The Call: A Psychic Paranormal Romantic Comedy Read online

  The Call

  Building the Circle – Book 1

  Maggie M Lily

  Copyright © 2020 by Maggie M Lily

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Certain long-standing institutions, agencies, and public offices are mentioned, but the characters and situations involved are wholly imaginary.

  for my boys

  (there are not eight of them)

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Forward

  Sixteen Months Earlier

  Chapter 1 – March

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6 - April

  Chapter 7 - May

  Chapter 8 - June

  Chapter 9 - July

  Chapter 10 - August

  Chapter 11 - September

  Chapter 12 - October

  Chapter 13 – November

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16 - December

  Chapter 17 – March

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23 – April

  Chapter 24 – June

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  The Trellis Siblings

  Forward

  Jake wiggled and scooted until Matilda was on her side and he was cuddling behind her.

  "Sigh," Matty said.

  "Did you just say the word 'sigh'?"

  "I did."

  "Why?"

  "Cuddling is nice. I'm so cold without you. But, I miss sexy time," she whispered.

  "Matilda, I love you more than life itself, but there is no fucking way we're having nookie in this hospital bed. The pool table was just about as adventurous as I get and I'm never fucking living that down."

  She was laughing. "The garden was way worse than the pool table. Also, 'nookie'?"

  Jake was chuckling. "I've mentally blocked the garden. What's wrong with nookie?"

  Matilda couldn't stop laughing. "Every third word out of your mouth is 'fuck'! But, hey, nookie. OK."

  Jake was laughing, too. "Fuck sounds too ugly in that context. 'Making love' is probably the most accurate but sounds way too dramatic. What would you prefer?"

  "Umm. Sex, frolicking naked, making the beast with two backs, doing the humpty dance, balling, banging, adult naptime, aggressive cuddling, a bit of the bam-bam-"

  Jake was laughing hard enough for the entire bed to be shaking with him. "Aggressive cuddling?! What the fuck?"

  "I grew up in a bar, I can do this all day -

  "Amorous congress, assault with a friendly weapon, beating guts, attacking the pink fortress-"

  "Oh my God, I love you so much," Jake gasped between laughs.

  "Belly bumping, boning, batter dipping the corndog, dinky-tickling, the wild thang, fornicating, crashing the custard truck - are you ok?!"

  Jake fell out of the bed, still laughing hysterically. "CRASHING THE CUSTARD TRUCK?! Did you just make that up?" He gasped out.

  Sixteen Months Earlier

  Chapter 1 – March

  Thunder boomed outside the 43rd-floor window as the wind made the skyscraper rock.

  "I hate being up here when it storms like this," Sam said as he stared out the window.

  Jacob tapped the pocket and lined up the shot. The eight ball sunk as directed. "It's fine. Suck it up, man. You chose the building. Another round?"

  "Na, you've kicked my ass enough for today. That woman will be here soon, anyway." Sam said as he hung up his cue.

  "Tell me why we’re contracting this strategy work out again. Why can't we just use the existing plan for the launch? The agencies have sucked."

  Sam rolled his eyes. "We've been over this."

  "Remind me."

  "I'm not opposed to the existing plan, I want you to consider other approaches. It's a new industry for us. This woman knows the industry and she has a strong reputation for no bullshit. Let her play devil's advocate and poke holes in our plan. We have nothing to lose.'

  "Time. We have time to lose. I'm swamped."

  Sam delivered his patented shut-the-fuck-up look. "We just spent 20 minutes shooting pool. If you're swamped, all the more reason to bring in help. Dad will be a few minutes late. I'm out of here."

  "You're dumping this woman in my lap and not even staying for the meeting? Fuck you!" Jacob laughed at his younger brother.

  "I'm the boss. I don't have to stay for meetings. I delegate. Plus, this chick might be terrible."

  "And I say again. Fuck you!" Jacob called out to Sam's back.

  Before the door closed completely, Jen stuck her head in. "The Beer Team is here."

  "Thanks, Jen. They can come in and get settled. This woman should be here any minute.” It was five minutes to three in the afternoon.

  Jacob began racking the balls on the pool table.

  ✽✽✽

  Matilda Benton was flummoxed.

  She had been impeccably dressed and styled at the start of her journey to this meeting. Hair gathered in a loose chignon at her nape. Just enough makeup to highlight, but not enough to distract. Pristine light gray pant-suit, a black tank with a swoopy neckline, chunky black ankle-high boots. Her lucky black leather carry-all, a gift from her dad.

  No blingy jewelry, no super girly frills. The Trellis family was reportedly stocked full of men with short tempers and low tolerances for distraction.

  Matilda had to get this right. It was a career opportunity that she wouldn’t see again. A chance to launch a new alcohol label on a global scale. If she got this right, her product consulting would be poised for growth and acclaim. She’d get this right. She could do this. She would do this, and do it well.

