After another prolonged moment, I finally nod my head. Jackson’s face lights up, but when he reaches over to take my hand, I ignore him and slide into the car through the door the Jackson has open. Jackson follows without a comment.
But then I want to cry. Because even though I shunned his hand, even though my head knows this would never work, there’s still that part of me… The part that doesn’t care that it’s all wrong. The part that wants me to close the gap between our bodies and throw myself into his arms. The part that remembers just how good it felt in the moments after we made love.
The first two times last Saturday we just fucked, no doubt about it. But the third time, the third time it was gentle and slow. The climax was a long time in coming, but when it did, it shook me down to my bones. Jackson held my face in both his hands, eyes locked on mine as he came with me. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul and I could have sworn he stole part of mine in that moment. Part of my soul slipped into him and part of his into me.
But now, here we are, worlds apart even as we sit side by side on the sleek black leather interior of his town car. And God, as if our selected modes of transportation don’t symbolize just how wide the gap is between us. The captain of industry who has a driver and the lowly single mother who takes public transit, struggling to get on by any means necessary. Worlds apart we started, and so we’ll end.
* * *
We’re quiet on the ride home. I’m glad he doesn’t try to fill the time going on about the job or our relationship or any of it. Truth be told, I’m still considering the job. He’s said from the beginning it’s not contingent on the personal relationship. Maybe it’s stupid after everything I’ve seen in my life, but I actually believe him. It’s got to be better than working for Gentry, where I know the job description includes sexual favors. It’s certain to become unpleasant again as soon as it’s clear the deal with CubeThink isn’t going through.
But when and if the time comes to resign, I won’t rely on Jackson to clear any hurdles for me. I made my own bed and while I don’t want to lie in it, I’ll be the one to get myself out of the situation. One foot in front of the other, one disaster at a time. My fucking life’s mantra, right?
When we pull up to my block, I’m already sliding away from Jackson. I don’t want him to think that just because I rode with him, there’s going to be a kiss goodbye or anything. I have my eyes averted firmly out the window, so I immediately notice Shannon running toward the car as soon as we pull up.
I shove my car door open, heart suddenly beating double time. “What’s wrong?”
“How could you?” she shouts, almost a wail.
“What?” I catch her as she stumbles toward me, hiccupping and eyes red from crying. She starts to swing wildly at me and I put up my arms in defense. She smacks my shoulder and aims again for my head. Before she makes contact, Jackson is out of the car and has her arms restrained behind her back. She bucks against him like a wild-woman.
“How could you?” she screams again. “They took Charlie because of you!”
“What are you talking about?” I’m shaking all over. No, what she’s saying can’t be right. There’s been some horrible misunderstanding.
“I called you,” she accuses, standing on her own now. “I called you, over and over. Where were you?” Then she seems to collapse in herself. She stops struggling against Jackson. He loosens his grip and then lets her go. She sinks to the ground, crying. “They took our Charlie.”
“Who?” I demand, leaning over so I’m in her face. I grab her shoulders and all but shake her. I don’t know what the hell happened to my phone or why I didn’t get her calls, but none of this makes any sense. “Tell me what happened. You have to tell me what happened so I can fix it. Who took Charlie?”
Shannon gulps in a deep breath. “They all showed up at once. David and his wife, and they had police with them and a courier from the judge. It was the envelope with the judge’s decision.” She seems to get another wave of strength as she glares daggers at me. “They awarded him full custody because you failed the drug test.”
“What?” I look at Jackson in bewilderment. But then I see it in his face, too. He’s wondering. Questioning what he thinks he knows about me.
“You think I did it, too,” I whisper. It slices deep. So he not only thinks I’m a whore, but a druggie whore.
I back away from both of them. Of course the judge didn’t even second-guess the results. Why would he? I’m the trash mother who landed in jail while she was pregnant. Who never could manage to get her life together. Who whored herself out to get enough money for a family court attorney, and it turns out not even that was enough. Because a lab screwed up some results somewhere. How do I even fight that?
God, I guess I call my lawyer? And then we start thinking of appeals? But how long will that take? And in the meantime… I look toward my apartment.
That’s when it hits me.
Really hits me.
Charlie is gone.
Taken.
I no longer have any rights to see my own son. A sob chokes its way out of me.
Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God oh God oh God oh God oh God.
This can’t be happening. Anything but this. Everything I’ve done has been to keep Charlie and me together and now…
I drop down into the grass beside Shannon. I want to scream as loud as I’ve ever screamed in my life. And then lay down and die.
“Callie. Callie. Calliope!”
I look up dully into Jackson’s eyes, finally realizing he’s holding me in a tight embrace. “Baby, we’ll do whatever it takes to bring him home. I have lawyers from the best law firm in the city on retainer. We’ll make them earn their keep. They’ll retest the sample to prove it was a false positive.”
My eyes flash up to his. Does that mean he actually believes I’m innocent?
He kisses my forehead hard. He must see it in my eyes because he whispers, “I’m sorry I doubted you for even a second, baby. There are a hundred things that can cause a false positive. Cold medicine. Other over the counter drugs. Lab error. Even things you ate. We’ll appeal this and get it thrown out. We’ll have your son back in no time.”
