The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield (54 page)

“It might work,” one of the older men—a politician, from the looks of it—who’d come to join the chaos earlier, said. “You could keep each other in check. Layla knows how to run the operation and Charlotte can keep the group to the straight and narrow.”

I glanced at Layla. 

She didn’t look happy at all. In fact, she looked downright apoplectic.

If we weren’t surrounded by a crowd of the Society’s most vital supporters, she probably would’ve already lunged at me and torn me to pieces.

In the space of three hours, her petty scheme had unraveled, thanks to careless henchmen (I could say henchwomen but that didn't sound right). Her newly-acquired rule in the Society was also now in jeopardy. 

It was a pretty simple set of tricks, really—none of them too crazy although they were escalating to dangerous—but they were enough to cause big enough cracks in someone’s credibility and eventually cause it to shatter at the force of scrutiny. 

There was nothing amusing about pranks coming from nearly thirty-year-olds who were supposed to be respectable champions of the unfortunate—especially since the goal was to alienate a member they didn’t like. It was catty.

Here you are, an hour into your membership, and you’ve already destabilized the Society’s executive board.This surely can’t be a good sign.

“Layla will do it,” a gruff male voice said.

I glanced up and saw Layla’s husband, Don LeClaire, step out from the crowd and stand next to his wife, his unnervingly even gaze settling on me.

There was nothing charming about the man.

In fact, he looked downright dour. 

He was a physically attractive man. He was probably in his mid to late thirties, with perfectly groomed sandy blond hair and a tall, lean build. His eyes though were a dark color and looked like they were permanently narrowed in disapproval. His mouth was a thin, grim line and his unflinching gaze, I suspected, would evoke two kinds of female reaction—either a seduction or a scare.

No wonder Layla has such a sunny disposition in life. She wakes up next to a thundercloud everyday. 

Mrs. Thundercloud—I mean, Layla—glanced at her husband with furrowed brows as if she were looking for confirmation, but he didn’t look at her.

Apparently, that was some form of response from him because Layla turned back to us and nodded. 

I wasn’t sure if I was the only one who noticed her visibly swallow with effort. 

That bothered me. For someone who was always so confident and strong-willed, Layla acquiesced to her husband’s announcement without a single protest. 

Maybe she knows better than to get struck by lightning.

“What do you say, Char?” Melissa asked, drawing my attention back to the deliberation at hand. “This is very unconventional but our sponsors are proposing for you to co-chair with Layla.”

From the look on Melissa’s face, I knew she wanted me to do it.

In fact, from the looks on most people’s faces, except for Layla and her crew, especially her cousin Bessy, I knew they wanted me to do it.

I suspect a different kind of conspiracy layered over the one Layla concocted. I have a feeling this was a compromise on the desired end-result.

I glanced first at Jake, who smiled at me supportively, and then at Brandon, who laced his fingers through mine and gently squeezed in encouragement.

You sure have a habit of making big, spontaneous decisions. Going to Paris, marrying Brandon, now running a charitable society. You don’t do things in half-measures, Char, do you?

I turned back to Layla and studied her face.

The mutinous look she had on earlier was completely gone. She looked quite complacent, actually. I wondered if it was her husband's encouragement—if ignoring her was how he showed it—that got her mellowed down.

She probably realized what hasn't been spoken out loud in this little congregation—that no one wants her to lead and they've used the fact that she was conspiring against you to push their case. She knows she has very few friends here, right now. Her only chance at keeping some hold on the Society is to co-chair with you. The final decision is on you.

"This is not the official process to select a new leader," Catherine, one of the older women on the board who was present during that tea-party and endearingly called me trailer trash, spoke up. "And there's no such thing as co-chairmanship in the Society. You can't just change the rules. Layla has been selected and she should stay on."

Mrs. Rossiter gave her a pitying sideways glance. "And you can keep her, if you refuse to bend your traditions when they clearly don't work or have been compromised in integrity. If you keep her, you just lose a good chunk of your sponsors. It's now a political decision that your Society has to make, Catherine."

Catherine looked chastised but she stubbornly made another attempt, "Well, I wouldn't say a good chunk. I mean, it's just you and—"

"Anyone present here who is either a current or future sponsor of the Society and would withdraw support if a change in leadership isn't made under these circumstances, raise your hand," Melissa announced, raising her hand and cutting off Catherine.

