by Cate Remy
The receptionist peered at the computer screen. “I’m showing you have a balance on your account. Did you recently change insurance?”
“No, it’s the same. I just paid this month’s premium.”
“Hmm.” The receptionist clicked on several items on the screen. Brie couldn’t see what she was doing. “I guess it’s just not showing now. Let me keep looking.”
Brie glanced at a nurse behind the counter. She was on her lunch break, eating a turkey sub and watching a music video on her phone. The receptionist turned to the nurse.
“Are you listening to Deacon Wonder again, Ann?”
Ann pulled out one of her earbuds. “Yeah, but don’t tell my fifteen year-old. I love this new rock band.”
“You going to see them in concert?”
“I don’t know. They just signed with Georgie Peach Records, but it looks like everything’s up in the air with them. The CEO died two days ago.”
A chill went down Brie’s neck. “Excuse me, did you say the record exec passed away?”
Ann nodded. “They found George Pierson in his home. The coroner said it was from natural causes. He was almost eighty.”
The receptionist looked from Ann to Brie and raised her eyebrow. “Do you have any clue what Ann’s talking about? I don’t follow these things.”
“I know who George Pierson is.” Brie’s voice went quiet as her mind flashed back to events years ago. She redirected her focus on the nurse and receptionist. “That’s sad for his family.”
“I found your insurance information.” The receptionist clicked on an item and the printer started going. “Your premium payment must not be in your insurance company’s system yet. Give it a couple days.”
“So I don’t owe you anything?”
“You owe two thousand one hundred and eighty-eight dollars. Your insurance didn’t cover the complete cost of Kianna’s bloodwork.”
Brie couldn’t believe it. “When is it due?”
The receptionist showed her the invoice that just came out of the printer. “It’s past due. We need the one hundred and eighty-eight dollars to keep it from going into collections. We can’t schedule your daughter’s January appointment until the whole amount is paid.”
Brie handed her debit card over to be swiped. A hundred and eighty-eight bucks for one little test, and that wasn’t counting the rest of what she had to pay out of pocket before January. “I have to call you later about the rest of the bill.” She had no idea how she was going to come up with the remaining grand so her daughter could see the pediatrician.
The receptionist gave her a receipt. “Thanks. Merry Christmas.”
Brie put her hand on her daughter’s back as they left the children’s hospital. After using much of her holiday budget to chip away at a medical bill, she didn’t think it was going to be too merry of a Christmas.
Brie worked her shift at Darcy’s and went to pick up her daughter from the sitter. She drove her van to Mrs. Abrams’ house. The woman greeted her with a kindly smile at the door. “Sorry I’m running a few minutes behind, Mrs. Abrams. We had to clean up after customers came in for the pre-holiday sale.”
“Don’t even think about it. Kianna’s a dollbaby. She’s watching The Grinch on TV.”
Brie followed her into the house. “I know she’ll hate to leave while it’s on.”
“I DVR’d it for her. She can finish watching it tomorrow.” Mrs. Abrams went into her living room, where Kianna sat with her eyes glued to the television. “Your mother’s here, Kianna.”
“I have to get my stuff.” Kianna went around the room, picking up the contents of her unzipped bookbag all while she watched the movie.
“We ate chicken casserole tonight,” said Mrs. Abrams. “I’ll make you a plate to take home.”
Brie heard her stomach growl at the mention of food. “That’s sweet of you.”
“You’re busy. I know how hard you work.”
Busy and broke. As the sweet woman ambled into the kitchen, Brie got a text alert on her phone. She looked at the screen to see a picture of her ex-husband, the R&B singer Romero. He posed beneath a fully-lit Christmas tree, along with five models who wore red velvet bikinis two sizes too small. Romero held a champagne flute up in salute. The caption at the bottom read: This shot got a hundred thousand likes on social media! Share #christmasromerostyle.
Brie rolled her eyes. How about hashtag deadbeatromerostyle? He couldn’t call to check on his daughter or pay child support, but he could text to ask her to share his dumb Instagram photo. She deleted the text in disgust.
“I’m ready, Mommy.” Kianna had her bookbag packed and ready to go.
“Here’s your plate.” Mrs. Abrams came out of the kitchen with a paper plate wrapped in foil. “You going to sing at church this Sunday with the worship team?”
Brie’s mood lightened as soon as Mrs. Abrams mentioned singing. “I’ll be there.”
“The kids will put on their Christmas program later that afternoon.”
“We go every year,” Kianna exclaimed.
Brie smiled at Mrs. Abrams. “Like she said. We go every year.”
They also struggled every year. Brie wanted this time to be different, but with medical bills mounting, this holiday was shaping up to be worse than all the other lean years.
Jackson arrived at the pristine glass skyscraper building that was Georgie Peach Records at seven in the morning. It was going to be his second full day at the company as the new record exec. Yesterday, he had no choice but to hit the ground running. Today felt like it was going to be a marathon.
First, he finished moving his furniture into his new office suite. Uncle George had the place looking like it was fresh from the seventies, complete with a mustard sofa and orange throw pillows.
