SEDUCTIVE: A Contemporary Romance Anthology

by Anthology

  Was it when Dan died? Was she still blaming herself for his issues, those deceptive mental anxieties he had kept to himself until the voices in his head were louder than hers and he couldn’t take it anymore? Maybe it was deeper. An older wound. Her parents died young and she’d been forced to depend on herself, rely on herself because there was no one else around to do things for her.

  But she’d done the therapy, she thought with a growl, reversing out of the driveway and speeding down the street. She’d talked to shrinks until she’d been put under the microscope long enough to understand and deal with her faults and limitations. Or so she’d thought. Getting involved with Harlan was bringing up all kinds of issues she’d thought she’d resolved, things she’d let go of. Apparently not.

  She could spend hours psychoanalyzing herself once more, but it really boiled down to one important issue. She’d hurt Harlan when she hadn’t meant to. And she’d hurt Renee by not being there. And those were on her.

  Quitting her job to focus on her home life was the best thing she could do. Because there were dynamics that needed to change.

  The next few hours at work went by like she was wading through molasses. The big fundraiser was tomorrow night. It felt like a thousand years away. She would never make it through the day to reach tomorrow.

  “Kellie, I need the tables to be set up in the center of the room. The flow has to feel natural so that when people walk around, they can see the displays without having to watch where they’re going. You’re creating a traffic jam with this cluster.” She pointed out the three tables grouped too closely together and blocking off the left side of the exhibit. “Circular, not horseshoe. Think flow.”

  Her feet were killing her from wearing her dressy pumps too many days in a row. She resisted the urge to kick off her shoes and give herself an impromptu foot massage.

  “Olympia, where do you want—”

  The woman’s sentence was cut off when the fire alarm went off. Again. Olympia rubbed the bridge of her nose, pinching until it hurt. “Dammit, I thought we had this fixed. Someone go get maintenance!” The shrill shrieking segued into the ringing of her cell phone. On a muffled roar, she ripped the phone out of her pocket and answered with a snarl in her voice. “What?”

  “Sweetheart?”

  Mrs. Nunez. “Mama.” Instantly contrite, she strode out of the room, knocking her shin against a chair. She didn’t even care. It was penance. “I’m sorry! I didn’t realize it was you. Are you all right?”

  “No, no, I’m not,” came the soft sweet voice. “No. I fell in my bathtub. I need your help.”

  Mrs. Nunez lived alone, with her children in different states and no close family nearby. Olympia’s heart thumped against her chest. “What do you mean, you fell? Where are you now?”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I know you’re working, but I have no one else to call. It’s the middle of the day and everyone is too far away. My kids are in North Carolina, they can’t come. I didn’t call the fire department because I don’t want them to see me like this.”

  “Are you hurt?” She stuck her pinkie finger in her opposite ear to try to block out the sound of the alarm and better hear the conversation. “Please tell me you’re okay.” Already her mind was moving at light speed, imagining the worst.

  “I think I…well, I twisted my ankle a little.” This was said as though it was nothing but a nuisance. “But I’m stuck. Can you come to help me out of the tub?”

  Her gut reaction was to tell Mrs. Nunez to call the police and have them come, pride be damned. They were better equipped to handle these kinds of emergencies, after all. Olympia stared around at the chaos at work, the swirling tornado of activity, with the fire alarm still blaring overhead. Was it true what Harlan said? About her needing to save everyone? About her need for control?

  Control was a good thing if it meant outside forces couldn’t hurt you. But sometimes…too much control ended up hurting you anyway.

  “Don’t worry, Mama, I’ll be right over. Hold on,” she told Mrs. Nunez. “Don’t move and don’t do anything until I get there.”

  With what should have been a sense of guilt but was actually a sense of relief, she stepped out of and away from the chaos.

