Charity Case: The Complete Series Page 5

  “He just wants to make sure you have everything you want.” I tuck a strand of her brown hair behind her ear.

  I don’t add in that he also wants a new sports car for himself, the condo on the beach, and all the other material things that attract the women whose biggest goal is to score a rich husband.

  “He said he sent me a present.” Her eyes light up and I really hope she receives it this time around.

  “See, he’s always thinking of you.” I open my arms and she rushes in squeezing my neck.

  “Love you, bug,” I whisper in her ear.

  “Love you, Mommy.”

  We part ways and she skips ahead of me. “So, Sometime Daddy then?” she asks.

  Should’ve known I couldn’t deter her from defining her daddy’s role in her life. She’s persistent.

  “I’d prefer just Daddy, but...”

  “Yeah, I’ll tell the kids I have a Sometime Daddy.”

  We reach the steps of St. Patrick Catholic School, the buzz of early morning in full force. Two familiar moms stand at the bottom of the staircase sipping their coffees and having their usual morning chat about every other parent’s incompetence in the school.

  “Victoria,” Darcie coos, pushing her long blonde hair over her shoulder. “Jade,” she says my daughter’s name like she’s been bouncing on the balls of her feet all morning to see her.

  “Darcie. Georgia.” I bend down and tighten Jade’s ponytail, smoothing out the wispy unruly hairs. “Have a great day. Grandma will be here after school.”

  “Okay. Love you, Mommy.” She gives me a looser hug than she did moments ago and before I’m standing upright again, she’s with a red-haired girl talking nonstop as the two venture up the stairs.

  “Have a great day, ladies.” I turn to leave and head to the train station.

  “Oh, Vikki,” Darcie says. I knew it would be asking too much to sneak away.

  I smack on my court smile. The smile I had permanently fixed on my face when my ex and I were going through the divorce. The Stepford creepy-wife one that says I’m content and even-keeled, when really, it’s like World War Z in my head.

  “Victoria,” I clarify for the five-hundredth time since we moved here.

  “As you know, the carnival is a month away and since you missed the parent meeting, we signed you up to run an event.”

  I stare blankly at her. Mostly because I will lose my shit and that will not help Jade with this transition. We need St. Pats. It’s the closest school to my house and it’s a good one.

  “What event would that be?” I ask with the patience I can only assume I honed well while I was working for my old boss, Jagger Kale.

  When exactly is this carnival? I don’t even know if I’m available. And a carnival? Seriously, get a new idea. It’s not the eighties.

  “Your choice,” queen bee says. “Just make sure there’s no food involved. All food has to be inspected before coming in. We don’t want anything that could endanger the children. That should be easy for you, right?”

  Again, I stare blankly at her, trying to compose myself before I grab her Starbucks cup and squeeze it until it soaks her ridiculous khaki belted jacket.

  Hello, if I was a stay-at-home-mom and had all this time on my hands, I’d be sporting the ‘I’m on my way to the gym outfit’ when in reality I’m going home to lay on my couch And the only reason I’d be wearing yoga pants is because they won’t impede the pound of chocolate I’m going to consume. Ladies shouldn’t be ashamed of the bonbon stereotype. Everyone knows a mom’s real work is from six to eight in the morning and three to nine at night.

  “Great, I’ll arrange something,” I say with a smile and a nod, then turn to step away before I tell her what I really think of her signing me up for something without my consent.

  Like a flash of lightning in the sky, the sight of the smiling man leading a little boy up toward the school stuns me. I stop and stare, my mind blank.

  I don’t think about the Sometime Daddy dilemma, or getting to work on time, or the carnival event I have to plan. Instead, I try to figure out how many years it’s been since I last saw Reed Warner.

  Chapter Two

  “Who is that?” Georgia whispers to Darcie behind me.

  I turn and face them again. I’m surprised because I figured these two knew everyone at this school.

  They already knew my name and Jade’s on our first day. Scary as shit, let me tell you.

  “I have no idea, but I need to find out.” She sips her drink.

