Page 5 of Icing the Enemy

The hotel room isn’t big, but its style is a cross between traditional and modern. Behind the bed is painted a charcoal gray with a long picture of the old Atlanta skyline framed in gold.Since I’m on the third floor, I don’t have a decent view except of the street below me.

My stomach is in knots so as much as I want to eat, I don’t. I take a quick shower, put on my jeans and a blouse, kiss Dixie goodbye, and walk to the law office.

The elevator takes me to the twentieth floor and when I step out, I’m greeted by a perky blonde. “Good afternoon. You must be Oakley James.”

“I am.”

“Mr. Gould will be with you in just a moment. You would like something to drink? A Coke, tea, water?”

“Coke please.” She comes back with a can and a glass of ice. “Thank you.”

I’m popping the top, and the fizz seems loud when the same man from the hotel walks out of Mr. Gould’s office. “Thanks, Josh.”

I don’t see Mr. Gould, but he says, “Don’t worry, your secret is safe.”

“Yeah. I wish… well, it doesn’t matter. I’m sure she hates me.” The man’s shoulders slump and for a moment, I feel sorry for him.

“See you at the wedding.”

The man with the secret leaves and a few minutes later, the receptionist stands and says, “You were a little early, but Mr. Gould can see you now.” She has a sparkling smile and a warm presence.

Mr. Gould stands when I come in. “Ms. James, I’m Joshua Gould, attorney for your father. Nice to meet you.”

“It would have been nice to meet him. Is he still alive? It sounds like from the letter that he is. Can I meet him? I have questions,” I ramble and rant.

He slips his fingers between his collar and his neck, adjusting it like he’s hot. He has round glasses, curly hair, but his armsstretch against the fabric of his suit coat, like a nerd in a jock’s body.

“Unfortunately, I can only discuss the details of the trust. The basics for you gaining access to your trust fund have two major requirements. They are dependent upon each other so each one has to be met before you actually can use the money. One, you have to be twenty-one. Happy Birthday, by the way. Two, you have to be married.”

My eye twitches, and my brows draw in toward my nose. “Why? I mean why does he care if I’m married? He hasn’t cared enough about me to visit me after my mother died.”

“Ms. James, your father is a good man. I’m sure he had his reasons.”

He’s alive.

His tone almost sounds sympathetic, but resentment crests through my voice like abrasive saltwater pounding against the shore. “There are no good reasons for abandoning the mother of your child and your freaking child.”

You can hear an ant crawling in this room until he stands and puts his hand on my shoulder. “My father left my family when I was four. It doesn’t change the fact that he left. I knew who he was, but I wish I didn’t. Oakley, sign this paperwork and when you fall in love and get married, you’ll be a fairly rich woman.”

“My mom used to say being rich in money doesn’t compare to being rich in love and relationships.” We pause, letting the weight of my thoughts sink in, before I confidently pick up the pen and sign where all the little yellow tabs are pointing for my signature.

“You have my card if you have any questions and most importantly, let me know when you get married.”

I nod, as he opens the door for me to leave. I’m shocked at the turn of events. Happy that I have a trust fund. Sad that my dad still doesn’t want to get to know me. Pissed off at my mom.Anxious that I don’t even have a boyfriend, much less someone I want to marry.

“I will. Thank you.”

The next day, I wander around Atlanta on foot so Dixie can get some exercise before we head back to Tennessee.

When Dixie’s exhausted, it’s time to load up the car. She’ll probably sleep the entire way home. The music plays on the FM radio station, but I can’t tell you a single song that played. I’m in deep thought about the sum of money I’ll get each month once I’m married. It’s a staggering amount. Will I be an instant millionaire? No. What I will be is a woman who can pay her bills and not have to get a second job and have money left over to go out with my friends.

We’re about an hour outside of Atlanta when my car sputters. It sounds like a cat trying to throw up a hairball.

I have The. Worst. Luck.

The car shakes, and my first thought is I hope we’re having an earthquake. The nearest exit has a Buc-ee’s truck stop. I’m praying I can make it there before the car blows up or quits completely. As my car hobbles into the truck stop, I can’t help but feel a surge of frustration and anger at my financial limitations. Maybe if I call Mr. Gould, he’ll give me some money to get a new car.

Smoke billows from my car, and I park away from other vehicles in case it explodes. I grab my purse, Dixie, the luggage from the trunk, and sit a few spaces away on the curb.

---