  Heedless of the speed limit, she made it home in record time. Mrs. Nunez hid the spare key to her front door underneath a fake rock that looked…well, fake. It was one of those jumbo ones advertised on the back pages of magazines and was nothing but a flashing red light to anyone who wanted to break in and rob the place. Olympia hurried to the front door and fished the key out from its not-so-much-hiding space, twisting it in the lock. “Mama?” she called out the second she stepped through the door.

  “Upstairs,” came the weak reply.

  Olympia took the stairs two at a time, turning left down the hallway, into the master suite. “Are you decent?”

  The older woman chuckled as Olympia made her way into the bathroom. “Not really. I ripped down the towel rack and shower curtain trying to get out by myself, but nothing really worked.”

  Indeed, she was lying in the tub with the shower curtain draped across her body like an old-fashioned toga. Her gray-streaked black hair was piled in a messy bunch of braids on her head, her olive skin pulled in wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. Even injured, she was a picture of mature Latina spice, her lips pursed and her eyes squinting to see without her glasses.

  A wave of guilt and worry smacked Olympia in the face at the same time her heart gave a hitch. To cover her anxiety, she propped her hands on her hips and gave Mrs. Nunez a stern look. “How did this happen? Didn’t I tell you we needed to get some grab bars installed? Maybe you’ll listen to me now. How long have you been like this? Why didn’t you call 9-1-1?”

  “And have them see me like this?” Her head shook like she had a song stuck in there. Rose Nunez was much too proud. Despite the circumstances, she pursed her lips even further. “No. I won’t allow it.”

  “Well, luckily I got your call. Let’s get you out of there. You’re sure it’s just your ankle?”

  “Absolutely.” Rose was adamant.

  Olympia took the utmost care trying to get her adopted mother out of the tub, making sure to lock her elbows so she didn’t lose her grip. She didn’t want to admit it was almost too much for her, that she had a difficult time handling the extra weight. Her knees shook and her arms almost gave out, but she held steady.

  It would be nice if Harlan were here. He’d know what to do.

  She stopped so abruptly she almost sent both of them tumbling into the tub. It was too late to start relying on someone else now. Not when she was closing in on forty years old. Not when she had another life to think about. Didn’t she have to be careful?

  Plus, she’d made her decision. She’d told Harlan where she stood, and gotten the hard part out of the way. There was no going back. She couldn’t go back.

  “Steady now,” she soothed, helping Rose over the lip of the tub. “Don’t bang your ankle.”

  “A lot of things have been banged in my life, chiquita. Not all of them relating to the body. I always tried to take the good with the bad, but there comes a time when you have to be careful.” Rose winced, lifting her knee and putting the brunt of her weight on Olympia. “I must be getting too old to even bathe by myself. I need to look into one of those walk-in baths.”

  “You’re not quite there yet, so don’t say that.” But each step increased Olympia’s concern. With Rose finally on the bed and wrapped in a blanket to stop the shaking, Olympia went to grab a robe from the closet. The bedroom window overlooked her own driveway. She saw Harlan’s car parked there, and next to it a strange Lincoln she didn’t recognize. “Who the hell…”

  She settled Rose with a pillow under her ankle and a vow to be back in a moment, then sprinted down the stairs.

  There was nothing overtly menacing about the car, although something in her stomach twisted at the sight of it. Her heart was in her throat when she made it out the front door and acro
ss the lawn.

  “Harlan? What’s going on?” she called out, stepping through her own front door.

  “Olympia?” came a familiar baritone.

  “Harlan?”

  His head popped around the corner from the living room, and soon his arms were on either side of the doorframe, barring the way. Whether to keep her out or someone else in, she didn’t know. His face was pale, eyes darting around her face before landing to meet hers. “The people from social services are here.”

  “No, that’s impossible,” she cried out. She strained to look around him, to see what was going on. Then she heard a whimper.

  Harlan finally moved out of the way and Olympia saw a tall, stately woman with chocolate-colored skin holding her baby.

  “What’s happening here?” She did her best not to lash out in anger. In terror. Renee was crying but otherwise looked fine. Why hadn’t she been called? “Who are you?”

