3
The waiter approached. I ordered the most expensive steak on the menu.
Richard waited until the man left.
“Thank you,” he said.
“For ordering the steak?”
“For sparing me the performance.”
I leaned back. “What performance?”
“People with money attract actors. They pretend wealth carries no influence. They order salad while calculating the value of the room.”
“I can calculate and chew steak at the same time.”
“I believe you.”
“If we spend time together, your money will be part of your appeal.”
Richard nodded.
“You seem comfortable with that.”
“My face, age, influence, patience, and bank accounts all belong to me. I have no need to separate the pieces you find useful.”
“You make gold digging sound reasonable.”
“I make honesty sound attractive.”
He had me there.
I opened the proposal and began working.
The foundation’s program assumed families could build emergency savings within six months. It included advice about cutting unnecessary expenses, buying food in bulk, and choosing affordable housing.
I circled half the page.
“People with money love telling poor people to buy in bulk.”
“It saves money.”
“It requires money. A mother with twenty dollars buys enough diapers to survive the week. She cannot purchase a warehouse box because the price per diaper is lower.”
Richard listened without interrupting.
“This housing section is insulting,” I continued. “Affordable housing rarely sits near reliable transportation, strong schools, childcare, and decent grocery stores. Moving farther away creates new expenses.”
He slid a pen toward me. “Rewrite it.”
“Today?”
“For the contract.”
“What contract?”
“The consulting contract Hank is preparing.”
“You already decided to hire me?”
“I hoped you would prove me right.”
“And if I proved you wrong?”
“I would have enjoyed lunch.”
The food arrived. My steak covered most of the plate.
Richard watched me take the first bite.
“Well?” he asked.
“I may accept a second meeting.”
“Because of my personality?”
“Because of the steak. Stay humble.”
He laughed and reached for his wine.
My phone rang midway through lunch. Ollie’s school.
I answered with the dread familiar to any mother whose children’s schools knew her direct number.
“Ms. Hart, Ollie was involved in an altercation.”
I put down my fork. “Is he hurt?”
“He has a swollen lip. The other student is fine.”
“What happened?”
“The boys were arguing over a pair of shoes.”
Of course they were.
“I’m coming.”
I ended the call and reached for my purse.
Richard signaled for the check.
“You can stay,” I said.
“I’ll take you.”
“I can manage.”
“Your car remains at the bank.”
I had forgotten.
Twenty minutes later, I walked into Ollie’s middle school with Richard beside me. He had offered to wait in the car. I had agreed. Then the principal spotted him through the front doors and hurried outside with the enthusiasm of a man who recognized donor potential.
Ollie sat in the office with one side of his lip swollen.
His eyes moved from me to Richard.
“Who’s that?”
“The reason your principal suddenly cares about visitor parking.”
Richard extended his hand. “Richard Whitmore.”
Ollie shook it. “You rich?”
“Ollie.”
“What? His name sounds rich.”
Richard’s mouth twitched. “I do well.”
“How well?”
“Go collect your backpack,” I said.
Ollie walked away, glancing over his shoulder twice.
Richard watched him go. “I like him.”
“He punched somebody over sneakers.”
“Did he start it?”
“No.”
“Then I admire him cautiously.”
We picked up Penny and Charlie next, then Tatum from high school. All four squeezed into the back of Richard’s SUV while I sat in the front beside Vick.
Richard took the other captain’s chair, turned around, and faced the investigation.
Tatum started.
“How old are you?”
“Tatum.”
Richard answered without flinching. “Sixty.”
Her eyes widened. “My mama is thirty-six.”
“I’m aware.”
“That’s twenty-four years.”
“Your math teachers have served you well.”
“Why are you hanging around her?”
“I enjoy her company.”
“You don’t know her.”
“I’m working on that.”
Ollie leaned forward. “He’s rich.”
Tatum frowned at him. “That doesn’t matter.”
“It matters a little,” Penny said.
I looked out the window to hide my smile.
Charlie kicked his feet against the seat. “Are you our new grandpa?”
Richard cleared his throat.
Vick’s shoulders moved with silent laughter.
“No, baby,” I said. “He’s my business associate.”
“What’s that?”
“A man with paperwork.”
Richard glanced at me. “That may be the coldest description I’ve received.”
Charlie studied him. “You look like a Big Rich.”
The SUV went quiet.
Penny nodded. “He does.”
Ollie pointed toward the front. “That should be your rapper name.”
