The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield (55 page)

Somehow, Queen Bee doesn’t strike me as the type to be resigned to anything. 

I watched in curious silence as Don marched down the steps with his wife and practically shoved her into the town car that just pulled up.

I didn’t realize I was still frowning at the town car as it pulled out of the driveway until I felt warm lips press on the top of my head.

“For a second, you looked like you were solving some extremely intricate mathematical equation,” was Brandon’s amused murmur as he slipped my white, pearl-beaded tweed jacket over my shoulders. "Either that or you're plotting a military strike."

I smiled, relaxing against him as he put an arm around my shoulders. "That's right. I'm Commander Maxfield after all."

Brandon gave me a suggestive look. "Somehow, that conjures in my mind a very inappropriate image of you in a naughty camo uniform."

"Brandon!" My cheeks heated up but I couldn't resist laughing along with him. "I might just dress up that way if it means I'll be your boss for a while."

He reached for my legs and helped me lift them up to the bench. "I think you've been my boss since day one, love."

I looked up to find him already smiling down at me, his hazel eyes warm and tender.

"Being your husband is the best job in the world," he murmured before kissing me softly on the lips. 

I closed my eyes and kissed Brandon back, my fingers tangling in his hair, my heart dancing in my chest. 

Anyone could walk past us and roll their eyes or express their disapproval at our PDA tendencies which many have witnessed today, but based on the way Brandon's arm tightened around my waist, he cared about it even less than I did.

While I basked in the sheer joy of the moment, the memory of Layla's pinched face earlier as her husband dragged her with him, flashed in my mind, startling me a little.

What a contrast that was to this. If this were an ad, Brandon and I would be the happy tourists while Don and Layla would be the poor victims of the traveler’s diarrhea you keep getting warned about.

In my opinion, not every couple had to wear their hearts on their sleeves but they should at least look happy together—or at the very least, act without hostility to each other.

When someone cleared his throat loudly, Brandon and I pulled away and glanced down the driveway where Freddy waited next to the town car, smiling a little at us, not even attempting to conceal his amusement at all.

Brandon and I glanced at each other before we broke out into a grin.

“Come on, Commander,” Brandon said as rose and suddenly scooped me up in his arms. “Let’s get you home so I can seduce you properly.”

I feigned a shocked reaction. “But I’m injured!”

Brandon smirked and nuzzled me by the ear as he carried me to the car. “Don’t worry. Ankles aren’t required for what I have in mind.”

I was still laughing as he slid us into the car and heaped me over his lap, carefully pulling off my already-loosened shoe and inspecting my slightly swollen ankle.

"Does it hurt very much?" he asked gently, his expression serious now as he lightly pressed his fingers around my injury.

Sobering up, I shook my head. "It's not too bad. Probably just needs a little bit of ice."

"You should've told me sooner," he said, exhaling sharply. "I would've put a stop to it before you could've gotten hurt."

"I'm fine, Brand," I assured him. "These heels are sky-high. I would've sprained my ankle with them at some point anyway. It was bound to happen."

He gave me a pointed look, clearly unconvinced. 

I rolled my eyes. "Okay, maybe not. But it's done and over with, Brand."

"Which pisses me off more," he muttered, sagging back into the seat. "I should've been paying more attention to you."

"You can't protect me from the entire world, you know," I told him, smiling and touching the side of his face. "You're just as mortal as I am, and I love you too much to let you jump in and take a bullet for me or something crazy like that."

A smile twitched on the corner of his mouth, which he resisted for a moment, before he grinned and groaned, burying his face on my neck.

"Charlotte, I swear," he murmured against my skin. "You make me want to put on an armor, swing up a white horse, and slay dragons for you."

The warm, heavy ache in my heart almost hurt as I wrapped my arms around him, rubbing his back in soothing circles.

My handsome, wonderful white knight.

Smiling softly, I kissed the side of his face as my fingers lightly threaded through his hair. 

I felt a strange sense of serenity despite the throbbing ache in my ankle and the fatigue of the harrowing day we just survived.

Today, I signed up for something completely unexpected with the last person on earth I thought I’d be working side by side with.

It should be filling me with dread but instead, I felt completely at ease even as uncertainty loomed over the future.

The best things that happened to my life lately had all been unexpected.

Here’s to hoping my luck keeps going.

“It’s an octagon. Okto means eight.”

My brows raised at Mattie’s confident statement as he leaned over the table and pointed the tip of his pencil to each side of the polygon on Rose’s coloring book, counting them out loud.

Rose scrunched up her little nose as she followed Mattie’s finger during his count. She peered up at him, her brown eyes big with curiosity. “Is that why the okthopus has eight arms?”

Mattie smiled and nodded. “Yes. That’s one reason they gave it that name.”

The little girl nodded solemnly, as if digesting that bit of information and filing it away with grave intent.

Everything’s strange and fascinating in the eyes of a child. They see the world without the filter of painful experiences. I sometimes envy that.

I couldn’t help the smile on my face as I watched the two resume their coloring.

It was several days later and I was baby-sitting both kids.