  If I were among friends, I’d have made some smart-ass joke about their teenage behavior, but I’m just as enamored by this man.

  His blue suit jacket is stretched across his broad shoulders with the front open, so I can see his taut waist with a crisp white linen shirt tucked in and a polka dot tie laying around his neck undone. The tips of his dark strands look damp and to top it off, a scruffy beard adorns his chiseled jawline. He’s not completely put together, as though he was running late and had to rush out the door.

  He stops at the top of the stairs, says something to Principal Weddle that makes him laugh, gives the boy a hug, and then a fist bump. The boy smiles from ear to ear and heads inside.

  Weekend Dad.

  “Is he Henry’s dad?” Darcie poises it more like a question. “I thought...”

  She’s cut short when he approaches us. I’m a good five steps away, but his blue-eyed gaze meets mine first before moving to Darcie and Georgia.

  “Hi, I’m Reed. Can one of you lovely ladies let me know what time school is finished?”

  Again, his intense gaze finds me. Does he remember me, too?

  “Um.” I swallow down the extra coating of saliva in my mouth.

  “Three-o-five,” Darcie says, tilting her head as though she’s trying to figure him out. “Tell me—”

  “Thanks a lot. See you, ladies.” He tips his head to them. “Victoria, nice to see you again. I’m late, but we should catch up.” He doesn’t wait for a reply and climbs back into the Uber waiting by the curb.

  Funny, but no staff member is screaming at him to get out of the way.

  “Did he really just leave when I was mid-sentence?” Darcie asks Georgia.

  “That he did,” she confirms, hiding a smirk I bet is begging to show itself.

  I step away, not bothering to say good-bye because well, my thoughts are elsewhere.

  It all comes back to me in a cyclone of competing thoughts. Reed Warner. The best man at my wedding. Jesus, who put him in a Weird Science machine and popped out Chicago’s most beautiful man?

  “He must be the dad. One of those weekend dads.” Darcie’s phrase makes me stop for a second at the edge of the sidewalk.

  Reed is a dad? To a kid Jade’s age? Then again, I don’t think he and Pete kept in touch for long after we moved to Los Angeles. A million scenarios bounce around in my head. Is the boy a result of a one-night stand? Is he married? Does he split custody with the boy’s mother?

  The questions keep coming the entire train ride into downtown. I try not to think about him, but he’s on my mind more than the strawberry rhubarb pie I passed over at the grocery store yesterday. And just like the pie, indulging might feel good in the moment, but afterward, I’d only feel regret.

  Opening the glass door to my newest place of employment, I rush over to the ringing phone, removing my jacket as I sit down and answer it at the same time.

  “Good morning, thank you for calling the RISE Foundation, this is Victoria, how can I help you?”

  “For starters, you can get your ass on a plane back to Los Angeles.”

  Jagger Kale—my old boss.

  I smile. “You got me this job,” I say, leaning back in my chair and glancing at the clock. “Honeymoon over already?”

  “First off, I got you that job because I’m awesome. Second, how do you know I didn’t just nail Quinn and now she’s passed out next to me in post-cunnilingus bliss?”

  I don’t encourage his crass mouth with a l
augh, even if I’m smiling.

  “Thank you again,” I say with genuine gratitude.

  For Jagger to hook me up with Hannah when I was leaving his company in Los Angeles shows what a good guy he is. Yes, he can be arrogant and egotistical and probably too self-involved, but there’s just something about him that makes it difficult not to like him anyway.

  “How’s the new assistant?” I ask.

  “He sucks. He gives me attitude.”

  “I gave you attitude.”

  “Not the same thing.”

  I miss him, too, though I’d never admit it. We had a good thing going in Los Angeles. Jagger was my first boss post-divorce and I teetered on that line where he had good reason to fire me more than once at the beginning. I was cynical and hated all men. Until he got his shit together and reunited with Quinn, he was the epitome of everything I hated. I knew he’d prove the stereotype wrong.

