Wanting to make a difference, Maura uprooted herself and her eight-year-old son from the Sandhills of North Carolina and planted roots in Chicago, Illinois. After three years of struggling to publish even one hope-filled article, her dreams begin to crumble and fade, much like her run-down tenement. She works a second job to make ends meet and struggles to balance parenting with work, while her journalistic responsibilities are reduced to correcting typos for her plagiarizing co-workers.
Rick Figueroa seems perfect: he’s handsome, smart, and appreciative of Maura’s vision for their media company. He’s also in a position to share her writing and ideas. Together they launch a Dear Santa project that has the potential to restore hope and Christmas cheer to thousands of children.
But things are not always as they seem… As Maura’s attraction to Rick grows, so do her questions about his identity and his intentions. Soon she is faced with a choice between love, career, and doing the right thing…all before Christmas.
"Listen to the MUSTN'T, child
Listen
to the DON’TS
Listen
to the SHOULDN’TS, the IMPOSSIBLES, the WON’TS
Listen
to the NEVER HAVES, then listen close to me —
Anything
can happen, child.
ANYTHING
can be."
— Shel Silverstein
Chapter 1
Maura’s phone buzzed its alarm as
it rattled across the wooden barstool she used as a nightstand.
Even at the risk of oversleeping,
she never set an audible alarm, lest the rest of the apartment wake up as well.
Yeah, it was early, but waking up at four a.m. meant a hot shower, an hour or
so of alone time, coffee, and most important … time to research trending news
and social topics, so she’d be ready with a five-minute elevator pitch if the
need ever arose.
Six years of college hadn’t landed
her a position in the big leagues. The only way she’d make it to the top was if
she ended up in the right place at the right moment. And when that serendipitous
encounter happened — the moment all ambitious professionals dreamed of — she’d be
ready with her A-game. The only way to prepare herself was to study — every day.
Now was not the time to rest on her hard-earned laurels, which had landed her a
job as an editorial assistant, not a journalist or senior editor. Talks of the
impending retirement of the boss man she’d never seen meant a new CEO was
taking over in the upcoming year. A new CEO meant a new regime, a level playing
field. If she wanted her own house, she needed to up her game.
Morning internal pep talk over, she
took a moment to study her little boy before rolling out of bed. Well, not so
little anymore. He was becoming quite the cover hog. Her eight-year-old was way
too old to be sleeping with his mother, but as she reminded herself daily, at
least they weren’t living in a shelter — or worse, on the street.
Still, she hated that she couldn’t
afford a place of their own, where her son could have his own bedroom, where
she’d have privacy … to cry if she needed to. Not that she had time to cry, but
all women needed a bawl-your-eyes-out cry every once in a while. No, she
couldn’t cry in front of her son. Already, he was too grown-up, more concerned
about her welfare than his own half the time.
In sleep, Ben’s relaxed face made
him actually look like a child. His tangled curls, round cheeks, and thick
fuzzy eyebrows, which were too big for his face, reminded her of the Coppertone
baby.
Years ago, seemed like a lifetime
ago, when her family had vacationed in Florida, her mother had purchased the
brown bottle of sunscreen. When they’d returned home, Maura had doused herself daily
with the potent lotion just so she would have a constant reminder of their time
spent at the beach. Twenty years later, she still missed those carefree days — her
untroubled life — a time when her parents were the responsible ones.
Resisting a sigh, Maura inched out
of bed. Reminiscing was fine, but she didn’t have time to dwell on what had
been or could have been. She turned and quickly tucked the covers around Ben so
he wouldn’t freeze.
December wasn’t the coldest month
in Chicago. But average temperatures of twenty-some degrees coupled with high
winds and an unreliable thermostat made getting out of bed a challenge.
She stuffed her socked feet into
waiting slippers, wrapped a tattered old robe around her body — even though she
slept in sweatshirt and sweatpants — then snatched her bath caddy off their
shared dresser, and headed to the bathroom.
“Mom,” Ben whispered. “Wake me when
you’re done, okay? Yesterday all the hot water was gone.”
Maura shuffled back to the bed and stooped.
“I’m sorry, baby. Was I noisy?”
He scrunched up his face and
shrugged. “I’m a light sleeper.”
She curbed the urge to laugh at her
little old man, then brushed back his curls. “Okay … but if you’re going to
start getting up at four, you have to go to bed earlier.”
He sighed. “They never watch what I
like anyway.”