Before noon, he called his first official meeting, where he formally introduced himself to the employees. Most of them were in their twenties and thirties. Those who did look close to his age of forty-six sported the fashion trends made popular by the music industry.
Bill, the head of the payroll department, had a grey beard, tattoos, and wore designer sneakers. “Welcome to the company.” He shook Jackson’s hand after the meeting. “Nice shoes. Going to a wedding?”
Jackson glanced down at his Brooks Brothers oxfords. Perhaps he was a tad overdressed.
Later, his former partner Cooper called. “How’s life as the head of a music empire?”
Jackson walked down the glistening tile floor of the long hall, passing another employee wearing sneakers. “I think I might need to change my shoes.”
“Say what?”
“Nothing. How’s life as the head owner of a law practice?”
“You gave my wife an early Christmas present by selling the practice to me. She wondered whether I would ever amount to anything.”
At the mention of Christmas and married life, Jackson felt a tiny twinge in his chest. Yesterday had marked the seven-year anniversary of Olivia’s death. His wife had put up a brave fight against cancer. He always thought of her this time of year. “You and your family doing any holiday traveling?”
“Are you kidding? I got the oldest heading off to college next fall. Nowadays, the application fees alone cost as much as the down payment on a Mercedes.”
“Better take on some big name celebrity clients, then.”
“I intend to. Oh, and Jackson. Get out and enjoy the winter wonderland this year, will you?”
Jackson wandered the hallway until he found his office. “This is Atlanta, remember? There’s no such thing as a winter wonderland.”
“You know what I mean. Do something fun for the holidays. When’s the last time you didn’t work on Christmas?”
He knew the answer to that, when he and Olivia hung the star on top of their Christmas tree for the last time. Had seven years really gone by already? And each and every year, he managed to have some demanding client, some important case that just couldn’t wait until after the twenty-fifth of December. “Hmm. I get your point.”
>
“Good. Spend some of those bucks on something fun. Hopefully, with someone fun.”
Jackson changed the subject. “Cooper, I still want to do the Secret Santa donations to the children’s hospital this year.”
“Go for it. The junior partners and I will also make a donation.”
“I appreciate it.”
“I’ll let you go and do whatever it is music moguls do.”
Your guess is as good as mine, Jackson wanted to say. Instead he ended the call with a friendly goodbye and went to his desk. To his surprise, a pile of Bankers boxes four feet high rested beside the desk. His chair was weighed down by a stack of files. He picked up the landline and dialed the extension of Lamar, his new office assistant. “Lamar, there’s a giant collection of dead trees on my desk and on the floor.”
“Those are Mr. Pierson’s client files. Some are active. Others have been terminated.”
“Aren’t they in a data system?”
He could hear his new assistant make a sound as though he were slowly peeling a bandage off his skin. “Mr. Pierson wasn’t very into computers and technology. He liked to see everything on paper, so he could have a trail, he said.”
This wasn’t a trail. This was the circumference of Pluto. “You mean none of this is digitized?”
His assistant made that sound again. “I’m afraid not, sir.”
Jackson took a breath. “Get someone from Accounting and the head of the IT department to come to my office. Also call a temp agency specializing in data entry and analysis. Tell them we’re going to need at least three workers to get these files in the system.”
“You got it, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir. Jackson’s fine.” He hung up the phone before giving his biceps a workout by moving the files off his chair. Uncle George really left work cut out for him. Despite his intentions, he may be up to his neck in paperwork during Christmas after all.
Chapter 3
Jackson pulled open the door of Jumpy Java and got in line behind three people. Week Two of being a CEO was about to commence, and he needed the caffeine equivalent of rocket fuel to help him power through the job.
The previous week, he learned just how far behind Uncle George was in his bookkeeping. The record company still owed back taxes from last year. New artists had signed on with the company, yet weren’t listed in the catalog. The artist catalog should’ve been updated over the summer. Between an accountant, the head of Georgie Peach’s IT department and three data entry temp workers, Jackson had work to keep him buried under paperwork until next Christmas.
“One large coffee with one espresso shot.” He gave his order to the barista.
While he waited, he started to feel guilty about his attitude. Sure, being a record exec had its challenges, but he wasn’t exactly struggling to pay the mortgage. The job had a big salary and perks to match. He thought of how he could use a portion of his earnings for his Secret Santa project at the children’s hospital as well as his annual cancer charity donations.
“Jackson?”
He heard his name and thought it was the barista with his coffee, but it was another voice he heard before. He spotted a woman waiting at the end of the counter with a little girl in a wheelchair. The woman wore a white beret and a purple jacket. Her name registered in his head immediately. “Brie, how are you?” He walked over.
Brie outfitted her red holiday-themed coffee cup with one of those cardboard hand protectors. He never could remember their actual name. “I thought I was having a good morning until I saw you…” She adjusted the cardboard thing.
He tensed. “Oh.”
She secured the lid on her coffee. “…and realized I left your blue handkerchief at my house.”
Jackson relaxed. “That’s fine. For a second there, I thought you were going to tell me I ruined your morning. You stopped talking in mid-sentence.”
“One candy cane hot chocolate for Kianna,” the barista announced.
