Rich Little Poor Girl: An Interracial Second Chance Romance

by C. L. Donley

  “Mr. Dvorak, you’re the only one authorized to allow us to resuscitate.”

  Ben stops looking at his father long enough to realize they’re talking to him.

  “Me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Was that the old man’s decision or Val’s? He scans his faint memories of the last few weeks of meetings, but all he can see his Cynthia’s check to his father. And her face.

  Ben looks around at the room at his family for guidance. Val is buried in Grant’s chest and done making decisions. Grant looks his crippled younger brother in the eye, assuring him that what he’s thinking is the right decision. His mother just looks at him adoringly as she usually does, as if she still can’t get over the fact that he’s dressed himself.

  “Mr. Dvorak?”

  “No,” Ben replies, a single tear slipping down his cheek undetected, “no, just… let him go. Do not resuscitate.”

  Once the machine is turned off, the distress begins to lift. His mother’s voice is instantly blanketing the silence with phone calls and funeral arrangements, and he’s never been so grateful for her to be the way she is. Ben takes a moment of silence for the brutal way life is now steamrolling over his father’s existence, making way for the next crop of souls busting through and needing out. He straightens his collar and clears his throat.

  “If you all have this under control, I’m leaving.”

  “Already?”

  “Yeah, ma.”

  “Dinner later? I’m catching a plane tonight,” Grant offers.

  “Sounds good.”

  “I’ll text you,” Val says. “You going back to the office?”

  “No,” Ben nearly laughs in Val’s face. He should probably tell someone soon that he has no intention of being the CEO of this company. That is now his, apparently.

  “Then… where are you going?”

  Ben smiles, finishing up a text reply to Ella, who has given up her and her mother’s location.

  “Home,” Ben simply replies.

  Epilogue

  “A spa day, huh?”

  “Yeah, just her and the girls. Cynth, my mom, Ell, Val…”

  Ben planted his shovel upright in the dirt and leaned on it, facing the sun until he had to yield and shield his vision. Sweat trickled down his forehead and threatened to get into his eyes.

  “So’s that like a… all day thing, or…”

  “All weekend. They just got back last night.”

  “All weekend? Wow. Must’ve been nice having the man cave to yourselves, huh boss?”

  Ben could only nod listlessly. His breath seemed endlessly lost and his lungs ached in protest. He wiped his forehead and immediately lamented, forgetting for a split second that he was covered in dirt. He felt the grit of mud now caking in the wrinkles of his brow. A few of the guys on the crew laughed, including their manager, Vito.

  “Maybe you should call it a day, boss.”

  “I’m not the boss,” Ben panted.

  “Sure boss,” Vito replied.

  “But I am gonna take you up on that, Vito.”

  “You did good, boss,” he said.

  “Really?”

  Vito gave him an incriminating look of “please don’t ask me to lie.” He broke into a smile he couldn’t hold back, and finally a laugh.

  Ben smiled and shook his head, trying not to feel defeated.

  “Hey. Thank God you’re good with numbers, huh, boss?”

  “Thank God, indeed.”

  “We got this. You just keep writin’ those checks, boss!” another on the crew piped up.

  “I will. Anybody else need water?”

  “Nah, we’re good,” Vito shouted among the snickering as Ben made it back to his car. He was filthy and he didn’t care. He turned the key and didn’t even flinch when hot summer air blew full force out of the vents. Finally, he’d regained enough strength to start the car and head home.

  * * *

  “Oh Lord, Vito,” Cynthia moaned, talking to Vito on her way home from work. Wally, who was almost four, was strapped in the backseat asleep.

  “We didn’t work him too bad, boss.”

  “Why did you even let him talk you into working with the crew in the first place?”

  “You try talking him out of it. Figured if he got a good enough taste he’d stop suggesting.”

  “How’s that plan workin’ out so far?”

  “We had to dig trenches today, and I didn’t let him use the jackhammer. That should keep him away for at least a year or two.”

  When Cynthia got to the large house on Moss Lane, she saw Ben’s car covered in dirt and parked neatly under the carport where she pulled up next to it. Gingerly, she removed Wally from his seat, but it was no use. As soon as the car stopped, he was awake for good.

  She opened the back door off the kitchen where she was instantly greeted by a pile of dirt-caked pants and a shirt vaguely headed in the direction of the laundry room. She chuckled. Poor thing, she thought.

