Chapter 4
Thomas
“Are you ready for school today?” I asked Lacey.
“Yeah! I got my markers, and my crayons, and my notebooks, and my lunch.”
“Good girl,” I said. “Now, whenever someone talks to you, what do you say?”
“I say ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’”
“Good. Now, what’s my phone number?”
She repeated the number.
“And what’s our address?” I asked.
She rattled off her manners and our emergency information. I wanted her to be prepared to have a blast, while knowing that if something ever happened, she knew how to call me and where to go if she ever needed to get home. I decided to drive her to her first day instead of putting her on the bus, and my heart ached when she got out of her seat and went dashing for the door. She was so excited to go to school all day and be with her friends, but I was petrified she would be scared and wouldn’t enjoy it.
“You must be Mr. Jeffries,” a smiling woman said. “I’m Mrs. Tottle, Lacey’s kindergarten teacher.”
Her gray and white hair was piled up onto her head while glasses slid down her nose. She reminded me of that stereotypical grandmother you saw in all those movies, and I got a kick at how jovial she was for the school year to begin. The kids ran around her legs and got into all the things in her classroom, and she talked me through how their first day was going to go.
“Today’s just gonna be a nice introduction day. We’ll sit in a circle and introduce ourselves, and then we will all name an activity we like to do. Then, all of the kids will do that activity for a little while to help get to know their peers in their classroom.”
“That sounds fantastic, Mrs. Tottle. Thank you so much.”
“Oh, it’s not a problem,” she said. “And rest assured, if Lacey struggles in any way, I will be sure to give you a call. We have some things we try first, like taking them to another playroom for some alone time and going to the library to read to get them to settle down, but if they don’t, the parents get a call, and they can instruct us on where to go from there.”
“That makes me feel a lot better,” I said. “Thank you, Mrs. Tottle.”
My eyes drifted over to Lacey, who had already bonded with a little boy with glasses and a taller girl who walked with braces on her legs. They were playing with playdough, and she was helping the little boy make what looked like to be a pizza. They were giggling and smiling and having the best time. I decided it would be best to slip out while she was preoccupied, so I shook Mrs. Tottle’s hand one last time before I headed to my car.
I sat in the parking lot of the school while a tear ran down my face. My little girl was growing up and experiencing things she’d carry for the rest of her life. It meant I was actually doing something right. Her feeling comfortable enough to step away from me and make friends like that meant I’d instilled in her a confidence not all women had, and I felt my chest puff out in pride at that realization.
I never shed a fucking tear over that bitch who gave birth to her, but I’d shed many tears over the course of my little girl growing up. She was my baby, and I was slowly watching her turn into, well, now my little girl.
I cranked my car and headed on to Bridget’s, and when I got there, she whipped the door open before I could get to the doorbell.
“Looking out for me, I see?” I asked.
“How did she do? Did she cry? Did you cry? Did she make friends? Is she having fun?”
It was taken aback by how excited she was to know about Lacey’s first drop off at school. It was a bit unnerving, but seeing a young woman actually take interest in my daughter felt somewhat relieving. It was the attention her mother should have given her, and it showed me that people were capable of caring for my daughter, even though she wasn’t theirs.
“She did well,” I said. “I dropped her off and met her teacher, and by the time I left, she had already made a couple of friends. I think she’ll do well.”
“Oh, that’s so good. Good, good, good.” I saw her arm jiggling at her side, and I knew something had made her nervous. I felt my hand naturally gravitate toward my gun while I looked around the home, but a light pressure on my arm ripped me from my protective trance.
“No one’s here,” she said. “I’m nervous because we have a photoshoot we gotta leave for soon. I wasn’t sure if you would be coming or not today.”
“Nope,” I said. “I’m here. When’s the shoot?”
“Noon.”
“Well, it’s only a little past nine. We’ve got plenty of time.”
“It takes two hours to do hair and makeup,” she said, giggling.
“Holy shit, are you serious?”
“As a heart attack. Now, come on. The car’s almost here.”
We got into the car and headed for the photoshoot, and I couldn’t get that timeframe out of my mind. Two hours to put on a bit of makeup and do up some hair? Was she serious? I’d be standing in a room with hairspray and lipstick for two solid hours, and I wasn’t really looking forward to that at all.