They … his two older cousins
and the teenaged girl who lived under the same roof, not to mention the three
adults. Even if Maura could afford to buy a TV for their room, the internet was
too slow. Her cousin’s name was on the lease, so she made the rules. Even
though Maura paid her share, it wasn’t her apartment. She rented a
hundred square feet of an eight-hundred-square-foot apartment. Seven people
shared one bathroom, a living area barely large enough for a full-size sofa, and
a tiny kitchen. That was all — just a roof over their heads, not a home.
***
“Let’s go, Ben!” Maura buttoned up
her coat, draped a scarf around her neck, and scooped up her keys, briefcase, gym
bag containing a change of clothes, and snacks out of the pantry she kept
locked in their ten-by-ten space.
Ben’s backside remained facing her
as he rummaged through the closet. “But I need …” He pulled items from boxes,
tossing them on the floor. “Where’s the box where you keep …?” He hurled more objects
behind him.
“Ben! We have to go!” She peered
over him. “What on earth are you looking for, sweetheart? You’re making a
mess.”
He turned to her. “Where’s Dad’s
hat?”
“His hat? Which hat?”
He stared up at her, arms crossed,
as if they’d been discussing a missing hat for days. “His uniform hat.
What other hat would I be looking for?”
“I put it away.”
“I need it.”
She crossed her arms, mimicking his
stance. “Why?”
“For the school play tonight.”
The school play … Maura had
yet to find someone to cover her bartending shift tonight. Annoyed, but not
wanting to upset her son, she kept her tone level. She lifted a finger. “One,
why in the world would you be looking for something five minutes after it’s
time to leave?” She raised another finger. “Two, even if I could get to it, I
can’t let you take your father’s uniform. What if someone steals it?”
His fuzzy brows lowered as he held
up a finger, mocking her. “One, I would never let someone take my father’s
hat.” He held up another finger. “Two, if you’d made it home last night before
I went to bed, I would have asked you yesterday.”
“That’s not fair, Ben.” She knelt
and tossed several of the items he’d thrown out back into the closet as she
locked eyes with him. “And we don’t have time to get it now.”
His shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry,
Mom. I know you work too hard. But please … I really need it. I told Mrs.
Mills I’d bring it. It’ll make my role so much more convincing.”
“You’ll be late.”
His brow lifted. He knew how to
play her like a fiddle. “You can write me a note. I haven’t been late all
semester.”
“I’ll be late.”
His lips turned up at the edges.
“You’re always the first to arrive anyway, right? They’re all lazy butts who
drink and party all night and show up late, making you do their job —”
“Ben!” She couldn’t blame her son. Out
of the mouths of babes, her grandmother had always said. He was just
repeating her words. Words that, sadly, were true. “Fine. I’ll get the ladder.”
***
“Jim … I swear, you’re gonna drive
me to drink.” Maura tapped on the outside of the man’s cubicle. His Travel
& Outdoors article for the Lifestyle section was due at the same
time every day, but he was always late — always. Cowboy boots propped on the
desk, AirPods in, and typing on his laptop while laughing at whoever had his
ear, he obviously couldn’t hear her. “Jim …” She tapped on his shoulder, and he
jumped, the heavy heels of his boots barely missing her black pumps as he
dropped his legs and swung around.
When he saw it was her, his eyes
widened as he took in all five-foot-five of her. As usual, though, his eyes landed
back on her chest, not her eyes, so he couldn’t see how frustrated she was.
Ugh! And he calls himself a
southern gentleman. More like an Urban Cowboy. Who wears cowboy boots in
downtown Chicago?
He clicked Mute then stared
up with his too-white smile. The only thing missing was a toothpick dangling
from his lips. “What’s up, darlin’?”
She didn’t have the strength or
patience today. Not when she needed to finish her job and somehow get to her
second job, then beg her way out so she could make it to Ben’s play.
“Your draft …” she said, hands
raised in question. Every day she had to come looking for Jim, and every day he
acted surprised, as if she might have come to take him up on his: We’re two
peas in a pod, darlin’. You’re from the South; I’m from the South. Let’s
go out sometime.
He glanced at his watch, then
clicked the phone off mute. “I’ll call you back.” He clicked End, returned
to his laptop, clicked Email, attached the document, hit Send, then
turned to her. “Sent!” He stretched back again, looking like a cat eying a
canary. “So … Ms. Maura,” he drawled. “Are you bringing someone special to the Christmas
party tonight?”
The Christmas party … Oh,
no! Craaaaaaaap!
