Page 3 of Miss Fortune

We were halfway through Billy’s latest rant about his ex-wife demanding more money when I had to slam the brake pedal because of a sudden stop in front of me.

Thump. It was the distinct sound of the car behind me connecting with my rear fender.

Shit. Just what I needed on a Monday morning when I was already running late. I continued to listen to my client as if I hadn’t been rear-ended, and pulled off to the side of the road. While Billy went on ranting, I muted the call and turned toward Tabitha.

“Do you mind telling the driver I’ll be there in a moment? I need two minutes.” I didn’t want to interrupt a client on a rant. Even if he was worth millions and shouldn’t pinch pennies when it came to taking care of his two kids, he expected my undivided attention.

Tabitha took exception to my request. “Seriously? It’s raining.”

I could do her a favor by giving her a ride to her office this morning, but she couldn’t do one in exchange? “Please.” I grabbed the umbrella from the side pocket of my door. “This will keep you dry. Please tell the driver I’ll be right with them.”

She huffed but ultimately grabbed the umbrella and got out of the car.

Finally, once my client finished venting, I seized my opportunity. “Billy, I appreciate what you’re saying, but if you seek to pay less child support, then you need to renegotiate custody and the number of nights your children spend with you. Last we spoke, you were content to have them every other weekend.”

“Damn expensive kids.”

I held my tongue. My job was to represent my clients and guide them within the confines of the law. Didn’t mean it wasn’t tempting to want to shake them sometimes. Like when they didn’t want to spend actual time with their children but had the audacity to complain about the money it took for someone else to raise them.

“Fine. I hear what you’re saying, but I’m not paying for this overpriced summer camp she wants them to go to in Malibu.”

“Summer camp isn’t in the agreement, so you’re within your rights to refuse and only pay your regular portion for childcare.”

“Yeah, good. Thanks for taking my call.”

“Anytime.” It had cost him two hundred dollars to vent. And if he sought a change in parenting plan, it would cost him thousands. Hardly worth it in my opinion, but divorce was seldom logical. If it was, I’d be out of a job.

After disconnecting the call, I climbed out of the car, hoping to make this exchange of insurance information quick. I walked toward the back of my vehicle where a glance toward the bumper showed minimal damage. Running my hand over it, I found the paint cracked, but the structure was still sound.

The front end of the lemon-yellow Prius—were those eyelashes over the headlights?—didn’t fare as well, showing a larger dent.

A woman was bent, leaning into the rear passenger seat of the car. Was she speaking to a child back there?

Tabitha stood tapping her foot, irritation radiating from her.

The driver stood up, and my gaze instantly glued to her beautiful face. She resembled a movie star from the 1940s, with big, green eyes, red pouty lips, and porcelain skin. I was mesmerized.

But Tabitha’s voice took me out of my trance. “Her kid won’t stop screaming, and I’m done listening to it. I’m getting back in the car.” She stomped off, taking my only umbrella.

I found my voice with the beautiful stranger. “I apologize for just joining you. I was on a work call.”

She gave me a small smile. “No apology necessary. We wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for me. I’m sorry I hit you.”

A piercing scream startled us both. She shoved her license and insurance information towards me. “Here’s my info. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

She climbed in the back and held the child’s hand while murmuring words over and over. Then she began to sing to him. Her lovely voice had me oblivious to the rain as I stood there at the side of a busy LA highway.

I should’ve gone back to the car to fetch my umbrella, but instead my feet were rooted to the spot. As she stood up and shut the door, I asked, “Is your son all right?”

“Toby isn’t my son, but I think he’s fine. We weren’t moving very fast.”

“He was screaming. You sure he’s not hurt?”

“He’s autistic, and this situation is making him anxious. But his mom is a nurse, so I’ll have her check him out to be safe.”

Although I didn’t often experience a great deal of empathy, especially for strangers, I was instantly sorry for the situation. “The damage isn’t too bad.”

“Your passenger didn’t seem to have the same opinion. In any event, I’d prefer to pay out of pocket instead of going through insurance if you are amenable to it.”