With every confident word he speaks, the numbness starts to drop away. He talks like we can actually fight this thing. “How long do appeals take?” My voice is barely a whisper.
“I don’t know, but let’s go call my lawyer and find out.” He pulls back, but only far enough to take my hand in his and help me to my feet. He’s already got his phone out and is dialing.
Shannon’s been watching the whole exchange with fear and confusion. She might not have faith in me like Jackson does—the reminder that he does sends a wave of warmth over me in spite of the horror of the last five minutes—but I’ll prove to her I’m a good mother. Goddammit, I’ll prove it to them all, no matter how much fight it takes. Charlie belongs with me. I might fuck up a lot in this life, but he’s the one thing I’m determined to get right.
“Come on,” I tell her, nodding toward the apartment. My voice and legs are still shaky, but I swallow and try to get hold of myself. Seeing Jackson jump immediately into action is helping me get my bearings back.
“Sandoval,” Jackson snaps into the phone, “I need an emergency consultancy in a custody hearing situation. Get your best people together. We’ll meet in your offices in one hour.”
My hand reflexively squeezes Jackson’s. He looks over at me and gives me an encouraging nod while he listens to what the person on the other end of the phone says.
My heart cinches in my chest. What if I was wrong earlier? What if Jackson and I can look past how we first met? I think about a life of this—of partnership, bearing one another’s burdens, not being alone when the hard stuff hits…
Jackson finishes the call and drops the phone back into his suit coat pocket. He must see something on my face, because he pauses right before the door to my apartment and asks, “What?” His face softens in concern. “Babe, we’
ll get Charlie back home to you. I promise.” He reaches up and caresses my cheek with one of his mammoth hands.
I turn into the touch, breathe him in, and nod. Then, still not able to make sense of everything I’m feeling, I bury my face in his chest and hug him tight. After a moment, his arms wrap around me in return.
“It’s going to be okay, babe,” he says, rubbing my back. “It’s all going to be okay.” I can only tighten my hold.
I want to believe him.
God knows I do. And being here with Jackson Vale’s arms so strong around me, maybe I can. Maybe I can.
CHAPTER 17
My hands tremble as I take the elevator up to Gentry Tech to give notice the following Monday. The weekend was hell without Charlie, but Jackson and I met with his lawyers and they put in the paperwork right when the courthouse opened this morning to retest the sample taken by an independent lab. Jackson continued being wonderful. He didn’t try to kiss or make any moves on me. He was just… there for me in a way no one’s ever before.
I don’t know what that means. Maybe it is possible to look past how we started and consider the idea of Jackson and me exploring a future together? I’m still too mixed up about everything with Charlie to think too much about it. Right now, he’s just being an amazing friend, and that’s enough. No matter what, though, I won’t be giving up my newfound determination to take control of my life. No more letting men assume they can decide my fate.
Which is why when Jackson told me that he would take care of giving Gentry my notice, I refused.
I’ll walk into Gentry’s office and give my notice. I’ll take whatever humiliating tirade I’m sure will come with it. Then I’ll walk out of here and enjoy a long hot shower to scrub every inch of this place off of me.
The elevator doors open and I scrunch my trembling hands into fists. I can do this. I’m more than just trash, and I won’t let anyone treat me like it anymore. Isn’t that what Jackson’s always reminding me of, in little ways and big? He sees my body and my mind as two completely separate things, and he’s attracted to both. Just the memory of all our time together makes me stand up straighter.
I cross the small, chic lobby and enter Gentry’s office without knocking, ignoring Madison’s protests. Gentry looks up in annoyance at the unexpected entrance. His wall was frosted, after all, which means that everyone is supposed to leave him alone without Madison checking through the intercom with him first. But I’m not going to get through this by submissively waiting my turn. It’s time to stand up for what I deserve and stop letting myself be pushed around by Gentry or any other bully.
“I’ll talk to you later, Mandeep, something’s come up.” Gentry laughs but his face looks anything but amused. “I’ll do that. Talk to you next week in our teleconference.” Gentry pushes a button to disconnect the call and then the full weight of his displeasure turns my way.
“You know you’re not to disturb me while I’m on a call. Or ever when the glass isn’t clear.”
I know what he’s doing, trying to put me on the defensive. Normally I’d be stumbling over myself to apologize.
Not today. I continue standing, my chin out slightly.
“I’m here to give my notice.” I slip the envelope with my written and signed resignation out of the top of my purse where I kept it for easy access. I slide it on his desk over to him.
“I know that it’s traditional to give two weeks’ notice,” I continue, “but I’m sorry in this case I can’t.” I force the next words from between my teeth. “Thank you for the opportunity you gave me.” After all, without him, I wouldn’t have met Jackson. “I’ll have all the clothing you provided dry-cleaned and returned by the end of the week.”
Hoping for a nice, clean exit, I spin on my heel to leave.
I expect a lot of responses—curses, shouting, even Gentry’s low, commanding tone that is enough to make businessmen the world over sit up and pay attention. But I didn’t foresee the loud chuckle that comes from behind me. Or the words that make my feet falter right before I can get to the door: “Oh, you think you can just leave that easily?”