If only she could be in three places at the same time. Not that she wanted to attend the Christmas party. The last thing she wanted was to rub elbows with the uber-wealthy while she showed up in an Off 5TH made-for-outlet LDB. Still, the annual Christmas party was a great way to meet execs she normally wouldn’t have an opportunity to talk with. Every chance she got, she reviewed other online media sites, studying what they did and didn’t do. She researched trends, news, social media … everything happening locally and around the world, in the event she found herself in an elevator with Mr. Barros himself, as unlikely as that was, since he normally entered the
building via the roof — or so she was told. Missing the Christmas party
would be tantamount to shooting herself in the foot before the big race. But
how in the world would she manage to attend her son’s play, bartend, and then dress
for the ball? Even without evil stepsisters tearing apart her dress, unless her
fairy godmother suddenly made an appearance, she saw no way to accomplish all
three of these responsibilities.
Instead of answering Jim, she
clicked the email on her phone. She opened the Word doc and quickly scanned the
article.
She stared down at him, hating she
also had to copy-edit his article daily. “I’ve told you a million times, i-t-apostrophe-s
is the contraction for it is, not the possessive determiner its.”
He rolled his eyes, and she continued reading. “And you-apostrophe-r-e is the
contraction for you are … not your. Jim … Why do I have to
fix your article daily?”
“Maura …” he whined. “Copy editing is your-no-apostrophe-r-e job. Not mine. I’m the talent.”
“It was her turn to roll her eyes. “No, it’s not my job, Jim. I’m not your personal copy editor. And if I sent your pages in the way you send them to me, you wouldn’t be the talent for long.”
“It’s a good article, though, right? Very Norman-Rockwell-y, especially this time of the year. Gets people thinking about sleigh rides and hiking through the snow to chop down a Christmas tree.”
She sighed. “Few families have
money to go on sleigh rides. And chopping down a tree? Really?” He waved her
on, so she continued reading, then shrugged. “It’s all right.”
Jim threw a hand over his heart.
“Oh, Miss Maura, you wound me! I thought you’d nominate me for a Pulitzer.”
A Pulitzer … She’d be happy if
she could afford her own apartment, and his biggest worry was whether she was
going to bring anyone to the party or if he’d win an award. And to think she
fixed his stories, even though she made about a third of the income he did.
When she’d gone for a journalism degree, she didn’t think she’d end up as an
editorial assistant in a city that paid about ten percent less than everywhere
else in the country.
Maybe her cousin was right. Perhaps
she should go back to North Carolina. But the thought of returning to her
hometown … without a husband — without a pot to pee in, as her
grandmother had always said — instilled more sorrow in her than sharing a room
with her eight-year-old son.
Or maybe she was like her
grandfather had always quipped: Proud as a peacock.
Chapter 2
In the lunchroom, Maura nibbled on
her nails instead of her untouched granola bar as she waited for the nighttime
manager to pick up the phone.
“You got Tony!” His tone was short
and sharp. He hadn’t even bothered to add a hello. He clearly knew if
the host was transferring a call to the office, it was an employee calling in
sick. Maura didn’t want to lie, especially since she’d have to walk right past
the bar to attend the Christmas party.
“Hey, Tony. It’s Maura —”
“Don’t say it, Maura. I know you
ain’t calling to say what I think you are.”
“I can’t come in tonight —”
“I said …” he drew
out the two little words, “don’t say dem words. I give you dibs on Friday night
’cause you’re reliable, but if I can’t rely on you, I’ll give dem to someone else.”
“What if I come in early, work
through Happy Hour, and then dip. Dawn likes to work late, anyway. It’s my
kid’s Christmas play, Tony. I can’t miss my baby’s first play. I tried to cover
the shift, I swear —”
“Sheesh! Cry me a river, will ya?
Fine! Be here by four, and we’ll see how it goes.”
“Thanks, Tony!” She hung up before
she talked him out of it. She had a habit of rambling on instead of just taking
the close.
***
Promptly at 3:45, Maura clocked
out, dashed to the washroom, and changed into her black pants and white shirt.
She pulled her long brown hair up into a ponytail, then darted out.
Seeing the mass exodus at the
elevator doors, she sprinted for the stairwell. She practically hurdled the
steps, making her way to the lobby of the high-rise. More than likely, she’d
beat half of the employees waiting for the elevator, and then catch them as
they ordered a drink before hopping on the L.
The only good thing about working
Friday night Happy Hour in downtown Chicago was the tips. Chi-Town execs knew
how to tip. Of course, those generous tips often came with other suggestions and
proposals she never accepted. Going out with someone she worked with — or even
someone who frequented the bar where she worked — was a big no-no. She’d
learned that lesson at sixteen. Also, she certainly wouldn’t go to an apartment
of a possible American Psycho, and she definitely wouldn’t bring a man home to
her room with her son. So all suggestions were merely that, suggestions. Sex
wasn’t on her horizon any time soon.
