KEPT: A Second Chance Fairy Tale (6 page)

Shit, I know him.

Finally, I recognize he’s the man from the night before. He also happens to be one of the men who cut short Shannan’s and my version of
Coyote Ugly
. It wasn’t the first rendition we’d performed, and it wasn’t entirely bad. He and that big man—Jeff, I think his name was—interrupted our routine before we had a chance to finish and indulge in our usual celebratory shot.

“Oh, my god. What are you–”

“Relax.” He smiles. “I’m not here to have you audition. I have last night’s performance on tape at my office.” He looks at Stella and winks. “Your friend here is quite the dancer.”

Stella sits back in her chair and doesn’t come to my defense. “Is that right?” She turns her head toward me and questions, “Lucy, is this true?”

I ignore her inquiry and crane my neck up to look at him. “What are you doing here?” I ask first, then follow it up with all I
choose
to remember. “The last time I saw you, you said I should find another venue for my ‘suited for the younger generation dance skills’.”

“And the last time I saw you, you flipped me off.”

“Lucy Jade Monroe!” Stella immediately scolds. Her head moves in his direction. I sink slightly after being scorned. “I’m Stella Shields, Lucy’s neighbor,” she introduces, lifting her hand between them.

He bends from where he’s standing, accepting it with ease, and returns, “Corbin Mercer, part owner of Tryst.”

“Tryst,” she recalls briefly, then shoots me a look of disappointment. “Little Lucy was at Tryst?”

“She was,” he replies. “Last night.”

“Huh,” Stella grinds out. “How about that?”

“She’s quite entertaining, actually. If I were hiring–”

“Stop!” I exclaim with humiliation. “I get it.”

Shaking her head with amusement, Stella stands and starts to step away. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Corbin Mercer. Thank you for keeping little Lucy here company. I’m off to get ready for a girls’ night of bingo and bridge. Saturday nights are always busy, and if I don’t get my seat, some younger generation dancer might.”

I narrow my eyes in his direction for outing me, but he only grins in response as she starts to walk away.

“Goodbye, Stella!” I holler to my treacherous friend.

“Later, Lucy,” she answers before opening the door to her apartment.

Corbin points to the chair Stella just made available. “May I sit?”

I don’t feel uncomfortable with him, so after taking a quick look around, spotting Dillon on the swings in front of us, I answer, “Sure.”

“This is yours,” he tells me, handing over the driver’s license I called Tyler for earlier today.

When I had explained who I was, I swear I heard the man snicker. He enjoyed me having to call and ask about it.

Jerk
.

“My little brother said you were coming to pick it up, but never did. I thought I’d drop it by on my way home.”

“Tyler’s your brother?” I ask. Taking a quick, closer look at Corbin, I finally see the resemblance.

“He is.”

“I appreciate you bringing it by.”

He looks out toward the playground and asks, “Did you and your friend have a good time last night?”

“Until you and
your
friend ruined it, sure,” I flip back in a snottier tone than probably needed.

“Were you out celebrating something in particular?”

I think for a moment, but don’t come up with anything witty to say, so I just tell him the truth. “Not really. It’s been a shitty week, so we decided to go out, try to forget about it.”

Corbin looks around the small porch of my apartment. Then his gaze moves back to my son, still swinging and laughing hysterically.

“Is he yours?”

“Yeah. That’s Dillon.”

“Dillon,” he repeats, saying it as though it’s not for the first time. “How old is he?”

“Six.”

“First grade, right?” he guesses.

“Yep, this year. My little man is growing up.”

“Monster in the making, or Mommy’s little boy?” he asks with a knowing smile. I’m sensing which he must’ve been growing up.

“Mommy’s monster,” I compromise with a proud grin. “Thanks for bringing me this.” I hold up my license.

Corbin stands and walks toward the edge of the porch. He positions his hands on the railing behind him and leans his body back onto it, crossing his ankles to get comfortable.

“It was no problem. Look, Lucy, I’m sorry about what happened last night.”

“It’s okay,” I respond, and note his immediate relief. He made fun of me in front of my neighbor, though, so I won’t let him off so easy. “Shannan and I will just go back and try again next weekend.”

A look of dread crosses his face, and I have to work to hold in my laugh.

“You’re going back to Tryst?”

“Probably not, sad to say. I don’t think you or your friend, Jeff, would appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome there anytime, but maybe a little less dancing. You and your girl caused quite a stir.”

Smiling up at him as I remain seated, I answer, “We’ll think about it and let you know.”

“Do that,” he replies in jest. Holding his key fob in his hand, he studies it for a second as if in thought. “How long have you lived here?”

“Almost five years. It’s not as bad as it looks, in case you’re judging.”

Corbin’s eyes go soft. I hardly know him, but the passing look of pity or understanding is hard to miss.

“No judgment, I can assure you.”

“Thank you.”

He stands straight and moves toward the small flight of stairs leading to the sidewalk and parking lot. “Well, it was nice to formally meet you, Lucy.”

“You, too.”

I watch him take a step, then another in the direction of his car. Then he stops and focuses on my son. Before I’m able to call out and check if he’s okay, Corbin turns back to me with another grin. I notice his deep dimples for the first time.

He voices his question loud enough that I’m able to hear it over the distance between us. “What was so shitty?”

“What?” I ask, standing and walking to the edge of my porch. I position my hand to my forehead and use it to shield my eyes from the sun.

