Look the Part

  LOOK THE PART

  by Jewel E. Ann

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Jewel E. Ann

  ISBN: 978-0-9990482-6-9

  Kindle Edition

  Cover Designer: ©Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations

  Photo: ©MaeIDesign and Photography

  Formatting: BB eBooks

  Dedication

  To everyone in search of a second chance.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Sneak Peek of Transcend

  Also by Jewel E. Ann

  About the Author

  Author’s Note

  This is not a story about autism. This is a story about life. And in life there are children with autism and parents navigating unchartered territory to give these children a voice and a future. Every child is unique. Every journey requires a different map. This is one story. One journey. Harrison was inspired by the children I have personally had the pleasure to know and love.

  PROLOGUE

  HEIDI GAVE ME a son and then I killed her. Lucky were the bastards who learned life lessons from close calls. I envied those lucky bastards.

  “DON’T DRINK TONIGHT. I want you to put another baby inside of me,” my wife whispered as her hand slid up my leg under the table surrounded by twelve of our closest family and friends. Heidi picked my favorite steak house in Omaha and reserved the party room for my special day. I had no idea until everyone yelled surprise.

  I loved her beyond words.

  “And for the birthday boy?” The brunette waitress winked at me, readying her pen against the pad of paper in her hand.

  “Whisky neat.”

  Heidi frowned.

  I grabbed her hand and pressed it to my erection. “I’m not going to have any issues granting your request.”

  “We’ll see.” Her curt response held little confidence.

  My parents drove in from Denver to surprise me, but my two-year-old son, Harrison, stole the show. They took turns gushing over him with Heidi’s mom. I didn’t anticipate being a father before I graduated college; I also didn’t anticipate meeting the woman I couldn’t live without at the exact moment I needed her the most.

  She was a nursing student at the hospital they sent me to the day an ACL injury shattered my football career. I called her an angel. Heidi insisted it was the drugs they gave me for the pain.

  “Monaghan said you’re going to be his agent when he goes Pro.” My dad gave me a curious look.

  “Monaghan is full of shit. No team in their right mind will draft Pretty Boy. He’s going to be a teacher. That right there shows you he’s too much of a pussy to have a serious chance in the NFL.”

  The Cornhusker’s young quarterback shot me a smirk from the other end of the table. We both knew he’d go Pro, but I wasn’t going to inflate his ego on my birthday.

  “Language, Hopkins,” Heidi warned.

  When she called me by my last name, I squirmed in my chair. It always meant a punishment would follow—and all of her punishments were doled out in the bedroom.

  I loved her beyond words.

  The night marched on without missing one perfect beat.

  Dinner. Friends. Family. Food. Drinks.

  My wife outdid herself. She excelled in making every day perfect. She also excelled in making me feel irresponsible for drinking. Every time the waitress placed another drink in front of me, Heidi’s lips pursed into a disapproving frown.

  I let it slide without argument. Before he died, her father drank a lot of alcohol and was abusive. When we met, she thought I didn’t drink. At the time, it was true. Football was my life. I treated my body like a temple. But after my injury, I settled into a life where my body was no longer a temple and the occasional drink was exactly what I needed to ease the pain of lost dreams.

  Heidi thought every guy who drank was an abusive alcoholic. I made it my mission to prove her wrong so maybe someday she, too, would relax a little and have a drink on special occasions.

  “Happy birthday, Flint. Take care of my babies.” My mother-in-law, Sandy, hugged me as everyone said their final birthday wishes and goodnights.

  “That’s code for hand the keys to your wife.” Heidi nudged me with a playful smile that I knew was not at all meant to be playful.

  Sandy squeezed my cheeks and looked into my eyes. “I think he’s fine, sweetie. Nothing like your father was so give him some slack.”

  I shot Heidi an I-told-you-so look. Her mother loved me. I was everything her father hadn’t been. Heidi hated that I could do no wrong in Sandy’s eyes, but I loved it. A dangerous pride came with so much confidence.

  After she fastened Harrison into his car seat, Heidi held out her hand.

  “I’m fine.” I opened the driver’s door.

  “You’re not. You drank a lot tonight.”

  “I weigh a lot.”

  “Flint.”

  I slipped into the driver’s seat. “Call me Hopkins, baby. I like where that leads.”

  “Flint, I’m serious. Our child is in the backseat.” She stood between me and the door so I couldn’t shut it.

  “I want to be in my birthday suit with you. Get in so we can get Harrison to bed.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, raven hair flowing in all directions, blue eyes piercing mine.

  “I’m. Fine.”

  Heidi shrugged. “Great. Then don’t be a chauvinistic pig. Just let me drive.”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance as a few drops of rain fell from the night sky.

  “You’re going to get wet.”

