Just one moment

by Poppy J. Anderson

  “Alright, but please promise me you’ll think about it at least,” the other woman pleaded in a melodramatic voice. “I don’t want us to be sponsored by Ashcroft Industries yet again. At some point, it’s going to cost us our credibility.”

  Barbara refrained from pointing out that her own credibility would likely suffer if she got Marcus Lindsay to agree to sponsor the project precisely because he had business ties to her brother. Instead, she hung up and turned to inspect her sons, relieved to see that Scott was not wearing his Superman pajamas.

  ***

  Even though Barbara still had a problematic relationship with her sister-in-law and couldn’t swallow her pride and give up her reservations, she was awfully grateful for the attention Amy lavished on Hamilton’s drawings when the nine-year-old proudly showed them to his aunt. Barbara gave her sister-in-law extra credit for taking the time to appraise Hamilton’s creations and discuss them with him, even though she’d just birthed twins and was holding one of them in her arms. Not to mention she was a successful painter in her own right, with an art major and having had three big exhibitions over the last few months.

  They were sitting around a table laden with food and drink in the park-like garden of the Ashcrofts’ home, enjoying the gorgeous weather. For the first time since the twins had been born more than a week ago, the whole family was together.

  Barbara’s younger brother Stuart was sitting next to her, shoveling coleslaw onto his plate until it looked like a small avalanche while studying his older brother, who stood by the table rocking one of the newborn twins against his shoulder. “So you really took paternity leave in your own company?” Stuart asked, picking up the giant meat fork from near the grill. “You, of all people?”

  “Don’t give me that look,” Patrick replied good-naturedly, though the dark circles around his eyes suggested he should be a lot grumpier, owing to a massive sleep deficit. He turned his face toward the tiny infant in his arms and pressed a kiss to the top of the tiny head, which was covered by a white cap. “Why shouldn’t I take paternity leave? I have the privilege of being able to afford it.”

  “Maybe because you’re a workaholic?” Stuart pointed out, waving the fork in the air. “Because you go berserk if you can’t control each and every thing that happens within the company? Because you’re always acting like a despot?”

  “Speaking of despots,” Patrick snarled as he stroked his tiny son’s back, “I’d definitely prefer to spend the next few weeks with two newborns instead of suffering your despotic behavior at work. The twins only whine when they’re hungry, or their diaper’s wet. You, on the other hand, complain at every turn, Stuart.”

  “I never complain,” Stuart said with a snort.

  “Is that so? Then why did you go nuts when Josh from accounting—”

  Barbara interrupted her brothers with a loud sigh. “Do we really have to listen to you two talk about work for the next four hours? Dad was never this enamored with his job, getting on our nerves with this endless work talk while we’re trying to have a nice meal!”

  Stuart waved the fork around once again to make it clear he disagreed with her. “If you really believe that, your memory of our dad is very different from mine.”

  “Or mine,” Patrick chimed in as he wrinkled his nose. “Dad was always talking about the company. It was even worse when he was with your father-in-law. My ears would bleed after five minutes or so.”

  “But at least we had a lot to laugh about when Archibald was present,” Stuart pointed out wistfully, once again punctuating his words with the oddly expressive fork. “I was always fond of him. He was a cool guy for a man of his age. How’s he doing, anyway?”

  “I guess he’s okay, right, Barbara? Isn’t he about to retire? If the rumors are true …”

  Barbara refrained from reminding her brothers that Archibald was her ex-father-in-law, but she stared at the both of them with a peevish expression. Her sons, who, unfortunately, didn’t remember Barbara’s dad at all, were utterly besotted with their other grandpa and got extremely excited every time they saw him. Barbara, on the other hand, had taken to avoiding her former father-in-law, even though she’d always liked him before. These days, however, he never failed to steer the conversation into muddy waters, bringing up the divorce and his willingness to act as mediator. As if she could feel comfortable discussing her problems with James’s dad, of all people!

