by C. C. Koen
“WERE YOU ABLE TO GET the dinner reservation confirmed with Mr. Shephard’s secretary?” Rick stopped in front of Mrs. Collins’s desk as she turned off her computer, ready to leave for the day.
“All set. Time changed from six to seven. Agnes said Mr. Shephard had several meetings run late, so it worked for him too.”
“Good, messages?”
“They’re on your desk already. Oh, and you had a visitor.” Mrs. Collins pointed over his shoulder to his office door.
Taped to the front was a piece of white construction paper. The closer he got to it, the tighter his chest grew. He tucked a finger under the sticky tab and lifted, opening the folded sheet, which revealed a huge swing set drawn in colorful red and brown crayons. Cece at the top of a slide and sitting on Rick’s lap, both of them with hands in the air and smiles stretching from ear to ear. He blinked away any remnants of emotion, refusing to admit what so plainly surfaced in that sketch. As he examined the image closer, in the far left corner at the foot of the rock wall, Maggie stood with her hands on her hips and a frown on her face. If he hadn’t been so flummoxed he would’ve laughed at Cece’s spot-on disapproving representation of her mother.
A soft touch on his shoulder hadn’t pulled his sight away from the picture. “You make her happy.” Mrs. Collins’s voice matched her gentle hand, and then she tapped the image of Maggie. “If you’re going to win her over, you have a lot more work to do. She’s a harder sell.”
He folded the paper in half as it had been on his door and shut out the images. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not buying. Some things aren’t negotiable. You’ve always looked out for me, but don’t push me on this. I’m not a wet-behind-the-ears eighteen-year-old. I can make my own decisions and don’t need anyone telling me what to do.”
Mrs. Collins rubbed his back in a soothing motion like his mom often did when he’d lost his temper as a little boy and had to be calmed down. “Sometimes a person’s vision can become so narrow and focused on a single-minded goal, they lose sight of the most important things. Your daddy was on that path until he met your mom. She brightened his world and opened his eyes to a whole different life. Maybe he would’ve come to the realization on his own, but sometimes we’re offered one chance. A little window of opportunity, and if we don’t look its way or consider it seriously, we’ll miss out on a gift meant for us in that moment and time. If we don’t take it, we’ll never have that reward offered again. Something may replace it, but it will never be as sweet as the one intended for us all along.” By the time Mrs. Collins finished her spiel, he was sitting behind his desk and staring off at the Manhattan skyline. Every part of her message had been heard and pounded in his brain along with an enormous headache. “Good night, Mr. Stone. I hope your dinner meeting is productive.” Her professional tone replaced the motherly concern. In his peripheral vision he caught her closing the door on her way out.
He spread open the picture and traced the smiles on the two faces readying for the speedy and slippery slope. To be young, carefree, and brave—casting concern aside, no clue or reservation for mishaps that could spring up. In his world, risk didn’t always equate to a large reward. Specializing in five- to hundred-million-dollar mergers and acquisitions presented a daily gamble. He conducted months of research on each account, decreasing the possibility of failure. He closed every deal he worked on since becoming CEO and increased profits each year. The complexity of negotiating sales and purchases were fraught with ups and downs. Executives and shareholders from both corporations wanted their piece of the pie before signing on the dotted line. Any distraction could put him off his game, and he couldn’t let anything get in the way of accomplishing what his father had started at the young age of twenty-two. The countless stories Dad told him about his struggles, his dreams to have a father-and-son run corporation, and then on his deathbed, a final request: “Son, promise me you’ll go to college and take over the business.” If he let anyone keep him from making his dad’s wish come true and continuing its success, he’d never forgive himself.
He set the picture inside the center drawer of his desk and with a final look slammed it shut. Snatching the keys out of his pocket, he exited the office, locking up on his way out. Constant reminders of a little redheaded sweetie pie pulled at his heartstrings. Each interaction became more dear than the last. As for Maggie, he needed a lot more control and a solution for his pent-up lust. Something like a straightjacket, cement shoes, or someone to push him off a bridge. Because any time he spent in her presence, he felt like he was falling anyway. Distraction times two and double the trouble—Cece and Maggie quadrupled the heartache.
