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Our introduction…
Maverik’s smile…
His words…
His insults…
Ever the cautious one, I strengthen the walls I’ve carefully surrounded myself with. I refuse to let Maverik Steele even get close to them.
Again.
Dragging in a slow, deep breath, I summon the steel built into the Davenport genetics and lie. “I honestly don’t remember.” It takes control to keep calm and still because the words taste sour on my tongue and completely against my nature, but again… the box.
Franny says nothing, but I feel the intensity of her eyes on me while I flip through the file, pretending to be interested in whatever is on the page.
“What did he do?” she asks and my mind blanks. All I can think about is the way my heart jolted the night he took my hand during introductions, and the way my body lit up.
“What?”
“His crime.” She motions to the folder in my hand. I blink, refocusing myself. “What did they charge him with?”
“A DUI, driving under the influence,” I answer, reading the information directly to her. “He was well above the legal limit.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t send him to rehab.” Franny pulls out her phone and begins scrolling through something. I’m surprised, too. But then again, this is Maverik Steele we’re talking about—the current Hollywood ‘it’ guy.
“Looks like they tried to,” I murmur, pretending to read through the court documents, but still getting snippets of information. “He convinced the judge he doesn’t have a problem with alcohol.”
“Really? Because according to the tabloids, the dude was out last night and from the looks of these photos, that non-problem is pretty in your face.” She turns her phone to show me what she’s talking about. Maverik has a drink in his hand, but his face is bright red, and his eyes are glazed over. Clearly, he had one too many.
For a moment, my heart aches for him. He looks like a man in a self-destruct mode. Nothing like the man I glimpsed the night of the gala just a year ago. It’s clear to me, the judge was fooled by Maverik’s Hollywood looks and acting ability.
“Ms. Franny, Hector is doing it again,” Diana, a child in our after-school program, shouts from down the hallway. “He’s yelling at Javier.”
Franny jumps to her feet and quickly exits the office, calling over her shoulder to me. “Call our new volunteer, Wills, and get this shit figured out.”
Lately, our after-school program has been having difficulties since we had a new student enter the mix. Hector is turning out to be a playground bully, and I fear won’t make it much longer in the program. Which, if I’m honest, is a shame.
Hector’s a good kid—an outstanding student, according to his teachers—but he also has problems on the playground. It breaks my heart to see him severely misunderstood by his peers. Franny has been working with him, and the children he seems to butt heads with the most. I don’t know how Franny handles it all, but the kids love her to pieces.
I look down at the file in front of me and hang my head.
I’m not sure what Fate is trying here, but I really don’t want to make this phone call.
Like really, really,reallydon’t want to.
If it wasn’t my job, I’d ask Franny to do it. For a moment I regret taking charge of the volunteer program because of what I must do.
“Screw it,” I say to myself, while picking up the phone and dialing Maverik Steele’s number. I refuse to over think this, no matter what happened at the gala. When the line rings, I nearly slam the phone down in unexpected panic, but the voice informing me to leave a message after the tone stops me.
“Hello, this is Willow Davenport from the Kingman Heights Community Center,” I start upon hearing the tone, and praying my voice doesn’t sound as shaky as I feel inside. “I’m calling because I think there’s been a mistake regarding some community service hours you’ve signed up for. Please call me at this number…”
I leave my cell number since I won’t be back to the center this weekend, and the last thing I need is to give him the chance to sweet talk Franny. Especially if she’s right about the reason Maverik’s hours were transferred to us.
Two
MAVERIK STEELE
Isip the scalding cup of coffee, letting the bitter brew sit on my tongue for a moment. After the night of depravity I had, it’s nice to feel something.