Maura tied a black apron around her
waist and hopped behind the bar. “Hey, Dawn!”
“I’m so glad you came in early! The
Christmas season is in full swing. The Mag Mile is hopping with holiday
shoppers, sweetie, and we’re seeing the aftermath. Would you get those women
over dere?” Dawn pointed to two women standing at the end of the bar as
she tossed several cardboard coasters in front of three tall yuppies, who
looked as if they’d stepped off a GQ shoot. “What yous having?”
Maura smiled at her friend’s
Chicago accent, then redirected her smile to several regulars as she made her
way to the opposite side of the dark wood bar top. She plopped coasters in
front of the women Dawn had pointed to. “Hi, ladies. What can I get y’all?”
Y’all … Who was she to laugh
about accents? She’d left North Carolina three years ago and, as much as she
tried to suppress her southern roots, that y’all still popped out when
she least expected it.
The tall blonde, still in her long
overcoat, scarf, and gloves leaned over and whispered something.
“Honey,” Maura shouted over the
din, “you’ll have to speak up. Friday night, you know!” The hundred-some people
chattering at hightops and the twenty-foot ceilings didn’t help matters.
The woman turned to her friend, but
not before Maura spied her rolling her eyes.
Maura tossed a coaster in front of
an older gentleman, a consultant she’d spoken to a few times over the last few
weeks. His contract was for six months, and then he’d be gone. In the meantime,
he was friendly and a good tipper who deserved her attention more than the
blond snob.
“Same as usual, Hank?”
He smiled and winked, so Maura
snatched a rocks glass off the bar, ran a lemon rind around the lip, packed the
glass with ice, and free poured Jameson.
She looked up at the women as she
poured. “You ladies ready?”
“DO YOU KNOW HOW TO MAKE AN OLD
FASHIONED?” asked the tall blonde.
An old fashioned … An old
drink that had recently made a comeback. Maura resisted rolling her eyes and
telling the woman she didn’t have to yell. Instead of responding, she pulled
another rocks glass off the counter as she looked up at the woman’s friend.
“Whisky sour, please,” said the
brunette. You could tell just by looking at the two women who ruled and who
followed. Maura did neither anymore. High school was one thing, but she
couldn’t imagine following an obnoxious be-atch around Chicago. Maura
smiled at the second woman, letting her know she’d take care of her. At least the
brunette knew if you wanted a good drink, fast, the key was to be kind. Being a
snob had no power here.
The evening rushed by since,
literally, one person after another stepped up to the bar to order. Normally,
she’d make at least one or two loops of the hightops to ask if someone wanted
another drink, but Dawn was right. Along with their typical happy-hour crowd,
Maura barely had time to look at her watch, let alone leave early.
The first chance she had to breathe,
she lifted her hand, lighting up her watch. Seven. Damn, she missed the start
of the play.
She ripped off her apron. “Dawn, I
gotta dip, girl. Can you handle it from here?”
“Sure, hon. Want me to just put
your tips in the safe?”
“That’d be great. Minus a fifty.
Mad money, you know, in the event I need to pay a bill and skip out quickly.”
“Yeah. Been there, done that. Have
fun!” Dawn said. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Maura turned back. “I’m going to my
son’s play.”
Dawn grinned. “I’m talking about
the Christmas party later. You are going, right? I’m not covering your shift
unless you say yes.”
Maura sighed.
“Girlfriend, you said it’s
important. I don’t want to be hearing how …” She lowered her head and
whispered, “That bitchy woman’s holding you back. Go meet some of the hotshots.”
Clearly, she had complained to Dawn
once too often. “Okay … I’ll go for a bit. But first, I have to get to Ben’s
play.”
Dawn swatted a bar towel at her.
“Get!”
***
Maura slipped into the washroom and
changed into her LBD. Yeah, the slinky black dress was too formal for a school
play, but she didn’t have time to change after the play. She’d just keep her
overcoat on and hope the wrinkles would fall out of the polyester dress before
the office party.
As she exited the washroom, her
phone buzzed through a text from Jessica. 911 – I need you in the office. STAT!
“Oh, God. What now?” She pressed
call but, of course, Jessica didn’t use her phone to talk.
NOW! Another text came
through.
Maura glanced at the time, then
darted for the elevator.
Upstairs, Maura jogged down the
corridor to Jessica Larson’s office, senior editor … and all-around pain in the
neck. It wasn’t that she disliked Jessica. Jessica could actually be funny and
charming when she wanted to be. But the woman worked her like a dog. Anything
that went wrong was Maura’s fault, not Jessica’s or, God forbid, the talent’s
fault.
