I look at both children who are now asleep and kiss them both on the head, tucking them in before turning out the light. Please don’t let me lose them.
***
“Mommy! Mommy!”
Yep, it’s morning. One day closer to losing the apartment and the twins. Climbing off the sofa, I go into the bedroom.
“Mommy, Mitch won’t give me my doll,” Maddie cries.
I look at the clock on the wall. “Wow Mitch, that’s a new record. It’s not even six in the morning and you’re already making your sister cry. What do you say to Maddie?”
“Sorry,” he says with a sarcastic tone.
“Like you mean it,” I scold him.
“Sorry, Maddie,” he says and gives her a hug.
“Ready for breakfast?” I ask.
They jump from their bed, squealing and run out the door. I search through the cupboards and groan. These cupboards were empty last night, why are you surprised they’re still empty this morning?
I make a few slices of toast and put them on a plate. The kids tuck straight in. I fill two cups with cooled, boiled water and hand them over too—no way would I give them water straight from the tap with the state of the buildings plumbing.
“Are you having toast, Mommy?” Maddie asks.
“No sweetie, that’s for you and Mitch. Mommy will have some toast when she gets to work. Right now, I need coffee,” I reply with a smile and grimace from the pain in my empty stomach. You better eat soon or you’ll be no use to the twins.
When the twins have finished, I get them washed and dressed. Funny enough, it doesn’t matter what time we get up, we always end up running late.
Rita is in the hall waiting for us, ready to take the children from me. “Thank you,” I gush. “Are you okay to pick them up this afternoon?”
“Of course I am but if that Mr. Slate cancels on you again, do not book another meeting. We’ll find another way.” I give her a sad smile before she hugs me and we part ways.
I dash down the two flights of stairs, out the building’s main door and into my beat up little car. “Please start, please start,” I beg the car as I turn the key in the ignition over and over again, eventually starting it with a splutter and gurgle. “Yes, come on!”
I take off for the butchers I work at three days a week. Thank God traffic is scarce for a change.
“SJ, you’re late,” my boss, Gary, says as I fly through the door.
“I know, I’m sorry,” I reply as I run through the store to the back. I throw my coat on the hook and my bag on the bench, replacing them with an apron, hairnet and hat.
“How do you plan on making it up to me?” he asks, squeezing my ass cheek as he comes up behind me.
I shudder and move out of touching distance, putting on my best flirtatious smile so I don’t offend him. I can’t lose this job—I really need it.
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” I reply while taking a mental note to look for a new job. Gary’s grin widens so I can see a few more missing teeth. “I’m going to slice some bacon,” I say and move behind the counter and away from him.
“Let me take you out on a date?” he asks. “We can go to a bar, go back to yours for a night cap and see where it leads.”
“I’ll have to get back to you, I’m pretty booked up with the twins,” I reply and change the subject. “I know I was late, but can I leave an hour earlier? I have a meeting with the new landlord?”
“I thought you were meeting with him Monday?” he asks.
“He cancelled, and then cancelled again yesterday,” I reply. “Please Gary, I’ll work through my lunch breaks for the rest of the week.”
“Well how can I say no to that? A whole three days staring uninterrupted at your peachy ass, is an offer I can’t refuse.” His lewd grin sends a fresh wave of shivers down my spine.
Sometimes, I can’t help but wonder who I pissed off in a past life to end up with this shitty excuse of one.
Chapter 2
It’s been almost seven months since Molly was killed and I still carry the guilt. So much so that I left my position at Slate Security. Vitale’s threat still rings through me, reminding me why I left the job I loved so much. Grayson wasn’t too happy about my decision, even after I explained that Vitale might try causing harm to my future clients. He tried to convince me Vitale wouldn’t do something that stupid, but I couldn’t shake the feeling he would. Our father was the underboss of the New Jersey crime family and Vitale was under him. When my father died, Vitale was gunning for the position. However it came at a price he thought he could get out of paying. Anyone stupid enough to try screwing over the boss and think they could get away with it, was definitely in a league of their own.
Although I still have an office at Slate Security, I now use it for Slate Property Development. I’ve bought, restored and sold several houses. I’ve just started my biggest project yet and this time I have unwilling tenants that don’t want to leave. I bought a run-down apartment building and its surrounding land in Fort Lincoln. I plan to tear it down and build a few modern apartment buildings on the land. Although the building is in very bad condition, it still houses over one hundred tenants in sixty-six apartments. I brought the building at a low price after the owner died and left it to his son, who has no interest in fixing it up himself. Fort Lincoln has quite a high crime rate, but it is situated perfectly for a twenty minute commute into the city. My hope is to turn this run-down, low income neighborhood into a wealthy, gated community. Unfortunately, some of the residents don’t seem to agree.
