"It's about time you got here!" Vivienne was pacing back and forth in front of a large sculpture, her brightly colored, oversized caftan flapping with each step, in stark relief to the black silk leggings that hugged her slim legs.

"I'm early," Maria pointed out, not that Vivienne would care. Maria worked part-time for the temperamental artist at her studio/gallery in the Design District.

"What difference does that make? I need you right now to take down that painting!"

"The one right here in front?"

"Yes, yes. I don't want that garbage in my show. I can't imagine what I was thinking."

Two days ago, she'd declared it her masterpiece, but Maria wisely didn't mention that as she and Vivienne lifted the painting off the wall and carried it into the back room.

"What do we hang in its place?" Maria asked, thinking of the expanse of empty wall space that would greet attendees as they entered the gallery.

"Nothing," Vivienne said sharply. "Let them wonder about it."

Vivienne was a sculptor, first and foremost, and, in her words, "dabbled" in canvas and oil. Her age was somewhere between fifty and seventy-five; no one could pin it any closer. Her reticence about her background was part of her mystique.

At the moment, her sculptures were a hot item, and not only in Miami. And because she so rarely painted, collectors put a high value on those works. Maria thought that the piece of "garbage" they were now hauling into the back room would have sold for enough money to pay Maria's rent for a year. Maybe even buy the whole building.

Meanwhile, as people arrived and the gallery filled with voices, Maria imagined what it would be like to have her own showing one day. She also made sure the little cards with the discreet prices of the sculptures and paintings were present, the trays of canapés were refilled, and the mojitos flowing.

When Ritchie walked in looking distinguished and moneyed, with Joey lagging behind him, Vivienne moved in for the kill.

"You like?" she asked, with that faintly Eastern European accent she sometimes affected. Vivienne had lived absolutely everywhere and, as far as Maria could tell, had no discernable accent at all.

Maria walked up to them, balancing an empty tray and a collection of long-stemmed glasses.

"He's not a patron of the arts, Vivienne. This is Ritchie Perez," she said, introducing him grudgingly. "He's the lawyer I told you about who's been helping me out with Joey this week."

"Ah," Vivienne said, causing Maria to instantly regret some other confidences about Ritchie she'd shared with her part-time employer earlier that same day. It was just that he'd made her so darned mad during their dinner. And so aroused afterward. She sighed.

"Ritchie, this is Vivienne, the owner of the gal–"

"There's no need for that introduction," Ritchie said smoothly and turned to Vivienne, accepting the hand she offered and lifting it to his lips. "Your face is as instantly recognizable as your work."

Maria rolled her eyes as she watched Vivienne's reaction to Mr. Charming.

"I've admired, in particular, your studies of the vanishing Florida Everglades," Ritchie continued.

"And you dare suggest this gentleman is not a patron of the arts?" Vivienne asked, raising one delicate eyebrow as she cast a sideways glance at Maria.

"Come," Vivienne said, before Maria could respond, taking Ritchie's arm. "I insist on giving you a personal tour of my gallery. I think you might particularly like to see..."

Maria stood there for a moment as their voices faded away, hoping she wouldn't have to put up with a lecture later from Vivienne about what a lovely young man he was. She took the tray back into the kitchen and, predictably, found Joey there, sitting at a small table making dinner of the food he'd managed to cajole out of the caterer.

And felt instant remorse. Ritchie might have been a little annoying on their date, with all his unsolicited advice about what she should be doing differently with Joey, but he had really gone over the top helping her out this week. She'd have managed somehow without his help, of course, but knowing that Joey was at Ritchie's office while she was at work all day had really relieved her mind.

She smiled at the caterer, reloaded her tray, and took it back out into the gallery to place strategically near several sculptures Vivienne was hoping to sell.

So okay, she owed him. Still, it didn't give him a right to judge her or anyone else who was struggling to raise a child on their own. As if it was her fault Joey kept getting in trouble. She'd moved them out of that neighborhood, hadn't she? Made sure he was in a good school. Nagged him about homework. She was doing the best she could. But what had really grated was that he seemed to think Joey was at a disadvantage just because Maria was a single "mom."

Well, she was pretty sure she knew a great deal more than he did about single-parent families, sitting up there every day in his fancy office. Ritchie had insisted on picking Joey up in the morning. She'd driven past the building later just so she'd know where her brother was, not because she was interested in seeing where Ritchie worked. And had been glad she'd overridden Joey's protests and made him wear his dress pants and a shirt with a collar. She watched from her car while people in expensive suits carrying briefcases walked into the building and wondered if they were other lawyers in Ritchie's office.

