Perfect Kiss by Lacey Black

Chapter 20

Leni

It’s Monday morning, and my first client just so happens to be Jessa Donaldson. I’ve been dreading this job since I opened my calendar this morning after dropping Trace off at school. Jessa’s on a bi-weekly whole house schedule, and even though I’ve cleaned her house since that first time Malcolm and I ran into her in the park, I’m not really looking forward to it today. There was something in her eyes last night, even though I couldn’t see them directly. It was in the way she knowingly watched Malcolm and me, the way she touched his car, and the words she spoke. All I can hope is that she’s lounging by her pool again today like she was two weeks ago when I was here.

As I pull into her gated driveway, I see luck isn’t on my side.

Jessa’s standing out front, wearing heels that probably cost more than I make in a month and a sleek jumper that appears to have fallen out of the pages of a fashion magazine, and watering her gorgeous flowers. She turns and watches me as I park behind her Mercedes SUV, not bothering to greet me as I get out of my car. Of course, my vehicle is nothing like the expensive one in front of me. Mine is several years old and is starting to rust around the left rear fender.

“Good morning, Jessa,” I greet chipperly, moving to my trunk to get my totes.

“Lenora, I think we need to talk.”

I stop and turn, startled to see how close she got without me hearing her move in those heels. “Sure. What’s up?”

She crosses her arms over her chest, sharp, manicured fingernails tapping on her arm like an eagle talon. “I don’t think this is going to work anymore.”

Her statement catches me off guard. “Excuse me?” I stammer, unsure I heard her correctly.

“This. It won’t work.”

“Okay,” I say slowly, trying to comprehend. “Why?”

She smiles, but it’s not a pleasant grin. There’s malice and arrogance written clearly on her beautiful face. She’s not even trying to hide it. “Well, to be honest, I feel it would be awkward for us when Malcolm tires of you and comes back to me.”

All I can do is blink. Repeatedly.

“Let’s face it. He’s not the settling down kind. Sooner or later, he’s going to get tired of you roping him in to playing Daddy in your little family fantasy, and he’ll realize where he belongs. With me. He always comes back to me. Always.” She smiles, her perfectly straight, white teeth in a sneer.

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. As much as I want to let her have it, tell her he’s not going back to her, doubt has the words dying on my lips. Because as much as I want to believe he’s with me to stay, there’s always that niggle of insecurity in the back of my mind, telling me I’m way beneath him. That I’ll hold him back.

Malcolm has much bigger political aspirations than just being mayor of Mason Creek. He mentioned governor or senator, and let’s be honest, a cleaning lady doesn’t exactly make for the best arm candy.

But someone like Jessa? Beautiful, refined, and having enough money to finance whatever campaign he set his sights on? Yeah, she’s a much better fit for fundraisers and television appearances.

Even if she is a raging bitch.

“Let’s not make this awkward, shall we? I’ve written you a check for today’s cleaning services,” she says, holding out an envelope.

I take the payment, mostly because I really have no clue what to do. “Thank you,” I mutter, shutting my trunk and heading for the driver’s door.

“It’s a shame this had to happen,” she says, before I’m able to shut to door. “You really are exemplary at your job, Leni. It’s a shame you had to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. You’re a cleaning lady, a plaything in cheap shoes. It would be best if you remember that in the future.”

She turns and walks away, leaving me sitting there, dumbfounded and sick to my stomach. Somehow, I get myself secured into my seat, the car started, and backed out of the driveway.

Now what?

My next job isn’t until ten thirty, which leaves me with more than two hours before I need to be anywhere.

So that’s what I do. I drive around, trying to comprehend what just happened and why her words bother me so much.

* * *

What a day. It turned into one of the longest I’ve had in a long time.

After I picked Trace up from school, he worked with me for two hours at the laundromat, selling cleaning supplies and visiting with neighbors who stopped by to chat. Once I was finished with my time downstairs, my mom stopped by to help get Trace dinner, a bath, and ready for bed, while I went back out to work.

To City Hall.

I got lucky though. As much as I wanted to see Malcolm, I’m glad he was stuck in an executive session, resulting in a longer than normal meeting. It gave me an opportunity to figure out what I was going to do in regard to losing the job this morning.

Ultimately, I decided not to mention it. Why should I? In my line of work, clients come and go. Just because this particular client was someone who used to have an informal relationship with the man I am currently seeing doesn’t mean anything. I mean, she’s probably right too. If and when my relationship status changes with Malcolm, well, she’s probably saving me the heartache, because if there’s one thing I know, it’s the fact I’m falling fast and hard for Malcolm Wright. Knowing he was back with Jessa would hurt, but knowing he was at her house—or worse, seeing him there—would be downright excruciating.

