5. Daphne
Istare the unknown number on my phone, reading the ominous message again. I contemplate ignoring it but something makes me curious so I respond.
Me: Who is this?
“Yeah, I’d die first in a horror movie,” I say to myself realizing how stupid it is to reply to a text asking me if I’m home. What’s next, I’m watching you?
The reply from the number is instant.
Weston: Weston Vaughn.
I jump off the couch in surprise. I’m not so sure I wouldn’t rather it be a stalker or serial killer than him. I wouldn’t be so surprised that a parent is texting me but asking me if I’m home is more than out of the ordinary.
Me: Yes, can I help you with something?
I stare at the phone, chewing the edge of my thumb but the three little bubbles that usually show up when someone is typing a response never appear. A sharp knock at my door less than a minute later startles me, the phone tumbling out of my hand and onto the floor. It’s probably just Steve, inviting me over for another movie.
“Shit.” I pick it up and race to the door, looking through the peephole, expecting to see the top of Steve’s head since he usually stands staring down at his feet after knocking but it’s not him… Instead, I see Weston Vaughn on the other side.
“How the hell?”
I glance around frantically, checking to make sure my always spotless apartment is clean or if I’ve left out something embarrassing. Then I look down at my outfit. An oversized t-shirt, shorts, and no bra. I’m seconds away from running down the hall to throw one on when he knocks again, only harder.
Even his knock is rude.
I open the door, halfway hiding behind it. “Hi, what?—”
“I need a huge favor,” he says briskly.
“Hi, Miss Flowers!” Daisy pops out from behind her dad, completely throwing me.
What is going on?
“Hi, sweetie.” I look back up at Mr. Vaughn who’s carrying a small Disney Princess bag. “Do you want to come inside?”
I close the door behind us, turning back to face him as Daisy walks past us, looking around my living room. “How do you know where I live?”
“It’s on the internet.”
“Right. So, why are you here?”
“I know this is completely unorthodox, but I need someone to watch Daisy. I have a very important dinner that I absolutely cannot miss.”
“You don’t have a regular sitter?”
“I do,” he says, a little frustrated. “She can’t make it work and my mother is busy. Trust me, this is a last resort.” He looks down my body and I quickly cross my arms over my chest, very aware at my nakedness beneath my shirt. “But you clearly don’t look like you have any plans,” he says, gesturing to my oversized shirt and my fuzzy sock combo.
“Wow, thank you.” I smile, watching him shake his head as he apologizes. “Did you just apologize, Mr. Vaughn? Never thought I’d see the day.” I can’t pass up the opportunity.
“Look, can you help me or not?”
“Depends. What’s it worth to you?” I play with my fingernail in a nonchalant manner, attempting to be funny but he clearly isn’t in the mood.
“Can you please stop with your attempt at flirting and focus.”
“I wasn’t flirting,” I scowl, his attitude kind of pissing me off.
Okay, I was attempting to flirt a little but calling me out like that wasn’t exactly necessary.
“I’ll pay you cash and it will just be for a few hours.” He glances at his watch and I can see that he truly is flustered.
“Yes, yes, I can watch her.”
“Her favorite snacks are in here; she’s already had a bath and is in her pajamas. She will probably be asleep within an hour.” He thrusts the bag toward me, no thank you or you’re amazing for helping me out.
“I got it,” I say, reaching out and taking the bag from him.
“You sure?”
“Yes. Go to your dinner, I have your number if anything happens.”
“Thank you. I owe you one.” He looks past me and calls for Daisy who runs over to give him a hug goodbye before returning to my craft station in the corner of my living room.
“By the way, how did you get into my building? You’re supposed to have a fob or get buzzed in.” I raise an eyebrow at him.
“I own the building and the entire block,” he says nonchalantly as he walks through the door toward the elevators.
“Of course you do,” I mutter to myself. “Just don’t be too late, Mr. Vaughn. I need to make sure I make my shift at the Sugar Factory,” I laugh at my own joke about one of the famous strip clubs out by the airport. I turn around and start to close the door when suddenly his hand is on the door, yanking it back open and pulling me halfway out into the hallway. “What the?—”
“Do you always have to be a smart-ass?” He towers over me, his voice low and a touch menacing as a smirk settles on his lips. My belly does that flip-flop thing that makes me almost dizzy with excitement.