Their date hadn't gone very well. Except for those kisses she tried not to think about. After he took Joey to the office on Monday for the final day of suspension, she'd probably never see him again.

Except, of course, for Wednesday nights at St. Theresa's.

* * *

Ritchie sat at his desk Monday afternoon and studied the small sculpture of a rare species of frog, indigenous to the Everglades, which now commanded attention on his credenza. An original Vivienne. There was something compelling about it that he couldn't quite put his finger on. For fifteen thousand dollars, it had better be compelling, Ritchie thought. He still couldn't quite get used to the fact that he could spend that kind of money on a piece of art without even thinking twice about it.

But the fifteen thousand dollars he'd spent Friday night was a good investment in more ways than one. He knew enough about art to know the sculpture itself would appreciate. More importantly, he'd secured a commitment from the artist to create a piece specifically for the charity auction benefitting a scholarship program for kids from Miami's roughest neighborhoods, an event Ritchie's firm helped sponsor.

"So how much did she charge you for that?" He looked up and saw Joey standing in the doorway to his office.

"Enough," he said.

"Man, I don't know why people spend so much money on that stuff."

"Don't you have anything else to do?" Ritchie asked pointedly.

Joey shrugged. "If that lady down the hall sees me standing around, she's gonna make me go out and pick up a bunch of fancy coffee drinks again. Man, there's a coffee machine right in the kitchen!"

"Sorry if we don't have more challenging work for you to do," Ritchie said drily.

Joey sank into the visitor's chair across from Ritchie's desk and shrugged again.

"It's not like you really need a kid like me in this place." He kicked the corner of the desk idly, and Ritchie tried to ignore it.

Joey fidgeted in his chair.

"You think I don't know the only reason you let me hang around is 'cause you want to bang my sister?" He looked around the fancy office and smirked. "Rich guy like you? She'd be smart to do you becau–"

Ritchie was around the desk in seconds, before Joey could even get the rest of the words out. The kid probably thought lawyers were soft guys who sat behind a desk all day pushing papers around. Joey stuck out his chin with what Ritchie recognized as false bravado, even as Ritchie leaned down and looked him right in the eye.

"She doesn't even like you," Joey said, squirming. "She thinks you're bossy."

Ritchie's face was close to Joey's. "When you're in this office, I'm your boss. And that's the last time you're going to make a stupid, disrespectful comment like that about your sister."

"You wouldn't dare touch me," Joey said, but his voice sounded small and scared.

"Am I touching you, Joey?"

"You don't scare me," Joey said, but his face went pale, and Ritchie could read what was going on in his mind. The kid grew up in the kind of neighborhood Ritchie knew all too well. He expected Ritchie to smack him around. He needed to learn that being strong didn't mean beating up someone smaller.

Ritchie spoke slowly, calmly.

"You are going to sit there in that chair and not move, and you are going to keep your mouth closed until I tell you otherwise. You got that?"

Joey nodded.

"All right," Ritchie said then went back behind his desk, turned back to his computer, took a phone call from a client, and reviewed a file for an upcoming hearing. He glanced over at Joey periodically. The kid squirmed a little in the chair, but kept his mouth shut.

Around three o'clock, Joey inched his phone partway out of his pocket and sighed miserably. Ritchie stifled a smile. Three o'clock was when Sam's younger sister Olivia – his wife's sister, actually – showed up after school to work at the office. Joey had followed her around yesterday with the kind of starry-eyed devotion a thirteen-year-old boy would predictably have for a cool and confident sixteen-year-old girl.

Ritchie caught his eye. "Get out of here."

Joey swallowed visibly. "You mean...go home?"

He was probably imagining how he would explain to Maria getting thrown out of Ritchie's office when he'd already been suspended from school.

"No, I don't mean go home. I mean get out of my office, and go to the file room. See if you can't find something useful to do for the rest of the day." Richie tried not to smile. "Olivia might need help making copies."

"Yes, sir!" Joey said and then bolted out of the chair.

Joey wasn't a bad kid, Ritchie thought, just a kid who needed some boundaries. And a positive male influence that he wasn't getting by hanging out in his old neighborhood or sitting around an apartment alone while Maria held down two jobs.

Ritchie was planning to spend more time with both of them. 

Author's Note:

Things are going smoothly now, but watch out!  Trouble ahead.