It’s only Wednesday, but I feel like the week should already be over. I was supposed to have a meeting with one of the residents from Fort Lincoln on Monday afternoon, but had to cancel as I was called out to New York on the Saturday. An emergency had come up and Edward Day needed me, there was no way I would turn down my closest friend. My secretary rescheduled the appointment for yesterday, unfortunately I had to cancel because my flight was delayed and didn’t arrive at BWI until late last night. So I rescheduled the meeting again for today—I just want to get it out of the way now. I’m really not in the mood for dealing with a disgruntled, self-righteous tenant. Just as I’m thinking this, my secretary calls over the intercom.
“Your three o’clock is here, Mr. Slate.”
“Thanks Debbie, send them in,” I reply and wait for the door to open. When it does, I have to force my eyes back inside my head and roll my tongue up off the floor. I try to compose myself as quickly as possible, though I’m sure this beautiful angel in front of me has noticed.
“Hi there,” I say and instantly regret it. Hi there?
“Hi,” she replies and smiles so innocently. She can be no older than twenty-three, though her big brown eyes suggest wisdom beyond her years. Her long, silky brown hair is a huge contrast to her smooth, pale skin.
After staring at her for a few uncomfortable seconds, I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, I’ve been given no details about today’s meeting. I’m Caleb Slate, why don’t you take a seat and tell me a bit about yourself.” Or you could tell me everything. I want to know everything.
“Um... okay. I’m Sarah-Jane Tanner, my friends call me SJ.”
“SJ,” I repeat, letting her nickname roll off my tongue.
She narrows her eyes at me and frowns. “I said my friends call me SJ, Mr. Slate. You can call me Miss Tanner.”
“Of course, I’m sorry. Please continue, Miss Tanner,” I apologize with a smirk, to which she frowns again.
“I’m not here for friendly chit-chat, Mr. Slate,” she states firmly. “I’m here with a signed petition to not destroy our home. I really hope you take this matter seriously and consider the amount of people you will be making homeless.”
“I’ve given you three months notice to find new homes. I think I’ve been rather generous. Considering the fact that I’m well within my rights to only give you thirty days notice. I understand that you’re all on low incomes and that one month probably won’t be enoug
h time to find alternative accommodation,” I say as politely as I can.
“It’s not about finding alternative accommodation, it’s about finding homes we can afford,” she responds.
“Is that why you’re here? Do you need money?” I ask acerbically. I watch her mouth fall open as I remove my checkbook from the drawer of my desk. “You’ll need a deposit and one months rent upfront, so what’s that, five thousand dollars?”
Her mouth is still wide open and my thoughts turn to ones of her on her knees. I shake my head before blood rushes to my cheeks and not just between my legs.
“I don’t want your money,” she gasps and then shakes her own head. “Who the hell pays that much a month for rent?”
“How much do you pay now?” I ask.
“You’re my landlord, you should know.”
“I’ve been extremely busy this last couple of weeks, I haven’t had time to go over everything,” I reply defensively.
“We are all busy, Mr. Slate.”
“Maybe but I had to fly to England for a wedding and then a few days later, I had to fly to New York for an emergency,” I explain, though I don’t know why.
“You mean the emergency where you and your billionaire friend Edward Day, went running around Central Park on Monday. The same Monday you cancelled a meeting with me because of this “emergency”, which you then had to cancel yesterday because you got back late,” she preaches. “Tell me Mr. Slate, did you drink too much the night before?”
“Miss Tanner,” I address her firmly and professionally. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“So the Washington Post photoshopped you into those pictures then?” She smirks, producing the newspaper in question.
“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you,” I respond and take the paper from her. “A picture is worth a thousand words,” I muse quietly. “If you look carefully at these pictures, you’ll clearly see I’m not enjoying myself.”
“I cancelled two overtime shifts to meet with you—money I could have done with but why would you care? You have all your money and no worries, while the rest of us try to survive month to month.”
“Miss Tanner, my personal life is none of your business. I will compensate you for your missed shifts, if that’s what you want.”
“It always comes down to money with you. I don’t want your money. I want to be treated with the same respect that you would treat that billionaire friend of yours, and not like an old beggar woman.” The sound of her voice shaking toward the end of her rant causes my eyes to lock onto hers. She’s blinking fast, but I can see the watery glow just under her lashes.
“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you,” I say and then clap my hands together. “I’m hungry, are you able to join me for something to eat and maybe we could talk some more?”
“I can’t. Thank you for the offer, but I have to get home,” she says a little disappointedly.
“I would really like to talk to you some more. We’ll be no longer than an hour.” I try to convince her, I even draw a cross over my heart with my finger, which makes her chuckle.
She considers this for a minute. “We have to be quick, and I have to check with someone first.” I nod, yet I can’t help feeling a stab of jealously that she has a boyfriend waiting at home for her.
“Do you want to use the office phone?” I ask for reasons I can’t explain.
“That would be fantastic, thank you.” She smiles and moves toward the desk chair, picking up the receiver and dialing. “Hello?”
I try not to listen to her private conversation because she is trying to keep her voice quiet, though I did catch the last part.
“Thank you, I owe you one. Love you, bye,” she says, hangs up and smiles sweetly at me. “We have an hour.”
