to discuss the price of real estate.
She hurried them toward a set of spiral stairs. By now, the dog had lost interest in following them and flopped onto one of the Persian rugs instead. Christa led them up the stairs to the middle floor then along a corridor past a series of closed doors.
She stopped at one and pushed it open. “This is the en suite for the third guest room.”
Tegan stepped inside and gave a low whistle. The bathroom was fitted with copper-colored tiles, which she knew at a glance had been handmade in Italy. Spotlights shone from everywhere, giving the room a coppery hue. A plasma-screen TV hung in one of the recesses of the walls. She eyed the sink. Wow, is that a Trinsic Pro faucet? She’d only seen them in magazines before, never in the flesh.
Hearing dripping, she walked over to the shower.
“So what exactly is the problem?” she asked Christa.
Christa sighed. “I went to clean it and now it wouldn’t turn off properly. It has to be fixed. Mr. Stone has guests coming from Seattle for the weekend and he expects everything to be perfect.”
Christa’s voice rose, but Tegan refused to be caught up in the panic. Even still, she did want to impress the mysterious Mr. Stone. Then, hopefully, he would spread her name around Billionaires’ Row and more gazillionaires and squillionaires would use her plumbing company.
“Okay,” she said to Christa. “First I’ll have to switch off the water to take a look. Can you take me to the main supply?”
Christa shot Tegan a death stare. “Only now you tell me? It’s right the way on the other side of the house.”
In his bedroom on the top floor of his house, Blake Stone undid the buttons on his shirt, shrugged it off and threw it onto the floor. Part of him liked making a mess because it broke the fanatical neatness and order of the house—something which he’d insisted on but which he also kinda hated. He took off his belt from his dress pants. The buckle made a clunking sound as it hit the carpet, shattering the mausoleum quietness.
Blake thought back to growing up in his big Catholic family, and about the meals around the six-leaf table where he had to scarf down his food before one of his brothers helped themselves to it. He remembered the hustle around the television while everyone crammed in to watch the Stanley Cup series. Sometimes, he longed for the cozy noise. But being single’s better, he told himself. It was simpler and less hassle. He had chosen this life.
Picking up his pace, he stripped faster. He had twenty minutes to get ready for the gala. He would have had longer, plenty of time, if Alison, his EA, hadn’t booked that final conference call of the day. Man, that Brazilian CEO can talk.
He stepped out of his boxer shorts and marched, naked, to the en suite shower room, or wet room, as people had started calling it. What kind of ridiculous name was that? He reached into the cubicle, turned the water to as hot as he could bear it and stepped into the shower. Jets attacked him from every angle, pummeling his body. Christ, it felt good, but he couldn’t stay for long.
He reached to the shelf and grabbed a bottle of shampoo—hair bath? WTF?—flipped open the lid and lathered his hair. Everything was fine. He would be on time. The fundraiser would smash all records. He pictured himself holding up a giant cardboard check for half a million…no, make that a million. Hell, those kids at the children’s hospital deserved—
The water stopped. For a second, he stood rigid with disbelief. Then he fiddled with the control panel on the wall, thinking that he must have touched something by mistake.
“Christa,” he bellowed as he jumped out of the cubicle.
He wrapped a towel around his waist. A bubble of shampoo popped in his ear.
“Christa.” He strode down the corridor. “Where the hell are you?”
Seconds later, Christa appeared, panting, up the staircase. Most of her hair had escaped from her ponytail.
“Mr. Stone,” she said, “I’m really sorry. I didn’t know you were in the shower. The plumber’s fixing the en suite in the third guest room. She has to switch off the water to—”
“She?”
�
�That’s right, Mr. Stone.”
Blake forgot all about the fundraiser and about being late. His voice dropped dangerously low. “Who exactly did you hire? Why didn’t you call Bill at McKenzies? We always use Bill.”
“He’s on vacation. I looked on Yelp—I have to get it fixed—and this company had five-star reviews.”
Blake gave a hiss. “You let strangers into my house? People from a bloody Yelp advert? Where is she? This so-called plumber of yours?”
Christa was backing away from him as though he was an angry tiger, but he was too mad to care. He strode off.
“Don’t follow me. I’ve got this,” he called over his shoulder.
Oh, he’d got this all right. This was easy. Had he not dealt with wily project managers who’d sailed past timelines and gone way over budget? He’d handled unions when his miners had been uprising. And once, he’d gotten all his ex-pat workers out of Bolivia in under twenty-four hours when the country had been imploding into civil war. So, dealing with this unauthorized woman who’d been let loose on his house would be a slice of cake. Oh, he’d definitely got this.
He rushed down and around and around the spiral stairs, although it was hard to move quickly in such a tight towel. Who the hell had Christa brought in? Acme plumbing? Plumbers R Us? The bathroom had just been renovated. The fittings alone were worth thousands and now this…this chick was having free rein in his house, unsupervised. After what had happened with Genevieve, he liked to control who came into the house. He only allowed a few trusted people into his inner circle, people who then formed a wall of steel around him.
He marched along the corridor, ready to set this woman straight. When he came to the bathroom, he stopped. She stood in the shower, which wasn’t running. Her back was toward him and she clearly hadn’t seen him. Blake had opened his mouth, ready to interrogate her, when his cock stirred beneath his towel.