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A wayward tear slips out when Jay echoes Mama’s words. “Even when the stars die, we will still be.”
Chapter 6
Bitches Get Shit Done
Mae
When I was young, I believed in wishes. Every night, I’d stare out the window and plead with the stars that Daddy would come save us, whoever and wherever he was. I would daydream about the mansion we’d live in and the family trips we’d go on.
The man had left before I was born. I’d never seen a picture of him, never heard his voice, never known anything about him. Except that he’d knocked my mother up before she graduated high school and left us to fend for ourselves. Not exactly father of the year.
When it came to him, my emotions were a mixture of sadness and curiosity. Charlotte wouldn’t talk about him, let alone seek him out for financial support. I’d lay in my tiny bed in my tiny room in our trailer and wonder about what he looked like or if he ever thought about us. Did he even know I existed?
As I grew older, curiosity turned into resentment—a big chip on my shoulder that I wear to this day. It also turned into this drive to do better than my mother did. I promised myself and my future child that they would never be without money, a father, and family trips. I’d attend every recital, spelling bee, and play. Wholesome lunches would be packed every day and dinner on the table every night. I vowed I would be there to help with homework or a cuddle during sickness.
But when I became an adult, reality punched me in the gut. Life never works out the way it’s supposed to. If I wanted my dreams to come true, I’d have to chase them myself. Stop at nothing to create the life I want so I could be financially ready when I decide to have children.
Turns out, the decision was never mine to begin with. Fun sex turned serious real quick when I missed my period. I was busy building Ever Heart, and Brad traveled a lot for his job. We may have lived together, but marriage wasn’t really on our minds. After my pregnancy was confirmed, Brad and I talked at length about our future and what it meant for the life growing inside of me. Despite it being a complete surprise, I was excited and in love … or so I thought. Brad seemed excited too. He swore he’d be there for us, and he was.
Until he wasn’t. I’ll never forget the bomb that dropped on me that night. Or the constricting feeling of my heart closing in on itself.
I had to consider my and my baby’s prospects, and how I would move forward. It was no longer about ambition. I had to be as strategic and cunning as any man in my position. Past experience has taught me to keep my guard up. However, I’d do anything to make sure my daughter is safe and happy.
Which explains why I’m on the train after work hours, going further into the city and not away from it. Per last-minute request, I’m meeting with Paul Wexford, Dexico’s CEO and all around chauvinistic pig. How do I know? He patted my ass on the way out of our initial proposal meeting. I was so stunned, I wasn’t even sure it’d happened. We were surrounded by senior staff, but no one batted an eye. When I had time to process, I knew what had happened. I hate that I didn’t say anything about it. I hate even more that I succumbed to his request tonight.
My legs feel like lead when I exit the train and make my way over to the steak house. When I get to the crosswalk, I check the street and freeze as a familiar face floats through the moving crowd coming toward me. Is that Aubry?
I haven’t seen her since she capsized my life, so I shoulder through needing to confront her. Wanting to show her she didn’t break me. No one will ever break me.
But as people intersect, the crowd gets too thick and I lose sight of her. Was she even there to begin with? I’ve been working long hours, and I’m exhausted. It’s no wonder I’m losing my mind.
Like someone about to commit a crime, adrenaline and paranoia thrum through my veins. Pulling my coat tighter and tucking my chin in the collar, I swear eyes are on my every step to the restaurant.
I’m praying I’m reading the situation wrong, that this is a busy man and the only time he has to talk about our proposal is over a meal. Even as I think it, the pragmatist in me says it’s a silly notion. The reality of the situation is far more sinister.
When I enter the restaurant, all the blood drains from my face and the chip on my shoulder falls to my stomach, where it churns in the demeaning feeling of inequality. The first thing I notice is that the atmosphere is far more romantic than it should be for a business dinner. The lights are dimmed, and flames twinkle across glasses of wine and cocktails. A pretentious orchid sits in the middle of every table. A metaphoric red flag, if you will.
“Miranda, thank you for meeting with me. You look beautiful.” Paul stands, eye-fucking me from the cloth-covered table, going in for a double cheek kiss.
I bite back a cringe. I do not get personal with business clients. It’s inappropriate behavior.
And using your B.O.B. every night to fantasize about your kid’s nanny isn’t inappropriate? It is, but he doesn’t have to know about it.
My lips thin, but I contain my unpleasant retort. My beauty is irrelevant to this meeting. “I’m always happy to discuss our proposal.”
Paul’s jaw is so square it gives new meaning to the term “blockhead”. His weasel eyes light up. “Is that so? I admire your dedication.”
It better be worth it. This is cutting into precious time with my daughter.
Jay said they’d come with, but it’s their and Ian’s anniversary, and they are taking a much deserved vacation. I gave them a pass on this one. I hope I don’t regret it. Plus, I never told them about the mishap. Jay would have refused to work with Dexico and would’ve probably killed the guy. By keeping the indiscretion to myself, I saved this deal and prevented Jay from going to prison.
Paul thinks he’s smooth as he pours wine into my glass. “I took the opportunity of ordering us a 2015 Lafite Rothschild. It’s nice to unwind after a hard day of work, don’t you agree?”
It’s nice to go home after a hard day of work and not be subjected to this bullshit. “It’s hard to unwind when you are a single mother of a two-year-old, whose favorite pastime is throwing food on the floor.”
If this were a professional appointment, I wouldn’t be bringing up my daughter at all. Sadly, this is a situation that requires a protective shield from this prick’s innuendo. They usually pivot when I mention my single-mother status.
“Well, it’s good to have some adult time every now and again.” He licks his lips.
