Save the Date

by Jenny B. Jones

  “I’m with Saving Grace.” God, let this be an easy fix tonight. Because I have no idea how I’m going to tell this girl I can’t let her stay at Saving Grace now. “And I’m her friend.”

  “My guys were on patrol about an hour ago. Been watching some suspicious activity at abandoned houses.” The detective handed Marinell a napkin from his desk drawer. “Heard some yelling and screaming and they went to check it out. Seems your girl here made the mistake of setting up camp in a house some druggies had already claimed.” He regarded Marinell over the rim of his glasses. “Unless she’s working for them.”

  “I told you I don’t do drugs. I don’t sell drugs. And I never met those people in my life.”

  Tapping a pen to his desk, the detective continued. “Our pharmaceutical-loving friends were trying to forcibly remove her when my men came up on the scene. Things were about to get ugly.”

  “What were you doing there?” Lucy asked.

  “I’m interested in architecture.” Marinell studied the toe of her scuffed Nike. “It looked like a nice house, so I was just checking it out.”

  “It’s a condemned hovel barely fit for rats,” Benningfield said. “She had a sleeping bag with her. A bag of clothes. Backpack.”

  “And I want my backpack. If I lose my school books, I’m dead meat.”

  “If you hang out in drug houses, you won’t have to worry about any book fines.” Picking up his stained Carbs Are My Friend coffee mug, the detective took a slow drink, somehow managing to keep one intimidating eye on his captive.

  “Why weren’t you at school?” Lucy asked.

  Marinell answered with a shrug.

  Lucy had been shocked when Morgan told her Marinell had been an honor roll student until her fall semester. Many girls who came through Saving Grace struggled academically. How could you care about your GPA when you didn’t even know where your next meal was coming from?

  “Marinell says she’s going home with you, Miss Wiltshire?”

  “You told me to call if I needed anything,” Marinell said. “I mean, I did have plans to stay at the Hilton. But I seem to have run off and left my American Express.”

  “Of course you can stay at Saving Grace,” Lucy said. You just can’t live there. “I thought you were staying with friends.”

  Head bent, Marinell flicked at her bendy straw. “I might’ve exaggerated just a bit.”

  “She’s free to go now. We have no reason to keep her.” The detective stood up, gathering some files. “But we also don’t want to see her here again. Marinell, you were lucky this afternoon. Those guys could’ve hurt you if we hadn’t come by when we did.” He gave a curt nod and then left them alone.

  The lights above hummed and flickered. It was a dismal place, and Lucy was ready to leave.

  How many ways can you twist me in two, God? I can’t bring her in just to kick her right back out in a few months.

  “Marinell, you should probably know that the home has encountered a funding problem. We don’t know how much longer—”

  “Look, I won’t be much trouble. You told me I could stay. If you don’t want me there, just say it.”

  Behind the fear, there was strength in those dark brown eyes, something Lucy hadn’t had at Marinell’s age. Tomorrow would just have to take care of itself. Because today this girl needed help. “You’re wanted, Marinell. You are very much wanted.”

  “Well, okay then. I guess I’ll go.” She held up an empty juice box. “But can we stop and get some more of these?”

  Thirty minutes later Marinell stood in the center of her new room. “This is all mine?”

  “Yep.” For now. Come September Lucy might have thirteen girls camped out in her own spare bedroom.

  In the quiet of the room came the unmistakable sound of a growling tummy.

  “When’s the last time you ate?” Lucy glanced at her watch. It was well after three.

  “Last night I guess.” Marinell sat on the bed and grinned. “I had one of those sixty-nine–cent burritos from Taco Hut. You know what, that is a really good value too. Who needs a dollar menu when Taco Hut only asks for sixty-nine cents?”

  “Let’s grab you something from the kitchen. We can make a sandwich and maybe even find some cookies.” Lucy moved to the doorway.

  “Miss Lucy?”

  “Yes?”

  “If it’s okay with you, I just want to crawl in this bed and sit a while.”