  She got to the living room where Ella was sprawled out on the couch, her schoolwork scattered around her and the tv on, watching MeTV videos.

  “Where’s grandma?”

  “Home.”

  “Can you go over there and tell her Wally’s up from his nap?”

  “I can text her.”

  “Or you can get your young, spry little bottom up off the couch and walk across the street, like I asked you.”

  “I’m sort of waist deep in algebra right now.”

  Cynthia sighs a rare sigh of resignation.

  “Fine. Text her right now, please. Where’s your dad?”

  “Upstairs, I think.”

  “You think?”

  “Hasn’t been downstairs since I got home from school.”

  “Did you… check on him?”

  “…No?” Ella answered as though it were a trick question.

  Cynthia sighed and put down a squirming Wally who instantly climbed into his sister’s lap.

  “You know you can have friends over if you want, Ell. Just let us know.”

  “I know.”

  “If there was something going on at school, you’d tell me. Right?”

  “…Probably.”

  Good enough, Cynthia thought with a sigh as she headed upstairs.

  She gingerly opened the door to their bedroom, not quite sure what to expect. When she saw Ben sprawled out face down on the bed, his hair still slightly damp and a towel around his middle, she was overcome with a fit of giggles. She kicked her shoes off and laid across the head of the bed where there was ample room. When he still hadn’t moved, she had to laugh some more.

  “What did I say, Ben? I said, ‘stop.. trying.. to go out there.. and kill yourself in the hot sun with those guys. Your family needs you.’”

  “What kind of man… can’t dig a ditch?”

  “You have… so, many, other talents, Benji.”

  “It’s not a ‘talent’ to dig ditches, Cynth. It’s a necessity for survival.”

  “Okay, you have so many other… important traits to bring to the table that ensure our survival.”

  “Name one.”

  “I can name more than one, Benji. You broker deals. You find us properties. You spend all day at the zoning office without losing your mind.”

  “Does anyone’s life depend on it? Will it keep you all from starving?”

  “Yes, in a roundabout way. Those guys out in the hot sun all day are good at what they do, and we pay them well to do what they’re good at, but you still get paid more.”

  “Because I’m married to their boss.”

  “No, because the talent you have is rare. Not every man can do what you do, and they would switch places with you in a heartbeat if they could.”

  “That’s because I get to schtup you.”

  Cynthia laughed again at her pitiful husband. His hands were covered in cuts and forming callouses. She kissed his knuckles, the skin near his wedding band.

  “So… Esmee finally picked a venue.”


  “That’s great,” Ben grunted as he rolled over onto his back.

  Esmee Ngozi was engaged to her longtime manager Nigel Starr. They were madly in love and Esmee had been dragging her feet, deciding which venue she wanted to serve as the “vehicle for Cynthia Gordon’s inspiration.”

  Cynthia wasn’t particularly confident she could design for a wedding, but she’d dabbled in the planning of her own nuptials five years ago and was already starting to get inspired. Theirs was a stuffy, high-profile nightmare, and Esmee’s would likely follow suit. The best parts of the wedding that the press ranted and raved about were all things that Cynthia had personally handled, including her dress which was the first and last one she ever had to try on. Her very expensive Parisian wedding planner never saw fit to set the record straight, which chaps Cynthia’s professional ass to this day. She was gonna make sure her name was allll over this one.

  There was no bad blood between Cynthia and Esmee, however, because they were now best friends. Sisters really. Breaking up with Ben was rough for Esmee, but not as rough as she would’ve liked. She had to concede Ben wasn’t the one. But once he and Cynthia got together, it was as though their relationships snapped in proper alignment like a spine. Esmee often joked that gaining Cynthia Gordon as a sister was worth two Benjamin Dvoraks.

  “It’s going to be in Essex, so it looks like I’ll be able to make the pilgrimage.”

  “I’m happy for you, hon. And you’ll be getting paid for it.”

  “…About that.”

  “Cynthia Dvorak, please tell me you charged that very wealthy woman actual money to do this.”

  “…I gave her a very deep discount.”

  “Cynthia…”

  “It’s very deep. I’m not gonna lie.”

  “I knew you should’ve let me talk to her. Lemme guess, she wants you to be in the wedding as well?”

  Cynthia sighed.

  “Okay fine, I’ll re-negotiate.”

  “Tha you.”

  “…Actually, can you do it?”

  “I will gladly do it.”