“Do you always have to get the last word in?”
He’s not flirting; he’s just an asshole.He made that abundantly clear a moment ago.
I remind myself not to read into these little comments and smirks from him. Men like him get off on making others feel inferior to them. Even knowing that, I don’t know what it is about this man, but he brings out my inner rebel, or maybe it is my inner smart-ass. Maybe it’s because men like him just assume that every woman wants them and they’re used to getting what they want. Whatever the reason, it makes me want to antagonize him, even though I know I’m playing a dangerous game.
“Just saying.” I shrug. “It’s hard to live on a teacher’s salary in the city.” When I worked as a public schoolteacher, that was absolutely true, but now at a private school, I make three times what I did. “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”
The smirk slowly dissipates from his face as his brow knits together. I can’t tell if he’s angry or concerned. “Tell me you’re joking,” he says, his tone serious. I laugh but he says it again. “Say it, Daphne.” This is the first time he’s said my name and it sounds delicious in his low, almost growling tone, even if he is angry at me.
“I was joking. Jeez. I don’t work there.”
He releases the door, turning around and walking to the elevator without another word. I stand there for a second, thoroughly confused when Daisy’s small voice brings me out of my thoughts.
“Can we do a paint by number?”
I spin around as she holds up one of the canvases that has two puppies on it.
“Of course we can.” I smile and lead her over to the coffee table where I set up a piece of plastic and grab the paints. “What color do you want to start with?” I ask, holding up some options for her.
“Glitter!” she shouts as she grabs for an iridescent pink. “Where’s your mom?” She focuses her attention on the picture, spreading the paint with small, slow strokes of the brush like I showed her.
“Oh, I live alone. My parents don’t live with me.”
“My mom died,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Um…” I pause for a second, completely unsure how to handle this situation. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. My mom died too.” I don’t know if I should have shared that. I don’t know what her father has taught her about death or an afterlife. “Tell me something about your mom,” I say, hoping to steer the conversation into a more positive light.
“I don’t know.” She shrugs, continuing to paint. “I was a baby.”
“Wow, are you sure you haven’t done this before?” I look over her shoulder at her pink, glittery dog. “That looks so beautiful!”
She giggles, her eyes big. “No, I told you I have—I have not.” She stumbles over her words a little in her excitement.
“Well, maybe we should ask your dad very nicely to get you some of these to do at home. I’m sure he’d love to hang them on the refrigerator or in his office.”
“Will you come over to do them with me?” she asks hopefully and it makes my heart sink a little.
“I don’t think I can but maybe we can after school sometime if we have time.”
“Okay.” She shrugs. “What’s pissy?” she asks, changing the subject abruptly like kids often do.
“Uh, that is not a word we should really be using. That’s kind of a bad word,” I say it softly so that she knows she isn’t in trouble.
“Oh.” She stops painting and looks directly at me. “Dad said that’s what you are.”
“Ha.” I can’t hold back the half laugh, half huff.
Very classy, Mr. Vaughn. I can think of a few choice words for you myself.
“I’m sure he probably meant something else. Sometimes grown-ups say things they don’t mean when they’re mad.”
My phone dings with a text and I look down to see Mr. Vaughn’s number on my screen. I slide open the message, adding his name to my contacts before I forget.
Mr. Vaughn: Everything going okay?
I’m half tempted to respond with a comment referencing how pissy I am, but I decide against it. I look up at Daisy who yawns.
Me: Just fine. She’s starting to yawn so I will put on a show for her to fall asleep to.
Mr. Vaughn: Great. Will be leaving here within the hour. I’ll bring cash to pay you. Make sure you program my name and number into your phone.
Me: Already did, sir.
I’m hoping he can pick up on the snarky tone of my text. I’m very much a functioning adult who doesn’t need to be told what to do. I roll my eyes and reach my thumb up to turn my screen off when I see his response that sends a tingle straight through my body.
Mr. Vaughn: Good girl.
I can imagine him saying it in that deep, syrupy voice of his while he stares me down with those piercing eyes.