  “Did those men hurt you?”

  She shook her head, her gold hoop earrings swinging. “Nah. I just never had nothing to sleep on but an old couch. Is it okay with you if I hang out here a while?”

  “Take your time.” Feeling more uncertain by the second, Lucy managed a smile and walked away.

  Lucy pressed the phone closer to her ear as she stuck her hand in the jammed printer. “I don’t think I heard you right. Say that one more time.” Stupid paper wouldn’t budge.

  “You have twenty-four hours to clear out of the building, Lucy. I’m sorry.”

  “Mr. Greene, we had a lease. An agreement.” Her panic accelerated. “You said I could exercise my lease-to-own option any time.”

  “Are you telling me you’re ready to buy?”

  She thought of the check in her pocket. “No, but I think if you gave me another six months—”

  “It’s not enough. I don’t normally do business like this, but the city drives a hard bargain. They want that land, and they want it now.”

  “And they can have it. When we finish out our lease, which isn’t up ’til September.”

  “They offered me a huge bonus to sell this week. I have two kids to put in college.”

  “And I have thirteen ladies who will be homeless. We had a contract. A binding, legal document. Do you really want me to contact a lawyer? Because I think it’s pretty cut-and-dry.”

  “You’re right. It is,” he said. “But you know you can’t afford to drag this thing out. And that’s exactly what would happen. The city won’t fight fair with this. You can’t win.”

  “Just meet with me. We can talk about this.”

  “I can’t do that. Look, I’m sorry.”

  Her throat tightened. “We have nowhere to go. And no way of getting our stuff out by tomorrow. Please, Mr. Greene. I have people depending on me to fix this, to keep them safe.”

  But the line was dead. Mr. Greene was done with her. Done with Saving Grace.

  Her work. Her dream. And within days it would be a pile of ash and concrete.

  How would she move all this furniture? Where would they even go? How could she possibly break this to her girls?

  Numb. Drained. Defeated. Still clutching her phone, she went to the window in the office. Squatting down, her fingers slid across the floor, running over the deep indentions left by the sisters. Women who were probably more devoted than she. Women who probably wouldn’t be ready to fall apart in a moment like this. Who would know what to do, how to pray.

  Lucy knelt, her knees settling into the wood floor, her forehead touching the ground.

  Yet no words would come.

  Seconds passed. Then minutes.

  Her fingers trembling, she finally pulled out her phone and punched in a number. Matt loved her. It was all she could’ve asked for in this world.

  She thought it had been all that mattered.

  Lucy made no move to get up from the floor as the phone rang.

  A deep voice answered. “Alex Sinclair.”

  She closed her eyes.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s . . . me.” She cleared her tear-clogged throat. “It’s Lucy.”

  “Hello, Lucy.” His voice was cautious, and silence followed. “Did you have something you wanted to say?”

  “ . . . Alex?”

  “Yes?”

  “I do.”

  Chapter Nine

  As the Charleston sky gave way to nightfall, Lucy sat on her overstuffed couch and drummed her knees to the Harry Connick, Jr. song playing in her head.

 
; What had she gotten herself into? She was doomed. This afternoon she had signed on the dotted line, cashing in her principles and jumping right on the sin train bound for calamity and ruination.

  From her front door came the sound of three sharp knocks.

  Her dark angel had arrived.

  She couldn’t open that door. To do so would unleash a world of hurt, a Pandora’s Box of trouble, a tsunami of moral devastation.

  But what choice did she have? She didn’t need a solution next month. She needed help today.

  Alex Sinclair knocked again. Louder. On the other side of that door was a man not used to being kept waiting. One who was accustomed to getting his way.

  Lucy remained seated, her body unmoving as if supernaturally frozen.

  “I know you’re in there,” he called. “Open up. It’s hot, and I don’t like to perspire.”

  Whispering a prayer, she eased from her seat, smoothed clammy hands over her cropped pants, and slowly made her way to the door. Her shaking fingers twisted the knob.