  Since she wanted to remain calm in front of Hamilton, she merely shrugged. “I have no idea,” she replied lightly. “Archibald is as much of a workhorse as you are, Patrick, so it’s highly likely he’ll still be sitting behind his desk when he turns one hundred.”

  “Ha!” Stuart triumphantly pointed the fork at his brother. “You heard her! You are a workaholic!”

  Even though Scott and his cousin Audrey were currently chasing each other around the lawn, and thus couldn’t witness their uncle’s fork-enhanced oratory or his barbaric table manners, Barbara grabbed her brother’s hand and took the giant fork away from him without warning.

  “Hey! I was just about to spear a steak from the grill!”

  “Before or after you stabbed one of us?”

  Stuart elbowed her in the ribs. “Very funny.”

  Barbara nodded at Hamilton, who’d found a seat next to his aunt and was admiring his tiny new cousin. “Hamilton, honey, please don’t look to your uncle as an example, okay? Just ignore his table manners.”

  She got a scowl and a haughty sniffle from her younger brother. “Excuse me, dear sister, but I’m extremely famished.”

  “Oh?” The proud new father let out an amused chuckle. “What was her name, Stuart?”

  “Patrick!” his wife scolded, nodding in Hamilton’s direction. The boy wore a fascinated smile. He’d stuck his finger into the sleeping baby’s little fist, and the tiny thing was holding on to it with surprising strength. Barbara studied them affectionately.

  “Just an FYI, brother,” Stuart replied loudly, “I’m a gentleman when it comes to talking about my love life. I simply don’t.”

  “Since when?” Patrick prodded gleefully, shifting his son to his other shoulder. He gingerly picked up a glass of iced tea and took a large sip.

  “Leave your brother alone,” Amy scolded her husband, “and check on the meat before it burns.”

  Stuart lounged backward in his chair and grinned. “Go, Amy! Show my brother who’s boss. First, he takes paternity leave, and now he’s relegated to the kitchen. Patrick, I regret to inform you that your man card has been revoked.”

  Patrick snorted so forcefully that the whole table looked up. “If I wasn’t carrying Aaron and being watched by my nephew over there, I’d be happy to rub my man card in your big-mouthed face.”

  “Yeah, I thought so,” Stuart replied in a satisfied voice.

  Amy leaned back in her chair and put a hand on her husband’s arm. “Don’t let him tease you, honey. You don’t need a man card. I’d like it much better if you checked on the meat.”

  Barbara watched her brother offer his wife a smile, before he looked at Stuart with a frown of indecision. “Stuart, would you hold him for a second while I see to the grill?”

  Stuart’s fingers looked like those of a blood-stained serial killer, so Barbara shook her head and rose from her chair. “Give him to me, Patrick. Stuart looks like a butcher.”

  A muscle twitched in her older brother’s cheek. “Are you sure you want to hold him?”

  “What kind of question is that?” She ignored his penetrating gaze and took the warm bundle from him. The baby didn’t even protest but snuggled up to her chest and twisted his small mouth into a smile. He yawned, smacked his lips, and then continued his nap.

  Delighted, Barbara sat back down in her chair and rocked the infant in her arms. So far, she’d only ever looked at her new nephews, not held them. Now she savored the moment, not even bothering take offense at her younger brother eating like a pig beside her.

  Everything could have been perfect th
en: She was sitting among her family, her youngest son was playing with his cousin, Amy was putting the other twin into the waiting arms of Barbara’s oldest son, and their mom was in the house fetching the surprise cake for the new parents.

  But then Patrick yelled from the grill, “Hey, Barbara! You need to do me a favor and go to Marcus Lindsay’s gala next week.”

  Her mood took a plunge for the worse. “I thought we weren’t going to talk business anymore today!”

  “This has nothing to do with the company. It’s a fundraising gala, and that’s totally your business.”

  “My business?”

  “Yes. I need you to go and fill in for me.”

