Unlikely Allies (15 page)

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. “Have 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.

“Max,” Cece called out, skipping over to him. “Ya here.” Behind her stood another brunette, this one older than the other, wearing a blue pinstripe pantsuit. A name tag pinned to her lapel read “Director: Sally Morris.”

He crouched down and opened his arms, welcoming Cece as she wrapped hers around his neck. “How are you, sweet pea?”

“Great,” she yelled in his ear, stretching out the letters.

After their embrace, he extended the bundle of pink and lavender petals toward her. “These are for you. They’re sweet peas, and the little white things are baby’s breath.”

She twisted left and right, her violet, ruffled dress swishing from side to side. “Like me?”

He skimmed his thumb over her rosy cheek. “Just like you, sweet pea.”