  And there he stood, bathed in the fading glow of the five o’clock sun. Leaning on the wall as relaxed as a man coming over to watch TV, instead of a man ready to plot a fake engagement for all the world to see. “You weren’t going to answer that door.”

  “No.”

  “You’re thinking of backing out, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. I mean no.” Lucy shook her head. “No.” His smug smile only fueled her erratic thoughts.

  Without invitation, Alex walked past her into the living room. She watched him turn a half circle and assess the place. Looking at her own apartment, she saw it through his eyes. Clean, tidy. Yet the beige carpet was worn and nubby. The open kitchen was tiny, with barely enough room for her dining room table. Pictures of some of her girls hung on the fridge, held up by ladybug magnets. Lord, I am not that inferior girl anymore. I am an accomplished woman. She repeated it to herself three more times.

  Alex walked to the couch, filling up the small living room with his big muscles and even bigger personality. She briefly wondered why he was settling for Congress. With his charisma, he could probably go straight to the White House. Except for the fact that he thought he needed a fiancée.

  He sat down and rested his arms on his thighs, his eyes landing on the coffee table. “I see you like to read.” From a stack of magazines, he pulled out the bottom one. “Science Fiction Monthly?” He flipped through the first few pages and read from the table of contents. “Lessons Learned from Luke Skywalker: What your choice of light saber says about you.” Lucy’s cheeks grew warm as he turned another page. “Computer Graphics: blight or bounty for modern-day cinema?” His full lips curled into a grin as he looked at Lucy. “Any centerfolds in here?”

  She grabbed the magazine from his hands and held it behind her back. “Do you always prowl through people’s things?”

  “Just my future non-wife’s.” He sank back into the couch and put one arm across the back. “Besides, if we’re going to be engaged, I think I should know everything about you. Don’t you agree?”

  “I’ll send you a memo.”

  “No.” He drew out the word like it was something to be savored. “We’re going to have to get to know one another the old-fashioned way. Talking. Spending time together. Texting.”

  Lucy prayed her wobbly knees wouldn’t buckle beneath her. Alex was the master at playing games. But who was she? Just a poor girl from the wrong side of town who knew nothing about manipulation and high drama. Nothing about dating a famous man, a rich man . . . a wickedly handsome man.

  “Can you save my girls’ home?” That was all she needed to know.

  “Done.”

  She moved to the chair farthest away from him. “Just like that? Impossible.”

  His eyes seared into hers. “One of the first thing's my opponents would learn about me on the field—never underestimate me.”

  “Your money,” she said. “You mean never underestimate your money.”

  Something flicked in those eyes before he shrugged. “Whichever. I would think you’d be grateful for it. Money saved your house today.”

  “Saving Grace gets to stay?”

  “The city found a new location for its parking garage just a half a block down the road. And your home has a new owner.”

  “What did you do, wave some cash and offer season tickets?”

  “And a signed football for Mayor Billings’s son.” His fingers tapped the back of the couch. “Plus I had to make a sizable donation that would enable them to purchase the much more expensive property.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket and extracted an envelope. “Per our discussion at lunch, I’ve drawn up our agreement.” Alex lifted a dark brow and took a quick perusal of Lucy. “Are you seriously so afraid of me that you can’t even sit on the same couch?”

  Lucy brushed a wild curl out of her face. “I’m not scared of you.”

  “Then prove it.” He patted the seat cushion beside him. “We have a contract to review before we go on our first outing as the town’s new power couple.” His eyes traveled down the length of her. “Nice outfit, by the way. I like my women fashionable.”

  “My cheerleader uniform is at the cleaners.”

  “I guess I’ll have to use my imagination.”

  The soles of Lucy’s flats scuffed across the carpet as she joined him on the couch. She grabbed a throw pillow and held it to her stomach. “Please continue.”