Too bad his dual degrees didn’t teach him how to enforce sanctions on himself and bar access to the distracting duo. Out of sight and out of mind should’ve worked in theory. He’d been somewhat relieved when he hadn’t run into Maggie at all last week. When Matt insisted he go with him to pick up a playhouse for the twins, the trip put him at the wrong place at the wrong time and brought front and center what he wanted to avoid. Unable to resist pudgy-cheeked Cece, he figured if he had the bundle of joy in his arms and got away from Maggie, he could prevent getting sucked in by her seductive eyes and heavenly sweet scent. The plan worked for the most part, considering Cece kept him engaged, explaining the crafts she made in preschool and talking about all the things she and Robin liked. She even taught him a few new signs as they navigated through the aisles. But the more Cece spoke to him and Maggie didn’t, it just ticked him off the longer they walked around the store and she kept ignoring him. Not a word, not even a hello, like some scum she couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge. By the time the tools and supplies were packed in her car, his temper had escalated to boiling. Nothing would have made him happier than to get the heck out of there. Maggie gave him the perfect out, declaring she didn’t want or need his help. Since he hadn’t offered it in the first place, Matt did, he’d been more than eager to get as far away from her as possible before and even more so after her tirade.
The memory launched a fire in him and renewed his determination to forget about Maggie. He wouldn’t let her or any woman sway him from his goals. After his dinner meeting, he’d call someone in his black book and take care of his problem. It had been too long since he had sex. He couldn’t even recall the last time or the individual he’d been with.
Yep, that would be the key—sex.
It always helped him relax and forget.
It would work now too.
Except it didn’t.
Complete opposite─blond hair, brown eyes, smelled like smoke, not flowers or cupcakes.
He sent the nameless, stacked beauty home, paying her cab fare.
And took matters into his own hands—once again.
As he read the latest budget reports for two companies planning to merge, a gold “K” embossed envelope tossed on top blocked his view. “You didn’t RSVP.”
He flicked it aside and continued reading. “That’s because I’m not going.”
“You will. Julia wants you to be her escort, and since it’s her daddy’s annual fundraiser, he’s expecting you to be there.”
Flipping to the next page, when he reached for a highlighter to mark a few sales figures, his grandfather clamped down on top of his hand. “Look at me, boy.”
Rick opened his mouth to snap at him but stopped. It would only aggravate the situation. Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms and glared at him instead. More misguided revelations were about to be added to an already stressful day.
Seated across from him in the leather club chair, Grandfather mimicked his posture and expression. “Let me lay it out for you since you don’t get it. Her daddy’s company is the largest brokerage firm on the East Coast. You marry her, partner with him, you’ll be able to go international. With their contacts and what they do, the expansion possibilities are enormous. You’d be able to open an office in China, Hong Kong, the Netherlands, France, anywhere. Don’t you see the potential? That girl is h
ead over heels in love with you. She’d be a dutiful wife, a beautiful trophy on your arm, and take you places you’ve never been. She’d introduce you to important people who’d be happy to invest their money and keep this business going for a hundred-plus years. It would grow this company larger than your pea brain could imagine. So pull your head out of your ass, put a ring on her finger, and make our shareholders happy. Pad their pockets and yours.”
“You done?”
“Not unless you pull a diamond out of your pocket or go to the jewelry store and buy her one right now.”
Before Rick could respond, Mrs. Collins knocked on the closed door and came in, carrying a box. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr. Stone. You had a delivery. It seemed important, so I thought I’d bring it to you right away.” She set it down on top of the papers he’d been reading and left as quickly as she’d come in.
“Who’s that from?”
