by Rachel Hauck
Grabbing her iPad, Lexa met Zane at his office door, surprised to see a small company around his conference table.
“I think you know almost everyone,” Zane said.
“I do. Hello.”
To her right was Quent and the consultant Tim Fraser. Next to him sat board member Isaac Stokes. Across the table was the CFO, Albert Bernstein, and an exquisitely dressed woman in a cream suit with a brilliant silk blouse, her sleek brunette hair flowing over her shoulders.
“This is Kathryn Buck.” Zane motioned to the woman who rose to shake Lexa’s hand.
When they touched, a chill crept over Lexa despite the afternoon sun burning through the window.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Lexa.” The woman held onto her hand, almost challenging. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”
“Working with me?”
“Yes, I’m the new CEO.”
Well, finally. Now she knew. Lexa dropped to the chair with a glance toward Zane. This is how you tell me?
“C-congratulations.” Wasn’t it good she’d responded to The Glass Fork?
“Kathryn is an expert on branding and taking struggling startups to the next level.”
“We were struggling?” Lexa said.
“In many ways, yes, but with Kathryn on board we can steer toward a solid future.” Zane also sounded stiff and flat to her. “Kathryn, why don’t you say a few words?”
She stood, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from the pristine skirt, and cast her shadow over Lexa.
“First of all, thank you for inviting me to be a part of this great team . . .”
As she spoke, Lexa stared out the window. Far below the fall colors were beginning to fade. The glorious red, gold, and umber were now a dull, dry brown.
She was sad at this outcome, even a bit humiliated. But she was all right. Truly. Maybe she’d brought back a bit of hope and courage from the farm.
It’d been good to see Miranda happy and in love again. Healing to say goodbye to Storm and remember how boldly he lived life.
And shocking, if not alluring, to hear Jett say with a bit of conviction, “I love you.”
“Lexa?” Zane peered at her. “What do you say?”
She brought her gaze from the window to the gathering around the table. “About what?”
“What we’ve just been talking about. The new brand. The updated Zaney Days.”
“I think I don’t really care.” She gazed at Kathryn, then the goofy poster of Zane and Zaney Days. “It’s horrid, but it’s not my call. It’s not the brand that gave you such rapid success. Looks like you’re going for the fickle Millennials. Good luck. But we built this company to this point with families.” She pushed back from the table.
“You’re right, Zane, she does speak her mind.”
How true. But with everyone except Jett.
Lexa stood and pushed her chair under the table. “I quit.”
“Oh, Lexa, come on.” Zane popped up. “This is no time for a tantrum. You know we need someone with Kathryn’s experience.”
“This is not a tantrum. This is me moving on. Good luck to you all.”
“Lexa, stop it. Sit down. We need you. Kathryn needs you. The vendors love you. And you know every supplier and—”
“Let her go, Zane. If she’s not happy she’ll make trouble.”
“It’s not an issue of being happy, but becoming who I’m supposed to be.” She walked around the end of the table with more grace than she imagined she possessed. She kissed Zane on the cheek. “It’s been real. An amazing seven years. All the best luck going forward, and I mean it.”
She nearly skipped on her way out, her bravado turning into real courage. Which change required.
As she packed up her desk, she began to tremble, to waver in her resolve. Endings were so very, very sad.
With her box tucked under her arm, she made her way to the elevator bank and pressed the down button.
She was leaving the twentieth floor for the very last time.
* * *
Jett
For a man who didn’t believe in luck or fate, the last month was shot through with kismet.
Kismet that Mom chose to marry Oz during the season Lexa lived in his apartment. Kismet she and Dad chose the same weekend to bid a long overdue, final farewell to Storm. Kismet Lexa went with him. Kismet how they opened up and shared their hearts after so much silence.
Kismet that he and Mom talked. She listened to how she broke his heart when she left, tears streaming down her cheeks. Not once did she interrupt or make an excuse.
She apologized and asked forgiveness. Then left on her honeymoon with a bit of her heart, and Jett’s, healed.
It was kismet that he finally, after four years, published his dissertation. Kismet that the book brought an extraordinary endowment to the university.
It was kismet he’d been at the Waldorf gala the night Lexa tripped in front of a cab.
Kismet he cradled her limp body in the street while waiting for the ambulance. Kismet he’d received a mysterious invitation to the Fifth Avenue Literary Society Library and the curious story society.
Looking back, the night in Central Booking with Chuck smacked of kismet. Or at least a close cousin, coincidence.
Kismet, kismet, kismet. His life had become one of his beloved novels. But who was writing his story?
With kismet on his mind, Jett made his way to the faculty conference room, a proof copy of his published dissertation tucked under his arm. It was thick and heavy, heavenly.
“Afternoon, all.” He plopped down in the first open seat, grinning, gazing around the table at his staunch, stuffy-looking colleagues. “Why the long faces? Who died?”
Jett stretched, propping his long legs on the corner of the table. Life was good. Kismet.
With so much kismet on his side, he was going to tell Lexa how he felt. Tonight. Over hamburgers at Paul’s.
