Chapter Three
Damn that asshole, I couldn’t help myself from thinking. It had been a few days since Mackenzie “call me Mack” Miller had unceremoniously asked me to leave his car. The nerve! Our conversation was over, according to him, and I was expected to jet away gracefully.
My thoughts were going wild as I smoothed my hand down the front of my camisole. Staring at myself in the mirror as I got ready for work, my mind wandered to a thousand different places. I took in how my early summer tan contrasted with the pale pink fabric of my suit, while I examined my abdomen. Turning to the side, I breathed out heavy, pushing and puffing my stomach as far as it would go, which wasn’t much at all. To most, my obsession probably seemed seated in my work in fashion and style. I knew otherwise.
It had been close to eight years since my life took a screeching turn, yet I still checked for a pooch. My deflated belly only mocked me. If it could speak, it would ask why I keep doing this… Alas, my stomach didn’t talk.
And I wasn’t a great listener, so case closed.
Snagging my coffee cup from the dresser, I walked into the bathroom and took my last slug before applying Silky’s Bar-Bay pink lipstick. Sealing the cap back on the tube, I scolded myself for even buying it, let alone wearing it.
It had been about three weeks since I’d first visited an actual Silky Skin store. Of course, I’d known all about the cosmetics and skin care line, but I wanted to see everything for myself before heading to meet Mackenzie Miller. I’d sampled a few of the products over the years at work, but the brand took on a new meaning when Paps revealed a few of his secrets to only me.
My sister, Ashley, and I always thought he’d been in love with someone other than my grandmother, Sally, but it was only in the last few years of his life that he became more transparent. For some reason, he didn’t share his story with Ashley, and I wasn’t going to be the one to tell her.
Later, he admitted why he’d shared this information with me. Based on my immense loss, he wanted me to know that he too had experienced the same level of pain. The losses were not the same, but in his mind we had something in common. Mostly, I was mad at my family, the church, and our little community, all of whom had promised if I was a kind and obedient girl, good things would happen. They didn’t happen.
Paps had spent a good part of his life at odds with his religion after his broken love story—maybe that was why he lumped us together. But he could’ve stood up and had a happier ending. I was sure of it and desperately needed to know why not.
Now, tucked in my pencil skirt and blazer, I spent most of the day dealing with men like Mack. Arrogant, wealthy, and powerful assholes, who thought they could do no wrong and deserved everyone’s attention the minute they occupied a room. Well, I wasn’t afraid of his kind, and I’d strode into work armed with a fresh batch of cookies and planned to ambush the man in question at the end of the workday.
The minute I’d stormed into his office, I almost forgot my mission. That was the most terrifying problem with Mackenzie Miller—he cast a spell on me, causing me to lose my words and my way if I wasn’t careful.
If he got his looks and charisma from his grandma, I understood why my Paps fell for her.
All I wanted was to show him some of the letters I’d found and apologize for any actions on the part of my family that might have led to Rose’s unease. Although I suspected her family was the more outspoken one, not mine. My parents seemed to be the first generation to treat children with hostility, but that was a different story arc.
But…but…when it came to this particular tale, freaking Mack Miller got under my skin. Literally, I felt twitchy when I was around him; my fingers burned to touch and feel him all over. And then I went and held his hand and a fire erupted in my belly. I was an active volcano when it came to him, and he wasn’t the least bit affected. At all. He’d dismissed me for the second time, and to say my ego was bruised was putting it lightly.
I wasn’t sure if it was my need to share the information with him or his lack of sensing my feelings or both, but when I got home on Friday night I made it my personal mission to get the man to agree to meet with me.
Google was my friend. He’d mentioned golf, and that was where I started. After a quick search, the internet turned up a decade’s worth of pictures of Mack at his golf club with several of his football teammates and wealthy buddies. One giant in particular, who had played professionally. Most recently, the handsome and generous Mack Miller—their words—had recently attended a fundraiser for a local women’s shelter and played in a tournament benefitting the Boys and Girls Club with Ryder Fyrst and Spencer Kline.
I barely looked at the other subjects, my eyes laser focused on the source of my investigation. He was smiling in every picture, standing next to a friend or two, and never beside a woman. In one picture, Mack was standing with a cousin named Tom. And I could tell by his body language that he didn’t care for this guy, but was in it for the cause. My initial research proved Mack Miller had a heart somewhere inside his tough exterior.
When I dove deeper, the articles on his business dealings said otherwise. Miller is ruthless when it comes to his negotiations and takeovers—again, their words—but his rating as an employer was sky-high. Everyone who worked at Silky Skin, Milly’s, or the factory or offices loved their job. It was a safe environment with full benefits and a family-like atmosphere.
It was an enigma how such a staunch businessman created such a warm work environment.
I’d been on my Mack Miller internet search for more hours than I cared to admit…when Saturday afternoon I’d fallen asleep on the couch, the laptop still on my legs. I’d woken to my phone buzzing and my thighs on fire from the computer’s heat.