What does he mean by that? I decide it’s not worth engaging him any further and continue for his door.
The sound of his palm slapping sharply against his desk jolts me to a stop again. “Have you forgotten the little matter of the contract you signed with me?”
“What do you mean?” I don’t turn around. I knew he wasn’t going to make this easy, but what does he mean about the contract?
“Look at me, you little conniving slut. You think I didn’t foresee this the first day you walked into my office?”
At this, I can’t help but to spin back around. I don’t understand. Foresee what?
He’s standing, both fists planted on his desk. A slow smile grows on his face as he observes my confusion. He has the look of a satisfied hunter, and I feel like an animal who just stepped into a trap that’s snapped shut around me. “Didn’t anybody ever tell you to read the fine print on things that you sign, Miss Cruise?”
“I did read the fine print,” I object. “I read the entire employee contract before I signed it.” After his initial come-on during the interview, I wanted to make sure there weren’t any weird required sexual obligations within the contract itself. I would have questioned the legality of such a document, but still—I specifically read the tiny print at the bottom of each page.
Gentry pulls out his keys and thumbs through them before finding a small silver one. He unlocks the bottom drawer of his desk. “Ah, here we are.”
He pulls out several stapled papers with a flourish and flips through them to the second to last page. Then he begins to read. “You do covenant and agree that, during the term of employment with the company and for five years after the termination thereof, regardless of the reason for the employment termination, you will not,” he looks up and smiles, “—and here’s the good part,” he directs his attention back to the paper, “—directly or indirectly, anywhere in the territory, on behalf of any competitive business, perform substantially the same job duties or in any other capacity.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Gentry glances up to make sure I’m paying attention and for fucks sake, of course I am. How did I miss a non-compete clause? I could have sworn I’d read through every line of that damn contract. FUCK.
“If breached, you agree to a legal reimbursement pursued insofar as a factor of ten of the employee’s starting salary.”
I cough in shock. Does he mean—? He can’t be saying—
Gentry smiles in delight. “That’s right, at your current contracted salary, you would owe more than three-quarters of a million dollars if you expect to stop working for me and go work for a competitor of mine in any capacity.”
“No.” It comes out as a horrified whisper. No, no, he’s bluffing. I read through the entire employee contract. I swear I did. “Let me see that.” I step forward and grab the papers out of his hand.
“By all means,” he says, still with that satisfied grin on his face. “I have copies.”
My eyes scan the paper, first glancing down to see that my signature is indeed right there. I initialed each page to indicate I’d read it. Then my eyes scan back up to see the line Gentry so helpfully highlighted in bright yellow. I shake my head, about to accuse him of tampering with it when I realize that these pages aren’t part of the employee contract at all.
It’s the nondisclosure agreement. The highlighted sentence is in the center of a dense paragraph of long-winded legalese glossary definitions, on the second to last page of a thick packet. Just that one sentence about not competing and the consequences if I do.
My stomach suddenly feels like it’s been scraped out like a carved pumpkin. Oh my God. I did sign this. My eyes must have just skipped right over this bit. It was just the NDA. It was just about information disclosure—not my actual work contract! It’s not supposed to have anything like this in it. So yeah, I read it, but not as closely as I should have.
Gentry didn’t hide this noose in the fine print, he put it in plain sight but camouflaged by all the other jargon.
I slam the papers back down on the desk, my chest heaving. My hand goes to my stomach. Oh God, I feel sick. Gentry lets out another low chuckle, and I can only look at him, horrified.
“Why?” I back away from the desk. “What do you want from me?” This guy is one sadistic fuck. Why would he put that in the contract if he didn’t want to put me in this exact position? He’d done this from the beginning. How—? I mean, why—? I look over at him, lightheaded with confusion. “Did you hire me just to fuck with my life?”
Gentry holds out his hands magnanimously. “Not at all. I’m a very generous man. I want only the best for my employees. You can understand that for a man in my position it’s important that I don’t have employees going off and immediately giving my trade secrets away to my competition.”
“But I’m just your personal assistant,” I protest. “I don’t know any trade secrets!” I might have, but he never shared the algorithms or any other proprietary information. The things I do know he already shared openly with Jackson.
“True,” Gentry says. “Which is why I’m willing to negotiate with you.” The affable smile is still on his face.
My hackles immediately go up. I feel like the mouse that a cat is playing with before it pounces. What the hell is this bastard’s game? I could’ve sworn just a moment ago he was taking glee in the fact that he had maneuvered me into this exact position. I think back to my random theory from a few days ago, that all of this was somehow Gentry’s endgame—from hiring me, to taking me to that lunch with Jackson, to encouraging me to work with Jackson so we’d connect like we have, only now to… what? Is this, whatever this is, what it’s all been leading up to?
But no, God, that’s ridiculous. It’s not like we’re puppets and Gentry can know which strings to pull to get us to respond exactly how he expects… I shift on my feet uncomfortably at the thought before shaking my head.
Crush Me Page 24