Jessica stood outside her office,
dressed to kill in an LBD that wrapped her slender figure, accentuating her
waist and flat tummy. The black dress featured sheer embellished panels across
the neckline and hem that made it look longer, even though the actual black
part barely covered her breasts and rear.
Still, Maura had to admit the woman
looked classy, even while fanning herself with a piece of paper, which was too
far away for Maura to read. “Have you read this?”
“I’m not sure. What is it?”
“It’s supposed to be Jim Johnson’s
article for the Lifestyle section.”
Maura slowed her pace as if slowing
down the inevitable would lessen whatever she — rather, Jim had done wrong. It
wasn’t her job to copy-edit the piece, but she had. What else could have gone
wrong?
Jessica planted a hand on her hip,
then held out the makeshift fan with her other hand.
Maura accepted the page as if it
might burn her. “Yes, I read it.”
“Did you fact-check it? Check the
text for plagiarism?”
“What? Umm … No, I didn’t.”
“Sixty-two percent, Maura. If you’d
checked the article for those two issues, as I requested you do all
articles, you would have discovered the error. Sixty-two percent is too high. I
only ask a few things of you. Now I don’t have a Travel & Outdoors
piece, and Christmas is only three weeks away. People need ideas this time of
year. They want — Never mind. Just fix the error, Maura!”
Error … Jim’s piece wasn’t
an error; he’d been lazy. Maura dropped her arms and stepped forward. This was
her chance. She would never knock down another journalist, but Jim hadn’t left
her enough time to check the article. Maybe he’d purposely held his piece in
his rush to get to the party, hoping she wouldn’t check. “What about one of the
articles I submitted? Oh!” Maura chirped. “What about the article I wrote: Chicago’s
Christmas Lights on a Dime. I mentioned the ZooLights at Lincoln Park Zoo. Lightscape
at Chicago Botanic Garden. The Holiday Train. There are so many free or
inexpensive places for families who can’t afford …”
Jessica furrowed her brow as if she
didn’t have a clue, so Maura stopped babbling. How many articles had she
written for the woman over the last three years? Each time, Jessica had killed
the piece before it saw the light of day.
The woman raised a hand. “I don’t
want another article. Readers expect to see Jim’s story. I want you to rewrite the
piece, so it doesn’t show up as plagiarized.” She turned and walked into her
office.
“Now?”
Jessica turned back before she sat
behind her desk. “No, I want you to rewrite the article after it’s
supposed to be published online. Of course, now!”
“But …”
Jessica raised a thin eyebrow. “Is
there a problem, Maura?”
“No, ma’am.”
***
Maura plopped down behind her desk
and retyped the article, replacing words, adding words … She pulled up Google
and searched the topics of ice-fishing and snow-shoeing, neither of which she
knew anything about. She didn’t participate in sports, especially winter sports,
where she could slip and break something. Even ice skating was a challenge, and
she promised Ben they’d go before Christmas.
After re-writing and re-reading
nearly half the article, she checked the file, and it was passable.
She emailed the file to Jessica, then
texted her: Sent.
Thanks.
Maura didn’t bother to look at her
watch; she didn’t have time. She pushed the down arrow for the elevator. Now
would be a good time for a fairy godmother to show up, along with a carriage
and six white stallions.
She’d have to settle for a
4-cylinder Uber. She hated spending the money, but she didn’t have time. She
ordered the service on the way down and shot a quick thanks to the heavens when
the driver made it to the front of the building before she did.
“Working late?” the man asked as
she got in.
“Something like that. I know it’s
not far, but would you rush, please? I’m super late for my son’s school play.”
The man stepped on the gas and had
her in front of the four-story brick building in ten minutes.
She stepped out into the biting
wind, praising her luck that at least it hadn’t snowed yet. Her black pumps
weren’t conducive to running across ice-covered sidewalks. “Thank you! I’ll add
a big tip!”
Inside the building, she followed
the discordant, but cheerful holiday music to the auditorium.
She carefully inched open one of
the double doors, holding it so it wouldn’t slam. On stage, a handful of
children marched across the wood floor, forming a parade line. Some pounded
drums, others saluted as they made their way toward Ben, who stood on a raised
platform, looking as solemn as usual. Of course, Mrs. Mills would pick Ben; he
was the oldest elementary student in Chicago, she was certain.
The young man leading the parade
stopped and held up a blue silk ribbon with a gold star to Ben. “For your
bravery, son. We will never forget what you did to bring home our loved ones.