A crooked bow drawn in pink crayon covered the lid. Scrolled on the front, written in blue slanted letters, the “M” printed big, the “a” tiny, and the “x” the largest of them all. Even with a pea-sized brain, it didn’t take much to figure out who sent the gift. Curious, he removed the lid. A braided band of brown leather with a thin piece of red woven through the center sat on cotton balls. Cece told him they’d been practicing braiding each other’s hair, but the teachers must have used that as a foundation for the craft in the box. No, not a craft, a piece of art. A beautiful, thick, masculine bracelet created by a four-year-old and an impressive piece any man would be proud to wear.
“What’s that?”
Rick rolled his sleeve up and placed the band on his wrist. Velcro at the end made it easy to close and keep on.
Perfect fit.
“Whatever that is, it looks ridiculous on you.”
His hands formed into fists, and Rick placed them on each side of the box as he leaned across the desk, a foot from his grandfather. “You can leave now.”
“What about the invitation?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Are you going?”
“On one condition.” Rick pushed his sleeve down and buttoned it, then rounded the desk, closing in on the thorn in his side. He hadn’t acquired the name “bulldog” from his employees for no reason. About to negotiate his way out of this mess, he clapped his grandfather on the back and walked him toward the exit. “I’ll attend the fundraiser, escort Julia, and make a huge donation to her father’s foundation.” He opened the door and his grandfather came to a halt with a winning grin on his face. “Dad never would have wanted his business used as a reason for marriage. You know it and I know it. Don’t dishonor his memory or me that way. I’m not getting married. But don’t worry, my commitment is to this company and fulfilling his dream. If expansion is good for us, then with the board, we’ll examine our options and figure out the next steps. It won’t happen the way you want it though.”
Tears filled Grandfather’s eyes and his face turned ashen. He stormed off without saying another word. Good thing he didn’t because the dryness in Rick’s mouth glued it shut. He gripped the doorjamb, trying to stop the tremors rolling down his arm, across his chest, through his stomach, and along his legs. It didn’t matter that it had been thirteen years since his father’s death. Grief didn’t have an end period, a limit, a stopping point. When you loved and lost someone, the pain didn’t lessen. It just got pushed to a depth that let people exist from day to day. At any second, it would rear its head, as if the loss happened right then, at that moment, reliving every word, each breath, and the final goodbyes.
He collapsed into his chair and started to drop his aching head into his hands, when he caught sight of Cece’s box. The lopsided Max brought a brief smirk to his lips as he imagined her tongue stuck between her teeth while she wrote each letter. Absurd-looking on most people, she formed the expression when concentrating, which made her even more adorable. He yanked his sleeve up, running his finger over the red strand. She’d done such a nice job. Next time he saw her, he’d let her know how much he liked her thoughtful gift.
“Mr. Stone, your six o’clock appointment’s waiting in conference room A.”
He put the box in his desk drawer, placing it on the picture from yesterday. With his suit coat thrown on and his tie tightened, he passed Mrs. Collins as she waved good night. In three hours he’d be able to do that too, but for now, he needed to concentrate on getting this new account. When he turned the doorknob with his left hand, the band rubbing against his shirt reminded him of the single bright light in this endless workday. A strength bolstered his step as he strode into the conference room recharged and ready to acquire this deal.
It wasn’t just his dad’s legacy—it was his too. That realization never registered before. Until right now.
“This came for you while you were out of the office. It’s an invitation.” Mrs. Collins stuck out an envelope, biting on her lip and holding back a grin.
As Rick slowed his pace, trudging closer, his temper rose. Why did he think his grandfather would give up? He should’ve known better. Disgusted with what he’d find inside, he dropped his briefcase next to Mrs. Collins’s desk and pulled the envelope out of her hand a little too fast. The trash can at his feet would’ve been a good place to drop it, but he’d made a promise. He lifted the flap and yanked, expecting a card. Instead a pink cup made from construction paper came out.
Her name printed the best he’d seen so far.
“I cleared your calendar. Cece delivered it herself. You should have seen her. She had on the prettiest yellow dress, a smile as big as the sun. Kat was with her. Cece wanted to deliver it to you herself, but when I told her you were out of the office, she insisted I hand deliver it to you. Her exact words were, ‘Ya gotta give Max my tea party card. Don’t ya put it on his desk. Give it to him.’”
