Despite what Spot cheekily liked to claim, Jack Kelly was not whipped. His friend had kept up an incessant chant about how Katherine Plumber wore the pants in her and Jack’s relationship even though there was no relationship between Jack and Katherine. Jack had told Spot to mind his damn business and the two had playfully scuffled before Spot had called for a truce. Or rather, Davey had told them to quit it and Spot had decided his time would be better spent teasing Davey about whatever ‘preppy’ shirt he was wearing that day. Jack had left them to it, ears still burning as Spot’s words resonated within him.
He was not whipped. He was just helping Katherine out as a favour. Or rather, Katherine’s friend, which he supposed was a little more than just your regular friendly favour, but he hadn’t been able to say no when he found out what it was for.
He hadn’t heard of the Spellman family, not really. All of the posh names Katherine threw at him went right over his head, all merging into one no-go territory of rich people he wanted to avoid. But apparently this one heiress was making good use of her time, something Jack recognised in Katherine as well. He wondered if a few of them rich girls had formed some sort of charitable club to shake the image of being some hoity-toity socialite who didn’t understand the value of a dollar. He supposed he could commend them on their efforts, so when Katherine had sent him a text and asked him if he would help paint the walls of the new women’s shelter Avery Spellman was building, he had agreed. And not because Katherine had some hold on him, but because Jack Kelly was a charitable and all too giving stand-up guy.
Meeting up with Katherine at the address she’d given him, he was handed a paintbrush and tin and dismissed to a room that was in dire need of some colour. Then Katherine had hurried away to go take notes about the place, and Jack was left alone, feeling out of place as everyone else milled around with a clear idea of what they were doing.
He’d managed to paint two walls, making good progress, when he heard a woman’s voice behind him. Turning around and setting his paintbrush down, he came face to face with one of those girls he would have rather avoided if he saw them in the street. She wore high heels even though renovating an old mansion didn’t really require that kind of footwear, nor did it call on her lipstick to be so damn fancy. Jack half-expected her to scold him for making such a mess, but instead she introduced herself and Jack realised she was the smarty-pants behind this whole thing.
“Aw, so you’s in charge?” he nodded approvingly. “Nice. S’a good thing you gots goin’ on here.”
He stared down at her extended hand then awkwardly raised both his own instead of taking it. They were splattered with paint that had yet to dry and he doubted that Avery would be quite so smiley if he got some newbury port blueon her fancy blazer.
At her question, he frowned, knowing for a fact that they hadn’t crossed paths before. They definitely didn’t run in the same circles; their only mutual friend was Katherine, and Jack figured that was where the connection should be made.
“Uh, I’m Jack Kelly,” he introduced himself. Pointing to an open doorway that led into the house where Katherine was presumably roaming around conducting interviews and whatnot, he added, “Friends with Plumber. I mean, Kath. Katherine.”
The corner of Avery’s mouth tugged up into a small smile when he held his hands up in a surrender position, evidence of paint splattered across his fingers and palms. Already, despite her general distrust of men, she was getting a good vibe from this young man. It was conscientious of him to refrain from shaking her hand and covering her in paint, and brave for him to refuse to do so - most people would make the mistake of being scared of their boss, then furthering the bad impression by dirtying her hands. Avery didn’t purposefully set traps, but she liked to see a mind at work.
Gracefully, she stooped to a crouch in order fish up a rag that lay half hidden in the sheets protecting the floor from paint. A moment later she straightened, keeping her poise and posture at all times - she didn’t go through tormenting years of ballet to lose her balance, even if she was in three inch heels and a pencil skirt.
She tossed the rag at him so he could wipe his hands down, turning to inspect the area he’d been working on. She crossed her arms, each hand cupping the opposite elbow as she slowly took in his efforts; though it didn’t take a huge amount of skill to slap some paint on a wall, hence why she chose to work with volunteers than spend precious funds on a professional decorator, but the young man was clearly diligent and neat with his brush. He’d done a lot more than most of the other painters in the same short amount of time - Avery appreciated a hard worker.
She raised a single eyebrow as she turned to look at him over he shoulder while he explained why he was here. It made sense; she knew Katherine very well, so if this young man was friends with her then he’d probably appeared on her social media. Why Katherine was going about using her byline was no business of hers, although she expected it had to do with getting out from under her father’s thumb, something Avery could appreciate. Although she continued to use her family name, it was to further her cause - her empire might share a name with her mother and father, but the reputation it had was entirely her own doing and she was proud of it.
“‘Kath’, hmm?” She smirked a little, slowly prowling back towards him. “I thought I saw our intrepid reporter around here. I don’t always recognise her without those massive glasses she had to wear as a teenager.” She was testing him a little now, trying to gage how long he’d known Katherine from his knowledge of her younger years. She wasn’t quite sure how Joseph Pulitzer’s daughter had landed herself a friendship with a rather scruffy boy, clearly from a rougher part of the city if his accent was any indicator, and she couldn’t help but be a little curious.
That, however, was not the point of this conversation and she attempted to steer herself back on track.
“Well, I appreciate you saying that, Mr Kelly.” She said, trying to inflect a genuine tone. Truth be told, she didn’t need anyone to tell her what a ‘good thing’ she was doing; she was entirely aware. In fact, if she didn’t think it was a good thing, she wouldn’t be bothering with it. She considered her time to be precious and every moment of it should be driving towards a greater good. Her passion was helping women and if she knew of a better way to go about it, that would be what she focused her efforts on - as it happened, building these respites was the most successful endeavour she’d tried so it seemed logical to continue and expand their reach.
With his hands clean, she smiled coolly and extended her own again. “Shall we try this again?” She suggested in a brisk, businesslike manner. “Why exactly have you chosen to spend your time with us today, Mr Kelly?”