The little girl beside Brie raised both hands in the air. “Me.” She projected her voice across the room.
“Kianna.” Brie got the hot chocolate and handed it to her. “You don’t need to shout in here.”
“Sorry, Mommy.” Kianna grinned and made her apology heard throughout the cafe as well.
Brie offered an apologetic smile to the barista and the other customers. Jackson felt his neck get warm when her smile settled on him. “My daughter loves it here. I think her first job will be a barista since she has the pipes for it.”
“I get my loud voice from you and Daddy, Mommy.”
Jackson thought her remark was funny and Brie’s reaction cute. Then he discovered himself, glancing at Brie’s bare ring finger.
“Black coffee with an espresso shot for Jackson,” the barista called out, not nearly with the clear projection as Kianna. He took the coffee from the counter.
“You’re almost at my caffeine level,” Brie observed. “You need just one more espresso shot to unlock that achievement.”
“I’ll get there soon. I started a new job that requires me to level up.”
Kianna sipped her hot cocoa. “Mister, do you play video games?”
“I used to,” he answered her. “But not in a while.”
“Mommy plays ‘save the princess’ games with me.”
Brie wiped whipped cream off her daughter’s nose. “She means those games that have the fantasy backdrop. You know, quests and dragons.”
“I do know. I used to play RPGs.”
She gave him a surprised look. “I think you and I are the only adults past college age in here who know what RPGs are.”
“Well, I’m way past college age. You don’t look like you could be a day over twenty-nine.”
“Actually, I am twenty-nine.” She smiled again, this time it looked a little uncertain. Oops. Why did he have to go and say something dumb?
“We need to get going. Kianna has to be at school early this morning, and I need to get to work.”
He tried to save his remaining face. “Good seeing you again.”
“You, too.”
“Don’t worry about the pocket square.”
“You reminded me, so I will.” She reached the door and secured her beret before viewing him again. “I’m kidding. Maybe.”
He watched her leave. Brie had quirky interests and a sense of humor. He was glad he ran into her this morning. And this time, he didn’t make her spill coffee in the process.
His phone beeped for his attention. He had three back-to-back meetings this morning. Duty called. After looking at his schedule, he snatched one of the cardboard hand things from the container on his way out the cafe.
Jackson got through his first two meetings with agents representing their artist clients. He cleared his desk and straightened his office in preparation for the third. One more down and he could go to lunch.
His desk phone buzzed. He picked it up while browsing through files. “Jackson here.”
“Hello?” His assistant sounded like he was trying to figure out if he had the correct extension.
“Yes, Lamar?”
“Miss Nia is your next appointment.”
Lamar referred to a pop music star icon. Jackson didn’t know who half the new artists were at the company, but he remembered Miss Nia’s classic love ballads from back in the days when people stood in line to buy CDs in the mall. “Send her in.”
“Um, she’s not here. She and her agent are at the Garden Club in Midtown. They want to meet you there.”
“Hmm.” One thing he didn’t like back at his law practice was when celebrity clients changed their appointments with little to no notice. He imagined it was the same with musicians, especially Miss Nia, who built her singing career on the reputation of being a diva.
“Her agent’s on the other line. What should I tell him?”
“I’ll meet them at the Garden Club in fifteen minutes, give or take lunchtime traffic.” He grabbed his coat from the closet and threw it over his dress sh
irt.
Jackson made use of the company’s chauffeur service and got a driver to take him to the restaurant. They passed a fender bender on the way. At about noon, Jackson walked into the ritzy establishment, where a hostess greeted him.
“Welcome to the Garden Club. Are you dining alone?”
“I’m here to meet with an artist and her agent. The name-”
“Right this way.” The hostess gathered a menu and flitted between tables. Jackson kept the edges of his coat secured so as not to risk bumping into the tables and upsetting the fine china and crystal. Some of his former legal clients preferred to meet here to discuss business over lunch. It was an elegant place. He just wished they’d space out their tables a little more.
“Ouch.” He bumped his leg into the leg of a table that seated four. The table’s sturdier wooden leg won. Water sloshed out from a glass and onto the pristine white tablecloth. He was glad it was only water, but the diner moved forward to grab the glass before it spilled onto her plate of salad greens. She gave Jackson an icy look.
“I apologize. I probably should start watching my carbs.”
His joke did nothing to erase the glare of irritation on the woman’s face. Jackson caught up with the hostess. She must have moonlit as a yoga instructor from the way she managed to twist and weave through the maze of tables without disturbing them.
“If you’re watching your carbs, sir, you’ll be pleased to know we installed a new lobster and oyster bar.”
He looked past her and saw the bar, along with a man and woman seated behind it in a booth. He recognized Miss Nia’s signature platinum blonde hair gathered in a high ponytail. She showed no mercy to a collection of oysters on her plate. “Looks like I can ask my lunch companions what they think of the bar first.”
He strode forward to the booth and stuck out his hand. “Hi, I’m Jackson Barnes from Georgie Peach Records. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Nia.”
Miss Nia peered at him through long false eyelashes. She flicked a gaze at her agent, who reached across and extended his hand.
