August: Calendar Girl Book 8 (8 page)

I watched as the man’s shoulders slumped and his head hung forward. He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and the boy waved goodbye to me.

I woke with a start, the dream still so vivid it was as if I could hear the ping and trill of the casino all around the room, see the slot machines and the bright lights blinking on and off. Closing my eyes, I slumped back down under the duvet, flattened my pillow, and turned it over to the cold side. Usually, I could control my dreams enough that I could go back to them or think about what I wanted to and dream of that. This time when I closed my eyes, I went head first into another memory.

Mom and Dad were fighting again. Maddy was with Aunt Millie back at the house. It was her fourth birthday, and we were picking up her present. Pops wanted to visit Mom at work and make sure she was going to be home in time for the party. Mom didn’t think it was fair that she had to cut work short to celebrate a four-year-old’s birthday. Said that Maddy would never remember it anyway, so what did it matter?

That’s when a man bumped into the two of them on the street. A teenager stood next to him and caught Mom around the waist. She turned, ready to yell at the intruder even though they were being helpful. I knew instantly it was the boy from the past only much older. The father looked unchanged. He even wore a big cowboy hat like he’d worn that day a few years before. When Mom saw his face, she turned white as a ghost and backed into Pops. He caught her this time.

“Meryl?” the man said to my mom, whose hands shook at her side. “My God, it’s been years. Uh, this is, this…”

“Maxwell.” Her voice broke as she said the young teen’s name.

Max. That’s right. His name was Max. Only I’d forgotten that before. The teen tipped his own cowboy hat and responded, “Ma’am,” before shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. I could still see the blond curls of his hair peeking out from beneath his wide black hat. Then he glanced at me. Those pale green eyes sparkled with kindness as he tipped his hat toward me. “Howdy, little miss,” he said, and I smiled. I’d wondered if he remembered me from before, but I doubted it.

“Who’s this?” Pops asked Mom.

“Uh, this is an old friend. Jackson Cunningham and his son…Maxwell.” It was as if her voice cracked under the sheer pressure of having to say the boy’s name. Pops held out his hand and introduced himself. Jackson’s blue eyes never left my mom’s. Hers never left Max’s. There was something there within her gaze, a secret hidden so deep, I knew the truth would break us all if it came out into the light of day.

The five of us stood there awkwardly, Jackson staring blatantly while Mom seemed to shrivel into herself. Pops finally broke through the moment by tugging my hand and announcing we were late for an important event.

“Um, yeah, we have to go. It was good seeing you, Jackson. I hope you and Max, uh, your son, have been well.”

“Wait, Meryl, let’s exchange numbers.” Jackson reached out a hand as Mom shook her head and skirted his grasp, trailing after Pops and me. “Don’t, Meryl. Not again…” His plea was almost a whisper in the wind.

“It’s for the best. You’re better off.”

The alarm clock sounded, but all I could hear were those seven words rolling around and around within the clutches of the dream, but more recently, in my very own walk down the hellish path that was memory lane.

“It’s for the best. You’re better off.”
I squeezed my eyes together tight, trying not to remember.

“It’s for the best. You’re better off.”
Her voice was soft, sounding almost like a song.

“It’s for the best. You’re better off.”
The scent of her perfume swirled through the air of my bedroom long after she’d gone.

“Mia, my darling…”
I vaguely remembered her petting my forehead while I clung to sleep, only ten years old with my princess-themed comforter, too hot, but tucked tight around me. She kissed my hairline and whispered those very same words.
“It’s for the best. You’re better off.”

That was when my mother left and never came back. For a long time, I’d blocked that memory, thinking it wasn’t real, that I’d imagined it. The same way I’d blown off the dreams about the boy and his father. Only they weren’t dreams. They were memories, ones that made one thing clear as day.

I knew Maxwell Cunningham and his father knew my mother.

“
M
ax
, we need to talk,” I said as I entered the kitchen. Cyndi was making a big belly breakfast, complete with pancakes, bacon, and eggs. My stomach growled loudly as the scent of bacon wafted around the kitchen.