His skin tingled with anticipation. “I’m still in love with you.” He buzzed with desire. Their next kiss would be intentional, deep, and passionate.
“You haven’t heard?” Hardin Jones, tenured professor and resident Oscar the Grouch, reached over to shove Jett’s feet from the table. “There’s a rumor Tenley Roth has finally spoken about GPR. She said he was a fraud.”
Jett’s feet landed with a thud. “What? How? When?” He glanced back at Renée as she entered with Dr. Hanover. “Tenley said something about Gordon? After she refused all my requests for an interview?”
“We just got off the phone with the Roth Foundation. They say it’s not true. Tenley has no intention of making a statement about her great-great-grandfather. Apparently an old rumor resurfaced from a few years ago. After she published An October Wedding. An article in the New Yorker online raised the question. Probably based on the advance copy of your book we sent.”
With an exhale, Renée sat. “If I never hear another word about GPR being a fraud it will be too soon.”
“Jett, did you address the rumor at all?” Dr. Hanover reached for the proof copy and flipped through the pages. “Three weeks and we’re ten million richer. The Roth people want a school named after Gordon as much as we do, so let’s get this book printed and on the shelves. They just showed us their ten-year plan for partnering with high schools, universities, and libraries to expand the love of literature.” He dropped the proof in front of Jett. “We want to start a summer writing intensive. We thought you’d like to head it up.”
“Are you kidding? Yes. Absolutely.” Dividends on his hard work and loyalty already.
“We’re also partnering with Roth to hire a PR firm to promote your book and their upcoming programs. I hope you like radio interviews and talk shows, Jett.”
“Of course, and yes, I addressed the speculation among our peers and GPR detractors.” There were always detractors. “I added a short paragraph in my conclusion. No need to prattle on about something unfounded to start with.”
If he spoke up, brought the rejected
manuscript to life, he’d open a horrific Pandora’s Box.
Years and years of debate and discussion would ensue. Questions with no possible answers.
It was a rabbit hole of Alice in Wonderland proportions. He was right, even smart, to leave out his finding. He wasn’t even sure the Fifth Avenue library would let anyone in to see the book, tucked away, hidden on the bottom shelf. No one had discovered it for 117 years. If they had, they remained quiet. Like Jett.
“Here are your official invitations to the reception. You each have a plus-one.” Renée nodded at Hardin as she distributed envelopes. “Since you never bring a plus-one, I’m taking yours. Bringing my nieces.”
The Roth Reception
Sunday, November 17, Six O’clock
New York College Presidential Residence
Black Tie
Jett tapped his invitation against the tabletop, ignoring the pebble stuck in his craw. He’d done the right thing. Absolutely. No regrets. And also, he was bringing “plus four” to the reception.
Someone always dropped out last minute or left a significant other at home.
“Elijah Roth will present President Gee and Dr. Hanover with the check. Afterward, Jett, you’ll give a fifteen-minute talk on the value and worth of literature, highlighting Gordon of course, and present your book to Elijah. Then we party like we’re ten million richer.”
The faculty applauded and cheered, high-fiving Jett and talking all at once about what they could do with the money.
Then Dr. Hanover excused himself, and Renée moved to the regular staff meeting. Jett sank back into his mental debate, annoyed by the growing unease in his gut.
His manuscript was done. Approved. Endorsed by Dr. Levi. Gone to print.
Stop second-guessing.
Wasn’t he just reveling in the power of kismet? How fate intervened in the last six weeks?
Wasn’t it kismet that brought him to the inner recesses of the Bower where he discovered the rare, unknown manuscript? And he just ignored it.
A flash of heat slithered though him.
He discovered the manuscript just when he was about to publish. So what? It was, was . . .
Kismet.
Because if it wasn’t, then neither was the mysterious invitation. Or reconnecting with Lexa. Or spending a night in Central Booking with Chuck.
He needed to get out of this meeting. Burst into the cold fall day and clear his head. For crying out loud. He didn’t actually believe in kismet. Nor that his story was being written by some divine hand.
“Jett, we’ll have someone cover your classes, so you can go on a short book tour.” Renée stared at him. “You all right? You look green.”
“I’m fine.” Focus. Pay attention. “Book tour, you say?”
“Yes, book tour. Hardin, you can cover Jett’s writing courses as needed.” Hardin fumed. “I’ll assign a TA to his Comm classes. Now, on to the faculty senate notes . . .”
“Renée, if you’ll excuse me.”
Jett barged from the conference room and down the hall, out the door, and into the afternoon chill. Gray clouds hovered overhead.
With long strides, he aimed for the quad, for some sort of peace of mind, for the joy of his fantastical kismet.
* * *
Lexa
Dinner Wednesday evening with Jett was a blast from the past. And not the fun kind.
He sat across from her and sulked in silence. Once again wearing his feelings and saying nothing.
“Everything okay?” She dipped her fry in a puddle of ketchup, feeling pretty good to be eating at another burger place.
Take that, ZB.
Jett stuffed a fry in his mouth. “Yeah, why?”
The question required no answer.
She’d shown up tonight with her own resolve to tell him she’d quit ZB Enterprises, and tomorrow at noon EST she was Skyping with an organic bakery in Seattle.