“All done,” Daisy says.
“Why don’t we put on a show while it dries? Does that sound like a good idea?” I ask her as I start to pick up the paints and put them away.
She nods as I usher her to the bathroom to wash the paint off her hands.
“Can we watch Scooby-Doo?” she asks, stretching her arms overhead.
“Of course we can. You know, that was my favorite cartoon when I was younger too and my mom’s. That’s where she got my name.”
She looks at me, confused. “Your name is Scooby Doo?”
“No.” I laugh. “My name is Daphne, but you call me Miss Flowers because that’s my last name. My mom loved her name when she watched the show and decided to name me Daphne as well.”
“I like that your name is Miss Flowers ’cause my name is Daisy and that’s a flower.” She climbs onto the couch as I grab a pillow and blanket for her.
“I like your name very much too.”
We barely make it fifteen minutes into one episode before she’s fast asleep on the couch beside me. I glance at the clock. It’s just after nine which I’m sure is way past her bedtime. A few moments later there’s a soft knock at my door.
“She’s sleeping,” I half whisper as I open the door and motion toward where she’s lying on the couch.
“Here,” he says, handing me a bank envelope.
“It’s okay, really. I don’t need to be paid,” I say, waving away the envelope. “It was just a few hours.”
“Don’t be foolish, Miss Flowers. Take the money,” he commands, a bit exasperated. “Don’t ever work for free.”
“Oookay.” I take the envelope and open it, seeing several hundred dollar bills. “This seems very excessive. I can’t accept this much.”
“It’s not. You can and you will.”
“Bossy much,” I mutter, flipping through the bills. My gaze darts upward to his. “Since when did the going rate for babysitting jump up to two hundred and fifty an hour? Pretty sure I made like ten bucks an hour when I was sixteen.”
“Ask my nanny.”
My mouth falls open. “Your nanny makes two fifty an hour?”
“No, not exactly, but I pay her probably three times what most people pay their nanny.”
“Damn, are you hiring for a second nanny?” I laugh, placing the envelope on the table by my front door.
He tilts his head, half leaning against the doorframe. “I think we both know that would not be a good idea.” He stares at me, his eyes dark and heavy. He drops them down to my breasts, then back up to my mouth. I feel like I’m standing stark naked right now, completely vulnerable. My mouth goes dry again and my knees feel like they could buckle at any second.
Why wouldn’t it be a good idea? Because he sees you as a pissy annoyance, remember?
“Are you ever going to let me in to get my daughter?”
“Yeah, sorry.” I step aside, wrapping my arms around myself in a nervous attempt to play off that little scenario.
He walks over to the couch, pulling the blanket from her and scooping her up into his arms. She barely stirs, still fast asleep in his arms, then he grabs her bag and heads to the door.
“Thanks again. I owe you one.”
It’s interesting to see a man who can be so cold and dismissive be gentle and loving to his little girl. I wanted to mention the conversation I had with Daisy tonight about her mother, but it slipped my mind. I remind myself to mention it the next time I see him.
It breaks my heart that Daisy has to grow up without a mother. I can’t imagine life without my own mother. Losing her when I was in my early twenties still felt like I was being robbed of so many memories, so many pivotal moments in life that she should have been a part of.
I grab my phone and flop on the couch. I type Weston Vaughn’s name into the search bar and hit enter, scrolling down to see his wife’s name. “Mirabelle Vaughn,” I say out loud as I click and an image of her fills my screen. She was stunning. Dark hair, big brown eyes, and high cheekbones. Daisy looks just like her.
I get sucked down a rabbit hole of gossip and tabloids about Weston. From whom he’s dated to whom he’s been seen with most recently. I click on a headline that reads: Reclusive Billionaire Weston Vaughn Seen Again with Mystery Blonde. The image is blurry but you can see two grainy figures exiting a restaurant and climbing into the back of the same car. I’m about to exit out of it when I scroll back up to the top and realize this article is only minutes old. I double-check, and in fact, it has today’s date with a time stamp of 9:04 p.m.
Was his very important dinner that he couldn’t miss a date?
If it was, I have no reason to be upset and I’m not… I don’t think, but he could have just been honest with me about it. I place my phone on the coffee table and lounge back onto the couch, continuing to watch Scooby-Doo.