Cyndi pointed to an empty plate at the table while Max loaded it up full of all the fixings. I sat like an elephant—my legs, too tired from holding the weight of my burdens, collapsed beneath me. “Here, eat. We do need to explain a few things,” he said gruffly.

Before I could start, Cyndi interrupted. “Now, I know you’re probably mad,” she started while setting down a steaming cup of coffee in front of me. With an efficiency I knew I’d never had, she plopped in two teaspoons of sugar and a splash of cream, remembering exactly how I took my coffee. Things like that added to her overall lovely nature. She paid attention to the small things. The little tidbits that made a person feel comfortable, like how they took their coffee in the morning. “I’ll start by saying I’m sorry,” Cyndi announced.

“No, you’re not,” I stated plain as day, watching her face closely to see if there truly was even a speck of remorse.

Her blue eyes rolled, and she stopped and pressed a hand to her belly, the egg crusted spatula hovering in the air in the other hand. “You’re right. I’m not sorry. You need your sister here, and we need to meet them.”

They
needed
to meet them. That was the part that threw me for a loop. “Why? What goes on between me and my sister has nothing to do with you or your husband or his business.” I glanced at Max and he looked down, doing a great job of avoiding the conversation and pushing his uneaten eggs around his plate. Max not shoveling the food down his gullet was another thing that stuck out. The man liked to eat. Meaning, every time I’d ever seen him eat, he’d clear two plates of food before anyone else in the near vicinity could remotely finish one.

Max sighed deeply, his entire body heaving with the effort. “We’ve come to care a great deal for you, Mia. Can you just accept that and let the rest go?”

I huffed, picked up a fat slice of bacon, and shoved it in my mouth. The crisp texture and salty, meaty goodness flowed over my taste buds like a blanket of perfection. Bacon. God’s perfect food. I chewed thoughtfully for a few moments, thinking about how I wanted to address this. Yes, they were being kind, overly so. But—and it was a pretty big but—they had done this without consulting me. It’s my life, my family, not theirs. They needed to understand the severity of what they’ve done.

“Look, Max, Cyndi…” I gestured to them both. She put down the spatula, turned off the burner, and waddled over to her husband. He looped an arm around her waist while she gripped his shoulder. They presented a united front, and something about that didn’t sit well with me. Regardless, I had a point to make, and by God, I’d make it. “You cannot meddle in my life. I am here to do a job. One you’ve paid a hefty fee for. Even though we’ve become friendly, it does not give you the right to home in on my problems. You are my client. I am essentially a hired hand, not your family. What you did, bringing Maddy and her fiancé here, was so far out of bounds, outside of anyone’s comfort zone…” I shook my head, not knowing how to finish what I needed to get across without crucifying them.

“You overstepped a line.” My own voice shook with the anger bubbling at the core of the problem.

Max inhaled and nodded. “I’ll speak for my wife and myself when I say that we regret the way we invaded your life, but please know that our intentions were in the right place.”

“Yeah, well, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.” I pursed my lips together and brought a knee up to my chest, balancing it on the chair. “Please remember your place. I think the lines are getting blurred here. I am pretending to be someone to help fool your investors until you find your
real
sister. As much as I wish it were true…I’m not your sister. You do not get to act like the big brother saving his little sis.”

Saying that put it out there in black and white. Max clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. Cyndi leaned down, kissed his temple, and whispered something that sounded a little like, “Tell her,” into his ear, but I couldn’t be sure.

Several excruciating minutes of an uncomfortable silence passed until, finally, Max opened his eyes and loosened his hold on his wife. “Okay, Mia. I get it. We’ll play it your way.”

“Max honey—” Cyndi started, but Max threw a hand up cutting her off.

He shook his head, eyes laser-focused on me. “Can we move on from this?” he asked me, his tone now that of a hard and fast businessman.