  “Are you going to be this uppity the entire time we’re dating?” He leaned in a few inches. “You’re going to have to learn to smile. Maybe even laugh from time to time.” He moved closer until their noses were nearly touching. “It’s important to my ego that you act like I’m irresistible. We wouldn’t want my self-esteem to suffer.”

  His face was so close, Lucy could almost reach out and trace the tiny scar on his stubbly cheek. “I’ll just pretend you’re someone attractive— like Tom Brady.”

  With a smile just this side of legal, he thrust the contract into her hands. “Just to review, we pretend to date for approximately one month. This time in June I will propose to you somewhere public and slightly humiliating to us both.” His voice was as expressionless as if discussing his preference in athletic socks. “In five months—a month before our wedding date—you and I will have a very amicable, very quiet separation. We will realize we both want different things and go our separate ways. This will be the story we’ll feed the press. No variations.”

  “And who’s going to buy that we got engaged after a month of dating?”

  “Already handled. I have a good friend who is a genius at photo editing. This week some pictures will be leaked of the two of us. We’ve been secretly seeing each other for the past four months.”

  And what would Matt think when that hit the press?

  “You can tell no one anything different,” he said as if reading her thoughts.

  “I have to tell my best friend.”

  “No.”

  “Think about it. She and I talk every day, so she’ll see right through this.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck as he considered this. “Do you know how much this story would be worth to a tabloid?”

  “You can trust Morgan.”

  He didn’t look like he believed her. “I have a whole team of attorneys. So I’m going to leave it up to you to decide whether you want to tell your friend or not. But know that if word gets out, I will make you and Morgan both regret you’ve ever heard my name.”

  Lucy weakly bobbed her head in agreement. “I’ll need to tell one more person.” She would go to Matt. Explain it all. If she could wait two years, he could hold out for five months. Couldn’t he?

  “I said one person.”

  “No, you don’t understand.” Panic was an expanding pressure in her chest. “I can’t get into all this right now, but my ex-boyfriend—”

  “I’ve done my homework. You’re not dating anyone.”

  Lucy pulled herself up straighter on the couch. �
��Of all the nosy—”

  “The guy from the gala?” He shook his head. “No.”

  “My future depends on this.”

  “Yes.” Alex had probably taken down entire teams with that mutinous glare. “It certainly does. You have a decision to make here. We either do this my way, or I walk. With the check and the deed.”

  She turned her head and brushed a tear away with her finger. She thought of Trina, the twenty-year-old who had just gotten her associate’s degree and was on her way to the university in the fall. And Padma, who after a year at being at Saving Grace, was finally opening up about her brutal past. Then there was Marinell.

  She would just pray that God would somehow speak truth to Matt’s heart. Lord, I love that man. And the future I could have with him. Let it somehow be there when this is all over.

  “Fine.” Lucy slowly turned back to him. “Morgan will be the only one.”

  Alex stood up and paced. “There’s no room for error here, Lucy.” He turned from his inspection of a signed photo of Leonard Nimoy. “I’ve got too much on the line.”

  “I’m not going to screw this up.” But even as she said the words, doubts whispered in her ear. A home. Family. Children. All gone.

  “For five months you act like I’m the planet your Starship Enterprise revolves around. That starts tonight. I have dinner reservations for us, then tickets for the theater.” That good-time grin was back. “I maintain your current salary and the funding you need. Then you’ll have the deed to your building when we’re done.”

  “Plus the check?”

  “It’s all yours.”

  “Just like that?” It was so ridiculously complicated . . . yet so simple.

  He handed her a pen. “Sign.”

  His silver Montblanc bobbled in her fingers. She found his imposing signature. Studied its curves and angles. It was strong as he was, and just as hard to read.

  Her heart crumbling into a thousand pieces, Lucy gripped the pen, then signed her name in an ink more permanent than their engagement.

  When she looked up, she found him staring at the contract. “Is there a problem?” she asked.

  He blinked and shook his dark head. “Of course not.” He offered her his arm. “Let’s get this courtship started.”