  “Ma’am, please. My name is Anita Marshall, and I’ve been authorized to take Miss Salant into child protective services.”

  Olympia forgot about the chills racing through her. About the coat she’d taken off and forgotten next door, about the water stains on her skirt and blouse. “You’re taking her? No, you can’t do that.” Her eyes fell on Harlan again, begging him to do something. “Why wasn’t I made aware of this? We only got the call yesterday.”

  Was it only yesterday?

  “Here’s a copy of the papers, Mrs. Trumbald, filed improperly by your lawyer.” Ms. Marshal held out a manila-colored folder. “We apologize for the short notice, but the judge was going out of town and wanted the matter settled immediately.” She shifted Renee on her hip, and Olympia’s heart broke when the little girl reached out her arms to be taken. “You have twenty-four hours to appeal. As of right now, you are no longer the child’s legal guardian and the court feels it is better to place her under CPS custody.”

  Olympia strode forward and tried to take Renee from Ms. Marshall, only then noticing a second CPS person sitting on the couch. The man stood to block her progress toward the baby with a less-than-friendly professional smile.

  “You’re taking her away from her home, after losing both her parents, because something wasn’t filed properly? You have to be kidding!” She glared at the man, with his balding cue-ball head and fake smile. What was there to smile about? “Give me my baby.”

  “Ma’am, please. We already talked to your babysitter.”

  Olympia turned her glare toward Harlan, only then realizing the defeated set of his shoulders. The drying streaks running from his eyes to his cheeks.

  “This can’t be happening. Give her to me!”

  “Oly!” Renee cried out, her arms extended and her little hands clutching air.

  Baldy shook his head and his smile remained firm. “Please try to stay calm. I suggest you contact your lawyer.”

  The brunt of her ire fell on Harlan. “I thought you said you sent in the paperwork?”

  “I did! I faxed it.” They turned in unison when both man and woman from CPS gathered their things and made for the door. “Renee!”

  “You can’t take her,” Olympia insisted. Baldy blocked her and Harlan while his coworker strode past them, Renee in her arms, toward the front door.

  “We’ll be in touch. I assure you, Mrs. Trumbald, she’s in good hands. She’ll be fine,” Ms. Marshall assured her.

  “Oly, please!” Her last word ended in a tear-filled screech, breaking Olympia’s heart to hear it.

  Olympia pushed against Harlan, pushed against the stranger holding her back, struggling to get them both out of the way. “Give her back to me. Give her back!” She grabbed Harlan’s arm in a claw-like grip. “Oh my God, Harlan, where are they taking her?”

  “Ma’am, please step back. I don’t want to have to call the authorities,” Baldy threatened. “If you will not maintain proper distance then I will be forced to make the call.”

  Olympia stepped away, holding her hands up to her shoulders, palms out. “I’m going to fix this, sweet pea,” she called out.

  Once the woman was out the door with Renee, the man let them pass, both Olympia and Harlan running toward the car.

  “Oly, no. No!” Tears ran down the girl’s cheeks. She continued to reach for Olympia as the social worker carried her toward the Lincoln. “Oly!”

  “I’m going to fix this. I’ll get you back. I promise!” She watched the woman buckle Renee into a car seat and then the slamming doors cut off the sounds of her cries. The car reversed out of the driveway and she followed its movement down the street and out of sight before turning to Harlan. She couldn’t help herself when she reached out to slap at him. “How could you let this happen?” she screamed.

  He caught her arms in his hands to stop her from pounding on his chest. “I’m sorry! I tried to take care of it but…but you heard what the social worker said. She said it was Bower who didn’t file the correct paperwork. We have twenty-four hours to try to get her back.” He gazed pleadingly at her. “Don’t you think I’m just as upset as you are? We’ll get her back.”

  “There is no we. There never was.” Olympia jerked her arms out of his grip and swiped furiously at her eyes. “Get out of here, Harlan. I can’t look at you.”