  As she left her apartment building, the air felt charged. Weather reports predicted strong spring storms later in the evening. Maybe the rain would finish melting off and breaking down the last of the dirty snowbanks. It was fifty degrees out - definitely no coat needed after the long cold winter. She had her suit jacket.

  She had almost an hour before her meeting and intended to walk from River North into the Chicago Loop.

  She’d have time to stop for tea. Clients always have coffee. If they had tea, it was that nasty Lipton stuff.

  It started misting rain. She had an umbrella. All was well.

  Then, the rain got serious. It was sheeting down in waves.

  A block later, the wind was blowing the rain horizontally. The umbrella was completely useless. She stepped out of the flow of foot traffic to order a ride.

  Uber and Lyft had a double surcharge and no one available within the next ten minutes. She ordered the Lyft and tried to catch a cab in the meantime. If she got stuck with a cancellation fee, so be it.

  There were no cabs. Ten minutes later, the Lyft was now fifteen minutes away. The clock was ticking.

  She would finish the walk. There were shortcuts through other buildings. Everything would be fine. She had almost 20 minutes to spare. She might be a little damp when she
got there, but it’d be fine.

  She stepped back out into the flow of foot traffic and started moving quickly.

  A rude, oblivious woman with a damn wheelie bag slammed into Matilda, knocking her ass over teakettle into a giant puddle. Matilda’s carryall flew into the street and got run over a couple of times before she was able to rescue it. Her laptop and phone were destroyed.

  Sitting on the muddy curb in the rain, Matilda started panicking. She was covered in sleetly street muck. The temperature was dropping and she was out of time. She couldn’t even call the office; her phone was in pieces.

  She could go home and try to reschedule for a future date. But it would probably cost Matilda the opportunity.

  She could show up looking like a muddy, drowned poodle. The suit was ruined. The hair and makeup were gone.

  Showing up like this was decidedly not ideal. But, it would demonstrate her commitment to the project. She could show up and do great work. Without her laptop. Or phone. Her notes might still be readable.

  Onward. Muddy was forgivable. Explainable. She had a mishap on the way into the meeting.

  Not showing up would cost her the contract. And no amount of tardiness would put her laptop together again in time to help her in the meeting.

  She had mentally prepared for the pity and quasi-dismissal that came with meeting new work contacts for the first time. Most people saw the disability and wrote her off as incompetent until she proved otherwise.

  It would be worse this time. Much worse. She was showing up less than perfect in appearance and lacking… everything.

  People were staring at her as she walked down the street, toward the meeting. Correction: People were staring more than usual.

  This did not bode well.

  ✽✽✽

  The Trellis family had strong opinions about wasting people’s time and energy. When Samuel Trellis launched his company, he incorporated that respect for other people’s time into the culture.

  Unexplained tardiness for meetings was not tolerated from anyone. Meetings started on time and people showed up prepared. To show up late or under-prepared was a waste of everyone’s time and considered extremely rude.

  Hank Trellis was going to be late because of a delayed flight. He informed the entire team as soon as the flight times changed. The team would carry on without him, knowing that Hank would join as soon as he could.

  It was Jacob’s project; Hank was along for the ride. And the beer. All Trellis men liked a good beer.

  Otherwise, the marketing and product development team in charge of the beer launch showed up early. They were well organized and ready to start work promptly at three pm.

  Jake checked the time on his phone. 3:02. He sighed.

  “Hey Jen,” he called out his door. “Have you heard from security? Are things backed up down there?”

  “There’s no wait time. I haven’t heard from them,” she replied.

  He checked the time again. 3:03.

  “Would you please try calling her?” The weather was terrible. Maybe there was an accident or something.

  A few minutes later, Jen entered the doorway to let the team know that the call went to voicemail. Jacob grunted in frustration. The whole team shifted uncomfortably.

  “So nice of you to dress up today, Jake,” said Gary, one of the first Trellis employees and a long-time family friend.

  Jake looked down at his jeans and t-shirt. “What’s wrong with this?”

  Gary laughed. “The lack of a dress code is nice, but you look like a slob.”

  Jake snorted. “Thanks, man. You say the nicest things to your boss.”

  “Whatever, you wouldn’t know how to function without this team.”

  It was true. This marketing team, in particular, was vital to the company’s growth and strategic vision. Jacob smiled as the team chuckled. They knew their value.

  At 3:10, he dismissed the team. “Sorry all. Apparently, this woman doesn’t want to work with us. If she shows up, I’ll give her the brush off and we’ll move forward with the original plans.”

  ✽✽✽

  The security desk clerk asked Matilda if he should call for help.

  This contract was lost. There’s no way anyone would hire her like this. She should have gone home and saved herself the embarrassment. She was an idiot to think she could still pull this off after the sleet puddle. Why was she even going past security? Just turn around. Save face and go home.

  As she rode up the elevator, Matilda wondered who you called for wardrobe catastrophes. Surely there was a service that delivered last-minute clothing these days.

