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There’s a moment of silence. I still can’t believe I have a husband. I also can’t believe he left me on read last night. The nerve.
“What’s the word at the office?” I ask.
“Oh, you know…”
I know that tone. He uses it when there’s something he needs to tell me but he knows it’s going to upset me.
“Quentin, what is it?”
He blows out a breath. “There have been some inquiries about your deportation from reporters.”
“Inquiries? From who?”
“PR is on it. They’re working with Peter to draft a statement and then they’ll send it to me.”
Roman gets back in the car and I pause for a second, but then remember that everyone who drives for me is required to sign a nondisclosure agreement.
“Mills did this,” I tell Quentin. “He leaked it so the reporters will be all over us to see if our marriage is legit.”
“Let them,” Quentin says nonchalantly. “You and Colby are crazy about each other.”
If I were in my office, this is where I’d throw a pen against the wall. My mind is working through not just my next move, but also Mills’ likely response.
“I want to talk to Clark Samson at tonight’s game,” I say.
“The Denver Chronicle sports guy?”
“Yes. He’s the only one I want to talk to. Can you set up fifteen minutes for us before the game?”
“Of course.”
“Go buy yourself something nice with one of my credit cards, Quentin.”
There’s a pause. “Seriously?”
“Yes. Get some clothes and shoes, whatever you want. Make sure you hit up the Gucci store. We’ll have a fashion show in my hotel room later.”
“Oh my God, I’m going to wet myself.”
I smile and notice Roman looking at me expectantly in the rearview.
“Gotta go, Quentin.”
“Okay, bye boss.”
I end the call and meet Roman’s gaze.
“To the Apple store, please.”
“Is this really happening?” a woman asks me a couple of hours later, her eyes filled with tears.
“Yes, it is.”
She looks at the sky and then back at me. “Bless you.”
I’m having the best afternoon I’ve had in a long time at a downtown Chicago women’s shelter. Since I’m traveling undercover, I decided to make the most of it. I went to the Apple store and bought thirty MacBook Air laptops and twenty-five iPads. A coordinator at the shelter is helping me hand them out to women and children who need them for college and high school classes.
One woman breaks down in tears when I pass her a boxed laptop and offer her a hug.
“I can’t believe this,” she says, shaking her head.
“Keep working hard,” I tell her.
Donna, the shelter’s coordinator, nods toward a darkened room. “We used to have a study room, but all of our computers broke down and we don’t have the budget to replace them.”
“So what do women do when they need computer access?”
“There’s a library about three miles from here. Only about a mile if you take the bus. But it’s tough for moms who are trying to work, save money, and take care of their babies while also going to school.”
It’s getting late in the afternoon; I have to get to the arena for everything I need to do before tonight’s game.
“I’ll let you guys give out the rest of the laptops and iPads,” I say. “I have to go.”
“Are you sure we can’t credit you for this generous donation?”
I shake my head. “I want to remain anonymous. My business name is listed on the receipt I gave you, so you could figure it out if you wanted to, but”
“Say no more. You want to stay anonymous and you will. You’ve made a difference in some lives today. Thank you so much for your generosity.”
I smile and nod, putting my sunglasses back on before I step out of the shelter and back into the waiting SUV.
Once in the vehicle, I drop a pin in a text to Quentin.
Mila: Send a $50,000 donation to this shelter for a new study room. Take it from the Nikolai account.
Quentin: Will have Sara in accounting send it within 24 hours.
I take a final look at the door to the shelter as Roman drives away, smiling to myself. I wish Deda could be here for this. The Nikolai fund is his money. Deda was sixty-eight years old when a random act of kindness changed him. He wanted most of his fortune to go toward helping people who need it, but he didn’t want anyone to know where the money came from.
I get to be the one who bestows that help, and it’s changing me for the better.
The Coyotes friends and family box gets quiet when Quentin and I walk in a few minutes before puck drop. I smile at the open stares, trying to look casual.
I’ve always worn a business suit anytime I’m in a hockey arena. My collection of black and charcoal business suits, now inaccessible in my apartment back home, is impressive. I picked up several new ones while shopping today, but tonight I decided to dress like a hockey wife.
