by Lisa Eugene
“Can’t Stanley give you an extension?”
“Maybe if I got on my knees . . . and I don’t mean to beg,” I snorted. “You know how slimy he is.”
Wanda nodded understanding, turned off the sound, then went back to perusing the paper.
The rent had come due yesterday and I was short. I still owed for last month and had been hoping to at least pay that off, but I’d have to wait until I picked up my final check from Marie next week. My landlord, Stanley, was a lech, constantly coming on to me and making inappropriate comments. He boasted he could get more for this shitty apartment if I was out, said he would overlook my late payments if I were screwing him. I avoided the sleazebag as best I could. It gave me chills the way he leered at Emmy sometimes.
I’d scrolled down the page on the laptop when hard pounding shook my door.
Wanda looked up, her dark eyes narrowed as she whispered, “You don’t think Stanley heard us, do you?”
I raised a finger to my lips, quickly shushing her. Frozen in my spot, I waited for the noise to stop. A man’s voice called through the door that didn’t sound like Stanley’s.
“You expecting someone?”
“No.”
Pulling my wrinkled foot from the water, I padded barefoot to the door, leaving puddles on the cracked linoleum. Through the peephole, I spied a very bored looking mailman.
“Can I help you?”
“I have certified mail for Danielle Carmichael.”
Frowning, I disengaged the three locks and pulled open the door. After signing for the letter, I ripped it open and turned back into the apartment, reading its contents. I could feel my face burn with each passing second.
“What’s wrong?” Wanda asked cautiously, noticing my burgeoning anger.
“Son of a bitch!” I exploded.
She snatched the letter from my hand, eyes rounding as she absorbed the information.
“I don’t understand.” Wanda frowned. “How can they kick Emmy out of that school? That’s just not right.”
I paced in front of the couch, my palms balled into round fists. The letter stated Emmy was to be discharged from the Rutherford Academy, that they’d made an error in their selection and she wasn’t right for the program. It said she wasn’t high-functioning enough.
“That asshole!” I fumed. “If he thinks I’m going to let him get away with this, he’s got another thing coming.”
Wanda cleared her throat. “Do you think this is because of the car door?”
I turned and advanced a few more paces. My loose sweats fell around my hips as I faced Wanda. “No. There was no one out there. No one saw. This is because the school is run by heartless, wretched people!”
“It says here if you don’t agree with the decision, you can appeal to the board, speak to a Mr. Clancy.”
I issued a scornful snort. “I’ll do no such thing. Mr. Clancy is just a dancing puppet.” I was so angry that thunder rumbled in my ears. Dropping onto the couch, I picked up the laptop. “I’m going right to the source.”
“Let me guess . . .” Wanda drawled, shifting to sit beside me. My fingers attacked the keyboard, our eyes fixed on the screen. “Rutherfucker.”
A picture of the man in question materialized. He sat behind a desk, dressed impeccably in a dark suit. He appeared self-assured and imperious, arrogance balanced easily on his square shoulders. Unsmiling, he looked mildly impatient, like he was being put out by the picture.
“That’s him?” Wanda gasped. “Damn! That man’s fine!”
I turned to Wanda, my jaw dropping. My friend’s appreciative gaze was riveted to the screen. She was all but drooling.
“Wanda!” I snapped two fingers in front of her face. “Focus.”
She nodded numbly. “I am. A girl would have to be medicated to not notice how fine that man is.”
With a grunt of disgust, I turned back to the screen, reading the brief biography on Chase Rutherford. He was thirty-nine, founder and chief operating officer of Flex-Steel. The company was a leading producer of Hot Rolled Coil. Its products serve as raw materials for galvanized steel, steel pipes, structural steel products for construction, LPG containers, automobiles, electrical appliances as well as steel furniture industries.
The company recently faced harsh allegations from environmental groups claiming one of Flex-Steel’s overseas factories was polluting local waters, that it posed a major threat to public safety.
