by Olivia Luck
Why does it matter if Cameron sleeps with her?
With a vicious pull, I yank the door to the truck shut. I slump forward and press my forehead into the top of the steering wheel. I’m embarrassed at interrupting Cameron’s date and confused about my reaction.
This time instead of putting music on, I use the Bluetooth to dial Felix.
“What’s up?” he answers.
“Felix, you’re going to have to come south if you want to borrow the truck,” I say.
“You didn’t,” he deadpans.
“I did,” I say with a small sense of satisfaction. “It makes more sense for me to use the car with the event planning and sitting for Rocky.”
“Pretty sure I’ve been saying that all along. Good of you to catch up,” he jokes.
“Thanks. What are you doing?”
“I’m on. At the station with the guys. You know, if you’re going to start taking my advice, you should come by work. The guys all want to see you, Violet. Everyone misses you,” Felix drops the teasing tone and speaks gently.
“It’s not that I don’t want to see them.” Shame heats my cheeks even though Felix can’t see me. “I’m afraid, okay? To have all the memories of Max bombarding me at once terrifies me.”
“That’s precisely why you should come. It’s time to move past those fears and start the next phase of your life,” he says with more force this time.
“When I’m ready,” I respond noncommittally. Not wanting to argue with him, I change the subject. “You won’t believe what I did tonight.”
“This sounds good.”
“I accidentally mixed up the day I was supposed to walk Rocky. So, I show up at Cameron’s house and he’s on a date. This Amazon woman walks out of his kitchen in the tightest dress I’ve ever seen. And I’m standing there with my mouth open like a goldfish and cheeks the color of a Red Delicious apple,” I moan.
Felix can’t contain his laughter. “Smooth.”
“It was the most awkward thing that’s happened to me in a while. If looks could kill, I’d be a goner from the way his date stared me down. Mortifying. And the other thing is, she’s totally not Cameron’s type. Do you see him with a woman who dyes her hair platinum blond? He’s such a real guy. I don’t know, that’s just not who I pictured him with.”
“Um, Violet?” Felix says at the end of my rant.
“Yes,” I respond as I maneuver the truck into the outdoor lot behind the condo building.
“I didn’t realize you were that invested in Cameron’s dating life,” he says in that I know something you don’t know voice that drives me insane.
“Well, of course. He’s a friend. It’s no different than me discussing you and the hot cop,” I defend sharply. Too sharply.
“The lady doth protest too much, me thinks,” Felix mutters.
“What’s happening with you and Dex?” I toss back.
“We hooked up,” he says succinctly.
Hmm. Interesting. Usually, my friend likes to share all the juicy details, whether I want to hear them or not.
I’m about to comment on my observation when a tinny announcement sounds in the background. “Game time. Gotta go,” he says and hangs up before I can beg him to be safe.
Before I get out of the car, I catch my reflection in the rearview mirror. Shaking my head at my silliness, I grab my bag and climb out of the vehicle.
Cameron’s a friend and I care about him the same way I do for any of my other friends.
Right?
Cameron
Holy shit.
“Your dog walker’s got the Pollyanna look nailed down,” Candi (I can’t believe that is actually her name. She legally changed it to have an “i” instead of a “y” at the end. That should have been my first sign that she’s not right for me.) says in her annoying falsetto.
“What are you talking about?”
“The braids on her head. That look only works for models and she’s clearly not one.” Candi spins around toward the kitchen, her skinny heels slapping against my floors. Even from this distance, the cloying scent of her perfume makes me want to gag. And who the fuck is she to disrespect Violet? She owned those braids.
“Is there a reason you’re talking about my friend that way?” I cross my arms over my chest.
Candi’s hips sway in a practiced seduction while she saunters toward me, our wine glasses ensnared by her manicured fingers. “Cammy, don’t tell me you consider the help a friend. She picks up dog shit for a living.”
Rocky figured out this woman was vile before I did. My boy hardly gave Candi a second look when she strutted through the front door a little while ago. I’m having a hard time remembering why I invited her back to my place after dinner. Candi is a model-slash-actress-slash-cocktail waitress I hung out with a couple of times in the past. Whatever prompted me to ask her out was a huge lapse in judgment. The woman is the opposite of what I want in a relationship.