I nodded and played with my napkin, suddenly feeling as if I were in the wrong somehow. The conversation turned so quickly that I didn’t even have a chance to bring up the dreams, or memories rather, before he stood abruptly, his chair grating along the tile floor. “Got to get ready for work, Mia. Today is a suit day.”

“A suit?”

His chin jutted. “We’re meeting with the investors. Time to put that sisterly facade into place.” He grumbled in a way that sent pointed spikes deep into the tough barrier around my heart. The one that I’d just barely put in place this morning after finding out they’d duped me. Admittedly, his words stung. No, they downright hurt. My concerns were valid, and he was the one that overstepped his authority, not me. So why did I feel like the scum on the bottom of a landfill worker’s shoe?

“When do we leave?” I asked around a mouthful of eggs.

“Forty-five minutes. Cyndi honey, I’ll be on the porch. I need some air,” he muttered and walked off.

I finished my breakfast and thought about how I was going to get him back into the jovial mood he’d been in most of the time I’d been here, but I couldn’t come up with anything. And of course, now with tension between the two of us, we had to meet with the committee of investors and present this new sibling relationship, making it believable enough that they’d forgo transferring the ownership for the time being.

T
he ride to Cunningham Oil
& Gas was suffocating. Max turned on the music and didn’t utter a word to me the entire ride. Every once and a while the air would shift, and I’d see him tighten or loosen his grip on the wheel. It made me think he was going to say something, but then he’d exhale and focus on the road again.

When we exited the truck, he still came around to my side, ever the gentleman, and helped me out of the vehicle. The suit I’d worn fit like a glove. I felt strong, powerful, and ready to take on a bunch of stodgy businessmen. The pencil skirt reached an acceptable length with a slit in the back at a decent height. Nothing too provocative. The blouse I’d paired it with was a mint green, showcasing my eyes. The blazer nipped in at the waist and the gray color set off my hair beautifully. Whoever picked it out had done a great job.

As we entered the building, every woman within a fifty-foot radius checked out Max. He did look scrumptious in his black suit and pristine white dress shirt. At his neck, a bolo tie of black twisted leather met at the top in the shape of a star, one that matched the company’s logo. He’d finished off the look with a perfect pitch black Stetson, his blond hair peeking out the back. I smiled and clasped his hand. He inhaled sharply and curled his fingers around my hand. A jolt of electricity and familiarity sizzled at the center of my palm.

“Do you feel that?” I asked, wanting more than anything to know he felt that connection between us. It wasn’t sexual in nature like I’d experienced with other men I’d been intimate with. It just felt right, holding his hand. As though the universe had stuck us together and we were supposed to be there at that moment, unified—connected in a way I couldn’t seem to fathom.

He tipped his head toward me. “Sugar, I’ve felt the connection to you for eons. Ever since I met you that first time when we were little.”

I swallowed down the sob that wanted to tear through my lungs. “You knew?”

He nodded. “I remembered you the moment you got off the plane, but it’s more than that. A tug, if you will. Like a missing part of myself is somewhere else, moving around the earth. A piece I can’t touch or see, but I know is there.”

I shook my head and squeezed his hand tighter. “I don’t understand. It’s like I know you, but I don’t know you.”

Max put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close to his chest. A warm sense of peace and serenity filled my heart and my entire being. “It will be okay. We’ll figure it out. First, we need to get through today and this meeting. It’s go-time, darlin’.” He ushered me off the elevator. My mind was a mix of nostalgia intermingled with the present.

I briefly closed my eyes and saw the boy from my dreams, his eyes so closely matching my own. Shaking the thoughts away, I lifted my chin and tightened my jaw. Jutting out my ample bosom while straightening my spine, I readied for battle. No matter what was going down between Max and me and our convoluted past, the present was now. His birthright, the company his family had owned for generations and built from the ground up, depended on these investors believing I was his sibling. I clutched his hand tightly as he opened the glass door to the enormous boardroom that overlooked the lush landscape and campus beyond the acres of trees.

“Bring it,” I whispered, and he chuckled.