Martin had to go out of town for the weekend to see a new specialist in Seattle and Aimee had a graveyard shift at the hospital. 

I rounded up the kids and took them back with me to the condo where I set them up to bunk with each other in one of the guest bedrooms that had two twin beds.

The two of them were now sprawled on the floor, dressed in their pajamas and hunched over their coloring and sketch books. I was sitting on the couch and reading through the request letters of the two-hundred-plus charities vying for the Championettes’ assistance. 

Yes, that many.

The Society wasn't a charity in itself really. It was originally patterned from a sort-of gentlewomen's group, ergo, socialites who had time and monetary resources at their disposal. They started endorsing charity groups until it eventually became the main thing the Society was known for. 

Hundreds of requests come to the Society but they only picked one to add to the three they constantly did every year—the Art Foundation, the Children's Hospital, and the St. Bartholomew Youth Home (for children who couldn't stay in foster care). 

The privilege to become the fourth and biggest charity fundraiser the Society did each year was much coveted, and it was up to the board to select among the requests the one that would best benefit from it so long as they met certain qualifiers—they needed to be high-profile and high-class.

Which is bloody ironic if they're supposed to be a charity.

During our first meeting yesterday, I'd argued that the shiny gloss on a charity group shouldn't be a consideration but most members insisted that the Society needed to maintain a certain image in order to keep attracting the same deep-pocketed benefactors. 

Apparently, some of the benefactors only felt inclined to donate if they could get a nice, glitzy gala out of it that would put their faces on the society pages. 

I had to bite my tongue down, along with the stinging comment it was about to deliver. I reminded myself that they had a point, even if I disagreed with it, and that not everyone had the same motivation.

When I decided to take on the co-chairmanship for the Championettes, I’d sworn things were going to change. It was an admirable resolve but it wasn’t until yesterday’s meeting that I realized some changes were going to be slower than others.

Thus, screening through a huge stack of prettily-worded, scented-papered requests for this year’s winner.

At Rose’s frustrated whimper, I glanced up again and saw her pouting at her coloring book. 

“I went over the line,” she muttered, her shoulders slumping, her dark brown curls bouncing on her shoulders as her chin fell. “And I c-can’t erase it.”

I lowered the stack of paper and reached out to pat the little girl’s hand. “It’s alright, princess. It happens.”

“But I want it to be p-perfect!”

Don’t we all? Perfection seems to be the desired dress size we all strive to fit into, no matter how tight or uncomfortable.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect,” Mattie said, picking up the magenta crayon Rose had been using. “It can be better instead.”

Rose and I watched in silent fascination as the boy followed the curved stray streak outside of the octagon and repeated the curly pattern until it completely surrounded the polygon. 

He handed the crayon to Rose who tentatively took it. “There. It was an octagon before and now it’s a flower, which is much better, don’t you think? Now you can color it more.”

There was a sheen of what suspiciously looked like happy tears in the little girl’s eyes as she nodded and smiled back at Mattie who was grinning at her.

If I didn’t believe in puppy love, I do now. I think Mattie just became some girl’s prince in her own fairytale.

“Thank you,” Rose said as she turned back to her coloring book and started filling the space in the petals that Mattie had drawn.

Mattie watched her for a few seconds before a faint smile crossed his face again and he turned his attention back to his sketchbook—one that had verses and lyric stanzas scribbled on the edges next to some kind of landscape drawing.

Damn these Maxfield men—they just have to be prince charmings and white knights and noble kings.

“Charlotte? I’m home.”

Speaking of my prince charming.

“Over here, babe,” I called out to him, twisting around my seat to smile at Brandon as he sauntered into the living room, tossing his suit jacket to a nearby chair.

I quickly appraised him and noticed the overgrown stubble on his face, the dark circles under his eyes and the taut line of his jaw.

He’d been working late—again.

In the last three days, he’d been coming home late, mostly with an excuse about work. 

I had no reason to distrust Brandon but this was the first time in the last several weeks since we’d been married that he’d let work keep him from coming home on time. It was also the first weekend he worked through.

I hadn’t said anything but it disappointed me each time he called to say that he was going to be home late.

He’s gearing up to be named the new CEO before the year’s done, Charlotte. Cut the man some slack. You married a very important and powerful man with big decisions to make all the time. Of course, he’s going to be busy.

Brandon told me that Martin had decided to step down before the holidays and officially hand over the role to him. 

I was very proud and happy for him, aware that despite my original feelings about the lofty title, it was one of the reasons why Brandon and I came together.

I only wished the pressures of the upcoming job didn’t cause him so much stress. He hadn’t complained once but the strain was easy to see in his weary expression and the tension in his body.

Two nights ago, I walked in on him turning his office inside out, his forehead wrinkling in concentration, his jaw clenched and his hair disheveled from having been pulled distractedly many times.

When I asked him what he was doing, he was silent for a moment before he shook his head and told me he just misplaced an important file.

If I hadn’t convinced him to abandon the search for another time when it wasn’t midnight and he wasn’t exhausted, he would’ve probably kept at it until sunrise.