  “I’m just staring out at the ocean from my deck. How’s Chicago? I sent you a stock of Vitamin D.” He chuckles.

  There’s some noise behind him and his hand muffles the receiver. I swear there are kissing noises.

  “Victoria,” he says matter of factly.

  “Leave the woman alone. Hi, Victoria.” Quinn’s singsong voice tells me she’s living her real-life fairy tale.

  “Hey, Quinn.”

  “Hold up, I’m putting you on speaker,” Jagger says.

  A second later, the sound of crashing waves is the backdrop to our conversation. I miss the ocean. The warm weather, sand between my toes and the sun made me a happier version of myself.

  “How is Jade doing?” Quinn asks. “Adjusting?”

  Plates and cups clatter in the background and I’m guessing they’re putting out breakfast on the deck.

  “She is.” I turn on my computer because Hannah could come through the door at any moment. “So, you’re not sick of your new husband yet?” I ask in jest.

  Quinn giggles and then I hear her squeal followed by kissing noises once again.

  Stab me in the heart, why don’t you? Between school and work and Jade and my mom, the most tongue action I’ve gotten lately is from my mom’s cat, Moe.

  “Well, I hate to interrupt, oh that’s right, you called me.”

  “Sorry,” Quinn says with a soft chuckle. “We’re still in that can’t keep our hands off each other phase.”

  “No apologies necessary. I’ll just go back to daydreaming about your latest hero and wishing someone like him enters my life.”

  She laughs. “You liked Van, huh?”

  Quinn’s a romance novelist and I’m lucky enough to get all her books pre-release.

  “How could anyone not?” My stomach clenches remembering the hot moment when he cornered her against the wall, the urgent kisses and sultry lovemaking.

  “Is he based on me, too?” Jagger asks.

  I laugh.

  “No, babe,” Quinn says.

  “You’re imagining what other guys would do to you?”

  Quinn laughs now. “I’m not the heroine. It’s fiction, babe. You know…not real.”

  “Even so, tell me what Van does, I bet I rock your world tenfold,” Jagger says with his usual cocky arrogance.

  “Good luck with that.” I type in my password on the computer and click open my email.

  “Right here on this table.” Jagger’s voice is faint like he’s walked away from the phone, signaling my cue to hang up.

  “Okay you two, thanks for calling to check up on me. Gotta go. Talk soon.”

  I press end as Quinn tries to say goodbye and based on her giggling I’m guessing that Jagger’s probably undressing her.

  The silence of the office still feels strange to me having gone from a company of hundreds to an office with three to five people in it, depending on the day.

  Jagger’s friend, Hannah Crowley, a multi-millionaire in her own right, decided to start a foundation to empower young girls. Knowing I had to relocate due to my mom’s declining health, Jagger scored me an office assistant position with her charity. It is less responsibility than I’m used to having, but I work daily with two amazing women and at this point in my life I couldn’t ask for a better place to be.

  I’m responding to a few emails when the glass door swings open and the louder of my two co-workers rushes over and collapses in the chair across from me.

  “Holy hell, did you hear what happened last night?” Chelsea asks.

  Chapter Three

  Chelsea is gorgeous. A few years younger than me with shoulder-length blonde hair that’s straight as pin one day, curly the next and who has the fashion sense of a New York City high end designer. Her nails are always painted, her makeup flawless, and her clothes wrinkle-free.

  Kind of like me pre-Jade.

  I’m not complaining. I’ll take my stained Target clothes, smeared makeup self any day as long as Jade’s there when I get home.

  “Happened last night to whom?” I remove my hands from the keyboard and give her my full attention.

  She throws her bag on the other chair and crosses her legs. “Hannah. And her son of a bitch ex.”

  “What?” I lean closer, my elbows propped up, a pen between my hands.

  “That slimy fucker slid in under Hannah’s nose at the venue we were going to have the gala at and stole our spot for some hospital fundraiser. She called me last night and said we have to start our search all over.”

  “Now we have nowhere to hold the gala?” I shake my head.