Now, all I want to do is kick off my shoes, take a hot shower, and shake off the uncertainty I felt throughout the day. As I slip into my apartment, I find my mom standing in the kitchen, waiting. “How was work?”

“Good. How was Trace?”

She slips her purse strap over her shoulder. “Oh, he was an angel. He’s such a good boy, Leni.”

I can’t help but smile. “He is. Thank you for always helping me with him.”

Mom waves off my hand. “I’m happy to do it. I enjoy spending time with him,” she says, walking toward the stairway.

“Be careful driving home,” I tell her, giving her a quick hug before she descends down and secures the door behind her.

I groan in pleasure as I peel off my shoes and wiggle my toes, grateful to feel cool air on my tired feet. My next stop is down the hall to check on Trace, who’s cuddled into his pillow, sleeping heavily under his favorite Spider-Man blanket.

Just as I return to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, I hear a knock at the bottom door. Considering my mom just left a few moments ago, I worry something may be wrong with her car. I move quickly down the steps and pull open the door, only to come face-to-face with the one person I didn’t expect to see.

Greg.

“Surprised?”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. At least not right away. Instead, all I feel is anger spreading through my veins like fire. He’s standing there, smiling like it hasn’t been months and months since he last saw his son.

“Well, aren’t you gonna invite me in?”

What? Seriously?

“No.” When he arches an eyebrow in confusion, I add, “It’s late, Greg. Trace is sleeping. He has school tomorrow.”

His smile falters for a fraction of a second before slipping back into place like a well-practiced response. “Kindergarten. I can’t believe he’s old enough,” he says with a chuckle.

“Of course it would come as a shock to you. You’ve missed more than half of his life, Greg.”

His shoulders sag as the grin finally falls completely from his face. “I know,” he mumbles, averting his gaze. “I’m sorry, Leni.”

Shaking my head, I reach for the door. “Don’t apologize to me. I’m used to seeing your backside as you walk away, but Trace doesn’t deserve this.”

“I know,” he says in a rush, reaching out to place his hand on the door to keep me from shutting it in his face. “Can we talk? I guess…well, I owe you an explanation. Please?”

Sighing, I step back, allowing him to enter. Even though I probably shouldn’t, a bigger part is curious as to what he has to say. I’m certain I’ll regret this decision, but right now, I just need to know why he kept leaving and where the hell he’s been for the last eight plus months. “Be quiet,” I mutter, closing the door behind him and following him up the stairs.

Greg stops in the kitchen, hand shoved in the pockets of his jeans, and glances around. “Nice place.”

I shrug, stepping to the fridge and pulling out two bottles of water. Greg takes a seat and waits for me to join him.

“Thanks,” he says, taking a hearty drink. “You own the place downstairs? I think I heard you used that little inheritance your grandma left you.”

A smile cracks across my face as I try to figure out which of the few friends I had back in Washington shared that little detail. “Yes, I did.”

He nods. “Looks like you’ve done good for you and Trace.”

I clear my throat, trying to tamper down my annoyance. “Yes, I have.”

No thanks to you.

Finally, after a few very long seconds of silence, my curiosity gets the best of me. “Where have you been, Greg? It’s been months!” I demand, making sure to keep my voice down so I don’t wake Trace just down the hall.

He closes his eyes, and for a second, I wonder if he’s going to answer me. When he opens them and meets my fury head on, he says, “I was lost, Leni. That’s the only way to describe it.” He takes another deep, calming breath before he continues, “My job is all I know. It’s what I do, and I love it, but when I’d come home, I’d feel restless. Even when I was with you and Trace, I just couldn’t sit still. So, I’d go out. I’d meet my friends and we’d drink, but I was always moving.”

Greg meets my gaze. “What I did to you, to Trace, was wrong, but I just…I guess I didn’t know any different. I left you to take care of our son, and even when I was home, I wasn’t present. I know that now.”

All I can do is stare at him across the table. For years I waited, wanted to hear this apology, this explanation. Every time he left, and I went to bed alone, often crying because I didn’t understand why I wasn’t good enough. Every single time Trace asked where his daddy was and when he was coming home.

“I’m sorry, Leni,” he whispers, reaching over and squeezing my shaking hand. “I was a shit boyfriend and father. You two deserved better than what you got.”

I find myself blinking to clear the moisture from my eyes. So many questions filter into my head, all vying for the top of the list. It’s almost overwhelming to sit here with him right now. Why is he really here? Why now? “What do you want?” I finally ask, a lump firmly wedged in my throat.

“Trace. And you.”