“You said you and your friend were out last night after a shitty week. I was asking what about it was so bad.”

Not caring what this stranger thinks of me, because I’ll never see him again anyway, I give him the short version. “I lost my job, my monster-in-law hates me, and men suck.”

Now his smile is wide, genuine, and beautiful.

“Not all men suck, ya know,” he remarks. I don’t know what to say to that, and don’t have the chance anyway. “Better luck next week, Lucy. Who knows? Maybe things will start to look up.”

Weird
.

Michael

“I
HIRED SOMEONE,” CORBIN MENTIONS
while securing the towel around his waist after his shower. I couldn’t have heard him right. “She’ll be in my office tomorrow morning at nine to start filling out the paperwork.”

This comes as an unwelcome surprise.

“You did what?” I snap, flexing the fingers of my scarred hand and looking up at him in anger.

Corbin catches the move and looks down, nodding to my fist. “You doin’ okay? Is it bothering you?”

We just won the racquetball match, earning us our choice of two Yankees tickets for this season. I should be in a good mood, and I was…until he dropped this shit out of nowhere.

“Fuck the hand. Repeat what you just said.”

Dismissing my abrupt tone, Corbin pushes forward. “You heard me. I hired someone.”

I don’t understand, nor do I care to, why my partner decided it was okay to do this on his own.

“How the fuck did that happen?”

“Easy.” He shrugs. “It was an impulse hire.”

Slamming my locker shut, I attempt to rein in my anger, but fail. “Impulse, my ass. You didn’t buy a fuckin’ car, Corbin. What the fuck?”

Stepping back a few feet, he puts his hands up in surrender. His smile belies his insincerity, though.

“Relax, Mike. I told her it was a temporary position and we’d see how things worked out after a month.”

“Oh, well, that makes all this better. Call her back and tell her you made a mistake.”

Ignoring my demand, as he often does, Corbin continues, “She’ll have the two weeks we have left with Lillie to train, plus two more with you and me. If she’s not a fit by that point, we’ll cut her.”

“And she knows this?”

“Yes and no.”

“Yes and no,” I repeat, waiting for more information.

“If putting her in Lillie’s position at the firm doesn’t work out, Tyler can try her as a waitress at Tryst. She has experience.”

“So her experience is waiting tables?” I question, seeking further clarification because I’m still lost.

“Yes.”

This shit just keeps getting better.

“Do I know her?”

His answer is immediate. “No.”

“So she’s not even someone we’ve interviewed together?”

“No, not exactly.”

Closing my eyes to give my pounding head a reprieve, I take in a desperate breath and slowly release it.

After lending me a few seconds of silence, he continues to try and convince me I haven’t been screwed over. “Look, just meet her tomorrow. I think she’ll surprise you.”

“How’s that?”

“She’s quick, Mike. She seems sweet and willing to do any job we give her. She needs a paycheck,” he tells me, then moves in for the final blow. “She reminds me of Denise.”

He’s got to be kidding me.

“That’s how you’re selling this shit to me? Because she reminds you of my sister?”

His face falls, all signs of humor and enthusiasm gone. “She’s a single mom, man. She looked like someone who could use a break.”

“Because now we’re filling positions based on sympathy and statistics,” I scoff. My words add fuel to my fire. Corbin remains unaffected.

Dick.

“She’s cute.” He smirks, grabbing his bag and walking closer. “She’s adorable, actually.”

“Great.”

“I don’t know how you’ll get on with her,” he adds, “but I like her.”

“This isn’t helping.”

“She’s…” He stops, searching for the right word, “refreshing.”

Sighing, I concede, if only to get out of here and away from him.

Seeing a weakness in my mental armor, Corbin reiterates for good measure, “Two weeks with Lillie, two weeks with us. She’ll be running the place like your sweet Lillie in no time.”

“This doesn’t work out, Corbin, it’s on you to cut her.”

“I’ll accept that,” he confirms.

“I know how you are. You’re soft and sympathetic. I’m–”

“An asshole,” he cuts in.

“You’re too easy when it comes to
any
woman, let alone this one you’re obviously taken with.”

“Got it, Mike. Now, let’s go get a drink. I wanna talk to you about Jane Gilroy before your meeting with her.”

Lucy

“I
CAN DO THIS,” I
assure myself while analyzing my tired reflection in the bathroom mirror. “I don’t have any other choice
but
to do this.”

My hair is pulled up off my shoulders and into a loose braid down my back. The necklace Gabe surprised me with the Christmas before he died hangs around my neck, reminding me of a life I once had.

The outfit I’m wearing is one of the most conservative I own. It’s a short, black pencil skirt coupled with a loose pale lilac dress shirt. The front dips down just above my cleavage.

My makeup is a bit heavier than I usually wear it. To me, it feels unnatural.

The customers at Carter’s never cared what I wore or how I looked, as long as I served their breakfast warm and didn’t charge for extra syrup.

What am I doing?

The soft knock at the front door saves me from further self-consideration.

“Dillon, honey. Are you ready?” I ask my son, who sits on the couch watching cartoons.

“Yeah, Mom. I’m ready.”

Once I’m at the door and looking through the peephole, I let out an exasperated sigh. The evil queen is in wait on the other side.

As always, Margret Monroe looks polished, even at this godforsaken hour of the morning. Her dyed black hair is pulled into a tight bun, her pantsuit pristinely ironed. As her arms cross over her stomach, her oversized Coach bag hangs limply from her wrist.