“Hello, love,” he greeted gruffly before he leaned down to kiss me on the lips, his hand cupping my cheek. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” I murmured back to him as I turned my cheek into his palm so I could kiss the center of it. “The kids have been keeping me distracted.”

He smiled faintly and waved at Rose and his brother. “I can see that. This is a very domestic scene. All we need is a golden retriever and the TV on.”

I laughed as he slid down next to me on the couch, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt around the collar. “I should probably go put my apron on and heat you up your dinner like a good housewife. I made roast chicken.”

Brandon exhaled sharply and kneaded his temples. “Thank you but I’m not hungry. I’m tired and I have a headache.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. 

Suddenly, he looked every single one of his twenty-nine years. “I bet if I asked Freddy, he’s going to come clean and admit that you actually haven’t had any dinner. What’s with the diet, Brand? If you’ve got love handles or something like that, I don’t see them.”

His eyes met me, flickering with amusement as he leaned close to whisper in my ear, “I’ve got a completely different love handle, if you care to see it.”

I pretended to consider it. “Hmm, I’m not sure you could trust me with it. I broke off my bike handle once. Strong grip and all that, you know?”

Some of the weariness eased from his face as he chuckled softly. “Oh, I know all about your strong grip.”

My cheeks burned and I smacked him on the arm. “Let’s not corrupt the children, shall we? I’ll go make you a cup of hot chocolate. Maybe you can shower while I put these two to bed. It’s almost bedtime anyway.”

“Can’t we stay up, Shar?” Rose piped up, looking imploringly at me. “I still want to color.”

“Sorry, princess, but your Mom said you should be in bed by nine and you know how she is when people don’t listen to her,” I told the little girl as I rose to my feet. “I’ll go make you and Mattie some warm milk as well, okay?”

“Can I please have a cookie with it?” Mattie asked, his blue eyes shining hopefully. 

“Me too! Me too!” Rose put in, shooting her hand up and squealing when Brandon laughed and hauled her up to his knee. 

I smiled and watched as Brandon patted the spot next to him on the couch for his brother who scrambled over with his sketchbook. 

The sight of their three heads huddled together over Mattie’s drawing like a band of mischiefs made my heart clench with tenderness.

Maybe I should just forget all about waiting and give him babies. It’s clear how much he adores children.

I reminded myself of the reasons why Brandon wanted us to wait, and I sighed deeply and turned to the kitchen, knowing he was right.

It was rare that I ever found our age gap inconvenient but it definitely played a role in our family plans. 

If I’d been older, there would be fewer reasons for me to wait and see the world first—I would already have. If Brandon had been younger, I wouldn’t worry about him getting impatient waiting for his young wife to grow up enough to be a parent.

As Mattie said, it doesn’t have to be perfect. It can be better instead.

I made two cups of hot chocolate and filled two small glasses with warmed up milk. Then I took out some of the chocolate chips cookies I made earlier and put them on a small plate.

Balancing a wooden tray easily, I made my way back to the living room and handed everyone their drink.

“Thank you, love.” A warm, lazy smile broke out across Brandon’s haggard features as he bit into his cookie. 

“Is love your name too, Shar?” Rose asked, tilting her head at me curiously. “Or is it like when you call me pween-ses?”

Brandon and I glanced at each other before we laughed. 

“It’s like when I call you princess,” I told the little girl, brushing a hand down her curls. “It’s not your name but that’s how I think of you.”

Her brows furrowed together as she angled her head at Brandon curiously. “So you think of her as love? But love isn’t a person.”

Brandon grinned in spite of himself. “No, not really, but I call her love because I love her—I love her the most in the world.”

“Oh.” Rose’s eyes were round as she blinked slowly. “Oh. So who loves me most in the world?”

“I imagine a lot of people, princess,” I told her with a chuckle, tapping the tip of her nose with a finger. “You’re very lovable.”

“That’s right,” Brandon added with a firm nod. “Someday, someone will love you the most in the world they will want to always be with you like I want to be with Charlotte.”

“But I’m just four,” Rose said with a slightly crestfallen expression, holding up four pudgy little fingers. 

My heart constricted as Brandon and I exchanged alarmed glances, both unsure how to best address what Rose perceived as a tragic problem.

“That’s okay,” Mattie spoke up quietly, pushing his glasses up his nose and smiling up at Rose. “He still has to grow up too.”

“Oh, my Lord,” I muttered under my breath as Brandon raised his brows at me in question. 

I rolled my eyes and shrugged because I was just as helpless about this as he was.

I set down my mug and clapped my hands together to call everyone’s attention. “Alright, kids. Time for bed.”

Brandon set Rose down before getting up on his feet and we both walked behind the two children as they headed for the guest bedroom. 

“Let’s go brush your teeth first.” I directed them to the bathroom where Mattie grabbed both their toothbrushes—because was Rose too short to reach hers—and squirted some toothpaste on each of them.

“I want some water,” Rose said, turning to Brandon and tugging on his pants. “Lift me up, pwees.”

And so in the next fifteen minutes, the four of us crammed inside the guest bathroom, Brandon and I supervising the children as they brushed their teeth and flossed. 

When that was finally done, we walked them back to their room and tucked them in their beds.