“Hello?” My throat scratchy from sleep, I didn’t bother to look at caller ID.
“Frankie? What are you doing home? It’s Saturday… I sent a colleague, Matthew, in to see you.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and wished I hadn’t answered. “Hello, Jeremy. So nice of you to check in. I’m well, thanks.”
“I’m not checking in. I sent you a client, and you’re not at work on a Saturday. Isn’t that the busiest day of the week for retail?”
Sitting up, I set the laptop on the coffee table and leaned back into the couch, sticking the phone on speaker. “Not that I owe you an explanation, Jer, but I don’t work Saturdays anymore unless someone asks me to. I’m mostly working with my book of business and not taking new customers. It’s been a long time since I’ve depended on weekend walk-ins. Not that you should care or it’s any of your business.”
I hated that his nickname came out of my mouth, a habit I’d never been able to kick. A long time ago, I’d thought Jeremy Ross was the love of my life. Yeah, he’d been captain of the football and basketball teams, and I was a cheerleader. And we all knew those relationships only worked out in the movies. But somewhere in my brain, I’d believed I was the one who would make it happen.
I was a sucker for love stories and fancied myself above a tragic breakup, until it was my reality.
“Matthew just made partner at his law firm. He really needs to up his game. A real shame you don’t want to keep growing your book. Don’t you think that is self-limiting? Oh, it must be the settlement you got from me?”
I felt my body shaking before I visibly saw my hands tremble. “Listen, I’m not up for this. Not now or ever. Please don’t send me clients or call me. You paid me off to get out of your world and take care of a baby you didn’t want. Then I lost the baby and almost died in the process. So stay out of my life. I’m living it how I want, considering I almost lost it.”
I disconnected the call before he could respond. Standing up, I decided a fresh cup of coffee was needed. Then I could start figuring out how I could get through to Mack Miller.
My Paps’s great love story needed to be heard and the blanks filled in.
It wasn’t until later that day I saw it—boom. I’d been half searching while getting dressed to meet my friend Rachel for dinner, and there it was—a pot of gold at the end of my rainbow. This coming week, Silky Skin was partnering with a different department store than the one I worked for to do makeovers for women heading back to the workforce. I wasn’t sure if the CEO would be there, but all I had to do was take a few hours off work and go see.
I mean, he should go. Right? It was a big publicity boon…
“Honestly, the guy is strange. He’s all hard edges and formidable in person, but then he sponsors an event like this.” I admitted more than I wanted to over a cocktail with Rachel.
“Frankie, darling, I have to be the voice of reason. This guy isn’t interested in what you’re peddling, and I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” Her hand stilled while smoothing her own black hair and she took my fingers in hers.
A laugh tumbled out of my chest, remembering how I’d done the same to Mack. “I don’t like the guy, Rach. I don’t even know if like is in my vocabulary after Jeremy. I just want to put all the pieces together of my Paps’s story. And maybe Mack Miller can help me find some clues. There has to be something Rosie left behind. I could help him find it.”
Rachel took a sip of her cabernet and looked at me dead-on, “Frankie, I know you. Remember, I was there when Jeremy sidelined you. I was the one who took you to the emergency room when everything went down, and you mumbled the whole time, ‘Where’s my happily-ever-after?’ I just don’t want you to think Mack is it.”
Knocking back the last dregs of my scotch, I allowed it to burn my throat in the way my Paps had taught me to appreciate. Rachel had been there for me until my sister showed up and took over, and then when Ashley disappeared, my friend took over. Again. “Don’t worry. I should’ve thought about your candor when making you my best friend. You know you can be brutal?”
Her head fell back, exposing her smooth olive skin down her neckline into the V-neck of her summer cashmere vest. “My candor? My grandma would call it chutzpah. Nerve, you know?”
I know. I remember your bubbe, Sophie, saying what chutzpah Jeremy had…”
Rachel smiled at my butchering of the ch sound. It was supposed to sound more raspy, less stilted than my using an h, leaving off the c all together.
“Don’t get hurt, okay? Paps wouldn’t want that.” Rachel let it go at that.
We spent the remainder of the night having a second drink, gabbing about her blind date, and munching on a charcuterie plate.
Sunday, I woke with a resolve to think about letting the whole mission go. Maybe Rachel was right, and I was looking at Mack Miller through rose-colored sunglasses.
Until Monday, when Jeremy’s friend Matthew showed up at my store, harassing me over a sale suit, and I spent every free moment daydreaming about my grandpap and some woman named Rosie. I imagined them stealing away for kisses in back alleys and him bringing her daisies the way he used to bring me. In a weird turn of events, my fantasy switched to Mackenzie Miller bringing me expensive bouquets—bright wildflowers—and leaning in to brush his lips along my cheek.
That was when I knew Rachel was absolutely correct: I was putting Mack on a pedestal. But it didn’t matter because I had to figure out what happened with Paps and Milly, no matter what.