I’m looking for a woman with enough innocence to still blush. She’ll be a sweetheart who doesn’t curse like a sailor. She won’t try to impress me by wearing club gear to a low-key dinner. And my dog will love her.
“Actually, Violet’s an event planner and walking Rocky is a favor to me as her friend. But even if she did pick up shit, as you put it, for a living, I wouldn’t a give a fuck. She’s one hundred percent real. That’s more than you can say.” I’m a gentleman, so I don’t stare at her fake as hell tits when I make the scathing comment, but I do narrow my eyes.
“Oh. Right. Sorry, Cammy.” Candi brushes off the insult because she wants me more than she cares if I’m pleasant to her.
The way she says my name makes my skin crawl in revulsion. What in the hell was I thinking?
“How about we take this conversation upstairs?” she purrs, slinking closer.
“No, I think it’s time you go home,” I say sternly.
“You don’t mean that,” she responds quickly, thrusting her chest forward.
Really?
“Yeah, I’m calling you a cab. This isn’t working for me.” I pluck the wine glasses from her claws before she can toss the red liquid in my face.
“You’ve never seemed to have a problem working with me before,” she says with an arched brow. She stares at my crotch pointedly.
“Classy.” I’m no longer hiding my disgust with her. But why should I? She insulted Violet. Sweet Violet who wouldn’t hurt anyone. Lovely Violet who’s a fucking knockout no matter how she styles her hair. I pull my phone from my back pocket and use an app to request a car. “Look, Candi, I probably gave you the wrong impression by asking you out.”
“What the fuck, Cam? You invited me back here. Obviously, you wanted to hook up. Then Pollyanna walks in, and all of a sudden, you’re sending me home. I’m not stupid. Clearly you are because she didn’t look at you twice,” Candi snaps nastily.
The bands of muscles in my back clench. Tension builds in my chest. I’m angry. Not because Candi’s talking shit. No. I want to punch my fist through a wall because Candi’s scalding words are accurate.
“It’s time for you to go,” I say. The words are short, clipped, final.
With a flurry of unnatural blond hair (why are some pieces much longer than other ones?) and the clack of pencil-thin heels, she stalks toward the front door. Even Rocky can’t be bothered to look twice when Candi slams the front door furiously.
“Dodged a bullet with that one,” I mutter. Rocky glances up at me with a pitying stare. He knows as well as I do that this feeble attempt to forget about Violet was about as real as Candi’s tits.
I dump the remaining wine down the sink and then grab what I really wanted to drink. The can of beer opens with a satisfying hiss. I prop my hip against the counter and stare through the expanse of my home. It’s a testament to my hard work and commitment to my craft. I’ve spent my entire life becoming the best goalie I can. And I’m not done. I keep training, setting goals, achieving goals, and becoming better.
Passivity would n
ever describe me. I’m a natural born competitor. A fighter. I don’t give up. Why the fuck am I letting this woman, the woman I know should be mine, slip through my fingers? I let out a sigh of frustration and thread my fingers through my hair absently.
A vision of Violet’s deep blue eyes flash before me and I remember how nervous she was when she realized that I wasn’t alone. That’s right. She was uncomfortable seeing me with another woman. I could have sworn there was a flash of something other than unease. The same instincts I trust to catch a puck whirling at my head tell me there’s a chance this woman wants to be with me. Maybe not today and maybe not tomorrow, but she will be mine.
When she’s ready.
Violet
There’s a valley when you’re in the thick of planning an event. Vendors lined up. Contracts signed. There’s not much to do. Yes, I’m working on little things for the Scrapers gala like drumming up silent auction giveaways. Normally asking for submissions is tough work, but for this event, everyone wanted to pitch in. The generosity is a testament to the team’s owners—Blake and his father, Stewart, are well-known philanthropists in Chicago and throughout the country. Seems like every resort, car dealership, and helicopter city tour that I contacted wants to contribute.