Your father would have been so proud.”
Ben accepted the medal of honor and
saluted. “I’ll never know, sir, because I wasn’t here when he died.”
Maura covered her heart with a cold
hand. Tears brimmed, threatening to fall. She lifted her head to dry her eyes;
she didn’t have time to redo her makeup.
The lights came up, and the
curtains fell. The audience stood, sending up hoots and applause.
Mrs. Mills stepped from behind the
curtain and called out the cast in pairs and groups, and then individually as
she got to the leading roles.
Ben was the last to step out on
stage and take a bow. Her son had landed the leading role, and she’d missed it.
Because she’d been re-writing another journalist’s article.
Chapter 3
Maura waited patiently for Ben to
receive accolades from friends, teachers, and parents. She’d made eye contact
with him, and he seemed happy, so either he hadn’t noticed she made it at the
last minute, or he was his usual altruistic self. Her son was a precious gift
she didn’t deserve.
She checked the time. 8:45. By now,
most of her coworkers will have had before-party drinks, before-dinner
cocktails, and at least a glass or two of wine. If she did happen upon any
execs, they wouldn’t remember her anyway.
“Mom!” Ben broke free of his
adorers and rushed her. “What did you think?”
She stared down at him, more tears
threatening to break free. “What did I think? You brought tears to my eyes.
You’re a natural, baby.”
“Mom …”
“Oops. Sorry.” Ben wasn’t opposed
to hugs in public, but he drew the line at endearments.
“It’s okay. I know I’m your baby.”
He offered a little hop, his hands held up in entreaty. “Mrs. Mills is taking
the whole troupe for ice cream. Can I go? Please?”
“Umm … I suppose. But … don’t you
want me to come with?”
He rolled his eyes. “No … It’s the
troupe, Mom.”
“Oh, right. The troupe. How will
you get home?”
“I was hoping I could stay at their
house. Billy’s a grade younger than me, but he’s cool.”
She forced a smile. “Sure, hon — Ben.
What time should I pick you up tomorrow?”
“I’ll call you.” He hugged her,
then ran off before she could respond. As much as she wanted to call out an I
love you, she knew it’d only upset him.
“Hey, cuz. Glad you made it.”
Brittany rested a hand on her shoulder.
Maura didn’t bother to turn; she
didn’t want to see the disappointment in her older cousin’s face. “Did he
know?”
“He was looking for you at the
beginning, but then he was so into his role, I never saw him take his eyes off
the other performers again. Ben’s some little actor. Before long, he’ll be
using his talent on you.”
Maura sighed. “I doubt it. He has a
heart of gold. Just like his father did. Thinks he can change the world.”
“Don’t tell him otherwise, and
maybe he will.”
Maura turned and sighed. “The
office party’s tonight, so I should go back. Ben is staying at a friend’s
house.”
“Why are you so late? What’d that ho
keep you for this time?”
Maura blew out a breath. “Jessica’s
not a ho. Actually, lack of sex is probably her problem. Not that I’ve
had sex in more than three years, and I don’t snap at everyone.” She shook her
head. “I had to rewrite a plagiarized piece.”
“Oh, no, he didn’t.”
“Yeah, he did. But it’s my fault.
Jessica instructed me to check the articles, and I only scanned it for errors.”
“Because he was late again, right?”
“Yeah.” Clearly, she needed to stop
complaining about work to Brittany and Dawn … and her son.
Brittany folded her arms over her
bountiful breasts. “Girl, you write circles around that man. Why do you stay
with Jessica’s sorry ass … or the company? It’s not like we don’t have umpteen
businesses in Chicago that could use a woman with brains.”
Maura shrugged. “I guess Ben
doesn’t just get it from his father. I want to make a difference too. I still
have hope that a locally based media company will care about its backyard.”
Brittany shook her head as she
motioned to her son and daughter that it was time to go. “It’s not even your
hometown. I swear you care more about Chicago than I do.”
Maura winked. “I know better. You
play all tough, but you’re a big softie beneath that hard-candy shell.”
Brittany struck a pose. “Only my
honey gets the sweet stuff.”
Maura waved her off. “I’ll see you
later, Britt.”
“You better not see me later! It’s
Friday night, and I know under that ugly old coat you’re wearing that little
black dress we found. Go out and act like you’re single, Maura. ’Cause you are.
And you ain’t getting any younger. And my apartment ain’t getting any larger.”
“Love ya!” Maura shouted over her
shoulder.
“Uh-huh. You know I’m right.”
***
Maura ordered up another Uber, but
this time, she had to wait. Ugly old coat or not, it was the only thing keeping
her from freezing to death.