Mrs. Collins’s high-pitched Cece imitation had been off target, but the childlike phrasing caused rumbling laughter to burst out of him. Wiping tears from his eyes, he shook his head. “So you told her I’d be there then?”
She lifted her chin high and launched her best squinty-eyed you’re in trouble, mister. “Of course I did. You wouldn’t decline and break that sweet girl’s heart, would you?” Then she followed it with a pout, laying on the guilt trip. Even for a protective mother-hen type, her act had been a little much.
Since he loved the old bag and never wanted to disappoint her, or Cece, he leaned over and pecked her wrinkly cheek. “I don’t think it’s me you have to worry about breaking hearts, Mrs. C.” He waved the invitation as he walked toward his office. “Sugar and spice and everything nice, God gave an extra strong dose to little girls, especially those with pigtails and red hair. You better be ready to rescue me when I go down in flames,” he shouted over his shoulder.
“It won’t be necessary. She’s your saving grace,” Mrs. Collins exclaimed as he shut the door.
Why did he have to hear that?
Thursday had come and gone. Off-site meetings didn’t end until six o’clock, and he went home after them, which ensured he wouldn’t run into Maggie.
At ten forty-five on Friday, Mrs. Collins swept into his office. “You have fifteen minutes to get downstairs. You should arrive early. It would be rude to be late.”
He removed his suit coat from the chair and put it on, straightened his tie, and waited for Mrs. Collins to confirm he did it right. She gave him an approving nod as he rounded the desk and tapped his watch. “I set the alarm, so I wouldn’t lose track.”
Holding his elbow out for her, she tucked her arm through it and escorted him toward the foyer, giving instructions the entire way. “Now remember, ladies first. Thumb at six o’clock, index finger at twelve, and raise your pinky. Sip, don’t slurp. Pick up just the cup. When you’re done taking a drink, set it back on the saucer. Make sure you sit up straight, don’t slump. If they’re offering scones, serve Cece, and then take yours last.” When they arrived at the elevators, Mrs. Collins patted his chest. “Hav
e a good time.”
“Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without all your insightful advice.” The cheeriness in his voice contrasted with the ridiculousness of the lecture. He’d been attending high society functions with his parents for as long as he could remember. Granted, he’d never had tea in any of those settings, since it wasn’t something he would drink. But at thirty-one, he could finesse his way through any formal event regardless of expected etiquette. He leaned over, pecking her on the temple. “I’m going to lunch after and won’t be back until two. All clear till then, right?”
“You have a team meeting for the new account scheduled at three and nothing after that.”
“Sounds good. An early Friday for a change.” After he got in the elevator and pressed the lobby button, he saluted Mrs. Collins. “Any parting advice?”
As the doors shut, she shouted, “Smile.”
So he did, along with running his fingers through his too-tight collar, adjusting his shirt cuffs, and rocking back and forth on his heels. The descent took forever as the elevator stopped on just about every floor.
Once he got downstairs, instead of going straight to the preschool, he ran outside. With five minutes to spare, he approached the corner flower cart and told the attendant what he wanted. In less than sixty seconds he reentered the lobby. As he passed the security desk, Sam prompted, “Did you forget something?”
“Nope, I’m going over there. Had to get these first.” He waved the flowers in the direction of the preschool and picked up his stride, not stopping to chat. If he didn’t arrive on time, Mrs. C would have his hide.
“Friendship day. Have fun, Mr. Stone. Tell Cece I said hey.”
“Will do.” He marched inside and up to a reception desk.
“Welcome to Little Ducklings. You here for the tea party?” A brown-haired young lady who couldn’t have been more than eighteen greeted him like a bubbly cheerleader rooting for her team. After he nodded, she asked, “Your name and who invited you?” When he provided her with the information, she checked him off on a list and pressed an intercom calling for Cecily Tyson. “We have each child greet their guest and walk them back to their classroom. It helps reinforce the manners we teach.” She smiled, and he did too. At least he thought he did, while scanning the pastel green and blue walls with yellow ducklings splattered all over them.