Although adamantly denying the allegations, Flex-Steel had been facing backlash from the media with a steady drop in opinion polls and concurrent declines in the company’s stock.
Chase Rutherford was a businessman as well as a politician, currently holding a seat as a member of the New York City Council. He was praised by the New York Times for his fight to increase funding for the city’s public schools, and for his campaign for affordable housing. He’d announced his intention last year to phase out of Flex-Steel and step down from the board to devote his full attention to public service. He was currently running for the distinguished, yet challenging office of mayor of New York City.
I huffed. “I don’t know how he would ever win an election when his company’s getting such negative press?”
Wanda chewed her bottom lip, still reading. “Apparently the only thing saving him is his well-known philanthropic record. He’s actively involved in several non-profits, and last year donated over two million dollars of his own money to charity.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t you see what he’s doing? I’m sure his donations have everything to do with his political ambitions and the scandal his company is facing. He’s trying to win the public over.”
“You think so?”
Nodding my head firmly, I said, “If a person is truly altruistic, they give quietly, but this man arranges press conferences to show everyone how generous he is, how great his school is. I’m telling you it’s a façade, a PR move to gain support and get him voted into office. He’s a phony. He doesn’t give a crap about charity or that school.”
Wanda stared warily. “So what do you plan on doing?”
“Standing up for my daughter,” I informed tersely, scribbling the address of Flex-Steel on a notepad.
“Now wait a minute.” Wanda touched my arm. “Before you charge in there spitting fire and brimstone, maybe you should reconsider your approach.”
“What are you talking about?”
She shrugged. “Just that sometimes you can get a little militant, especially when it comes to Emmy.”
“I have to be her advocate, you know that.” My voice quavered as I stared into Wanda’s dark eyes. “I’m all she’s got.”
“I understand that, hon. But sometimes you act as though it’s you against the world. You get so headstrong that you act impulsively. In your anger, I worry you miss the bigger picture.”
If anyone else had read me like that, I would’ve knocked them on their ass, but Wanda had always spoken her mind, and she always would. That was one of the things I loved about her, even when I stubbornly disagreed.
“It is me against the world. You know what hell I’ve been through, what my life has been like.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I do. But you always have your guard up. You assume the worst about everyone.”
“I do not!” I protested staunchly.
Wanda sighed. “When was the last time you let a man get close to you?”
I felt my forehead wrinkle. “What does that have to do with Emmy?”
Wanda took my hand, firmly enveloping it. “I’m just saying to relax, show a softer side. Your goal is to keep Emmy in that school. You can catch more flies with honey than you can with vinegar.”
“Huh?”
“From what you’ve told me, Mr. Rutherford doesn’t seem to be a man who responds well to threats. Maybe you should try a softer approach.” Innuendo nudged up the corners of her lips. “A more feminine approach.”I gasped. “You mean seduce him in order to keep Emmy enrolled?”
Wanda b
lew away her exasperation. “No, I’m not saying that. I’m just saying you can be just as persuasive using your feminine attributes.”
I snickered, staring at the man on the screen. My friend had lost her mind. “A man like him won’t bite anything I’m feeding him. I told you how he’d treated me, how he’d looked at me.”
“Danielle, you’re gorgeous! Men are always falling all over you. You shoot them down. I’m sure you can be very persuasive. Women have an entire arsenal of weapons at their disposal, and a tube of lipstick can be just as devastating as firing verbal bullets.”
I laughed at the absurdity of what my friend was saying.
“Chase Rutherford is a cold-hearted, egotistical monster.”
Wanda smiled slowly. “Yes, but that monster is also a man, and a damn fine one at that!”
CHAPTER FOUR
Flex-Steel headquarters was located on the forty-eighth floor of an imperious Manhattan high-rise. I stepped off the glass elevator into a luxurious lobby that was probably the size of my entire apartment. My sneakers pressed footprints into the plush carpet as I approached the pretty blonde receptionist behind a marble fortress.
“May I help you?” Her face pinched. She didn’t look like she really wanted to help.