I watched, amazed, as several hands slowly rose.

Holy crap. When did the tables turn? I was probably not looking.

"You wouldn't say a good chunk, hey?" Mrs. Rossiter remarked wryly to Catherine who was flushing a deep shade of red. 

I sighed loudly. "Alright, 'fess up, peeps. Why me? There are a lot of other tenured Championettes who can co-chair with Layla much better than I can."

"Well, majority of the members work for her which, with today as an example, shows that we can't trade one evil for another," Mrs. Rossiter said. "The few remaining ones who don't, are not able to commit their time and energy on it full-time."

I glanced at Melissa with a raised brow. She could certainly do it.

She flashed me a sheepish smile at everyone. "So, Tom and I are expecting our second child, if anyone's wondering."

My eyes widened as people, sidetracked by the announcement, offered their enthusiastic congratulations to the beaming couple.

I glanced at Brandon in silent question and he just smiled and shrugged, leaning close to my ear to say, “Guess the only way you’re getting out of this is to have babies with me.”

“I’m not going to start popping out Brandon Juniors just to escape the co-chairmanship,” I muttered under my breath. “I’m just not sure I can do this, Brand. I think I might be having a lucid dream and none of this is actually real.”

He gave me a quick pinch on the rear and I yelped in surprise. “You’re definitely not dreaming.”

I groaned. “Then I really have just been nominated for the job.”

“Don’t worry too much about it, Char,” Jake said murmured conspiratorially. “You have all of us as resources, so don’t be afraid. This is a moment in time that might never happen again. The Championettes are breaking the rules for the first time in history—you might as well let them. It’s to yours and a lot of other people’s advantage.”

Jake’s right. It’s like reality altered for a bit—enough that something this unbelievable could actually happen.

I locked gazes with Layla. 

If I said no, they were going to still replace her anyway. 

These people were not kidding around. 

If I stayed and co-chaired, Layla might be able to keep her position.

And just why are you so concerned about someone who's hated you since day one? 

I watched Layla and her husband, and the way she was discreetly wringing her hands together like a stubborn child anxious for the punishment to come. 

If her husband was giving her any sort of comfort or support, I couldn't tell. If any of her minions were still left worshipping at her feet, I couldn't see any proof. 

Even Simone and Bessy had taken a discreet step back away from her.

It might be an illusion but she seemed utterly alone.

Why did I care? Because I couldn't purchase my happiness at the price of someone else's. 

Sometimes, the hero needs to save the villain. Darkness is merely an absence of light.

I took a deep breath. "Alright, I'll do it—so long as Layla co-chairs with me for the rest of the term, after which, the Society can elect a leader according to whatever procedure is in effect at that time." 

I gave everyone a crooked smile. "I would hate for every election to require this amount of drama and subterfuge. I don't imagine anyone can afford a sprained ankle every three years."

A ripple of laughter went through the crowd—except for those from Layla's camp, of course.

"How about it, partner?" I asked her gamely. "Are you in or out?"

Don already answered for her earlier but since Layla had a working mouth and brain (as I’d seen them in action more times than what was safe for my health), I preferred that she answer the question herself.

Her pale blue eyes betrayed nothing. In fact, her expression was one of absolute lack of it.

"I'm in," she bit out in a flat, clear voice.

I grinned as everyone murmured their approval.

And now we wait. Fierce winds can always snuff out the light and plunge everything back into darkness.

***

Melissa had done the official announcement.

After the crowd was broken up, she went up the podium to announce mine and Layla's co-chairmanship. 

Things almost seemed too convenient that later I dragged Melissa into a private corner and asked her if she had a hand at this seemingly impossible feat of thrusting me all the way up to a co-chairwoman. 

I believed in an act of God but I suspected that God probably had more important preoccupations than to worry about the Championettes. 

"I didn't do anything sinister, Char," Melissa had reassured me, beaming. "I noticed your first couple of accidents and mentioned it out loud—maybe in a way that would rouse their curiosity. People started paying attention and didn't stop until that magnificent set-down you were giving Alicia and her group."

I settled with that answer. 

I didn't like machinations. 

I had lived with one for a month with Brandon and I didn't like it. 

It made sense that Melissa’s carefully versed observation would make people take notice and see what she wanted them to see. 

