Unlikely Allies (18 page)

Her sister’s sacrifice had been appreciated but she felt bad too. If Kat and Alex were fooling around, she wouldn’t mention it. Cece would be in the bath and bed in no time, and she didn’t want to be a nag. They had enough arguments for one day. She’d rather end on a high note.

“If you need help with your problem, let me know. I don’t want to butt into your business, but I’m here for you.”

The dishes were done. She shut off the water and turned toward the dear man who’d been nothing but kind to her. “Can we talk about it at work this week? I’d appreciate some suggestions. I’d ask Kat, but you saw how well that went. Just tell me what I owe you for the consult.”

Matt threw a towel on the counter and grabbed her hands. “You’ve been feeding me for four months, and I didn’t pay you a dime. You think I’d take money from you? Don’t insult me.”

“I—”

“Don’t argue, just nod and smile, you stubborn pain in the ass.”

So she did, squishing him in a giant bear hug. “All right, give me your requests. I’ll make you a dessert the first of each month from now on.”

He chuckled. “Told ya I’d be back on the list. I’ll have a year’s worth for you on Tuesday.”

Her brotherly smack hit his shoulder, and she followed it with a reward, a plate of cookies she saw him eyeing. He kissed her temple and then shoveled the day-old peanut butter tidbits into his mouth. While chewing, he mumbled, “Everything will be all right, you’ll see.”

“Bath time, Mama.” Cece stormed into the kitchen, yanking a stumbling Mr. Stone behind her as his boot caught on the jamb.

“Slow down.” She picked her up, giving him a much-needed break no doubt.

Twirling around, Cece threw her arms out to him. “Max, ya comin’?”

“Uh, um . . .”

Before Cece could launch her next attack, she interceded. “He’ll be up after your bath and when you’re tucked into bed. Right?” She directed the question to him, suspecting he’d agree since he already made the promise.

“Yeah, yes, I’ll be up. Call me when you’re ready. I’ll be down here keeping the cookie monster away from your thumbprints.”

Cece giggled all the way upstairs, relaying everything Max said while they were sliding, swinging, and climbing the rock wall. Throughout her bath, as she dressed in her nightgown, and when she jumped into bed, Cece recounted each activity and relayed Max’s hysterical antics: pretending to be a gorilla, scratching his armpits, and chasing her around as if he were King Kong trying to capture her.

Earlier, she thought her heart had broken from her daughter’s upset. She had been wrong. Cece cuddled along Mr. Stone’s side, his arm propped above her pillowed head, the other holding
Guess How Much I Love You
as he read it from Cece’s lap; her lips mimicking and moving with his had tears flowing along Maggie’s cheeks.

Hidden in a blind spot in a corner of the hallway, her heart exploded into smithereens and every ounce of air gushed out as she smothered heaving sobs with her hand.

From behind her, someone squeezed her shoulder, and then Matt whispered, “He needs you . . . and her, Maggie.”

She clutched her quivering stomach, unable to respond. She didn’t need to.

A picture was worth a thousand words, and in this case, reality—a million times louder.

T
HE TUX AND HIS DAD’S
monogrammed silver bar cufflinks completed Rick’s tailored attire. He splashed his favorite Drakkar cologne on each shaved cheek. Appearances were everything, especially at the annual fundraiser Julia’s father held at their residence. He’d attended in past years, a worthy foundation and cause that had personal ties to him and benefitted homeless teens.

Mr. John Kensington had been an honest-to-goodness rags-to-riches story. In and out of the foster system, he ended up living on the streets at sixteen. Over twenty-plus years and a hard- fought battle, he took steps to correct the situation. He earned his GED, obtained scholarships for a business degree, and worked his way through the corporate ranks. In his late forties, he launched his own brokerage firm, becoming a success almost overnight and a multimillionaire in the process.