If all went well, she’d be heading to Seattle after Thanksgiving. At least that was her tentative plan. And as luck would have it, just before her apartment lease renewal.
“Have you talked to anyone in the society?” she said.
“Should I?”
“I was going to call Coral, see if I could find out what happened with Chuck, but some things happened today.” She inched toward telling him about her day.
Jett didn’t bite.
On her way to Paul’s, she’d convinced herself she’d be raw and real with him, keep her heart open. But when he grunted his responses as he shoved food into his mouth, she slammed her willingness closed.
Wife Lexa would be fretting about now, or worse, fuming. Ex-wife Lexa was thinking of ordering a chocolate shake and walking home.
“Everything good at the college?”
“Never better.”
Liar. What was eating him? His book? Her phone pinged with a text from Skipper.
This dress or this?
Two images popped up on the screen, with baby sister in a department store changing room.
She wore a purple silk number with drop sleeves in the first image, and a cream dress with large printed flowers in the other.
Neither.
Really?
Too slutty. Too old lady.
You’re ridiculous.
If you don’t want to know, don’t ask.
I’m putting them back. But I need something for my date Friday night.
Go to the shops in Cocoa Village.
Speaking of date, when are you jumping back in the pool?
I quit my job today.
WHA??????!!!!!
Jett looked up when her phone rang.
“Hold on, Skip.” Lexa grabbed her bag and took a ten and five from her wallet. “Here’s for my dinner.” She pushed back from the table. “I’ll see you later.”
Jett straightened, eyes wide. “You’re leaving?”
“I hate to break up our vibrant conversation but yes, I’m leaving.”
“Okay, har-har, I’ve been a bit quiet.”
“Quiet? That’s what you call it? Break out your thesaurus, professor.” She made her way to the door.
“Lex, come on. I have a lot on my mind.”
She turned back, Skipper still holding. “Jett, let’s not make more of last weekend than we should. We had a nice time. Said some honest things. But we’re not meant to be together. You know it, I know it. Find a woman who doesn’t care when you get in your moods and clam up. I’ll find a man who can be honest with me, share what’s going on in his heart. I don’t want to be cut out of my partner’s life. Not that you and I are partners.” Not anymore. “I’ll see you Monday at the story society.”
Without a backward glance, she walked toward the door, passing the cashier and forgoing her chocolate shake craving, hoping upon hope—
Would he come after her? Not that she expected him to, but—
However, when she stepped outside, the only thing reaching for her was the sharp chill in the night breeze creeping down the avenue.
Chapter 30
Coral
She was exhausted. So much she almost blew off the story society, but it was her turn to bring the food. She’d ordered from Mexicue, and while she didn’t have to be there to partake, she’d been craving it ever since she rattled off her credit card number.
Nevertheless, she arrived late, wet, and cold. Discouraged. Running from her car to the library door through a chilly deluge.
“Sorry I’m late.” She shook the rain from her jacket and hung it on the rack by the door. “The underbelly of fall has arrived.”
“Yep,” Jett said, phone pressed to his ear.
“Is it raining again?” Ed said.
“What’d you order? I’m starved.” Chuck.
“Mexicue.” She made her way to the fireplace and the romance of the flickering flames. And apparently the only warmth in the room. “The food should arrive soon.”
Lexa and Jett were both on their phones. Chuck walked the length of the bookshelves, reading the spin
es. And Ed stared straight ahead, hands in his lap, a folder on the floor by his chair.
Oh, what was happening to them? She needed her society, ached for them to be okay with one another. Her company was about to go through it, and the idea of Monday night story society anchored her.
“Ed, did you write more of your memoir?” Slightly warmer, Coral returned to her seat with a glance toward Chuck.
They’d texted a few times this week and she confessed the word betrayal caught her unaware. He said he was sorry. She said it was her issue, not his. They seemed fine. But clearly they were not back to where they were the evening of Riley’s party.
She’d had a rough week . The FBI was involved in her problems now. But she was willing to set it aside to enjoy the society. She feared she was alone in her quest.
“Yeah, some.”
“Are you going to write about the GW?” Chuck spoke from the back of the room.
“Of course, that’s where I proposed.” Ed frowned. His reply snapped at what little peace existed in the Bower.
“I saw you drop flowers over the side.” Chuck made his way forward with barely a glance at Coral.
She didn’t have time for any pettiness. Or the energy to deal with Chuck’s issues. She was about to turn her company inside out.
“Can’t a man drop flowers if he wants? I told you I proposed up there. How did you see me anyway? Were you spying?”
“I stayed for a while, yes. Then I caught a fare.”
“Should’ve never let you drive me. I broke my routine and now look, got some nosy boy butting into my business.”
“Well pardon me, Ed.”
“Coral, did he tell you he came to my house after your argument last week? After Trudy got all into his business.”
“Did we argue?” She peered up at Chuck. He told Ed they’d argued?
“Ed, do you know what confidential means?”
“Chuck, we talked about your comment. It just caught me off guard is all. Ed, we didn’t argue.”
