Four Little Problems. Carrie Weaver
“Thanks, friend.”
“You’re very welcome. Now, let’s go show them who the next PTO president is going to be. The woman who will change things around here for all the parents and children who don’t have a voice. The anti-Tiffanys and their kids.”
Nodding, Emily adjusted the neckline of her blouse.
Nancy tipped her head. “The gray’s lovely. But I’m glad you didn’t go with the turtleneck. It didn’t suit you.”
“You don’t think this is too, um, revealing?”
“No. You’re absolutely beautiful just the way you are. Besides, the black camisole makes it downright respectable.”
Emily tucked her hair behind her ear. Though she loved Nancy like a sister, her friend’s cheerleader looks precluded her from ever really understanding what it was like to be slightly overweight and unsure. Or from totally understanding the reasons behind Emily’s tendency to overcompensate by talking a little louder and allowing R-rated jokes to slip out at inopportune times.
No, when Nancy spoke, she was always classy and intelligent. People listened.
When Emily spoke, people rolled their eyes.
The multipurpose room door loomed.
Nancy patted Emily’s arm again. “Okay, time to go in there and show them what you’ve got. You’re smart, you’re capable and children love you. You will be the best PTO president Elmwood Elementary has ever seen.”
Emily raised her chin. Taking a deep breath, she flung open the door and strode inside.
It felt like all eyes were upon her.
The principal smiled, though it looked forced. She had to be remembering the mousetrap incident. “And here is Emily Patterson, who has so graciously stepped forward to take over the job of PTO president. Emily, please come sit here by the podium.” She gestured to a row of seats.
It was a long walk to the front of the room, or so it seemed to Emily, who wished she’d lost that last fifteen pounds. And it wouldn’t hurt if she had a few impressive initials after her name, like B.A. or Ph.D. But she was just plain Emily Patterson and that would have to do.
She headed toward the chair the principal indicated. She almost froze when she realized who sat in the next chair. Patrick Stevens.
He nodded tersely and shifted in his seat, his body language saying he didn’t want to be within a mile of her.
Fine. She didn’t particularly want to be near him, either.
Emily sat, her back ramrod-straight.
“Now,” the principal said, “voting is just a formality, since we only have one candidate for the position.” She smiled brightly at the handful of parents assembled. “All those in favor of Emily Patterson taking over as PTO president for the remainder of the school year, please raise your hand.”
Most of the hands shot up immediately. None of the busy parents wanted the job themselves, and normally, Emily would have been right there beside them. But this was too important.
“Good. It’s approved.” The principal beamed.
There was a rustle as the parents lowered their arms.
Emily was aware that Patrick Stevens, beside her, didn’t move a muscle. Because he hadn’t raised his hand to vote.
She steeled herself not to let it get to her. Two years ago, she’d apologized for the mousetrap. She’d also made Jason apologize and work cafeteria cleanup for a week as penance. But it had been obvious Stevens had had it in for Jason, so she’d eventually asked to have her son moved to a different class.
Since then, she’d managed to avoid Patrick Stevens. Until now.
“I’m sure we’ll all do our best to help Emily transition into the position.” The principal gave the science teacher a pointed look. “I’ll give her Mrs. Bigelow’s files, and Mr. Stevens will be working closely with her regarding fund-raising for the sixth-grade Sea World trip. This is bound to be the most successful year yet.”
Emily would have believed the principal, except for the nervous twitch under her right eye.
PATRICK STARED at his planning guide. It didn’t give him any answers. Only told him a quiz was long overdue.
Removing a file folder from his desk, he flipped through his notes and the information on Sea World. The kids would be completely blown away by the experience. And maybe, just maybe, he could ignite that flame of scientific enthusiasm in one or two of them. He wanted to make this happen for Ari and Kat. He needed to make this happen.
And there was only one way to do that.
He picked up the phone and dialed. “Ms. Patterson, this is Patrick Stevens. I’d like to meet with you as soon as possible to discuss the Sea World trip. And make sure all the information Mrs. Bigelow had is there.”
“Of course, I want my files to be complete…” she answered.
Patrick exhaled with relief.
But his relief was short-lived when Emily continued. “…so I can properly weigh all the requests for PTO funds.”
“But Tiffany agreed to pay at least half the Florida expenses if the students could raise the initial deposits.”
“Hm. I’m looking at her notes, and there’s no indication she agreed to that.”
Patrick gripped the phone. He could almost see the disappointment in Ari’s eyes when he told the class they wouldn’t see Shamu or the Shark Encounter as planned.
Calling on his very limited schmoozing skills, he managed to keep his voice even. “Do you think we could meet at the coffee shop on Cedar tomorrow after school, say four o’clock?” He had a better chance of convincing her in person.
“I don’t get off work till five. I can meet you briefly about five-fifteen. Then, I need to get home to my kids.”
“Great. That’ll be fine.” He didn’t have anyone he had to get home to. Other than his salamander, Newt Gingrich, tarantula, Hairy S. Truman, and boa constrictor, Arnold. But being predominantly nocturnal, they probably wouldn’t even notice he was late.
CHAPTER TWO
EMILY WAS EARLY. She folded her hands and rested them on top of the file folder. Her latte was off to the side, untouched. She couldn’t summon her usual gusto for sweets.
Her boss, Olivia, had allowed Emily to skip her second break in favor of leaving early. Voice mail could pick up the phones at the Luxury Lingerie office for the last fifteen minutes of the workday.
Glancing at the file folder, she tried to gather her thoughts. None of it made sense. Not Tiffany’s notes, not the numbers, nothing.
The bell above the door tinkled as Patrick Stevens entered and placed his order. Tall, dark-haired and serious, he was everything a single woman of forty should want. Unfortunately, Emily’s tastes strayed more toward the unreliable. What was it about her that was attracted to the worst kind of man?
She was surprised when Patrick approached, two bottles of water hanging from his fingers, while he balanced a plate with two double chocolate chunk cookies. It was a sight that might have endeared him to her, if he weren’t such a pompous ass. And if she had an appetite. For cookies, that is.
“I hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of ordering an extra cookie and water bottle….”
“No, I don’t mind.” It was kind of sweet. But she didn’t like sweets these days, she reminded herself.
Emily gestured toward the opposite chair.
While he deposited the food and drinks, she pretended to read Tiffany’s notes. Instead, she found herself watching him from beneath her lashes. He had beautiful hands. Not feminine