Rick’s father met the seventeen-year-old panhandler at Lexington Market. His dad gave Mr. Kensington a job at Gateway Enterprises, set him up in a permanent shelter that provided educational support, and served as his mentor. A story his father relayed a time or two, but Mr. Kensington reminded him of often. Forever indebted and grateful for what Dad had done, Mr. Kensington established the foundation in his honor. Humbled by the tribute, Rick funneled a hundred grand a year into the effort, knowing his dad would have done the same thing. Attending shouldn’t have been in question. But with pressure from Grandfather to marry Julia, he delayed the RSVP and considered being a no-show. Since he’d offered a concession to get Grandfather off his back, he didn’t have much choice. He’d made a promise.

At eight o’clock on the nose, Rick pulled his Aston Martin into the semicircular driveway, handed his keys to the teenage valet, and climbed the stairs one reluctant step after another. When social engagements were added to endless research, haggling executives, and browbeating shareholders, it was no wonder he didn’t do much else.

Except last Saturday when Rick had plans to sleep in for once, and Matt showed up at eight in the morning demanding he get his ass up and help him. Consumed by a sleepless night of tossing and turning, he’d been in no mood for his BS. Even with the door slammed in his face, Matt wasn’t deterred. Since his best friend had a key and let himself in, Rick’s knee-jerk reaction hadn’t been a smart choice either. It didn’t matter though. At that moment, he had a goal in mind and shuffled into the kitchen.

“Well, I’m guessing your foul mood has nothing to do with a pleasurable evening with one of your lady friends. With that scowl, I’d say you struck out and you’re gonna take it out on me. Right?”

After hitting the power button on the coffee maker, the scent of Columbian roast built anticipation while Rick collapsed onto a stool at the island until he could get a dose. “Go home. Don’t you have another project or somethin’ to do? Like putting together a toy or some other junk you keep loading your backyard with.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m here.” Matt’s constant give-me-a-hand requests and a loss of sleep had him dropping his exhausted head into the crook of his bent arm. Weariness set in as he thought about the possibilities. The longer Matt stayed quiet, the more anxious he got. Since Matt would wait him out a lot longer, he sat up and brushed the stubble on his unshaven jaw, waiting for the pain in the ass to spit out the plans.

Picking up a mug and ducking it under the stream, Matt diverted the java from the carafe. With his back turned toward Rick, Matt sipped and ignored him. “Stop stallin.’ What do you want?”

Matt mumbled, but Rick couldn’t hear what he said over the brewing gurgle.

Tired of the game, Rick slapped his hand on the butcher block. The ricocheting boom hadn’t produced a flinch out of the nerves-of-steel security specialist. “Matt.” Since it seemed his buddy would draw this out, Rick needed reinforcements too and filled a mug.

Matt saluted him with his cup and shifted his attention to the backyard, taking slow gulps. Quiet and reserved weren’t characteristics Rick would associate with his happy-go-lucky counterpart.

“What’s goin’ on? You okay, the kids, Sophia?”

“If I told you something was wrong, what would you do?”

The out of the blue, oddball question had his skin prickling. “Wha-what do you mean?” He dropped the mug on the counter and coffee splattered on the granite. “You know I’d do anything for you guys. Just tell me and it’s done.”

Matt’s straight-lipped attitude changed on a dime to a shit-eating grin that disappeared just as quick. “Good, good. Then let’s go.”

“Where?” Rick took a step back, ready to get started and do whatever Matt needed. “Let me get changed. Give me five minutes tops.”

“Go ahead, jump in the shower and get dressed.”

“For what?”

“I’ll explain on the way.” Matt turned his back on him again and refilled his mug. “Go ahead.”

Headed out of Manhattan and north on the interstate, after fifteen minutes of dead silence in Matt’s truck, his buddy revealed where they were going and who needed the help. Trust between them had never been an issue before, but in that instant, Rick didn’t think he’d give Matt the benefit of the doubt ever again. He had to dig deep for control and resist killing him on the spot after finding out they were on their way to Maggie’s to put the playset together.