  “You don’t understand—”

  She turned to him with fire churning inside of her. “Get out of here! I’ll handle this myself. Like I always do. You’ve done nothing but make a mess.”

  Then she remembered Mrs. Nunez next door and, torn, turned in a circle in her front yard. Dropped to her knees and screamed out as loudly as she could. A disturbed flock of birds took wing from the bare maple tree in her front yard.

  Mama was hurt.

  The fundraiser was tomorrow.

  And her baby was gone.

  CHAPTER TEN

  He’d stood and watched her for the longest time, feeling her agony deep inside of him. There was nothing he could do to take it from her. She wouldn’t want him to even if there was. He watched her break down into racking sobs, still telling him to go.

  Get out.

  That’s what he’d finally done. He’d taken himself home with his tail between his legs. Defeated.

  He couldn’t sleep that night and ended up staring at his ceiling until the first streaks of dawn showed through the windows. His mind had spent hours racing in circles, like a snake devouring its own tail.

  There was nothing left for him to do. Olympia didn’t want or need his help, and with Renee in CPS’s care, then he was worse than useless. It was a big change, trying to wake up from the picture of his life he’d come to love. He wanted to wake up in the morning next to her. He wanted to take Renee to the park, to cook dinner for them, and watch both their beautiful faces light in similar smiles.

  Harlan was on his third cup of coffee when his mind screeched to a halt like he’d hit a roadblock. Why should he give up on the life he wanted, the life he deserved? Why…simply because Olympia told him to get out? She’d told him that before and he hadn’t listened.

  Why was he listening this time?

  “No,” he said out loud, looking out the window at the leafless trees and the sun shining down in cold streams. “No, this is bullshit.”

  He set the cup in the sink. He wasn’t the type of person to roll over and expose his belly. If there was a fight, then he should step up to it instead of backing down. But where to start?

  The fundraiser. Today was the big day.

  Harlan wasn’t sure if he was still invited, but he dusted off his suit from his college formal anyway. It was a little tight around the shoulders and hips, but it still worked, fit well enough that he wouldn’t look like a hobo.

  As soon as she saw him, she was likely to kick him out. That was fine with him, he fumed, tightening his tie and nearly strangling himself with it. But not before they had a chance to talk.

  Maybe it was time to say the words. Words he’d said to no woman before.

  It was high time Olympia knew exactly how he f
elt about her, and he would make sure she heard him. The thought should have terrified him, but it bolstered him instead. Harlan sighed, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Why did he feel so bad, then?

  Because Renee had spent the night in the custody of Child Protective Services and there was nothing he could do about it. Not when he wasn’t her legal guardian. He had wanted to charge after Ms. Marshall and rip the little girl from her arms. She belonged at home. She belonged with Olympia. And me, he thought vehemently.

  They belonged together.

  Now he was faced with a legal tangle in which he was persona non grata, the woman he loved hated him, and he was probably about to ruin her fundraiser with his presence.

  Well, too bad.

  He would consider this a chance at redemption. It was an opportunity to make right what he’d done wrong. And she could call him pushy, she could call him unwelcome, she could call him whatever she wanted, but she was going to listen. Hopefully when they were done, although they might not see eye to eye, at least they could be on the same page instead of in different books.

  He stepped through the front door of the gallery and stopped to survey the space, the details Olympia had worked so hard to get right over the last several weeks. The room was beautiful. Spotlights showcased the larger pieces of art, including three sculptures well over seven feet tall. The one closest to him was done in a combination of copper and wood, twisting toward the ceiling in intricate spirals. There was room for a four-piece orchestra directly across from him, and the strains of instruments tuning up filled the space. The fundraiser officially would begin at two in the afternoon. He was early but already people were milling around, curious to see the exhibition offerings. Stopping to look at rich oils and whimsical watercolors and imaginative sculptures. Carrying around flutes of champagne and tiny plates of appetizers and nodding like they understood the messages behind the artwork.