“Where would you like to go?” I ask.
“You decide,” she says and begins to walk out the door.
“Pizza? I know a lovely little Italian place just around the corner,” I suggest.
“I’m cool with that. Lead the way Mr. Slate.” She grins.
“Please, call me Caleb,” I say and she nods. Say my name, I want to hear it come from your lips.
As we get into the elevator I get closer to her and realize she isn’t wearing a drop of make-up. The only reason I realize this is because most of the women I see, are caked in the stuff. Her skin glows with such natural beauty, no wonder she doesn’t wear the stuff, she doesn’t need to.
“Are you sure your boyfriend doesn’t mind you eating with me?” I ask, more to break the awkward silence, but mostly because I obviously love to torture myself.
She furrows her brow and shakes her head. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Oh, I just thought... you know... because of the phone call and the ‘love you’ at the end.”
Her cheeks turn slightly pink. “That was my neighbor, Rita.” She responds and I quirk an eyebrow, leading her out of Slate Security and onto the sidewalk. “I’m looking after her children tonight so she can do an extra evening shift at work. She’s struggling to pay rent this month.” She gasps and quickly throws a hand over her mouth.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, startled and looking around for any danger or threat.
“I shouldn’t have told you that, you’re our new landlord. Please, don’t tell her I told you?” she begs. I can’t help the god damn semi I’m sporting in my slacks, it’s like I’m a teenager all over again.
“I wouldn’t dream of it, we’re talking as friends right now. Aren’t we, SJ?” I ask. She looks at me and is clearly thinking about how to respond. I stop outside the Italian restaurant and open the door for her. She blushes furiously as she steps past me. “Table for two,” I tell the maître d’.
After we take our seats, SJ responds. “If we’re friends, why did you stand me up Monday?”
I purse my lips but it’s a very valid question for a friend to ask. “I was helping my friend, there had been a threat against his family.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she responds, looking more than a little embarrassed.
“It’s okay, I was at his wedding the previous weekend.”
“The one in England?” she asks and I nod. “Wow, some people have more money than sense.”
“Actually, his wife is British and he also adopted her son while they were there,” I clarify.
“I don’t make a habit of putting my foot in my mouth, I promise,” she says as she gives me a lopsided grin.
“Late Friday night, I got a call from him saying he needs my help and so I flew straight out there.”
“That’s really nice of you. I wish I could put friends and family before work.” I can’t help taking it as a dig.
“I didn’t put them before work,” I say firmly. “It was work.”
She shrugs. “I didn’t say it wasn’t.”
The waiter arrives and we order. I decide on a New York melt and SJ has a plain pepperoni pizza.
I watch her for a moment and her attitude suggests she doesn’t quite believe me. I feel compelled to explain why it was work related. I don’t understand this sudden urge to share my business with a stranger, or why I care if she believes me, I just do.
“His family had been threatened.”
“I know, you told me.”
“It was a hard time for him. He thought he was going to have to send his wife and children back to England to keep them out of harm’s way,” I continue explaining.
“That’s extreme. I guess it’s a rich people thing.”
“In the first picture you saw of us, walking around Central Park, he had just found out his dead relative wasn’t dead. In the second picture, when we were running through the park, he had just found out his wife had been kidnapped by his father.” Why the fuck am I telling her all this.
“You see what I mean? It’s a rich people thing.”
I wait for the waiter to finish putting our food down and check that we have everything we need, before I turn my attention back to SJ.
“What
is your problem with rich people? Are you jealous of their money?”
“See, it’s all about the money with you. My problem with rich people is their attitude. I’m sorry but this Edward sounds like a serious douche bag. He finds out a dead relative is really alive and he’s bitching about it? I’m sorry about his wife, but if he knew his family was in danger, he should have involved the police,” she states and turns to the waiter who has returned to our table. “Could you box this up to take away please?”
“Of course, ma’am,” he replies and takes her pizza back to the kitchen. I hear her stomach growl and decide to ignore it.
“Why didn’t you eat it?” I ask, my brow furrowed.
“I’ve had enough for now. I’ll eat some more later. Besides, the kids will probably want something to eat too.” Is she seriously saving that pizza for the kids she’s looking after tonight? She’s clearly hungry, so why isn’t she eating it? I decide to drop the subject for now and get back to the matter at hand.
“So why is my attitude a problem for you?” I decide to ask.
“I’ve had my meeting with you scheduled for the last two weeks. I’m going to be homeless in two and a half months. Tell me how my problem gets to take a back seat to the dead living relative and crazy father problem?” she asks and I think I finally get her point.
“I wasn’t letting it take a back seat, SJ. I’m sorry you think I was. Edward’s call has been a long time coming, there were reasons he couldn’t go to the police that I can’t share with you. I’m sorry, I guess I did pick my friend’s problem over a stranger’s problem,” I say and then grimace. I guess SJ isn’t the only one putting their foot in their mouth.
Caleb (The Unseen Series Book 1) Page 2