  She pressed the baby to her chest and narrowed her eyes at her older brother, who was flipping steaks on the grill. “Why do you need me to go?” she asked, forcing herself to sound patient.

  Patrick shrugged one shoulder. “Amy and I can’t go. Or, we don’t want to.”

  “Let me repeat my question …” She cleared her throat. “Why do I have to attend this gala?”

  Frowning, Patrick gave her a puzzled look. “A member of the family should attend. Amy and I are on parental duty, Stuart will be in D.C., and Mom doesn’t feel like it.”

  “What gives you the idea I might feel like it?”

  When her brother gave her an overbearing smile, she wanted to get up and shove him into the grill. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Barbara, but you’ve always been fond of all that charity fuss, haven’t you?”

  “Fuss?”

  Patrick sighed. “You know what I mean: boring speeches, endless food, rich people decked out in ten strands of pearls, limousines, photographers—all that.”

  Even though Patrick had described the endless loop of galas rather accurately, Barbara disliked the arrogance he’d displayed as he dismissed them all—and she balked at being lumped in with the shallow majority. She wanted to give him a piece of her mind, but she swallowed her words for the sake of her son, who was currently learning from his aunt how to properly hold the baby.

  So, instead, she countered with a lame refusal. “Well, I’m afraid there will be this one gala in Connecticut that has to make do without an Ashcroft in attendance. I’m not going.”

  “Barbara,” Patrick protested promptly. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Seriously, sister dearest,” Stuart chimed in. “Why are you being so bitchy? I’m sure it’ll be a great evening.”

  “Then why don’t you go, brother dearest,” she said sharply, before lowering her head and burying her nose in the sweet-smelling bundle she was holding.

  Apparently, her brothers had decided to gang up on her. “Stuart’s right,” Patrick said. “It’ll probably be a really nice evening. All you have to do—”

  “As I said before, Patrick, I don’t have to do anything at all!”

  Stuart groaned. “You have no idea how long Patrick negotiated with Marcus Lindsay, Barbara. It’s a matter of courtesy for a member of the family to show up at his event. We’ll look bad otherwise.”

  “It’s really important,” Patrick agreed. “We want to start a joint project with this guy. His charity is a cause dear to his heart, so we don’t want to make him think we don’t care. That would look callous.”

  “Then Mom can go,” Barbara replied peevishly.

  As if on cue, her mother’s voice came from behind her. “Where can I go?”

  Barbara turned her head. “To this gala next weekend.”

  “I’ve already made enough donations this year—”

  “Me too,” Barbara interrupted and pointed at her brother, who was playing both barbecue master chef and dispatcher of family members. “Your oldest son wants to force me to attend an event to ensure that at least one Ashcroft is present. I think you should go instead.”

  “Me? I wouldn’t know what to do there.” Her mother shook her head and bent to take the sleeping baby from Barbara. “You know I tend to stay away from that kind of thing. No, you go and have a nice time.”

  Barbara was very certain that she would not have a nice time. When was the last time she’d had a nice time at a fundraiser? When was the last time she’d had a nice time, period?

  Her family was adamant that she attend the damn thing, but Barbara wouldn’t look forward to the evening at all.

  Thankfully, Scott and Audrey came capering back to the table at that moment, making her forget her vexation for a while. Her seven-year-old begged his uncle to show him how to flip the meant while her adorable niece asked her to braid her hair. While she was occupied with the latter, she told herself that an evening with an endless supply of choice dishes and boring speeches wouldn’t actually be that bad.

  Chapter 3

  James greeted an acquaintance with a nod as he stood by the bar of the hotel ballroom, sipping his scotch. Around him was the typical bustle, the norm at events like this, with guests looking for their tables, complaining about seating, and making sure to display their wealth as prominently as possible. On nights like these, the air was filled with the aroma of overpriced food mingling with countless varieties of expensive aftershave, perfume, and at least three metric tons of hairspray, which the society ladies used to make their coiffures stiff as concrete. James cynically mused that fundraisers like this one, and the associated hairspray consumption, were likely responsible for the hole in the ozone layer—which was the issue addressed at a similar gala a few months ago. James downed the rest of his scotch.