Anyway, there’s a lull in events when everything’s humming along.
Because I’ll spend Christmas with the Baccino family, Thanksgiving came and went with a dinner at Blake and Stella’s house. Blake’s younger sister, Zoe, and her boyfriend, Miles, came, along with Miles’ family. Felix decided to visit his parents, leaving me alone so Stella insisted that I spend the holiday with her. She meant well, I know she did, but as the singleton, I stuck out like a sore thumb among the happy couples in Miles’ family. How does the twenty-seven-year-old widow navigate the family gathering without succumbing to sympathetic gazes? I don’t know. Emily Post didn’t write about that scenario in her etiquette books. I spent the holiday hanging with Miles’ young nephew, Duke. He didn’t ask why I was alone, much to my relief.
Now that the holiday is gone, I’m cruising. There are weekly status calls with Janet and her team and at least a couple more meetings on-site at the Scrapers facility. Other than that, I have free time on my hands.
Which is why I’m at a coffee shop in the affluent Bucktown neighborhood. With one project in a valley, I’ve found myself eager to move on to another.
I met Lorelei Anders when I worked at Speck, a tech startup company where I got my first job out of college. At the time, she worked at a public relations agency contracted by Speck. Now she’s gone independent and I want to reconnect with her professionally.
“How long have you been on your own?” Lorelei’s not one for small talk. She watches me over her cappuccino with an assessing eye.
“The event with the Scrapers is the first under Expertly Planned. I took a little time off after . . .” I clear my throat and avoid Lorelei’s eyes because I absolutely do not want any pity from her. Or anyone, for that matter. A heartbeat later and my emotions are in check. “I’m back to work and that’s the reason I called you. If you ever need event assistance, I want to be on your list of go-to planners.”
Lifting my gaze to Lorelei, I find her narrowed eyes are not soft. They shine with a touch of admiration, but not enough to bolster my ego. Lorelei doesn’t have a soft exterior, but underneath all her sharp edges and professional polish, I know she has a heart. One of the reasons why I want to partner with her.
“You do your job well, Violet. Look, this has to be blunt. My reputation is all I have. If I’m going to trust you with my clients, I need your guarantee that you’re not going to flake.” I open my mouth to retort, but she holds up a hand, indicating I pause. “I have tremendous respect for you. Please understand that I do not disdain you for taking time off. Is that time over?”
My words are succinct. “Absolutely. You’re right; this time last year, I would not have been a reliable partner. Like you, my reputation is all I have. I don’t take that lightly. The Scrapers gala is the last week in January. We can wait until then to start working together and you can get a reference from Janet Nathan, their PR director.” Please don’t wait for the Scrapers event, I beg silently. To my complete surprise, work truly does make the days more bearable.
Lorelei nods in approval at my conviction. “That’s what I thought. I’m working the press for a day spa opening in the Gold Coast. The crowd will be rich and glamorous with more Botox than sense. Opening is beginning of February. You interested?”
Interested? I’m close to salivating. An event like this would be full of potential clients. The smile forming on my face is unstoppable. “Definitely.”
It unfurls inside in one of the blackened chambers of my heart. A tiny seed sprout jutting through the dense soil to present one lone stem.
Hope.
December promises to be a whirlwind for the Scrapers. While most businesses slow during the holiday season, the team has two extended road trips. Janet decided she wanted a focus group from the team to get a brief rundown of the event. Next month I’m giving a presentation to the entire team. And, though he doesn’t know it yet, Ben’s going to give a speech, too. If I want to win over the support of these hockey stars, they’re going to need to see firsthand who they’re helping by raising money for the Hope House.
But that’s another conversation for later this week.
Confidence is high today. Since my meeting with Lorelei last week, I’ve begun planning the opening soiree for the spa. A local jewelry designer has responded to my inquiry. She wants to attend the event to sell her gems and raise money for breast cancer research.