When a butler in a tux opened the doors to Kensington Manor, Rick shoved the reminders of last week out of his mind and entered the grand foyer. Twin crystal chandeliers were suspended from the twenty-foot-high ceilings. A grand staircase with a red oriental runner provided a restricted pathway to the second floor. Gold mirrors graced the walls on each side of him. A stark contrast to Maggie’s home, with toys scattered everywhere and a kitchen miniature in comparison, which had family photos and preschool drawings magnetized to every available surface of the refrigerator. And yet, with the amount of money invested to make this place prim, proper, and perfect, it paled in comparison.

“Your invitation, sir?” He handed it to one of Matt’s security guys. After receiving the okay, he proceeded down the crowded hall, nodding to nameless beauties clad in silks and furs and the escorts hovering next to them.

The dinner, silent auction, live music, and dancing commenced in the ballroom and wouldn’t end until well after midnight. Politicians, executives, entertainers, and anyone who could afford the fifteen-hundred-dollar-a-plate donation would be in attendance. With all the glitz and glamour, no one would have known Mr. Kensington came from humble beginnings. But even with all his wealth, the man hadn’t lost sight of his blessings, nor did the streetwise mogul kowtow to anyone. Mr. Kensington retained a down-to-earth outlook and became a man he respected a great deal. Because of the close tie to his father, Rick had the opportunity to watch him achieve his goals, and over time, they’d developed a close friendship. Regardless of his grandfather’s prodding, attending had been the right thing.

“About time you got here. I’ve been waiting for you.” Julia tucked her arm through his and fell into step without glancing at him. Miss America smile put on, she waved to her daddy’s guests, relishing the adoration and attention. He steered her around the clusters of people, ushering her toward her parents to pawn her off.

Overcompensating like many mothers and fathers do, Mr. Kensington ensured his only child had every advantage he didn’t and granted Julia’s every wish regardless of cost. Since Mr. Kensington and his dad were friends, they often attended each other’s family gatherings. When Julia became a teenager, even though she was five years younger than Rick, her mother, Marie, dropped not so subtle hints about them dating. Resistant to the idea and just not interested, Rick never entertained the thought. Some would find her honey blond hair, dark chocolate eyes, and plastic surgeon enhanced double-D breasts mighty attractive. But he didn’t. Her almost non-existent butt and pin-straight hips did nothing for him. Even as a horny teenager, he never touched her, fantasized about her, or exhibited any feelings for her. Granted, with the close association to his family, he wished her well, but she wasn’t even a blip on his radar. Besides, he didn’t mix business and pleasure or intermingle family and the women he slept with.

“Mr. and Mrs. Kensington, a pleasure to see you again.” He released Julia next to her father, shook his hand, and then pecked her mother on the cheek.

Mrs. Kensington’s claws dug into his wrist, holding him in place before he could dash away. His intended destination, the bar, where he planned to spend considerable time this evening. “We haven’t seen you in quite a while. As the guest of honor you’ll be seated at our table, next to Julia of course.”

If he could’ve gotten away with rolling his eyes, he would have, after her less than subtle matchmaking. Unable to do so, he gave a clipped nod and addressed the more sensible of the two. “Can I get you a drink, sir?”

Mr. Kensington clapped him on the shoulder and said, “I’ll go with you.”

About as tall and wide as Rick, Mr. Kensington had always been in good shape. As one person after another stopped them on their way to get a drink, by the time they eased up to the bar, he determined the liquid sustenance would help him get through the engagement and ordered a double scotch on the rocks for himself and a whiskey sour for Mr. Kensington.

“Thanks for coming. I know you don’t like these monkey-suit events, but I appreciate it all the same.”

Saluting him with his glass, Rick wanted nothing more than to chug the liquor, relishing the burn on the way down, but followed etiquette and sipped instead.

Mr. Kensington scanned the crowd, nodding to a few passersby, and then focused on him. “Everything okay? Burning the midnight oil, no doubt.”

“Same old, same old. Nothing ever changes.” Rick didn’t complain often or allow himself the release. Yet for some reason, his reserves were depleted.