I almost laugh out loud to myself, realizing that just moments ago I thought Weston Vaughn wanted me when in reality, he was probably just in a good mood after getting laid by a mystery blonde.
* * *
“Hi, yes, is Mr. Vaughn in?”
“Let me check. Just one moment, please.”
I tap my fingers nervously on my desk. It’s been two full weeks since I saw him last when I babysat Daisy and he hasn’t responded to either of my texts asking if he’s willing to volunteer at the Crestwood Bake Sale and Silent Auction this coming week.
“Sorry for the wait, Miss. No, he’s not in right now. Can I take a message?”
“Yes, can you tell him that Miss Flowers called in regard to my request to have him help out at his daughter’s bake sale and silent auction?”
“Will do, Miss Flowers. Thank you.”
There’s a click and the phone goes dead. “Shit.” I place my phone in my purse just as my class starts filing back into the classroom from lunch. Mr. Fein has been nonstop bugging me about getting Weston to volunteer at the bake sale. I told him that it would probably be a one in a million chance but he insists that if I get him there and the school can brag about it, it will bring in other big shots that will hopefully send their kids to Crestwood.
This isn’t just any bake sale and silent auction. We’re talking high-end art, jewelry, five-star vacations, and trips on private jets. The rich and elite don’t know how to do anything half-assed it seems.
“Miss Flowers?”
Speak of the devil.
“Mr. Fein.” I smile as he motions for me to step out into the hallway.
“Class, let’s settle down into our seats and get ready for our reading circle,” I say before following Mr. Fein.
“Have you been able to get Mr. Vaughn to commit?”
“Not yet,” I say, half-nervous he’s going to freak out on me.
“Good, actually. I was hoping that when you speak to him, you could also convince him to put something on the auction block. Perhaps a weekend on his private yacht or maybe a stay at one of his many vacation homes?”
“Private yacht?” I say in disbelief although I don’t know why it surprises me.
“You’re too funny.” Mr. Fein chuckles, not realizing I’m serious. “Okay, confirm with me when you have that nailed down.” He offers up a quick wave, then spins on his heel and chases down another teacher.
“This should be fun,” I mutter to myself as I step back into my classroom to lead our reading hour.
* * *
It’s now beentwo full days since I left the message with Mr. Vaughn’s admin and just over a week since I sent him two text messages. Still no response.
I check the time as I walk to the train after school. It’s not even four yet so he must still be at his office. I pull up his company’s address and plug it into Google Maps. It’s less than a mile so I decide to walk.
The closer I get, the more I realize how unhinged this might seem. Me showing up unannounced to a very powerful man’s office, demanding he respond to my texts and calls like a desperate ex. I chew the inside of my cheek nervously as I stop and stare up at the massive mirrored skyscraper. If his goal was intimidation when he bought this building, he nailed it.
“This man showed up announced to your home, gaining access to your building just because he owns it,” I say aloud, attempting to hype myself up. “You can do this.”
“Just do it, lady,” a man says, nearly bumping into me on the sidewalk, “and get outta the way.”
I take his advice and walk into the building, heading toward the elevators.
“Ma’am, excuse me, ma’am. You need to check in.” A security guard chases after me, his keys jangling at his side. “Who are you here to see?”
“Oh, um, Weston Vaughn.”
“And is Mr. Vaughn expecting you?”
“Yup,” I say confidently. He gives me a look that tells me he doesn’t believe me. “You can call him and ask,” I say, praying it works like it does in the movies and he’ll just usher me to where I need to go.
He motions for me to follow him as he walks over to the front desk. He walks behind it, picking up a receiver and pushing a few buttons.
Shit, no such luck.
“Afternoon, sir. Sorry to bother you but I have a—” He looks at me.
“Daphne Flowers.”
“A Miss Flowers here to see you, she says you’re exp—okay, okay, absolutely, sir. Thank you.”
He hangs up the phone and looks up at me. I swallow hard, expecting him to laugh and show me the door but he points toward the elevators. “His office is on the ninetieth floor.”
“Thank you,” I spin around, my heels clicking on the floor as I walk to the elevator.