  “God, I love having you around.”

  “I love being around.”

  “She told me the strangest story. About you.”

  Ben sighed and rolled his eyes. “If it’s about sex, I don’t want to hear it.”

  Cynthia giggled a giggle of guilt.

  “She said…” Cynthia continued anyway, “that on the first night you introduced us, that you were so… hot and bothered,” Cynthia attempted Esmee’s English accent, “that you basically had sex in the cab on the way home.”

  “Honestly, the two of you are way too close.”

  “Benji, how could you have sex in a cab with her, but not with me?”

  “We didn’t have sex in a cab, Cynth, just… subject change.”

  “Fine. Would you please… stop… trying to do manual labor?”

  “The roofers said the bricklayers have it easy compared to them.”

  “Ben, don’t.”

  “I won’t. Anyway, right now, I can’t. The thought of it is painful.”

  “I don’t even know where all this is coming from. You said you didn’t mind slumming it as a millionaire. All you wanted to do is work honestly for once, you said. That’s what you’re doing.”

  Ben sighed. “I don’t know, it’s just… Val was telling me about this deal they just closed.”

  Val was announced as the successor and had taken over Ben’s position at the Dvorak Group when their father died six years ago. Grant tried to jockey for the position, but the board wasn’t going for that. When Val and Ben used their seats to go against him, he had a new excuse to hold a grudge against the family and went back to being a monk.

  Val didn’t have a finance background. But she knew a thing or two about politics. Her first order of business was to fire Doug. She let Ben sit in on that little meeting.

  “Ben, if you wanted to go back, you know all you would have to do is say the word.”

  “I thought you needed me here?”

  “I do. But I need you to be content, more than I need you here.”

  “I was never content there. That place chews you up.”

  “Not Val, she’s crushing it. She’s never been happier.”

  “She’s a natural. Dad saw it. But look at her marriage, it’s ripped to shreds.”

  “Pretty sure Sol’s death had more to do with that. And by ‘Sol’s death’ I mean her husband’s infidelity.”

  “It’s been six years and it’s still weird not having him around. Or having this company that was such a big part of my identity. The big desk.”

  “Admit that you feel weird working for me. You won’t hurt my feelings.

  “I love that you’re the boss of me and you know that.”

  “Then what’s the deal?”

  “I guess I’m just in a hurry to see that my life makes a difference. On its own.”

  “Benji…” Cynthia sighed.

  “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t try to comfort me, I know I’m insane.”

  “You’re not. Believe it or not, I understand. And I know I could say a bunch of things to try and convince you that Wally is the obvious proof that your life matters, or that having you in our lives makes us feel whole and healthy in a way that we didn’t expect, but you’d just dismiss it. Because you’ll always feel like the luckier one. I’m telling you, I get it.”

  “You do understand.”

  “One day, you’ll look around and see it for yourself.”

  “You really wanna have sex in a cab?”

  Cynthia gave him a slight smile, her light eyes sparkling as she reached across him, her arm making its way down his chest where his towel was still in place.

  Just then, they heard the door creak. Ben groaned.

  “I think we’ve got company,” Cynthia smiled.

  “Walter,” Ben beckoned, knowing it was his son. Wally came running in prepared to jump on the bed.

  “Careful, Wally, your daddy’s hurting,” Cynthia warned. He jumped on the bed anyway.

  “Well daddy, I wanna play blocks,” Wally astutely replied.

  “We will. In a minute, buddy. Go set it up.”

  Wally decided to just stay put. Ben examined him in his heightened existential state, looking into Wally’s bright blue-gray eyes. He shared the same creamy shade of his sister, a bit richer than Ben’s own. Wally examined him right back for a brief humbling moment before his stubby hand was splayed across his father’s face, assuming this staring game needed some spice. Wally laughed. Ben smiled. And Cynthia looked on from her place on the bed, wondering how the hell could a person be this lucky.

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  About the Author

  C.L. Donley is a future New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author of multicultural and interracial romance. Armed with a B.A. in English and M.A. in Writing, she is new to the romance game, having written her first novel, Amara’s Calling, after discovering the romance genre in September 2017. Her writing style is sophisticated yet simple, unaplogetically escapist and character driven. She likes to write loveable, redeemable and believable characters and place them in equally loveable, romantic and relatable settings and scenarios— removed from reality just enough so that the reader can properly escape, and even revisit!

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