“I’m here to see Chase Rutherford.”
The woman’s gaze raked over my jeans, sneakers, and button down shirt before returning to my face. I’d swept my hair back in a ponytail. Despite Wanda’s advice, I’d omitted the lipstick. I’d omitted any makeup at all. I wasn’t here to play foolish games.
The receptionist looked like she smelled something bad, turning up her nose with cool detachment. I bristled silently, biting my tongue to refrain from telling her off. Just because I wasn’t wearing a fancy designer suit like the women walking by, I was quickly summed up as lacking.
“Do you have an appointment?” the woman asked, knowing full well I didn’t.
“No. I just need a moment of his time.”
“I’m sorry. He’s not in,” she informed smoothly.
I could tell she was lying from her bland, dismissive tone.
I wasn’t going anywhere.
“Tell him Danielle Carmichael is here. I don’t have an appointment, but he’s expecting me,” I lied with a fake, mocking smile. Two could play at this game.
The receptionist’s lips pulled into a thin line. She stood with an erect back and walked through the thick mahogany doors behind her. So much for “not being in.” Two minutes later she returned, the same pinched look on her face.
“I’m sorry. Mr. Rutherford is headed into a meeting. He doesn't have the time. You can’t just walk in here. He’s seen by appointment only.”
I hadn’t come here to be turned away. This was too important. Fuming, I crossed my arms and gave the annoying woman a patiently smug look.
“You tell him I’ll wait. As long as it takes. If he doesn’t want me to become a permanent part of his waiting room decor, he should find the time.”
She looked at me like I’d sprouted an extra head, then disappeared again. I took a deep breath, trying to cool my temper. I hadn’t been bluffing. Anticipating resistance, I’d brought a book with me. I’d wait as long as I needed to. It wasn’t like I had a job to go to, and Mom was picking Emmy up from school today.
A few minutes later, Miss Prissy appeared and asked that I follow her. I stifled my surprise. I’d been gearing up for an exhaustive battle followed by a long day of making friends with the potted plants.
I followed her through the mahogany doors, mentally rehearsing my argument. We entered a second set of doors into a large, bright office with an entire wall of windows facing downtown. Mr. Rutherford stood so still at first I didn’t see him off to the side of the room. A movement snagged my eye and I inhaled slowly, methodically. He was a big man, taller than I remembered, and thoroughly intimidating.
Miss Prissy closed the door as she left and Mr. Rutherford took a step forward. His deep blue eyes pierced me. Nervous, I had an urge to step back, my resolve suddenly shaky.
“It appears that along with not knowing how to read, or see, you also don’t know how to take no for an answer.”
He remembered me. I wasn’t sure why that thought shot a bolt of warmth through me, but I quickly smothered it.
If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought his tone teasing. There was a sprinkle of wry humor in his eyes, but his expression remained stiff. Immediately, it got my hackles up.
Is he laughing at me?
I needed to be taken seriously and wouldn’t settle for another callous dismissal. My shoulders squared, chin rising a confident notch.
“Do I amuse you, Mr. Rutherford?”
“Amuse me?” Despite the question, a brief smirk tilted his lips, but then his face tightened as he studied me. “No, fascinate perhaps, but I assure you, I’m not amused.”
I couldn’t help my lavish eye roll at his irreverent words. Whatever…
Straightening, I got to the point. “I came here because of an important matter.”
He raised a brow slowly. “And my time isn’t important? I’m a very busy man, Ms. Carmichael.”
His cavalier attitude irked me. I counted slowly, determined not to let him add kindling to my already simmering anger. I was there for Emmy. Emmy deserved the best life could offer. I pulled the certified letter from my purse.
“My daughter was unjustly expelled from your school. And after the hoops we had to jump through to get in, I’m not about to sit back and allow that to happen.”
Mr. Rutherford took another step closer, his hands sliding into the pockets of his tailored slacks. His gaze met mine directly, penetrating as he again took his time studying my face. Exhaling slowly, I tried to shake off the invasive feeling, tried to settle my runaway pulse. His entire presence was disconcerting. Wanda was right. He was wickedly handsome. And the bastard probably knew it.