  She followed the receptionist into an oversized office, fifteen minutes late. Foot traffic had slowed considerably after she got dumped in the puddle. The temperature dropped by at least 10 degrees since she left her apartment. Parts of her sodden red hair had gathered icicles.

  "Ms. Benton, sir,” the receptionist announced, sounding rather alarmed.

  Whatever, lady. There was a mishap, Matilda thought.

  A ridiculously good-looking man stood in front of a pool table, holding a pool cue. He was tall, over six feet, with dark brown hair stuck up in random directions like he had a habit of running his hands through it. He had light brown eyes set in a face that looked prone to smiles and laughter. He was also wearing a vintage Scooby-Doo t-shirt with a hole in it.

  What. The. Fuck. Matilda gaped at Jacob Trellis for a minute. This family’s wealth was measured in billions. Her best ‘boss bitch’ suit was just destroyed on the commute from hell. She spent hours getting ready for this meeting.

  Where did Shaggy leave Scooby and the gang? Matilda wondered.

  ✽✽✽

  As Jen entered the room, Jacob turned to greet the consultant before politely telling her to fuck off.

  "Ms. Benton, sir,” Jen sounded distressed.

  “Ms. Benton, welcome to Trellis Industries. I’m Ja… How can I help you?” There was a tiny, soaking wet woman covered in mud, dripping in his office doorway.

  What. The. Fuck.

  "There is a pool table in here."

  "Yes, there is. Are you OK? You’re clearly not OK. How can I help?"

  “I’m fine,” she said automatically. She was always fine. “I had a mishap.”

  “You have mud on your neck, Ms. Benton. Please, how can I help?”

  "Matilda or Matty, please. I apologize. I have mud everywhere. Again, I had a mishap on my way here and didn't have time to change clothes or clean up without being late. Or, at least later than I already am. There was a mishap. My bag and laptop with my presentation were damaged, but we can talk through our plans. I've done the research. I just don't have the visuals because of the mishap." She was talking fast to keep her teeth from chattering.

  Were those tire tracks on her bag? Did this woman get run over and still show up for a stupid meeting? Why does she keep saying mishap? Jacob was puzzled.

  "We can reschedule…" Jacob was halfway through the sentence when her face fell with frustration and disappointment. “There's a private bathroom across the hall if you want to get cleaned up."

  ✽✽✽

  "I'm sensitive to wasting your time. We can just get started." This was foolish. This was her worst nightmare come to life.

  He was staring at her like she was nuts. She wasn't nuts, she was a moron. She wondered if her lips were blue. The contract was going to be a non-starter. No way they’re going forward with her.

  "Really, Ms. Benton. It's fine. My dad is delayed anyway. Please. You cannot possibly be comfortable."

  Matilda took a deep breath and let it out. This was unexpected. Pity, maybe? She looked down at herself. The suit was trashed. She was soaked and covered in mud. There was no getting comfortable. A trip to the bathroom wouldn’t help.

  Her laptop. Her bag.

  Sigh.

  She cleared her throat before speaking. "If rescheduling is better for you, I understand. I showed up because I want to make it clear that this project and pr
oduct are important to me. I can do this work, even when I’m covered in mud after a mishap. I just won’t sit on the furniture."

  ✽✽✽

  Jacob had no idea what to say. They’d reschedule, but fuck. If this woman was even remotely competent, they were going to contract her for the job.

  Who shows up to a meeting after a “mishap” like this? Did she just say something about the furniture? For fuck's sake, why won't she let me help? Or, get fucking cleaned up?

  Jacob could see the pieces of her destroyed laptop in her destroyed bag on the shoulder of her sodden, wet, destroyed suit coat. He could set the electronics to rights, at least.

  ✽✽✽

  "Are you a PC or Mac kind of woman?" There was a flat, annoyed tone to his voice that she didn’t understand.

  "I'm sorry?"

  "Do you prefer PC or Mac? We make processor chips here - there are a couple thousand laptops laying around. I will go get one if you tell me what you prefer." His words were clipped; he was annoyed.

  She had made the wrong call. She was making a fool of herself.

  "That's very kind of you, but not -"

  "Ms. Benton, you look -"

  "Matilda or Mat or Matty, plea-"

  "And, now I'm done with being nice,” Jacob snapped. “Lady, you look like someone tossed your tiny ass in a nasty street sludge puddle and then backed over you - and your bag - with a cab. If I saw you on the street and didn't stop to help, my mother would disown me. I'm not sitting through a meeting with you like this. What kind of fucking computer do you want?"

  She lost the contract. It was over.

  A bit of a pause as she gathered herself. "A Mac, please. Thank you, sir."

  "My name is Jacob, Matilda. I'm fairly certain you know that."

  "I'm sorry to be a bother. I’m not typically… like this." She should have borrowed a phone from somewhere to call and reschedule. This was horrible - worse than not getting the contract.