Page 4 of Mending Our Chance

“Marcus Bowers is in town,” I blurted out. “He approached me with a consulting job but I turned him down. Seeing him today has opened a flood of memories.”

Those dark eyes became steely, and I was glad I hadn’t exposed any more of my inner feelings. Auntie Gi pulled herself up to an impressive height despite her naturally short stature. “He is not worth your consideration. Cast him from your mind, cara.”

The endearment was icy. What was I thinking by confiding in her? I might as well have gone to the patriarch and expected a hug after the way I left things six years ago. Gianna was just like her brother—both carved from an unforgiving stone in a godforsaken grotto. I guess the apple didn’t fall far from the tree when I came into the picture.

“Don’t worry, I threw him out.” Then, without thinking, I added, “But he brought back all these old feelings, Zia, and I have been all bitchy and tearful since I left him in the middle of the campus.”

“Pull yourself together then,” Auntie Gi sneered. She threw back the rest of her wine and snapped for the waiter. But those sure fingers made no sound when they rubbed together—more evidence that she was weaker than she let on.

I told myself that Gianna was just looking out for me. After all, she was the only family I had left. Since I clearly could not be trusted to stay firm against Marcus’ reappearance, I admitted to myself that I needed her reprimand and swiftly changed the subject. “Well, I say that we go ahead with the treatment. There is a forty-five percent success rate and—”

“We can’t afford it. The other piece of news was that my insurance denied the procedure.” Auntie Gi’s voice was even but I saw the way she gripped the fresh goblet of wine and inhaled deeply. It was taking all she had to keep it together.

I winced, even as I acknowledged that her news wasn’t a surprise. I’d been saving for weeks—hell, months even—to be in a position to swing these treatments. But I still didn’t have enough to pay for them all and there was no way we were going to go to the rest of the clan about this either. Sometimes, being the outcasts in the family sucked.

Reaching out, I squeezed the older woman’s frail hand. Although she returned the embrace, she murmured curses against the one man she deemed responsible for all our problems—someone who could help us. Closing my eyes, I steeled my nerves against the onslaught. Her brother might be a bastard, but that didn’t make him any less my father. I listened until her curses against Ceasario became accusations.

My eyes popped open when she pointed out his lack of help. “Yeah, he screwed me too, Zia. He disowned both of us, and whether he was right or wrong, we have to live with the consequences.” Which meant no access to the family fortune, therefore, the fate of our little family was in my hands.

Then suddenly, I felt it—anger. That was it. Self-pity no longer had a place here. It was time to put on my big girl panties and solve our dilemmas, not be distracted by the scars caused by the men in our lives. I interrupted my auntie. “Enough of this, Zia, we have celebrating to do. Your numbers just squeaked you onto the potential candidate list. So, I will fund the trial and you will get well. End of discussion. Let’s talk about something else.” Anything else, I silently begged.

But Auntie Gi wouldn’t have it. “How are you going to afford this?” she scoffed.

“I might not be a trust fund baby anymore, but I have been preparing for this ever since we were informed about the experiment. So, if I say I’ll handle it, consider it sufficiently handled.” And that was that. I wasn’t going to let her down.

The eye roll from my relative was not accompanied by any show of gratitude. I ground my teeth and made excuses for the woman. She was incredibly sick after all, so it was not hard to do. The fact that making excuses for her was second nature stung a little. As usual, she was just thinking about herself. But that’s just how things were in the black sheep’s club—I made the excuses and pretended that it was for the best.

~*~

I left my aunt with a heavy heart. Back at my one bedroom apartment, I pulled out a list of clients and potential cold calls, but as I sat on my sofa in the living area, I felt too disheartened to attempt to call anyone. I ended up crumpling the papers into a ball and stalking to the bedroom for a short workout before bed.

After a fitful night’s sleep, with dreams of a certain golden haired Adonis, I awoke the next day in a foul mood. My morning class suffered terribly under my unpleasing mental state.

The pretty face of my talented secretary beamed over her computer monitor as I entered the wing of faculty offices. “Cheer up, buttercup, it’s Friday!” she piped up.

I gave her a death stare. It might almost be noon, but I still hadn’t been able to shake the stress that was weighing me down. “Is there something you need, Nora? Because if not—”

Following me into my office, the chirpy little thing interrupted me. “Actually, there is. I need to let you know that there is a Harold Graceson coming to see you in thirty minutes.”

I glared at the wrought iron clock on the wall. “Fine,” I snapped out. “Please leave.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Nora left. She was good at her job, however as a secretary she was not irreplaceable. I slumped into my chair and dropped my face into my hands. Calm down, I ordered myself. There was no reason to fire Nora just because I happened to be annoyed with every living creature today. It was highly unprofessional to act in such a way without cause. And I knew better. But did she have to be that cheerful? Wasn’t it enough that her life was just peachy keen, without her rubbing it in my face?

Telling myself to look for my own bright side, I crossed my fingers hoping that this Mr. Graceson would be a lead. I searched my memory, then my digital address book for a Harold Graceson. The name didn’t ring a bell. There was a Gopling and a Grady, but no Graceson. Shit, I should have asked the tweety bird what his visit was regarding. My fingers hesitated over the intercom button of my office phone. The thought of hosting a blind meeting was looking more and more appealing compared with another interaction with my secretary. I didn’t need another opportunity to be a bitch. Fuck it, I’ll wing it.

I had a side job consulting for companies. My academic reputation brought in a steady stream of clients, and they allowed me to stay free of a corporate job with a non-compete clause. As a consultant, I wasn’t committed to any one particular company, and therefore, was able to practice lots of things and help more people without being bound to one company’s best interest. It was like playing chess on both sides, but infinitely more fun. The only downside, however, was the unreliable appearance of a steady paycheck. I winced. Maybe this Harold would be just the ticket. Otherwise, in order to pay for my aunt’s treatment, I might have to trade business independence for a big, fat signing bonus by selling my soul to just one company.

Could I do that? Of course I could—without hesitation. And unless something else turned up by the end of next week, I would soon be someone else’s employee. Thus, the main reason for my despicable mood. Holy Virgin, save me.

And, as if I had summoned my very own fairy godmother for a wish, a knock came at my door. I choked out a reply to enter and a spindly man came sauntering into the room. He had quite the air about him, trying too hard to play the big-boss-man role. His hands were thrust into his baggy cargo pants, his chin was dipped down to his chest, and he had a forced swagger to his step that immediately peeked my curiosity.

This is good, I thought. This is someone who clearly needs my skills. Let’s see how much he’ll pay for my services. Not much, I’ll wager, by the quality of that get-up.

“Ms. Saccone?”

I didn’t correct him. Everyone used that name these days. I stood up and came around the desk to shake his hand. It was limp and damp. “Yes, and it’s Mr. Graceson, isn’t it? Please, sit down.”

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