“Yes,” Valentine interrupted. “You didn't know he was gonna be here?”
“Not a clue – I haven't been near his offfices in weeks. You didn't know?”
“Not at all. Del knew, and I assume Serge and Charice. But no one told me. Apparently everyone decided it was time he and I confront each other,” she sighed.
“Pretty crafty,” Evans nodded his head. “You're supposed to like ... work with him, do shit for him, for a couple days, right?”
“Right. Del is using St. Jude's charity to guilt me, and Ari is using Gam-Gam. I can't ... I can't say no,” she sighed. “I thought this was all done. I thought I wouldn't ...”
She let the sentence drift away. She'd thought she wouldn't ever have to see him again. People like Aaron Sharapov didn't slum it in places where people like Valentine O'Dell hung out, so it had been a reasonable expectation.
She had certainly never expected him to be quite literally thrust into her life, so abruptly, and with no escape plan in sight for her. She'd very effectively been trapped. Almost a month spent trying to get over him, and now she'd have to see him every day for the next week.
Think of Gam-Gam. Think of rent. Think of medical bills. Think of how in a year or two, you'll hopefully never need help from someone like him ever again.
“You're working in his office?” Evans asked politely, and he began to gently guide her towards a booth in the Music Room.
“He said he wants me to be his assistant. God help me, I think he has some sort of plan,” Valentine groaned and dropped her head to the table in front of them.
“Well, maybe I'll find a reason to stop by more often – help you kill some time while also annoying the shit out of him,” Evans chuckled.
Valentine froze when she felt his hand on the back of her head, his fingers massaging through the thick curls. She knew Evans was attracted to her, he'd never been shy about that fact. But every time they'd interacted, she'd made it very clear her services were off limits to him. Their friendship and his work relationship with Ari made it an impossibility.
“You don't have to,” she said, sitting up and gently brushing his hand away. “I don't want this affecting more people than it needs to; this is my problem. I'll deal with it on my own. One week and it'll be over. That's less than last time.”
She'd meant the last part of her statement as a joke, but by the time she actually spoke it, it just sounded depressing.
Two weeks was all it was supposed to be last time, and look where that got you.
4
It seemed like Ari's luck was finally changing. Sure, reuniting with Valentine had been somewhat of a shit-show. Every glance she'd given him had been filled with betrayal and anger, and of course there was the fact that he was now out twenty-five thousand dollars. He didn't mind blowing large amounts of money, and he would definitely be writing this off on his taxes as a charitable donation, but still. He hadn't gone into the evening thinking he'd have to spend that kind of cash just to get alone time with her.
Goddammit, Del.
Yet it had worked, and after only being back in St. Valentine's graces for twelve or so hours, he had the first bit of good luck he'd seen in weeks.
He'd told Valentine he was getting ready to do some pro-bono work. The truth was he didn't have all the info he needed for the job, not yet – he didn't have the client. He didn't know where she was, and he was having a bitch of a time finding her.
He went into work Saturday, hoping to get ahead in work so his load would be lightened for the coming week. He did the same things he did every day when he got to his office. Took off his jacket and hung it up. Made himself coffee. Checked his messages. He'd left early on Friday, in order to mentally prepare for the battle of wills that was going to happen that evening, so he'd missed a couple calls that had come in later in the day. While he sipped his coffee, he went over the messages that had been jotted down.
One from his grandmother, asking if he'd be at his grandparents' golden wedding anniversary.
One from a client, looking for some paperwork.
One from somewhere called “The Hive Agency”, asking about a billing issue.
Ari stared at the last note for a while, his eyes narrowed as he racked his brain. What the fuck was The Hive Agency? What bills? Why was that name familiar?
An agency ... an agency ... when have I ever used any kind of agency ... wait a minute ...
Clarity blazed inside his head, and he remembered the name. The Hive Agency helped people find in-home nursing care. It's where Valentine had found her nurses – it was a caregiver job agency. The first nurse had been with Valentine and Gam-Gam long before Ari had shown up. The second one, though, had been hired at his request, and at his expense.
A billing issue!
Ari picked up the phone and quickly dialed the number they'd left for him, praying they'd be open on a Saturday.
“This is Aaron Sharapov,” he introduced himself when someone finally picked up. “I received a message asking me to call – something about billing?”
It was explained to him that he hadn't paid for the final two weeks of Nurse Crockett's services. He was a little surprised because he'd paid any nursing bills as soon as Valentine had presented them to him. But as Ari looked over his calendar, he realized they were referring to the two weeks at the start of the current month – a new billing cycle had started at the same time as when Valentine had cut him off.
She'd used Nurse Crockett's services for two more weeks after dropping him like a bad habit, and had then stuck him with the bill.
How could he use this to his advantage?
“I'm sorry about the mix up. Can I pay over the phone? Or I can come down there on my lunch break. Also, is there a way I would be able to get in contact with Mrs. Crockett?”
After the money situation was dealt with, he was able to sweet talk the receptionist into giving him Crockett's pager number. He dialed it next, and within a couple minutes, he received a return call.
“Mr. Sharapov?” she asked, her voice light and sweet. “What can I do for you?”
“I'm trying to tie up some billing issues,” he explained. “And I'm having trouble pinning down Valentine's grandmother.”
“I don't think I'll be much help,” she sighed. “After they moved Eugenia into that facility and I got this new job, I lost all contact.”
“Gam-Gam's in a nursing home?” he asked, feigning surprise. He grabbed a pen and held it poised over a notepad.
“A skilled nursing facility,” she corrected him, though he had no clue what the difference was. “That second stroke created a lot more problems, there was just no way her poor granddaughter could care for her at home so soon afterwards. The hospital had Mrs. Parker moved to the facility for recovery care and observation. But then IDHS got involved -”
Ari had gotten some of the story from Del, but he figured it could only help him to know as much as possible.
“IDHS – like social services?”
“Yes. Best I could gather, someone reported Valentine for elder neglect.”
“Ridiculous, she lived her life for her grandmother.”