When I'd asked Brandon and Jake if they had noticed it at all themselves, they both admitted to having thought that something must've been going on as I'd seemed unusually unkempt and distracted. They just didn’t think it was anything bad.

I got a stern ultimatum from Brandon to never keep my discomfort about anything from him ever again, no matter what. I'd sheepishly agreed. It was either that or he was going to spank me right then and there, in front of everyone.

You just have to survive the rest of the day now.

Apparently, the Championettes' brunch extended practically into early afternoon tea.

Who needs that much brunch, you might ask. 

The answer is no one but the brunch was there not for the food but for networking and campaigning for sponsors. 

Charity was a lot of legwork—and I had a sprained ankle—so I generally sat down most of the time since I refused to go home despite Brandon's insistence.

A sense of purpose surged through me with the recent turn of events.

I wanted a shot at being part of what the Society did but I would be the first person to admit that it had felt out of my reach even from the moment I received their invitation. The more I clashed with the group, the further the opportunity slipped from my hands. And now, it had been dropped on my lap Just. Like. That.

Well, it wasn’t exactly a piece of cake. 

I had a ruined shoe, a mussed-up hairdo, a ripped dress accessorized with thistles and a coffee stain, and a sprained ankle to show for it.

With my excitement came a nervous fluttering at the thought that I could go down as fast and as easily as I’d shot to the top.

Everyone would have their eyes on me, watching my every move, determining whether I was worth all that trouble they went through pressuring the Society into taking me on.

I didn’t want to disappoint.

But you can’t forget either that this isn’t about you. Just do your best.

“See you around, Charlotte,” Mrs. Rossiter said as she gave me a smile and a quick wave before getting into her waiting car. 

I smiled back and waved at the woman as her limo pulled out of the driveway.

We were among the last of the guests to leave, only a couple of people getting into their waiting vehicles. 

“How are you feeling?” Jake asked as plopped down on the bench next to me. I was sitting in the shade by the corner of the house, just off to the side of the front entrance.

“My ankle’s still throbbing a little but it’s nothing some ice and rest can’t fix,” I told him cheerfully.

He leaned forward to peer at it. “Probably have to bind it for a few days. And keep your weight off it. And no high heels.”

“Jake, I’ve sprained something before, you know?” I teased him, rewarding me with a frown.

“Don’t remind me of just how susceptible you are to injury,” he grumbled, sighing and stretching back against the bench. “Where’s Brandon anyway?”

“Getting my jacket,” I answered with a small yawn. “Freddy's on his way with the car 'coz we sent him home earlier when I realized we were going to be here for practically an entire day. How about you? Where’s your driver?”

Jake shrugged. “Sent him home hours ago too. I’ll walk for a little bit then take a cab home. But you look tired so maybe I’ll sit here with you until Brandon gets back.”

I shook my head. “It’s been a long day. Don’t stay for my sake. Although we can give you a ride home if you’d like.”

“I don’t think so,” he said with a crooked smile. “After sharing you to everyone all day, I doubt that Brandon would be happy delaying having you all to himself for much longer. If the look on his face as you danced earlier is any indication, he’s going to growl at me and rip my head off if I get in his way.”

I wrinkled my nose. “You make my husband sound like some barbaric, rutting animal.”

Jake laughed. “I’m his oldest friend, remember? I know him well enough.”

I grinned. “Well, you better go before he catches you regaling me with things he probably doesn’t want me to know. He’ll be here any sec as long as he didn’t get accosted by one more person who just has to talk to him.”

“Alright,” he said, standing up. “I’ll see you around, Char.”

“Thanks again for sticking by me today, Jake,” I told him softly as he leaned down to kiss my cheek. “You and Brandon are the best cheerleaders.”

“Comes from having known several of them over the years,” he quipped with a mischievous wiggle of his brows before I smacked him on the arm. 

He laughed and ruffled my hair. “I know you’ll do great, Char. I’m simply letting the inevitable happen.”

I was still smiling as I watched Jake saunter down the front steps of Clifton House.

At the sound of footsteps from somewhere behind me, I looked up and glanced to my side, thinking it was Brandon. 

It was Layla—dragging behind her husband who kept a firm hold on her elbow and practically clipped her to his side.

They didn’t see me—they were probably too busy being Mr. and Mrs. Thundercloud together, based on their expressions. Don was openly scowling and Layla looked... resigned.