When we got there, we were escorted to a dressing room. Bridget sat down in a chair that sat in front of a massive mirror, and someone promptly brought another chair for me to sit on. I was thankful I wouldn’t have to stand for two hours while I watched them paint her down with all sorts of colors, but when she started talking, I started to relax back a bit.
“Got a favorite color, Mr. Jeffries?” she asked.
“Orange. Like a deep, burnt orange.”
“So, you’re a fall kinda guy?”
“Fall and spring,” I said. “My daughter loves the different colors that bloom and fade.”
“I’m a summer gal,” she said. “Give me the beaches and bikinis and sun-kissed men any day.”
“The beach and the mountains both have their appeal.”
“Hot tub or bathtub?” she asked.
“What is this, twenty questions?”
“Depends. Do you wanna play?” She shot me a sultry look while someone started curling her hair around a massive iron, and the thought of getting to know her better honestly sounded nice. So, I decided to indulge her little fantasy of twenty questions with her bodyguard.
“Bathtub,” I said. “Being naked with a woman is always better than being clothed.”
“Oh, sounds scandalous,” she said with a smirk.
“Morning or night?” I asked.
“Night. I love how it blankets the world and makes it seem more mysterious.”
“So, you’re a mystery kinda gal?” I asked. “Does this mean our next date should be at a mystery theater?”
“You know, I’ve never been to one of those,” she said.
“Hold still.” The makeup artist painted her lips quickly with this deep shade of purple, and I sat back and waited for her to continue. I wanted to know more about her as we got to talking, and part of me was pissed that some makeup gal was interrupting the flow in conversation.
“You should go. They’re nice. I went once before I had my daughter. Figured that shit out, too.”
“Oh, strong and smart,” she said. “Two for two.”
“Photoshoots or movies?” I asked.
“Photoshoots, definitely. Less time, less costume changes, and less barking of orders.”
“Got that right,” the makeup artist said.
“I have a question that isn’t an ‘either-or’ one,” she said.
“Shoot. I’m an open book.”
“Did Lacey’s mom die in childbirth?”
I felt my blood run cold with the words that descended upon my ears. She’d obviously been thinking about that moment in the car when she’d asked me about Lacey’s mother and I didn’t answer. I couldn’t blame her for being curious, but it was highly hypocritical that she would ask me about such a personal moment without revealing the personal reason why I was here to take care of her.
“That probably would’ve been better,” I said.
“Wow, what’d she do?” she asked.
“Tried to abort her, then tried to give her up for adoption against my wishes. I legally intervened and collected me daughter, and then, she took off.”
“What the fuck?” she asked. “Who the hell would do something like that?”
“A raging bitch that didn’t deserve the daughter she popped out.”
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Jeffries.”
“Thomas,” I said.
“What?”
“If we’re gonna get this personal, just call me ‘Thomas’, Miss Meyers.”
“Then it’s ‘Bridget’ to you,” she said with a grin.
“All right, you’re all set,” the makeup artist said.
“Thank god,” Bridget said. “My ass is numb.”
“Stand up and jiggle it a bit, that always helps me,” I said.
“You’d like that little show, wouldn’t you?” she asked.
“Hey, I was just helping out,” I said, while I raised my hands in mock surrender.
I followed her out to the photoshoot, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. They had her changing into different outfits in a corner before she walked onto this cloth that was draped around bars, and she looked absolutely stunning. Fans blew her hair back, and those plump lips were pushed out for a massive pout. Her tits were shoved to her chin, and her ass jutted out, beckoning for the dick that was throbbing in my pants.
She was a gorgeous woman, and she had me entranced with the poses she took. Some of them were of her laughing, and some of them were of her crawling on the ground. Some were simply smiles, and some had mysterious undertones, but the one I enjoyed the most was when she looked over at me. Her eyes lit up, and a playful grin creeped across her face. The photographer seemed excited to catch her in such a vulnerable moment before she peeled her gaze from mine and started showing off for the camera again.
It was the first time in my entire career I’d ever been focused on the person instead of their surroundings. I finally started clocking entrances and exits and studying the people in the room, but every single time my eyes came back to her, she was looking over at me.
Making sure I didn’t go anywhere.
Whatever the hell this beautiful woman had gotten herself into, it was rattling her to her core.
And I was determined to figure out what it was.