Chapter Five
His high-rise condo looked down over the city and had a perfect view of Veilstone Tower. The cold, monochromatic décor screamed bachelor. There was no warmth. No personality. It was a house but not a home.
“You can decorate it however you wish,” he said.
“What if I want to paint the walls pink?”
“I think I might have said however too hastily.”
She grinned. “No pink, I promise.”
He wrapped a hand around her waist and pulled her into his body, holding her close. “I’ll make sure you have a driver available to take you to your work,” he said.
“This is a beautiful high-rise, but I will reside with you at Veilstone.”
“Are you sure?”
“Can I paint that place pink?”
He grinned and shook his head. “You’re going to keep me on my toes, aren’t you?”
“Always.”
He bent his head and melded his lips with hers in a kiss that made her heart pound with anticipation. She hadn’t known James Roarke all that well, but she was extremely glad that he chose her.
“Keep me from being cold,” he whispered against her lips, and she knew he didn’t mean temperature wise.
****
Kleya stared at her phone, reading the text from James, asking if he could come by and have lunch with her at the kitchen. He was interested in her life, to see where she spent her days.
“Why are you smiling?” Lark asked, looking over Kleya’s shoulder.
“James is coming here to eat lunch with me.”
Lark shook her head. “An arranged marriage.”
“It’s very common in the Wellington district.” She shrugged. “I like James. He’s not at all like my father.”
“I’ll never understand rich folks. But, if you’re okay with it and happy, then I’m happy for you.”
Kleya nudged her with her shoulder. “Wait till you meet him to judge.”
“Of course. He better treat you right or I’ll kick his ass.”
“Deal,” Kleya murmured, smiling at her best friend.
They returned to work and Kleya kept busy by setting everything up for the lunch rush.
They provided three meals a day to the homeless and those down on their luck, something only possible by the donations they brought in.
Money went a long way, but also unused food that was brought in by restaurants.
They weren’t the only shelter operating, but they were the largest, primarily because Kleya donated a chunk of her monthly allowance to Lark’s kitchen.
The safety net provided much needed relief for many people forgotten by the Coalition.
Gangs ruled the poor, but there were so many innocent people unable to rise from their station in life that kept beating them down.
The inequality broke her heart day after day.
As lunch time came around, she was busy setting up the food trays when an awareness came over her.
She looked up and around and saw James in the doorway.
Behind him stood a very muscular, very imposing man in a suit.
The way his gaze swept over everything and every person let her know that this was a bodyguard.
James spotted her and she hurried around the long tables to greet him.
“Welcome,” she said, smiling.
James bent over and gave her a brief kiss on the lips. “I hope I’m not imposing.”
“Not at all. We’re still setting lunch up so would you like to take a tour?”
“Yes.” He offered an elbow and she slid her hand around his bicep.
“This is the dining area, with the kitchen directly behind it,” she said, pointing.
“Everyone is welcome to the food we prepare. Through this arch we have clothing, provided from stores where the item is damaged in some way, but also through donations and church charities. Each section we provide, a director oversees.”
She led him through another doorway into a larger room full of cribs. Babies cried, gurgled, and laughed while several women took care of them.
“Only about ten percent of the women that come through here have babies, but we provide childcare so the mothers can sleep, eat, work, or talk to lawyers. We have several who come for pro bono work.”
She could tell James was taking all this in, his mind categorizing everything. The last place she took him to was the dorms. Areas of single beds all lined up in rows, with sections roped off.
“Areas are broken up by age range and gender. We don’t get many males who stay the night, but occasionally one or two come in. Most of the time, it’s young boys who are sex workers needing the safety of a shelter for the night.”
James frowned. “Who supplies the funding for this place?”
“Mostly donations, although we do have some government subsidies,” she replied. “It’s why I sometimes attend galas with my parents, even if they are very embarrassed when I press the snobs on Wellington Hill for monetary pledges.”
“Do you donate?”
“Yes. Most of my monthly allowance, in fact, which really helps Lark out. I don’t need much. Speaking of... There she is.”
Kleya waved and Lark smiled as she made her way over.
“Lark, I’d like to introduce my fiancé, James Roarke. James, this is the founder and my best friend, Lark.”
He inclined his head. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise. This place wouldn’t be half as successful if not for Kleya. She’s truly a unicorn.”
“That she is,” he agreed.
They returned to the dining area, and she was just about ready to invite James to sit, when a young man at a table started yelling at a person who wanted to sit at the same table.