  “I looked up a bunch of places and I’m thinking we head north of the city.” Chelsea’s leg bounces up and down while she speaks.

  “Will people travel that far?”

  I’m not sure if it’s Hannah’s own money that’s keeping RISE afloat right now, but she’s putting together a huge black-tie event with a silent auction to be held at the end of summer to raise money for the various smaller charities that our foundation supports. We had the venue secured, or so we thought.

  “I think so. Half of them live on the north shore anyway. That’s where the money’s at.”

  I nod, she’s right. Chelsea and I both come from the city, but Hannah, she grew up in the north burbs until she relocated downtown.

  “It’s a little farther north, but it’s right on the lake and there’s a hotel. I called this morning and we may have to change the date, but they have some availability.” Chelsea stands and grabs her bag.

  “Where do you find the time?” I follow her, turning on the copier and heading to our small kitchen area to start the coffee. We all seem to support the economy and grab our own cups on the way in, but we have guests in the office on occasion.

  “Let’s see. I’m not going to school, I don’t have a seven-year-old or a mother who needs help.” She raises her eyebrows and I laugh.

  “Be jealous.” I spin the opposite way into the kitchen as Chelsea goes to her office. “Be very jealous,” I call out.

  “I did have a date though,” she announces, and I leave the coffee for later, exiting the kitchen and making my way over to Chelsea’s office. Hannah didn’t mention anyone coming in first thing today anyway.

  “A date?”

  Chelsea’s dating is much like someone put her in a reality show with the most unwanted men in America and made it her quest to find something good about them. Spoiler alert—she never does.

  “He took me to a poetry reading.”

  I rest my shoulder on the doorframe. She moves around through her office, a woman on a mission, plugging her laptop in, setting out her notepads. The woman is meticulous.

  “Sounds romantic.”

  “It was open mic night.” Her tone is dry as she boots up her computer.

  “Fun.”

  I’m guessing from her unenthused blank stare it wasn’t.

  “He recited a poem.”

  “About you?” I smile.

  “Yeah, Vic, in the hour he knew me he wrote me a poem.” She rolls her eyes.

  “It could happen and that would mea
n something.”

  “Don’t tell me you believe in signs?” She takes a seat at her desk. “I thought we were in this whole ‘single forever’ thing together?”

  Chelsea’s divorced, too. I don’t know much as far as who, what, when or why, but divorce is divorce. The stigma hasn’t faded. People still give you that look like your dog got run over when you tell them you’ve been divorced. The assumptions of cheating spouses, addiction problems, money problems, secrets and lies. It’s like someone opened the door to your soul and peers in to see all the ugliness you tried to hide. Her one saving grace is that she never had kids with the bastard.

  “You’re telling me he wouldn’t have wooed you if he’d written a poem about how beautiful you were on a whim?” I cross my arms in front of me and give her a disbelieving look.

  “No. However, I probably would’ve nailed him in the taxi on the ride home, but we wouldn’t be picking out china patterns.” She shakes her head.

  I thought I was cynical until I met Chelsea. But she seems to work at it like it’s part of her job description.

  “Still, he’s creative. That’s a good sign. Most bad boys aren’t creative.”

  “He cried on stage.” She looks at me over drawn brows. “He read a poem he wrote about his breakup with another girl.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  I try to stop myself, but I laugh anyway. This is Chelsea’s life. Someone could write a book about it, I swear. Maybe I should introduce her to Quinn.

  “Wish I was. Another dud and I couldn’t even kiss him goodnight. I mean...rule number one is don’t talk about your ex on a first date and this guy goes and cries over her while reading a poem he wrote for her.”

  “Ouch.” I cringe.

  “Yeah, smack me with a Band-Aid on my bruised ego. I’m taking a break from men.” She throws both of her hands up in front of her.

  I roll my eyes. “Uh-huh.”

  “Watch me. Bye, bye. It was a shame though, he had that cool hipster vibe going on.”

  Her attention shifts to her computer as she types in her password.