  She huffed and stomped to the other side of the car. “Stubborn ass,” she mumbled as she buckled up.

  “Language, Mommy.” I chuckled as I started the car.

  “There will be a special place in Hell for you, Flint Hopkins, if you kill us or anyone else with your drunk driving.”

  I put the car in drive and cupped the back of her head, pulling her forehead to mine before letting up on the brake. “You’re my world. I would never hurt you. I love you beyond words.”

  “Jesus, Flint …” she whispered. “Your breath reeks of whisky. I’m begging you. Let me drive.”

  I released her and let up on the brake. As much as I loved my wife, I also loved being a man. And a strong man knew his limits and didn’t have to be told when he was or wasn’t capable of doing something.

 
*

  THREE DAYS LATER I buried my wife in a cemetery two blocks from our house.

  CHAPTER ONE

  A Special Place in Hell—10 years later

  HAPPY PEOPLE SHOULD come with a warning.

  “Hello, Attorney Flint Hopkin’s office. Amanda speaking … Yes … Okay … I’ll let him know. Thank you for calling. Have a fantastic day.”

  Who says fantastic? The word comes from fantasy which means not real. My secretary, who did not come with a proper warning, tells everyone who calls here to have a “not real” day. She should work at Disney World.

  The intercom on my office phone buzzes. I sigh. “Amanda, my door is open and no one else is here. You don’t have to use the intercom. I can hear you just fine.”

  “How am I supposed to know if you’re on the phone?”

  “Turn around.”

  She rotates in her chair. I glance up from my computer, meeting her gaze.

  “I don’t like to spy on you. When I do, the look you give me creeps me out.”

  I scratch my chin. “I give you a look?”

  She curls her blond hair behind her ears and gives me a sour face. “Yes. You never smile. It’s creepy.”

  “Never?” I cock my head to the side.

  “Well, except when Harrison shows up after school. The corners of your mouth turn up like…” her lips twist “…an eighth of an inch. And most people would miss it if they weren’t actively watching for it.”

  Smiling is overrated. And she’s right; my son gets the best parts of me. What little remains.

  “Who was on the phone?”

  “What?”

  “Before you informed me of my creepiness, you paged me.”

  “Oh, yes, Ellen Rodgers will be fifteen minutes late. She got held up at work.”

  “Running late. Not a good sign. Probably means she’ll be late with rent each month.”

  “Yes, Flint. You’re probably right. She got held up at work, a place she goes to make money. That’s definitely a sign that she’ll be late with rent.” Amanda swings back around to her desk.

  “You’re rolling your eyes at me.” I return my attention to my computer screen.

  “I would never do that, Boss.”

  Twenty-five minutes later, there’s chatter in the waiting room. My focus stays on my computer. There’s no reason to give Ms. Rodgers the impression I have nothing better to do than wait for her.

  My phone vibrates on my desk.

  AMANDA: Ellen Rodgers is here. I imagine you know this. She’s not a client, so I wasn’t sure if her arrival warranted an intercom announcement or a verbal announcement since your door is open. How do you want me to proceed with this delicate situation?

  ME: You’re fired.

  AMANDA: For real!!!! Gosh, I have so much laundry to catch up on at home. Thank you!

  Note to self: Never hire a female secretary again.

  ME: Not for real. Send her back and get me that research I requested three days ago.

  AMANDA: I’ll send her back. And I put that research on the bookshelf behind your desk 2 days ago. : )

  “Women,” I mumble.

  “Hello.” The woman applying to rent the space above my office charges toward me with her hand held out. “I’m Ellen Rodgers. I apologize for my tardiness.”

  I stand and shake her hand. She’s unexpected. Cheerful—in need of a warning label. I let her enthusiasm for life slide this time because she’s easy on the eyes.

  “Flint Hopkins. And it’s fine.” I glance over her shoulder to our audience of one. Amanda shoots me a sly grin. I narrow my eyes until she turns back around.

  “Please, have a seat,” I point to the chair by my desk.

  Ellen drops her handbag on the floor with an ungraceful thump. She must live out of her purse.

  I home in on her shaky hands unbuttoning her gray wool coat that’s overkill for the sixty-degree day. “Forgive my appearance. I had lunch with a four-year-old girl who has a few coordination issues.”

  Ironic. She appears to have a few of her own.

  Long auburn hair stops short of covering the blotchy red stain on her fitted white sweater.

  My gaze snaps to hers after it dawns on me that I’m staring at the stain, which happens to be over her breast. “Did you get the contract from Amanda the other day when she showed you the space?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” Ellen drapes her coat over the back of the chair and takes a seat.

  “Do you have any questions about it?”

  “Nope. Looks pretty standard. I love this location, but it’s impossible to find available spaces. So I was really excited when I found your ad the same day you posted it.”

