CHAPTER FOUR
Charlie
The girl is stunning, from her raven-black hair to her striking, green eyes, her pert little nose and her full, luscious lips. The rest of her is just as stunning. From head to toe, Charlotte Harrington is gorgeous. That has nothing to do with my hiring decision, however. She’s been valedictorian something like a thousand times! Sure, I’m exaggerating, but everything about her makes her more than qualified for this position. Long before I saw her, she had the job. She could have come in and been entirely disagreeable and rude and that would have changed, or she could have come in and made it clear she didn’t intend to stick around for any length of time. That would have cost her the job, too. She has the job now, and she has it because of her mind and her skills and not for her appearance.
That in no way changes the fact that I am awestruck by her appearance.
“You still there?” The voice on the other end of the line belongs to Paul DiSarrono, my best friend, and the owner of DiSarrono development. “You’ve really fallen for her, haven’t you?”
“No,” I say. It’s close to a lie. Perhaps it’s a total lie. “She’s lovely, but you know I’m not in the market for a relationship. Anyway, why in the world would a girl like her, who’s just starting out, want a guy like me?”
“Not in the market?” Paul’s voice isn’t as careful as I expect. He isn’t treating the issue with kid gloves. “It’s been nine years and you need to stop punishing yourself for something you couldn’t control.” I don’t answer. I can’t. Nine years seems like nothing to him, but I held my wife in my arms as she took her last breath, and I couldn’t even comfort her, because she was in an entirely different place; her mind taken as it had been time and time again by the narcotics she couldn’t kick.
My silence doesn’t slow him down. “You did everything you could for her, Charlie,” Paul says. “But she couldn’t get where she needed to go. You deserve some happiness in this life.”
“Maybe I do,” I say, “But how in the hell am I supposed to find it, Paul? It’s easy for you. You’ve never failed.”
“Of course I have.”
“You’ve never failed your little girl, Paul. You’ve earned it when she calls you Daddy.”
There’s a long pause and finally Paul says, “You didn’t fail Sylvie, Paul. You did everything right, but addiction is a battle anyone, little girl or not, has to face alone, when it comes right down to it. She would have been gone five years earlier if not for you.”
“Maybe,” I say. From an intellectual standpoint, I know he’s right, but that doesn’t change the overwhelming sense of failure I feel. It was my job to protect her, and to care for her. I couldn’t. How could I even consider failing someone else?
“At least be open to it, Charlie. Wil you at least do that as a favor to me?”
“All right,” I say. “I’ll be open, but let’s face the reality; rich girls with law degrees aren’t usually Littles.” That statement is true, but there is no doubt in my mind that being a little is exactly what Charlotte needs. I hear the front door to the office open and then two voices. Nancy is here, early as always. Charlotte is early, too. “Got to go, Paul,” I say. “They’re here.”
“Will you be open to it, Charlie?” he asks again.
“Look, Paul,” I say. “Now isn’t the time, man. They’re here.”
“The hell it isn’t,” he says. “You can either hang up on me or you can tell me you’ll be open to it, but I’m not saying goodbye.”
I pause for a moment. Paul makes it seem so simple, and it just isn’t simple at all. On the other hand, the world he suggests is a hell of a lot nicer than the world I’m stuck in. “Okay, Paul,” I say. “I’ll try to be open.”
“All right man,” he says. “I’ve got your back.”
“Thanks,” I say. I hang up the phone and step out of my office.
Nancy looks as cheerful as can be. She always does. She smiles and says, “I’ll get the coffee started. Furniture should be here between eight and ten.” She heads to the conference room and I turn my attention to Charlotte.
God, she’s beautiful. She is wearing black slacks and a black jacket over a beautiful pink blouse. She wears professional heels and she looks like a dream. She smiles at me and asks, “Furniture?”
I nod and point to her office. “We’ll want to get those boxes out of there before your desk arrives.”
“Office?” She says in a voice of something akin to wonder, and I find her so damned endearing I have to work hard not to embarrass myself with some kind of audible recognition of her cuteness.
“Well, I thought you’d probably do better with an office than working on the conference room table,” I say.
“Right,” she says. “Of course.”
“But you’re in no condition to move anything,” I say. “So you’ll leave that to me.”
She turns to face me and says, “No condition to move anything… Do you… do you think I’m pregnant?”
I look at her for a moment and her face breaks out in a broad smile. Nancy laughs from behind the reception desk and says, “I’m really going to get along with her!”