but besides the heather-green eyes, he had only a distant memory of an overly bright kid who, as a freshman, had kicked his and everyone else’s butts in senior calculus class.
And now she was working the counter at a suburban minimart?
The kid behind the Stop Right register hadn’t blinked before spilling that his coworker wasn’t on her way home at six in the evening.
Bailey’s always scrambling for work. I think she’s hooked up with some coffee place in SOMA, something like two nights a week….
Leslie had shot into her room and locked the door after their silent drive home. The sitter was already paid for, since Derrick had planned to stay at the office late to work on Reynolds-Allied briefs. He’d made sure Savannah was settled, then he’d headed back to town, to track Bailey down. Maybe to talk her into…
Into what?
After he’d treated her like a nobody back in Langston, he had no right to ask for anything.
“Oh, dear.” One of the women sitting with Selena set off to help Bailey clean up.
“I’m sure babes swoon at your feet on a daily basis,” teased Selena, his only friend from high school who’d never been impressed by his impending greatness. The only Western alumni he’d kept up with over the years. “But I bet having one throw food is a new twist.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t at my charming best when we met a little while ago.” Derrick winced. “I didn’t expect her to be excited to see me again, but—”
“Wait. You followed Bailey Greenwood here?” Selena glanced at her remaining friend. “I should have known it would take a woman to get him to come.”
“Come where?” He was only half listening.
Bailey had hustled the dripping tray into what looked like the kitchen. He glanced at the clock on the wall. He had a preteen at home on crime watch.
“Derrick, this is my friend Nora Clark,” Selena said. “She’s one of the parents I’ve been telling you about. You know, the group that might be able to help you work things out with Leslie and Savannah.”
Group?
Derrick groaned.
He’d stumbled into the middle of the single-mother gabfest Selena had been pimping for the last few months. Panic didn’t begin to describe the sudden urge to make himself scarce.
Selena was a successful installation artist. She had her own kid to keep track of. Where did she find the time for a sorority-esque coffee klatch?
“If you’ll excuse me.” He left as the woman he’d heard someone call Margo headed back their way.
Pushing through the swinging door Bailey disappeared behind, he found a brightly lit industrial kitchen that looked like it turned out a lot more than the simple desserts offered at other San Francisco coffee houses. The sound of running water led him around a corner.
“Employees only back here, buddy,” the dynamo scouring the tray said without glancing up from the sink. “Health department regulations.”
Bailey looked even more exhausted than she had back at the store. Embarrassed, too, which had clearly upped her determination to avoid him.
“I’m sorry.” He held up his hands. “I had no right to jump down your throat earlier. My only excuse is that it was my first stint picking my child up at a crime scene, and I was too worried about Leslie to thank you for your help. Someone mentioned you might be here tonight. I came to apologize.”
“But I thought you and Selena…” She wiped at the wisps of hair that had curled free of her ponytail, then dove back into scrubbing, even though the last of the coffee had already swirled down the drain. “Never mind. If you’re so worried about your daughter, shouldn’t you be home, sharing your concern with your family, instead of me?”
“Well, I also wanted to…”
He was talking to the top of her head.
“Bailey—” He reached over her shoulder and turned off the tap.
“Hey!” She spun around to push him away with soapy hands. Moisture seeped through his shirt. “Back off.”
She was barely tall enough to reach his chest. The soft, brown hair she wore in a ponytail smelled like cinnamon.
Taking several steps back, he cleared his throat.
“I wanted to ask if you’d consider helping my daughter just a little more,” he forced himself to say. “Leslie’s a good kid who’s confused and trying to deal with everything that’s changed in her life over the last couple of years. She needs time. She needs a chance to start over, but your boss is determined to make an example of her. If you could help change his mind, you’d be making a huge difference in a young girl’s life.”
Bailey’s eyes drained of the promise to slap him if he invaded her personal space again. The spunk she’d been running on seemed to fizzle, along with the soap bubbles oozing down the sides of the sink.
“I had a few minutes back at the Stop Right.” She wiped her hands on her apron. Smoothed them over the tendrils of hair framing her delicate cheekbones. “Beyond that, I’m fresh out of time to make a difference in anyone’s life.”
The hitch in her voice, the tears in her eyes as she brushed by, was a new low Derrick hadn’t thought his day could sink to. He had somehow hurt her. And that was dirty pool.
If Bailey were still just pissed, that would be one thing. Having to ask a near stranger for help wasn’t his strong suit, but if she’d fired off another put-down, flashed another of those scathing looks, called him an inept father, he would have followed her back into the bistro and tried to reason with her some more.
But causing Bailey Greenwood even more distress tonight was out of the question, no matter how desperate he was.
CHAPTER THREE
LESLIE SNUCK OUT of her bedroom window, leaving the house and her Saturday morning babysitter behind, and headed across Langston to meet up with Julia Parker. Her dad would be working in the city all day—again. And their stupid neighbor had fallen asleep on the couch, while Savannah zoned out on cartoons.
Bolting from house arrest had been so easy, it was embarrassing.
You’re a smart girl, her dad had insisted last night. Smarter than this. We’ll figure out a way to get the shop owner to see reason. But you’ve got to stop trying to get back at me by trashing your life.
She hated him.
She hated her mom.
Her stupid life.
The stupid box of condoms she’d been caught stealing.
Ginger Nash had called her a baby, because Leslie had never even seen a rubber. So just to prove how grown up she was, what had Leslie done? She’d chickened out of buying them and tried to grab-and-go instead.
Still, she’d gotten what she wanted. The news of her crime had spread all over Langston. It had even made it as far as her little sister’s elementary school by yesterday afternoon.
Are you going to jail? Savannah had asked over frozen dinners and Kool-Aid last night.
Of course she’s not going to jail!
Their dad’s fist had pounded the table beside his plate of microwaved-beyond-recognition lasagna. He’d promised to fix the mess Leslie had made, then he’d squeezed Savannah’s hand, because she’d started to cry. He might be the Mighty DC, but tears got to him every time. They’d gotten Savannah an extra story before bedtime.
Well, Leslie didn’t want another story. She didn’t want her dad to fix things here. She wanted her life in Atlanta back. Things the way they used to be. She wanted her dad to have the guts to admit that their West Coast new start sucked.