The doors open on the ninetieth and I poke my head out, looking around. I don’t know what I was expecting his office to look like, but it wasn’t this. For some reason I thought it would be loud, people bustling around with sounds of phones and constant chatter. It’s completely serene, soft music playing from speakers overhead with ambient lighting and a large water feature adding some relaxing nature sounds. The walls of the wide hallway are adorned with art, large plants in every corner.
“Mr. Vaughn’s office is straight ahead,” a woman says to me, causing me to jump. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s okay.” I rest my hand on my chest as I look over to the right where her desk sits in a semi-private office. She must be the admin I spoke to on the phone. Her dark-auburn hair is swept off her face, soft-pink blush accentuating her high cheekbones. I smile and walk straight ahead until I reach a large wooden door that’s ajar. I knock softly, unsure if I should barge in.
“If you’re going to show up to my office unannounced and demand my attention, at least come in with some authority.” Mr. Vaughn opens the door, swiftly ushering me into his office.
“Afternoon to you too.” I step into his office and he closes the door behind me.
“What can I do for you, Miss Flowers?” He makes no attempt to hide his exasperation.
“Well, I thought it was obvious, but I’m here regarding the Crestwood Bake Sale and Silent Auction.”
“And what does that have to do with me?” he says dismissively as he walks back to his desk and sorts through a stack of papers.
“Seriously?” I ask, instantly irked. “I mentioned it at the beginning of the year. You are the only parent who hasn’t signed up for any volunteer duties or activities this year.”
“Why didn’t you reach out to my admin? This is something she can take care of for me. And for fuck’s sake, don’t make me remind you again that meetings like this could have been an email.”
Back to Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, I see.
“I did!” I say a little more sternly than intended but it gets his attention. He drops the paper he’s holding and looks up at me. “I sent two texts to you about it over a week ago that went unanswered, and then I left a message with your admin about it two days ago and still nothing. Not to mention the weekly recap email every parent receives with an entire section titled How Can I Get Involved?”
“Is this how you got the others to volunteer? By chasing them down and harassing them at work?” He leans back in his chair, his hands folded in his lap like he’s sizing me up. He crooks a brow at me. “Well, are you waiting for my permission to tell me your demands? You’ve got my attention for two minutes, Miss Flowers.”
“No, here’s my proposed plan. You work the main booth for a minimum of two hours at the bake sale and you list a weekend at one of your vacation homes or your private yacht, your choice, for the silent auction.” I straighten my shoulders, attempting to sound authoritative.
A grin slowly spreads across his face. “Is that right?” He stands up, walking around his desk and sitting on the front of it. He wraps his long fingers around the edge of the desk, causing his exposed forearms to flex. I have to stop myself from staring too long, imagining what those arms would feel like pinning me to the bed as he slides inside me.
“Yes.” I pull my eyes back up to his with a jerk. He’s looking at me like he knows exactly what image just flashed across my brain.
“Care to share?”
“What?” My face grows red as I feel the heat burning me up.
“Seems like you got lost in your thoughts for a moment.” I shake my head and he crosses his arms over his chest. “And what do I get out of it?”
“Excuse me?”
“Reciprocity. You do for me; I do for you.”
“You get to be a good parent and show some support for your daughter’s school.” His smile fades and I can see anger slowly taking over. I fully expect him to launch into another lecture about not telling him how to parent. “What?” I cock my head a little to the side, narrowing my gaze at him. “Don’t like when I’m being pissy?”
He looks confused and I can’t tell if he actually is or he’s playing stupid. Either way, I’m standing my ground and I’m walking out of this office with my demands met before he can intimidate me into apologizing.
“Have your admin email me over which house or yacht and what weekend works for you. I’ll send her over the schedule for the bake sale.” I turn around and start walking toward the door just as he pushes himself off the desk. “Oh and Mr. Vaughn,” I say as I reach for the door and open it, turning back to look at him. “I already did for you when you showed up unannounced at my apartment. Now you do for me since you owe me one.” I flash him my sweetest smile and a little wave. “See you at the bake sale.”
My legs are trembling when I close the door behind me. I let out a shaky breath before I book it to the elevator.