She glanced at her phone, happy to
see the Uber was close.
Her cheeks and nose burned,
probably turning an unflattering red. “Great. Now I’ll show up looking like
Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”
A blue Ford Focus pulled up, so she
glanced at the app and the driver. They matched.
She hopped in but didn’t give
instructions to speed. She couldn’t afford another large tip. Truthfully, she
couldn’t even afford Uber, but she didn’t have enough time to take the L.
The driver didn’t offer any
conversation, so Maura sat back and searched trending topics. Oddly enough,
Twitter was usually the most current with global events. Next, she clicked the Home
tab on Google. Nothing new. Same news sites belaboring dead stories because they
had nothing new to complain about.
The car stopped, and Maura opened
the door. “Thanks!”
She sprinted to the elevator again,
this time taking it to the top floor. A floor she’d only visited on two other
occasions in her nearly three-year tenure: the previous year’s Christmas party,
and the one preceding it.
Even before the doors opened, she
heard the eighties music. Why are all the party songs from the eighties?
She stepped out, and the deliciously
intoxicating scent of fresh bread and seafood hit her. Not a second later, a
hunger pain stabbed her, nearly causing her to bend over. Oh, yeah! Other
than a granola bar, I forgot to eat today.
Maura inched her way along the
short corridor, inspecting the crowd from behind a tall topiary decked out with
gold ribbon and glassy red ornaments. Like the previous two years, the enormous
conference room was dressed to the nines, right along with all the employees,
including a twenty-something-foot Christmas tree, embellished with more gold
and red. How had they even got that beast up here?
Not that the room needed festive
decorating. The floor-to-ceiling windows lining the back wall offered a
spectacular view of not only Chicago, but also the lake. She couldn’t see Lake
Michigan, but the lights from the thousands of other buildings filtered through
the room, causing the crystal prisms on the chandeliers to bounce reflected
light throughout the room.
Once again, she really wished she
could have been three places at once. She would have loved to stand at the
windows and gaze at the sunset, dreaming of the day she had a corner office
overlooking this spectacular city.
Her stomach growled again, so she
searched the room for food. Nothing but a dessert table remained.
The eighties song … Karaoke vocals,
she realized, which meant that anyone who is anyone is already long gone. As
the previous years, the brass had probably eaten dinner, said a few words, then
hightailed it home. They didn’t hang around for drunken dancing and karaoke.
She headed back to the elevator. It
dinged its arrival, so she stepped in. “A waste of an expensive dress,” she
grumbled. Even as a knock-off, the dress had cost more than her weekly food
budget.
“Hold the door, please!” a man
called.
“Oh!” She stepped in the way of the
closing doors, which continued to close, so she hopped out of the elevator,
nearly losing a foot. She backed up as if the elevator planned to swallow her
whole. “Sorry. I’m not sure what happened. Guess the thing was in a hurry. I
always knew I was invisible, but that darn elevator …” She stared up at the man
for whom she had nearly lost a foot, ready to blame him, but her words caught
in her mouth. He was stunning. Not beautiful like an airbrushed magazine cover,
but striking with shiny midnight-black hair and dark brows and lashes that
framed hazel eyes.
“You don’t look invisible to me,”
said the well-dressed man she’d rambled to … a man she’d never seen.
“Well,” she huffed out a chuckle,
“I guess that’s not completely true. People sure know how to find me when they
need something.” She pushed the Down arrow again. “Did you enjoy the
party?”
“Okay, I guess. Weren’t you there?”
“Yes, I’m the invisible woman,
remember?”
He laughed and leaned back against
the wall. “I thought I saw something shimmer past me. I just assumed the old
building was haunted.”
She cocked her head, tickled he was
playing along … and looking at her face. Most of the men she worked with had a
difficult time holding her eyes, let alone a conversation. Not that she tried
to talk with them about anything other than work. No office romances … ever.
But she never understood why men and women couldn’t just be friends. If she did
talk to a man, he almost always asked her out on a date.
“Do you work here?” she asked.
“I’ve never seen you.”
“Well, they didn’t actually announce
that I would be working here when they made my big introduction and, technically, I don’t start until January, so don’t tell anyone. I only came because I was hoping to meet some interesting people at
the company Christmas party.”
He was obviously joking with her
again. The company didn’t make big introductions. The employees were just that
— employees. She lifted her head. “Did you meet any interesting people?”
Jessica had been known to have one
too many drinks and get frisky with the underlings. Maura hoped the new man
hadn’t run into the minx while she was doing her karaoke rendition of Donna
Summer’s Last Dance.
