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“King doesn’t know how to have blind faith in anything except himself,” a smooth, feminine voice announces.
We all turn to glance at the newcomer, but my breath stalls in my chest as I look at her. Bex’s hair is in two braids over her shoulders, pink glasses sparkling under the sun, and she’s in a pair of tight jeans that are form fitting, my dick taking full notice, and a loose sea glass green shirt that makes her look tan.
She raises a blond eyebrow at us. “Are you ready to get to work?”
“That depends on what this work entails,” King announces.
Bex rolls her eyes at him. “At some point in this life, that stick wedged up your ass is going to fall out. Whether Emilia is the one who takes it out or you manage to do it yourself is yet to be determined.”
Very few people walking this planet can get away with speaking to King in this manner. One is Emilia because they love each other and she does it in a milder manner than what Bex just did. The other is probably his father, Andrew Huntington-Ward, because I know for a fact Aillard or I would get our asses handed to us if we spoke that way to him.
“Always a pleasure,” King sighs, though there’s no heat in his voice like I expect from him. “Are you going to share what it is we’re doing here?”
“Sure. But you’re sticking around. We got a new shipment in and need all the hands we can get,” Bex says while pointing a finger at him in warning. She runs her eyes over each of us, and I stand up a little straighter when her gaze lingers on me for a half-breath more. “We’re packing lunches in plastic bags we’ve gathered from recycling posts around the city. There will be boxes full of food from the local food pantry. Each student will get a drink, two snacks, and a main meal item all found within the boxes. They’re divided by cardboard cutouts within the boxes so you don’t have to think about what to put in the bags. Make sure the plastic bag you’re using doesn’t have holes. Once it’s tied up, you’ll hand it off to someone who is dividing the rations for different schools. The process repeats once we’re done with a box. Okay?”
King glances down at his attire. “I needed to be in gym clothes for this?”
“Have you ever dropped an orange juice box on yourself and soaked your clothes?” Bex volleys back. “I have. We don’t want to ruin your several thousand dollar suits.”
Well, she’s got a pretty good point. I never would have understood the need to be in lounge clothes otherwise. But to clarify what we’re doing, I ask, “So, we’re helping prep meals for kids?”
Bex turns away from King to look at me. “Yes. Some kids get extra meals sent home with them. The local food banks work with the school districts to help make sure no kid goes home hungry. We’re coming up on a long weekend so the students need a little bit more. Usually the cafeteria workers or guidance counselors make the meal kits, but since there’ll be more meals over a longer period of time, they get volunteers like us to help.”
This is the charity she told me about in her office, I recall.
“And they use extra volunteers before every major holiday or long weekend?” Emilia asks.
Bex nods to her. “Exactly. Due to the fact it’s so sporadic, it can be hard to find volunteers. I started with the food bank which is how I learned about this,” she explains. “The schools maintain anonymity because it breaches policy to discuss what kids live in poverty or require extra sustenance. This way, we help without knowing who we’re helping, but it still isn’t vastly advertised to the public. Not every charitable act gets a press release.”
King doesn’t say anything as he listens to Bex talk with Emilia. Instead he watches her animatedly talk about what jobs we can help with inside such as moving boxes, breaking down boxes, dividing meals, or prepping the meals. Once she’s done, she waves for us to follow her into one of the larger elementary schools in the area.
As the women walk ahead, chatting about something or other that doesn’t pique our interest, King turns to me with a thoughtful expression. “She’s a good person.”
Coming from King, that’s saying a lot. “I know she is.”
King stuffs his hands into the pockets of his gym shorts and walks slower to put more distance between them and us. Pitching his voice lower, he asks, “Have you heard anything else from the shareholders?”
I snort as I think about the catastrophe of this week’s current demands from them. “Piss test to make sure I’m not doing drugs during office hours. Even though everything the past few weeks has been negative, they’re practically breathing down Dad’s throat to monitor me piss to ensure I’m not buying urine off the black market. They also want me to sign a statement swearing I won’t even drink alcohol, but Dad nixed it immediately since I’m thirty and not twenty-one.”
“Is he fighting them on the piss test?”
“He’s fighting them every step of the way. They’re worried he has a blind spot when it comes to me.” I shake my head, reflecting back on the boardroom meeting where they questioned Dad as if he was the one supplying the drugs. “Any luck on your front?”
King’s irritation over the situation is obvious as he scowls. “Yes and no. The news outlets that uploaded the pictures don’t acknowledge the photographer on their server, it just gets uploaded under their anonymous file. And whoever they pay gets cash, so it shows withdrawals but not who is getting the money.”
“I’m not seeing what’s lucky about what you’re saying.”
“Paparazzi are known to talk about whoever manages to score a good picture worth thousands. I had our media department spread word that whoever could figure out who got the picture or gave the photographer contact to the news outlet would receive a reward if their tip turns out to be beneficial. They’re all biting at the chomp to figure it out considering they were swindled out of the front page story when your story came out. They want the bragging rights.”
It’s odd to think there are people out there who willingly follow others at the mere chance to capture an unflattering moment in a stranger’s life. “I suppose it will help narrow down who the photographer is?”
“Hopefully. We’re also turning our focus on Gabriel Donner since he’s been more vocal. There’s no proof that the pictures came from him or any of his associates, so for the time being, it seems as though he’s just trying to capitalize on what was released. Still, we’re cross referencing everyone we can find through photos from your birthday party with anyone who is known for causing defamation or in connection to Donner.”
“Who would have thought a thirtieth birthday party is where someone would choose to drug me?” I muse. “Why not try to go after me before now? I could understand how someone’s twisted mindset could make me a target for the billionaire issue, but those pictures were taken months prior. What’s the goal? Blackmail? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Nothing about this makes sense.”
How right he is. There always seems to be some mystery in our lives as of late. First it was King trying to figure out who was stealing trade secrets within his company to sell to a competitor. Then someone stole several million from Aillard. Now this? It seems as though we’re all bound by some type of bad luck the closer we get to thirty. Like our lives aren’t busy and consuming enough without this additional drama added to it.