The glass doors leading into the Scrapers’ back office shows my reflection. Today I’m in a deep purple skirt, a black silk blouse, and my favorite midnight booties. My hair behaved today and fell the way I wanted. I’m energized ready. When I woke up this morning, bleakness didn’t swallow me. My heart’s still heavy in my chest, but when I saw the sunlight streaming through the soft white curtains, I felt like today could be something more than painful.
Fire and ice greet me when I walk into the reception area. Paige gives me an icy glare, and Amber greets me with a big, warm smile.
“We’re all super excited to see what you have to show us today,” she says.
“Yeah. Super pumped,” Paige mutters under her breath, lip curled into a mini-scowl.
Geez. Who spit in her latte this morning? Still, I turn on my megawatt smile to greet them.
This time, we’re meeting in a larger conference room to accommodate the bigger crowd. Dominic, Janet, a man in a slate-colored suit, and two other Scrapers players, judging by their workout gear, stands at the head of the table talking. Cameron’s not here yet and my heart sinks a little. He’s the familiar face I want to stare back at me when I present. Dominic may be at this meeting, but my former brother-in-law never conveys much outward faith in me. Nevertheless, Dom enfolds me into a hug. He introduces me to Bill, an operations guy in the suit, and the two players, Tomas and Rick, who are the team captains.
“Great to meet you,” I say to them both.
“You, too,” Tomas says with a thick Eastern European accent.
“The pleasure is all mine,” Rick murmurs in a low voice while he traces the line of my breasts underneath my blouse with his eyes. I snatch my hand back from his creepy grip. I resist the urge to turn around and force myself to smile.
“Hey, Violet.” Cameron’s reassuring voice causes me to turn and glance over my shoulder. I feel a slight twinge in my chest. Small enough that it could be indigestion, but large enough to tell me that I’m having an emotional response to this man confidently walking into the room.
Because he’s your friend. I don’t want or need anything more in my life.
“Hey, Cameron.” This time my smile comes easy.
“Okay. I know we’re all on a tight timeline today. Let’s get started, shall we?” Janet interrupts the chatter and indicates for me to follow her toward the
opposite end of the room. The weight of a pair of eyes sends an unpleasant tingle down my spine. I know if I turn around it will be Rick’s sliminess perusing my figure. I hear a jostle behind me, and then the sound of desk chairs colliding. Only then do I shift my gaze to where Rick’s stumbled a few steps and Cameron’s wearing a comical expression.
“Sorry, man,” Cameron offers without much remorse, obviously having bumped into the other guy.
“Walk much?” Rick says wryly.
Hmm. That was strange.
Ignoring the rest of their conversation, I use the computer to pull up another slideshow presentation. With the portable mouse in hand, I move to stand next to the massive television screen acting as the computer monitor.
“Before we get into the details of our event, I want to introduce you to the Hope House.” With a few backward steps, I flick the light switch and darken the room. A click later, a promotional video rolls. It’s short; less than five minutes of scenes from the Hope House—families together and the residents laughing together. There are a few shots of me spliced into this reel—hugging Ben and his friend Rosie tightly, and Stella and me making a human pyramid with Dominic, Max, and Ben. The most meaningful aspect of the film is interviews with the residents interspersed throughout the videos and images from good times at the House.
“I’m accepted and loved for who I am,” Rosie says into the camera.
“I’d never be able to have independence without this place. I have a job and friends and a girlfriend,” a man Richard says then winks. That elicits a few chuckles from my audience.
While the movie plays, I watch the expressions in the room. Dominic’s a lock, no need to figure out what he’s feeling. Rick shows his disinterest by thumbing through his smartphone, but the rest of the audience gives the screen their rapt attention. Even Paige appears moved.
Got ’em.
Lights flood the room as the final moments of the film finish.
“Trust me when I say you won’t forget this party. It will be glamorous and different from any other stodgy charity event you’ve attended. Glitz aside, this whole evening is about the Hope House. I hope this video shows you the impact of your donations. I’m going to press this point even further with the team when I have my meeting with all of you.” I direct my gaze to where Tomas, Rick, and Cameron are lined at one end of the table. Then I smile. “Ben, a dear friend of mine and a resident, will come speak to the team.”
