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Olivier is looking through the rear driver’s side window at the kids, who are smiling and waving at him. I take out my phone.
“I’m going to call and find you guys some open beds at a shelter. Most of them are full by now, but there are churches who will be willing to help if we can’t find you a place.”
She bursts into tears again just as Olivier says, “No, Daph. Don’t do that.”
“Why not?” I give him a puzzled look.
He has his own phone in his hand now, and he says, “We’re taking them to get something to eat, and then to a hotel.”
“We are?”
The kids are squealing with excitement from the backseat of the car.
“Yeah, we are,” Olivier says. “We’re not waiting for anyone. We’re taking care of them now, and finding a doctor for the kid.”
The woman is sobbing now, and she lunges toward Olivier to hug him.
“God is good,” she says tearfully. “He is so, so good. Thank you.”
Olivier hugs her back, meeting my gaze and smiling. I feel a huge crack inside of me. It’s not my heart that’s breaking, thoughit’s my resolve not to fall in love with this man.
Chapter Thirteen
Olivier
Daphne is beside me on the Palmer House elevator, so close I can feel the heat of her even though we aren’t touching.
“This was…one of the best nights of my life,” she says, her voice thick with emotion.
She reaches over and takes my hand, and I squeeze hers gently.
“Me too,” I tell her. “I’ve never enjoyed spending money on anything as much as I did tonight.”
The woman we found in the car tonight is named Jada, and I had her and her children picked up and taken to the Palmer House, where I instructed the manager to treat them like royalty. While they cleaned up and had room service delivered, Daphne and I went shopping for clothes and shoes for all of them. We got toys and books, too, and we were already back at the hotel visiting with Jada and the kids when it was all delivered.
Seeing them cry with happiness over having new shoes was humbling. I asked Hassan to send a doctor to see the youngest boy, Michael, who was feeling better already when Daphne and I left because of the Tylenol the doctor gave him.
As the hotel elevator doors open and Daphne and I step out, a concierge approaches us.
“Mr. Durand, is there anything else we can do to make your guests more comfortable?”
“I think they’re good for now, but please look in on them in the morning,” I say.
A man in a suit approaches us, smiling from ear to ear.
“Mr. Durand, I’m Matthew Curtis, the manager here. Is there anything I can do for you or your guests?” he asks. “Perhaps a room for you tonight, or a drink?”
I look at Daphne. “Anything you want?”
“No, thanks.”
Several people stopped close by are taking pictures with their camera phones. Daphne releases my hand, and my good mood slips away. She doesn’t make anything easy when it comes to us.
“We’re good,” I tell Matthew. “But please take good care of our guests. They’ll be here for several nights.”
“Yes, sir. Consider it done. May we have our driver take you home?”
Ben dropped me off at Safe Harbor earlier, but I insisted he take the rest of the weekend off and told him I can either take an Uber or drive myself places.
“Is Alfred sending the Batmobile?” Daphne asks me, her expression dead serious.
“The Batmobile is in the shop,” I say wryly.
Matthew doesn’t react, but I’m sure he thinks we’re a few fries short of a Happy Meal.
“A ride would be great,” I tell him. “We’re going to Miss Barrington’s place near Wicker Park.”
“Well, I am,” she says.
“We both are.”
“Olivier.”
I turn to look at her. “Daphne.”
“I don’t think—”
I stop her. “I need your help filling out that check to the Southern Poverty Law Center. You’ll have to remind me how much to send them.”
She reluctantly turns her lips up in a smile.
“Olidaph!” someone calls out from the group of bystanders with camera phones. “Can I get a picture with you guys?”
We pose for a few photos and then Matthew tells the bystanders a car is waiting for us and he helps us get through the growing crowd of people to get to it. Once we’re alone in the back seat, Daphne sighs heavily and leans her head back.
“It’s not that I don’t like you,” she says softly. “You know I do.”
“I know. It’s that you’ve convinced yourself we wouldn’t work together.”
She stares me down with an aggravated glare. “My reasons are legitimate, Olivier. You’re used to getting your way, because if the answer is no, you just put enough money on the table to turn it into a yes.”
“Not all the time. If you’re talking about business, I walk away from deals all the time. More often than not. I don’t pour money into anything just to say I won. Everything has to line up.”