“No! This is my place! Mine! No, no, no.”
She went to go over to him, when James grabbed her arm.
“You can’t.”
“I’ll be okay. This is what we do, James. This is how we help people.”
“He could hurt you.”
“And if I don’t step in, he could hurt many people who are already traumatized.”
“No,” he said again, with a little more force.
“You just outsmarted an assassin. This is a little less stressful than that. Please, trust me.”
She smiled, patted his hand on her arm, and then pulled away to head over to the young man. Right on her heels, however, was James and the bodyguard. Ignoring them for a moment, she carefully approached the man who rocked himself while keening.
“No. No. My spot. No. No.”
“Hello,” she said softly. “I was wondering if you would talk to me. My name is Kleya.”
The man didn’t say anything to her. He didn’t even acknowledge that he’d heard her. She slowly, carefully took another step.
“Do you have a name?” she asked.
He didn’t answer.
“Would you like some food? If you don’t want anything hot, I can get you a dessert. Would you like a piece of cake? Or maybe a cookie?”
He ceased his movement and looked at her. “Cookie?”
“Yes,” she said with a smile. “Let me get you one.”
“Two. Two. I want two.”
“Okay, I can bring two back for you. Stay here.”
She turned and winked at James before heading back to the kitchen area. A brief moment passed, no more than a minute, then she was back with a napkin holding two sugar cookies and a glassful of soda. Once again, she carefully approached the young man.
“Here you go.”
She held them out to him, and he eyed her for a moment before grabbing the items. In the abrupt nature of him taking them, he snarled and pushed her away.
With a yelp, she fell back onto her butt.
James immediately went into hero mode, but she couldn’t allow him to destroy the fragility of the connection with the teenager, even if James didn’t like that.
Kleya threw out a hand. “Stop. He didn’t mean it.”
The room went deathly silent.
She rose and placed herself between the young man and James.
He reached into his suit, and she laid a hand on his arm, halting him from pulling out a gun that no doubt had to be under there.
From the small amount of time she’d known him, one thing was blatantly clear.
He would never sit back and play big bad boss, like her father did, while other people did all the heavy lifting around him.
“He. Touched. You.” James’s voice was low and dangerous. There was no way to mistake the fury surging through him.
“I’m all right,” she said softly. Imploringly. “If you pull that out, it could aggravate an already tense situation. I’ve got this. Okay?”
A nerve twitched in his jaw, no doubt from grinding his teeth together. Then he eased up and pulled his hand from beneath his suit jacket. She mouthed thank you and turned back to the young man, who had his hands buried in his hair. He looked scared.
“I’m sorry,” he cried. “Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.”
“I know,” she said gently. “Here are your cookies and a drink. You just sit there and eat them, okay?”
He nodded and stuffed a whole cookie into his mouth. Probably because he thought they’d be taken from him. Many kids from the streets stuffed their faces, not knowing when their next meal would be. Or who would fight them for the food.
“Can you tell me your name?”
He glanced at James and then focused back on her. “W-Westly.”
She smiled. “Westly. I like that. Do you need a place to sleep tonight, Westly?”
“Um, maybe.” He leaned a little closer and threw a frightened glace to James. “Is he going to hurt me?”
“No, he’s not. He was concerned that I fell down.”
“I’m sorry,” he muttered once more.
“It’s okay. I’m not mad. Now, you see that gentleman over in that corner?” She pointed to one of the workers who organized the beds. Westly nodded. “His name is John and he’s going to come over here to escort you to a bed. Okay? He’s a nice guy and he won’t hurt you. You’re safe here, Westly.”
He stuffed the second cookie in his mouth and nodded. She smiled and backed away, gesturing to John to come take over. Then she joined James, took his hand, and led him away.
“Thank you for trusting me,” she said.
“Does that happen often?” He still looked a little pissed, and she wasn’t sure if it was aimed at her, or the situation.
“No, not often. But sometimes. The people who come here are the ones our society has kicked to the curb. They’ve been forgotten, and a lot of them need mental help.”
“What’s stopping them from getting it?”
“Well, several things. No money. No health insurance. No psychiatrists willing to trek down here to treat people. We have a few doctors that come here, again pro bono work, but not often enough to help.”
“Why don’t you write down everything you think people need, and I will start researching what we can accomplish.”
She searched his face. “Really?”
He nodded.
Kleya threw her arms around him, hugging tightly. “Thank you.”