  I scan her application even though I’ve read it over a dozen times. “You’re a music therapist?”

  “Yes.”

  “Music is considered therapy?”

  Ellen chuckles. It’s childlike. Her face is childlike too. Must be the freckles and light blue eyes.

  “Yes. Think of it as an alternative therapy. But it’s a legit job. I have a degree for my speciality like any other healthcare professional.” She points at my hands folded on my desk. “Nice cufflinks, by the way.”

  I glance down and adjust each one. “Thank you.”

  Her teeth trap her glossed lips as if she wants to grin, but something inside vetoes the idea. “Sorry. That was sort of left field of me. I’m a little nervous.”

  “Why is that?” I ask while opening an email from a client.

  She’s humming. Why is she humming?

  “Because I want the space.”

  “References?”

  “Uh, yes. I sent them to your secretary.”

  I press the intercom button. “Amanda, I need those references.”

  “On the shelf next to the research you requested,” she calls from her desk. Then the intercom buzzes. “You’re welcome, Mr. Hopkins.”

  Ellen stifles a laugh as I draw in a slow breath of control.

  “Well, then. I’ll check your reference—”

  “I checked them,” Amanda says sans intercom.

  “You’re fired.”

  Amanda stands and slings her purse over her shoulder. “I’ll file for unemployment in the morning.”

  “Have a good evening,” I mumble, giving her a look—maybe the look.

  “Night, Flint.” She winks.

  When the lock clicks, I return my attention to big, blue, unblinking eyes. Even her cheeks, which had been a bit rosy when she arrived, are now void of all color except her freckles.

  “I fire her on a daily basis. She has no respect for authority.”

  Ellen’s body remains statuesque, eyes shifting in tiny increments searching mine.

  I turn and grab the references off the shelf behind me. On the papers in my hands there are a fair amount of good references. There’s really no reason not to rent her the space other than my obsession with crossing more t’s and dotting more i’s than exist on the proverbial paper. Absolute control is my life.

  A cautious smile rides up her face. “You’re a hard man to read, Mr. Hopkins.”

  A dark read.

  “And you’re my newest tenant. Welcome. I’ll need two months’ rent and your signature on these papers.” I slide the rental agreement that Amanda clipped to Ellen’s references across my desk along with a pen.

  There’s a certain amount of envy I feel toward her. I can’t remember the last time I smiled like that over anything. And she’s lit up like a night in July over something as insignificant as a second-story space outside of downtown Minneapolis.

  “Thank you. You’ve made my day. Heck, you’ve made my week.” She scribbles her name and initials by all the sticky arrows Amanda attached to the agreement, and she writes out a check with music notes on it.

  “You’re welcome.” I unlock my side desk drawer and retrieve the keys. “Here are two sets of keys. One is to the building and the other is to your office space. Everything is secured with an alarm system, so I’ll show y
ou how to set your own code for that. From six at night to seven in the morning, the main doors to the building are locked. If you see clients during those hours, you will need to escort them in and out of the building. If you have issues with anything, you first try Amanda and then you call me if she is unavailable.”

  “Amanda? The woman you just fired?”

  I stand and slip on my suit jacket, buttoning it and adjusting my tie. Ellen holds her smile like she’s waiting for my reaction to her comment. “Yes.” To the point. That’s all she will get from me.

  It took Amanda five years to worm her way into my existence to the point where I need her—but only professionally. She could piss in my coffee and I still wouldn’t fire her because she’s the woman behind one of the best attorneys in Minneapolis—me. And the only thing that makes me happier than her anticipating my every move twenty-four hours before I make it is her husband and three children. I am her job. Period.

  “Follow me.” I walk past Ellen, dodging the waves of happiness that flow from her all-too-giddy smile.

  “It seems really cold outside. It wasn’t this cold last year at this time.” Ellen rubs her hands together and blows on them as we ride up the elevator.

  I narrow one eye at her. “Sixty degrees is not cold in Minnesota. This time last year it was unusually warm. This is normal.”

  “I moved here from California.” She lifts her shoulders to shrug and blows on her hands some more.

  “I know.” I nod toward the elevator doors as they open.

  “Of course.” She smiles as she steps off the elevator. “My references.”

  I steal a second to glance at her from behind. As much as I don’t want to notice her subtle curves and her perky ass, I can’t help it.

  “You coming?” She tosses a flirty look over her shoulder at me.

  I don’t think she’s trying to be flirty; it’s just a familiar look. It’s the way my wife used to look at me. “Yes.” I mentally shake it off and follow her two doors to the left.

  “Four offices total, right?”

  I use my key to open the door to her space and shut off the alarm. “Yes. Mine, an optometrist across the lobby from me, and on the other side of you is an accounting firm. Here…” I step aside “…it’s ready for you to type in a six-digit code.”