“I wasn’t aware of the expulsion, but it seemed a week ago you were less than enamored with the Academy, threatening to spew your discontent to the press.”
I snorted. “First of all, I do not spew anything! My complaints are legitimate. And it’s not the school I take issue with, only its owner and administrators. My daughter and I love the teachers.”
He jerked his head in surprise, seeming taken aback at my candidness. For a moment, he appeared to give my words consideration, then he straightened to his full height. A look of impatience crossed his face and I sighed. I hadn’t come here to fight. I’d wanted to plead Emmy’s case, to show him how wrong it was to expel her.
“Look, Emmy enjoys the programs at the Academy. They’ve been good for her and she’s really thrived there. I don’t have money to afford anything else. Her old school was horrible. She’d never been a problem before. Now I get this ridiculous letter about her being disruptive, about how she’s not high-functioning enough for the school.”
“Contrary to what you may think, Ms. Carmichael, the administrators of the Academy are professionals who hold advanced degrees in special education. Many are trained psychologists.”
I smothered a derisive laugh. “Having a degree doesn’t mean you have compassion.”
“If you have a grievance, you should speak to Mr. Clancy. He handles things at the school and will take your concerns to the board.”
“He’s useless!” I spat, my frustration building. “He won’t listen to me. He’s been nothing but rude and condescending to me and my daughter! I need you to intervene.” I thrust the letter at him, trying to keep my hand from trembling. He was really my only hope.
Mr. Rutherford ignored the offering, turning to pace away. I frowned, eyeing his broad back. I’d taken a chance in coming here. From what I knew of this man, he seemed just as heartless as his administrator. The day of the press conference, he’d threatened to toss me off the school’s premises.
I’d decided to put my initial assessment of him aside, and instead, was hoping to appeal to his mercy, his benevolence. The Times article
had lauded his charitable deeds and generosity. I prayed he’d see how wrong expelling Emmy was. But he still looked at me like I was a nuisance he was eager to be rid of, a sticky piece of gum clinging to the bottom of his shoe.
I thought about Wanda’s advice. Perhaps I should’ve dressed a little nicer, maybe worn makeup and tried to charm him. In the end, would it have really mattered? Did I always have to be so stubborn? Maybe I’d be a little closer to getting what I wanted if I’d used more honey and less vinegar.
I looked down at my blue jeans and red-checkered shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. I looked more dressed for milking cows than swaying an affluent business mogul. Eyeing his back, I quickly slid open the first few buttons of my shirt. It formed a deep V, displaying an eyeful of cleavage. I was well endowed. A full D. I’d always thought of my breasts as my best feminine asset. Suddenly nervous about my actions, I swallowed hard.
What the hell am I doing?
Almost panicked, I raised my hands to re-button my shirt, but Mr. Rutherford turned around. My hands dropped to my sides and my cheeks heated a thousand degrees. He paused, giving me a lengthy look before rubbing a hand across his chin as if still contemplating my appeal. If he’d noticed the alteration in my attire, he didn’t let on. I felt relieved, but couldn’t deny a peevish disappointment.
I didn’t even appeal to him as a woman. I’d said as much to Wanda, but the proof of it was lowering. It was more of a blow to my ego than anything else. Embarrassed, feeling like a fool, I was suddenly desperate to cover up. Miserable, I cursed my impetuousness. What the hell had I been thinking?
“I’m sorry, Ms. Carmichael,” he said after some time. “If I intervened on every decision the school board made, the school would cease to function independently. I trust them to the everyday running of matters, to decide on what’s best for the Academy. I have to stand behind their decision.”
His voice was indifferent, dismissive, a dull blade sawing on my skin. All the anger and bitterness I’d put aside now sat heaped like poison on my tongue. He walked toward his desk, I assumed to summon Miss Prissy to escort me out.