He glanced at his wrist and
chuckled. “It’s nine o’clock on a Friday night, and I’m dipping. What do you
think?”
A giggle escaped her lips. “True.
So you’re new here, but obviously from Chicago.”
He cocked his head and chuckled.
“How do you know I’m from Chicago? I spent years in other parts of the world,
then went to college and worked in L.A. I thought I did a good job of
suppressing the accent. What gave me away?”
“Dipping. I’m from North
Carolina. We certainly have our crazy southern idioms, but I’ve had to learn to
speak the lingo here, lest I be ousted.”
“You’ve done a great job. I hardly
detect a southern accent.” He held out a large, well-manicured tanned hand. “I’m Rick Figueroa.
”
She accepted his hand. “Maura
Hall.”
“So, tell me, Maura, why are you
leaving this exciting party?”
The elevator dinged, and she
stepped inside. “I ran behind at work, then realized I forgot to eat, and all
the food is gone.”
Rick stepped in beside her. “I was
just thinking of getting pizza. I haven’t had a good slice in a while. Care to
join me? Maybe you can give me the lowdown on things.”
“Umm … it’s late.”
He peeked at his watch again
without really looking. “It’s nine o’clock. If we rush, we can make it to Lou’s
before closing.”
“I really shouldn’t …” she told him,
then internally finished why she shouldn’t, leave the building with a
man I just met outside the elevator.
“It’s just pizza, Maura. Truly, I
wanted to meet some interesting people, but then they started up the karaoke
machine —”
She covered her mouth. “Oh, yes,
the famous karaoke.”
“So you know what I mean?”
“I do. Okay, I guess, but I warn
you, I try not to keep up on the gossip.” She couldn’t eat pizza, but Lou’s had
great salad and bread.
Rick nodded as if he got that and
smiled. “I don’t really care to hear the gossip. I want the real
behind-the-scenes info about what employees and the community think of our
great company.”
He touched the button for the garage.
The garage, she
thought. Oh, crap!
As he stared up at the numbers, she
bit her lip. What am I thinking? He didn’t say a date, but isn’t leaving the
workplace with a man to eat considered a date? And no one saw me walk in, let
alone leave … I don’t know this man. So why am I going to the garage
with him?
“Umm, Rick, maybe I should just …”
He turned to her, then reached into
his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Do you have a husband at home, or a big
sister?”
“Why?” she asked, all humor gone
from her tone. It’s none of your business whom I have at home, she
wanted to say but held her tongue. He certainly isn’t expecting me to take
him to my place, is he? Maybe that’s how they do it in L.A., but not where I’m
from.
“Here.” He pulled out his license
and handed it to her. “Take a pic and send it to your best friend. Heck, if I
were a woman, I’d do it every time I went out.”
Maura laughed. “Oh … Yeah, well … I
don’t date much, but … since you offered.” She snapped a pic, but she didn’t
send it to Brittany, who would only say, Girl, why you texting me when you
have that hunk of a man in front of you?
The elevator door opened, and Rick
only walked a few feet before clicking a remote. The lights of a Silver Toyota
Tacoma flashed in unison with a quick chirp. Front row. He must have arrived to
work early. Nice to see a man who takes his job seriously.
Maura’s eyes drifted from Rick’s
glossy black boots to his dark gray suit. She wasn’t a clothing guru, but she
recognized quality. Rick hadn’t been hired as an editorial assistant like her;
the man was wearing a five-thousand-dollar suit. She doubted he bought it just
to return it, as she’d done with formalwear in the past. Just like Jessica, the
execs made big bucks, while lowly editorial assistants who did all the work
barely made a buck above minimum wage.
He walked past her and held open
the front passenger door. She inspected the captain’s chair and the footwell.
Clean. No smell of smoke … or the blood of his last date.
She sat down and looked up as he
started to close the door.
“I promise I won’t bite,” he
offered. “I’m hungry for pizza. I’m not a vampire or a werewolf, I swear.”
Maura gulped but felt a smile tug
at her lips. Rick was funny. He didn’t act like the talent, as Jim
reminded her daily. And maybe he’d just lucked out and landed a great job. He’d
said years of college and then L.A., so he probably had more experience than
she had. If she’d started in a smaller company back home in North Carolina, she
could have gained experience, applied for a position in Chicago, and then waited
for the right one to open up instead of fleeing her past.
Rick jogged around the front and
hopped in the driver’s seat. “Man, I’ve been craving deep dish pizza.”
She smiled. Maybe Rick was just a
nice guy. Those still exist, right? He hadn’t molested her with his eyes,
anyway. That was a good start.
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