Richard looked at me. “Do I have a choice?”
“Children rarely offer one.”
Big Rich followed us home.
He said he wanted to make sure we got inside safely. I suspected he wanted another look at my life.
My house was loud, warm, and cramped. Backpacks occupied the kitchen chairs. Two baskets of clean laundry waited on the sofa. A broken cabinet hinge hung beside the sink. The smell of the chicken Tatum had placed in the slow cooker filled the downstairs.
Richard entered carefully, as though stepping into sacred territory.
Then Aunt Pauline arrived.
She lived six minutes away and possessed a spiritual gift for detecting other people’s business.
She opened my front door without knocking, carrying a grocery bag and wearing a purple tracksuit covered in rhinestones.
“Where he at?”
I closed my eyes.
Pauline spotted Richard near the dining table.
“Oh, he got all his teeth.”
“Auntie.”
“What? That matters at his age.”
Richard extended his hand. “Pauline, I assume.”
“You heard about me?”
“Veronica mentioned a close relative with flexible boundaries.”
Pauline looked at me. “You talking about me already?”
“I mentioned you while explaining why my doors require locks.”
She ignored that and walked around Richard, examining him like furniture at an estate sale.
“You really a billionaire?”
“I’ve had a fortunate career.”
“How do you feel about medical debt?”
“Aunt Pauline.”
“My feet hurt. I need a pool for low-impact exercise.”
“You cannot swim.”
“I can stand.”
Kamani came in through the same unlocked door ten minutes later. My sister brought a bottle of wine, a frozen cheesecake, and enough suspicion for the entire family.
She hugged me, then looked Richard over.
“Do you have a basement?”
Richard blinked. “Several.”
Kamani pulled me toward the kitchen. “See.”
“See what?”
“Billionaires always have basements.”
“People with large houses tend to have basements.”
“What’s in his?”
“Furnaces, storage, and one exceptionally disappointing wine collection,” Richard said from the dining room.
Kamani stared at him.
“He has good hearing,” I explained.
Pauline joined us for dinner without invitation. Richard sat between Charlie and Penny while the children asked questions.
“How big is your house?” Ollie asked.
“Large enough to lose relatives in.”
“Do you have a pool?” Pauline asked.
“Yes.”
“Indoor or outdoor?”
“Both.”
She pressed a hand to her chest. “Veronica, this could be the one.”
Tatum stabbed a piece of chicken with her fork. “Mama doesn’t need a man for a pool.”
Pauline leaned closer. “Baby, nobody needs a man. We need access.”
Richard laughed into his glass.
I should have been embarrassed. Instead, I watched him settle into our noise. He listened when Penny explained her science project. He asked Tatum about college. He encouraged Ollie to defend himself with words before fists.
Charlie climbed into his lap before dessert.
Richard froze.
“You can move him,” I said.
“I’m fine.”
His hands rested lightly on Charlie’s back. Something softened in his face when my son tucked his head beneath Richard’s chin.
I saw the loneliness again.
It looked different inside my crowded dining room.
After dinner, Vick drove Richard home. Hank, his attorney, arrived before they left with a contract for the foundation.
I read the compensation twice.
“This is too much.”
Hank, a heavyset man with a graying beard, adjusted his glasses. “Richard expected you to say that.”
“Did he tell you to lower it?”
“He told me you would negotiate higher after reviewing the workload.”
I looked at Richard.
He lifted one shoulder. “I have faith in you.”
I reviewed the duties.
He was right.
“I want fifteen percent more, control over the curriculum, and childcare reimbursement for evening events.”
Hank made a note. “Done.”
Richard smiled.
“What?” I asked.
“I enjoy watching you work.”
“Keep enjoying. You’re paying for it.”
My car was repaired the following morning.
Richard covered the bill.
I called him from the mechanic’s parking lot.
“I planned to pay for this myself.”
“You planned to postpone three repairs and pay for one.”
“How do you know that?”
“The mechanic mentioned it.”
“He violated my financial privacy.”
“He expressed fear for your physical safety.”
“I’m paying you back.”
“No.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
I leaned against the newly repaired car. “You cannot buy me.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then why are you spending money?”
“Because money solves problems. You had a problem. I had money.”
“That simple?”
“Yes.”
“What do you want in return?”
“Dinner on Friday.”
I considered it.
“Somewhere expensive?”
“Painfully.”
“Fine.”