Max led me to a chair at the front of the room. There were only two empty ones left, and at least two dozen more filled with bodies also wearing suits. In the seat three down from the one that Max held out for me was Sofia Cunningham. Her sneer and distaste for me was palpable as I smoothed down the back of my skirt and sat tall. Max didn’t sit. Instead, he stood behind his chair and placed his hands on the backrest.

“Ladies and gentleman, I have called today’s meeting to bring to light a most exciting development. As you all recall, several months ago, my father, Jackson Cunningham, surprised us all with his will. At his passing, we were informed that forty-nine percent of Cunningham Oil & Gas was bequeathed to my biological half-sister, a woman five years my junior who I’d not known existed.” Murmured chatter picked up between small groups throughout the room.

“Quiet, please!” Max spread his arms out wide, and the talking stopped. “My father’s last wishes noted the name and birth date of the woman with whom I share a lineage. Her name is Mia Saunders. Born July fourteenth,
five years after I was born. This person to my left is that woman. I am immensely proud to introduce you to my sister, a woman I have only recently begun to get to know, but already feel that familial bond, Ms. Mia Saunders. Stand up, Sis.”

I stood and every single pair of eyes in the room zeroed in on me. A bunch of whispered comments reverberated through the room.

“They look nothing alike.”

“I can see it in the eyes.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“The resemblance is there.”

“No way that’s his sister. Look at her.”

“Her hair is black. His is blond. They are not related.”

This time, when Maxwell quieted the room, it was on a mighty roar. “Enough!”

The faces around the table looked chagrinned and some completely put out. Finally, Sofia raised her hand.

Maxwell tipped his head. “Sofia? You have a comment?”

Sofia placed her hands delicately in front of her on the mahogany conference table, the perfect picture of reason. “As a member of this family and an investor, you cannot expect all the members of the committee and investors around the room to take your word as fact on this matter. There are billions at stake, and generations of Cunninghams have put their good name to this. What proof do you have that this is indeed your blood relation?”

I stared at Max and watched he tightened his fingers, digging into the black leather chair enough to leave crescent-shaped indentations from his nails. “My word, and my honor as this company’s CEO and head of the family, should be enough, is it not?” He challenged Sofia in front of a roomful of their peers.

Her eyes were blazing hot, and her devilish smirk proved what I already had guessed. Nothing but solid, irrefutable proof would be enough to get her to back off. The woman was out for blood and her share of the money. A shockwave of fear scuttled down my spine as I worried my fingers in my lap, twisting them back and forth, wondering how Max was going to get her off the trail.

He tipped his head and stared at his cousin. “If proof is what you need, proof is what you’ll get.” He waved a hand and little Diane, his cheerful personal assistant, briskly entered the room with a remote control clutched in her hand. She was followed in by a sharply dressed African American woman in a winter-white suit. The suit was so bright against her ebony skin that a wave of jealously stole across me. Black women had the best skin, and this woman was breathtaking. Her hair was done in a series of braids tight to the scalp and tied back at the nape, where they fell in ropes down to her bum. Beautiful.

“Thank you, Diane.” Maxwell smiled, and she beamed, patted him on the chest directly over his heart, and crossed over to the two chairs in the corner of the room and sat in one of them. The gorgeous black woman followed, sliding her briefcase beside her chair, and taking her seat, her back ramrod straight. The bright red sole of her sky-high Louboutins gleamed when she gracefully placed one knee over the other. I needed hot “sista” girlfriends. They always seemed to know how to dress. I could take some serious notes on business chic from a woman like that.

Max clicked a few buttons on the remote control, and an LCD screen zipped down from the back wall, the light at the center of the room shining onto the blank screen. A few more presses and a picture of my Nevada driver’s license popped up.

Without missing a beat, Max spoke. “You want proof. Exhibit A. Mia Saunders’s driver’s license proving not only her name is exactly the same as what was written in the will but her birth date as well.” That confused me. I’d thought Millie and Max confirmed that the name was written in a way that you couldn’t confirm what was stated. I’d have to check on that after the fact.