Page 11 of My Dearest Mackenzie

With an eyebrow raised I reminded her, “You gave me your card.”

Her finger no longer wagging, she waved her hand. “Never mind. Here you are, and I’m so happy to see you. You know, this is how I found my way. It was my senior year of college and I had zero career ambitions or job prospects. I went to a women’s gathering out on Long Island, and rather than allow them to fix me up, I charged in and started assisting everyone else.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“Right? I discovered that I enjoyed getting everyone ready for war. Fashion, retail, and customer service was my calling.”

Either she refused to hear my sarcasm or she genuinely thought I was impressed. Well, I was, but I wasn’t sure I should let her in on it. “That’s incredible,” I finally said and meant it—yet the idea scared me. “Are you looking to change it up? Women instead of men?” There was a tinge of bite in my words, and I watched Frankie frown. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t kind. It was more for me than you. We keep running into one another, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t affecting me.” It was all I gave up, but more truth than I wanted to admit.

“Great! Maybe we can grab dinner afterward? You can tell me about the ins and outs of the event. I’d like to host one for men.” Full-on grinning again, Feisty Frankie didn’t miss a beat. If there was a tiny crack to crawl in, she got down on all fours and found her way.

“You should talk to Corey—you’ve already met him several times. His sister works for the agency co-sponsoring this event. He would better know the information you need.”

I followed her tongue licking over her bottom lip…

“So, this had nothing to do with your benevolence? This event?” Her small fingers waved around the giant floor of the department store. In a swirl of wildly dressed people, Ed Sheeran crooning, a host of perfume smells and bright colors, all I saw were her pale pink manicured nails.

More fissures. The longer I spent in Frankie’s company, the greater chance I had of being cracked wide open.

Not to mention, right about now my thoughts were far from benevolent…

Pulling my mind out of the gutter, I cleared the tickle in my throat. “What can I do for you, Frances? And no, this wasn’t kindhearted or socially motivated, it was a business move on my part. I have a business side and a personal side. If we were close, you would know this about me. You would also know my personal side is extremely limited. But we’re not remotely close,” I parroted myself. “You keep trying to ask me for favors of a personal nature while I’m in work mode. If I was in the mood to help you, which I’m not, I’d suggest you find a different way to reach me.”

She didn’t answer but started rummaging through the ginormous cream-colored tote hanging from her shoulder. Extracting her phone, she said, “Okay, so lunch on a weekend? That works.”

I couldn’t help the laugh rumbling from my chest. “You have no shame.”

My six-foot-three frame towered over the five-foot-and-change Frances Burns, and yet, she acted as if she was a seven-foot former NBA player, current Wall Street tycoon, and I was subservient to her.

“I don’t, by the way.” She answered my question. “I think you called me dogged. It was meant to be an insult, but I took it as a compliment. I’ve supported myself, built a career, and now found you…several times. The least you could do is have lunch. Look at my Paps’s journal. Maybe rifle through some of Rosie’s—I mean Milly’s old belongings. I bet you still have everything in that musty old house in Westchester she lived in…”

My gaze scanned the area. “Do you have eyes on me?” This woman knew almost everything about me. It should scare me; Corey might have been right. I had a stalker.

“No! I’m not that kind of person. Your bio is available everywhere…I mean, except the tidbits on your mom. And I would never share those. But it’s not hard to figure out. You grew up with your grandmother in Westchester. I didn’t see any sale of the house when searching for Rosie, so I assumed. But again, I would never, ever share the information about your mom. That’s personal.” Poor Frances was flustered and rambled on.

“I’m not sure never is in your vocabulary.”

A small frown flashed across her face. She quickly schooled the look, but I didn’t like what it might mean. Which for the record, I had no clue, but the thought of this cannonball of a woman thinking anything might never be in her grasp hurt me.

Not to mention something I said made her sad.

This was precisely what I meant when I said there was a business part of me and my personal life was separate. I didn’t like mixing the two because emotions didn’t have a seat in the boardroom.

“It is, believe me.” The small scowl made another short appearance in her admission, and then it was gone. “Let’s make a lunch plan, or even dinner now…”

“I’ll tell you this—I will agree to lunch. On a weekend. Call Corey in the morning to schedule, and I’ll be sure to let him know to get it done. I’m sorry, Frankie, but right now I have a date.” Unsure why I agreed to a meeting with her, I got the final word.

Catching a quick look at Frances Burns and her reddening cheeks before scurrying out had me feeling more unsettled than I had in years. I didn’t like it; my mom made me feel like my emotions were being picked apart and I’d done my best to let that feeling be.

Though, I had to say, my mentioning a date and Frankie’s reaction did something to me—and much later, it wasn’t the boring evening spent with Sela guiding my hand. It was Frankie’s image burned on my brain, her dry wit and sweet side and balls-to-the-wall personality rattling in the brain.

I had to exorcise the woman from my system.

“That prick!” I stomped my foot when I got home. “A date!” I screamed at myself in the mirror.

I brushed my teeth with reckless abandon. My poor skin had never been more raw or cleaner after a brutal scrubbing.

Shoving my legs into my Garfield pajama pants, I scurried out to my kitchen for a pint of ice cream.

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