  Thanks to his job in an international corporation based in New York, and of course also thanks to his last name, he was invited to far too many events like this, and he felt obliged to accept every time. So he donned his tuxedo several times a season to spend interminable hours at a round table, eating mostly insufferably fancy food, listening to boring speeches, and watching an even more boring program.

  He didn’t expect today to be any different.

  To be honest, he didn’t even know if today’s invitation was thanks to his job or his money—nor did he know what the issue being highlighted tonight was.

  He set his empty glass down on the bar, nodded at the bartender, and made his way toward his table, thinking about all the other ways he could have spent his Saturday night. There was a new season of Dancing with the Stars on, which he could have watched from his cozy couch while munching on pepperoni pizza. Or he could have read the quarterly reports while listening to jazz and having a glass of red wine. Yes, he would have liked that. Instead, he was plowing through a throng of guests, smiling politely in all directions. And when he finally reached the round table he’d been assigned to, he was shocked to see the woman already sitting there, sipping from a glass of champagne.

  She seemed just as appalled to see him. She blinked in surprise, lowered her glass, and took a long, deep breath. She actually paled a little at the sight of him. “James.”

  He gulped and nodded lightly. “Anna.”

  “Haven’t seen you in a long time,” she replied tensely, offering him a weak smile, which he returned with just as little enthusiasm.

  “Right,” he mumbled.

  He saw her swallow. “How are you doing, James?”

  “Okay. How about you?”

  “Oh … well.” The blonde cocked her head to one side, her face guarded. “I’d be doing much better if I didn’t have to spend my evening here.”

  He nodded his agreement and gave her a curt but genuine smile. “I feel the same way.” He cleared his throat and pointed at the empty chairs around the table. “It looks like I was placed at your table. Do you mind—”

  “No, no,” she interrupted him quickly. She appeared to be nervous, which you wouldn’t expect from a woman in her position. James knew from experience that Anna could be tough as nails when she negotiated.

  “You really don’t mind? I’m okay with looking for a different seat,” he offered cautiously.

  She pointed at the empty chair next to her. Her voice was a little too high as she said. “Sit here so I don’t have to ma
ke small talk with some hedge fund manager the whole evening.”

  He was silent as he did as she’d asked. She nervously folded her napkin and smoothed it out again before finally draping it across her lap. Then she interlaced her fingers and sat stiff as a poker beside him.

  James felt horribly awkward as he scooted his chair a smidgen away from her, so as not to sit too close, and inwardly cursed the way the chairs had been placed around the table. Not to mention that they were terribly uncomfortable, he noted, scanning the room for a waiter with mounting despair. He knew he wouldn’t get through the evening without a lot more alcohol. Whoever was responsible for the seating plan should be shot, he decided, his palms getting sweaty.

  “So …” Anna’s voice came haltingly. “How have you been faring at Maxwell Company? I heard you were promoted to CEO.”

  “Mm-hm,” he murmured reluctantly, throwing his former colleague a quick sidelong glance. “That’s true. I can’t complain. And you’re still with Hanson & Sons?”

  “Yes.” She let out a nervous laugh. “I am. I was promoted to chief executive six months ago.”

  “Congratulations,” James said quietly, all the while wondering what to do with his hands.

  He hadn’t seen Anna in over two years—not since he’d left his former employer to join the company he was with today.

  They’d worked well together, managing joint projects, and had become friends. He and Anna had been able to talk about things he would never have addressed with Barbara.

  But after everything that had happened, it was simply impossible to go back to that kind of amicable association.

  “Do you have any idea what this event is actually about?” Anna interrupted his brooding, shifting in her chair as if she didn’t know how to interact with him either.

  James heaved a sigh and admitted, “I don’t have the slightest idea.”

  “I think I may have read something about a program for illiterate people, but I’m not positive.”