“Har, har. If I wanted to date, I wouldn’t need your help. You’re a womanizer like Burke.”
“Not really.”
“Anyway, let’s not deviate. I need to find a friend.”
“I’m not a P.I. nor the Yellow Pages. Have you tried the internet? It’s pretty easy to use.”
“You’re a cocky asshole.”
“Mmm, no, I’m not. I’m just trying to figure out your angle, St. James. You never call me, but you trust me enough to ask for special favors. I just like to give you shit. I’m bored. So, you found a hot woman and forgot to write down her number?”
I laugh. “That’s ridiculous. I’m searching for Aiden Wickerton.”
“You can friend him on social media. Oh wait, you don’t do social media. After they catfished you on MySpace, you declared it evil.” He laughs.
“The MySpace story is like Fight Club.”
“Nah, it’s not. Burke and I will never stop talking about it. In any case, let’s start with what you want with Wick.”
“I want to catch up with him,” I say.
“Really?”
“What’s with the twenty questions?”
“First of all, I’m not in the business of giving away information about my employees.”
“He works for you?”
“Yes, in human resources,” he confirms.
“What company are we talking about?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“You’re an asshole.”
“No. I think you want to know about him because his niece called a certain podcast to talk about little Autumn Wickerton. Mr. I’m-going-to-save-the-world wants to save Matilda and her mom.”
“What are you talking about?” How does he know?
“My sister and mom are fans of Life with Persy. They’ve been talking and texting about it nonstop.”
Okay, so Persy went ahead and aired the call.
“You don’t need to confirm. You were in the same show, so you know what I’m talking about. So…espresso and doggy-style, huh?”
“Fuck, I forgot about that.”
“Pairing sex with coffee seems like a dangerous trade. I mean, it’s hot…unless you’re into that kind of thing. I’d choose wax instead of hot liquid, but who am I to judge you.”
“Kill me now.”
“You should ask Burke about Aiden. No, wait, he doesn’t give a shit about his employees. I bet he can’t remember the name of his new assistant.”
“So, Aiden works for Range Communication & Consulting?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Why are you so cryptic?”
“Because I don’t give out information about my employees. It has legal repercussions. You know I’m a stickler about that shit.”
“You wouldn’t have any information on his sister, would you?”
“Listen, I’m usually okay with giving out some data but not when it comes to people who work for me. Also, stay away from Autumn. She’s having a tough time. Adding you to the equation won’t be fair to her or her child. My family is doing the best they can to give her a hand.”
I’m not sure if he’s warning me or just telling me he has everything under control. I choose not to push him anymore. There are other ways to get to Autumn.
“So, how’s the coffee business going? I heard you’re expanding to Canada. They have Tim Hortons. Why would you want to do that?”
I chuckle. “I’m not sure where you got that information, but it’s wrong. The expansion is going well. I’m trying to convince Teddy to work for me.”
“What’s little Theodora doing these days?”
“I’m not in the business of giving away information about my sister,” I repeat some of his words. I know he has a thing for Teddy.
Vegas was a long time ago, but I still remember seeing them kissing. If I hadn’t been so wasted, I would’ve said something. The day Archer died he wouldn’t leave her side.
He laughs. “Fair enough. See you around, Zachary St. James.”
Chapter Seven
Autumn
“Think of this as hashtag Wellness Wednesdays,” Miranda said last night.
I stare at myself in the mirror, wondering if one day is enough to erase the chalky skin, purple circles under the eyes, and brittle curls.
Aiden suggested a vacation. I wouldn’t mind if I could afford it. I don’t have time or money to do it. I guess Wellness Wednesday has to do the trick. This is the only day when Matilda is at school, I don’t have classes, and I don’t work at the bar. I usually dedicate a few hours to my online orders and clean the apartment during my breaks. I have an alarm set to prepare lunch and a second one for two o’clock when I head to the bus stop.
It’s only eleven. I could put some coconut oil on my hair to revive the curls. I search through the fridge to see if I have any cucumbers. I recall my aunt Polly telling me they helped with the dark circles. If they don’t, I can chop the rest and add salt and lime. Yum. I have no idea what to do with my skin. It doesn’t matter. I look fine.
Six years ago, when Matilda was a baby, I was a walking disaster. At least she doesn’t wake up in the middle of the night anymore, puke in my hair, or cry because it seems like I’m having an easy day, which isn’t allowed when you have a newborn.
Maybe when she turns twenty-two, and I don’t have to pay her college tuition or any other child-related expenses, I’ll go to a retreat to finally take a breath. For now, coconut oil and getting back to my workout routine will have to cut it for Wellness Wednesday.
Later tonight, I have an assignment from Range Communications & Consulting. This is one of my favorite jobs in the world. I get paid to hack into systems to identify, mitigate, and remediate security risks. It pays well enough that I’m starting to pay down my credit card debt. Maybe by the time I finish my degree, I’ll be able to have just one job.
I should reconsider Mom’s offer to move back to Silver Lake. The cost of living there is a lot cheaper than living in Seattle. As tempting as it is to pack my things and leave the city, I can’t. Matilda loves her school, her friends, and the apartment where we live. I refuse to move my child around. If needed, I’ll get another job.
When I’m done applying the coconut oil, I pile my hair into a messy bun and wash my hands. At that precise moment, my phone rings. I pray that Matilda is okay and that she didn’t try to set the school on fire or start a revolution. Last week’s standout taught me that my child could be very persuasive. She convinced her entire class to march because the food served in the cafeteria that day wasn’t edible—I sent her lunch. I’m thankful the principal let her go with a warning.
“Yes?”
“Is this Autumn Wickerton?” The voice sounds familiar, but I don’t recognize her.
“Yeah?” I answer, hesitantly.
“Hi, my name is Persy Brassard.”
I check the caller ID. It says unknown. I should’ve looked before I picked up the call. I never answer a call if I don’t know the person, but the only calls I receive at this time come from Matilda’s school.