Left Behind (Lost & Found #1)

by C. L. Stacey

  My understanding was that Stephanie would be the one to keep today’s appointment. That is what I was promised, and I expected her to keep true to her word. End of story.

  I’ve never been shy about expressing my disappointment, and I refuse to start now, so I call her out on it. “I thought I made it clear when I told you that your girls were useless, Stephanie,” I say, not bothering to sugarcoat it.

  Stephanie chuckles, because she knows just how much it irritates me when I’m being deadly serious. “You haven’t met this girl yet, Jackson,” she says, hoping it will somehow make up for the fact that she failed to keep her promise.

  It doesn’t. I’m still pissed.

  “I should fire you again,” I threaten her.

  Daniel pulls the car into an open spot and quickly rounds the car to get my door, waiting for me to step out. Once I’m clear of it, he closes it and walks ahead of me.

  “You could,” Stephanie agrees, mocking me. “But we both know you’ll be back. You’ve already fired me five times before.”

  We board the elevator as soon as it arrives, and Daniel pushes the button for my penthouse, scanning his security card for clearance.

  What Stephanie says isn’t an exaggeration. It’s true, I have fired her five times before, but I have also returned to her five times.

  Everyone else has deemed me impossible to work with, quitting after no more than three kept appointments with me. I have a stylist because I don’t shop for myself. Someone’s got to get the job done, so I always circle back to Stephanie. She seems to be the only stylist in town without any working tear ducts. It’s the only thing I like about her.

  Even so, this is bad form. “You’d be smart not to test my loyalty, Stephanie,” I strongly advise. “There’s got to be another one of you somewhere in this godforsaken town.”

  “It’d take you too long to find her,” she mocks me again. “For all you know, this new girl could be the new me.”

  “You better pray that she’s better.”

  “Oh, I’m so scared.”

  When the doors open to my foyer, Daniel steps off first, and I follow right behind him. He stops, so I stop, and I look up to check what could have halted my head of security in his tracks.

  Then I see her.

  How the hell did she get in?

  Lexi is in the middle of my open living area, standing with her back to us, and I see her working quietly as she pulls several suits from their garment bags.

  She’s Stephanie’s new girl, I piece the information together.

  “I’m going to have to call you back, Stephanie. Thank you, bye.” I rush to hang up before she can make another smart-ass remark.

  Lexi has no idea that I’m here. She hasn’t turned around once since we entered the home.

  When she turns her head to examine the shirt she brought over, I see the reason for her temporary deafness to her surroundings. She has her earphones in, and she is softly singing along to a song I don’t recognize.

  Daniel turns to me, and before he can ask me anything, I shake my head. “Leave us,” I give my order. “I will call you when I’m ready to go.”

  With an obedient nod, Daniel takes his leave, leaving me alone with Lexi.

  She didn’t want anything to do with me two weeks ago, and I doubt that anything’s changed since then. So why is she here?

  I don’t know much about the way Stephanie likes to run things, but I’m sure Lexi had to have known who her first client was before coming here.

  Maybe she came here to prove to Stephanie that she’s fully capable of taking on this job.

  I concentrate on the single most important thing: she’s found herself a job, one that I had nothing to do with helping her find. I feel a strange sense of pride in that.

  I look around my penthouse to make sure that we are alone. No one else seems to be here, and Lexi still has no idea that I’m standing just a few feet behind her.

  Yes, I realize how creepy this seems. I should probably let her know of my arrival soon, but I have no idea how to approach her.

  Our last exchange was far from pleasant…

  What do I say?

  When I come up with nothing worth trying, I shove my hands into my pockets and take a seat on the nearest stool by the bar. I’m actually enjoying this peaceful moment. The sound of her singing voice is quite soothing, it seems wrong to interrupt.

  So I do what I’ve learned to perfect over the years.

  I watch her.

  When Mary Lambert’s “When You Sleep” plays out, I check my watch.

  Where the heck is this guy?

  For someone who demands perfection twenty-four hours of the day, you’d think he’d make it to his own appointments on time.

  I yank the earphones from my ears and start searching for Stephanie’s number on my phone.

  “No need for you to make that call, I’m right here.” His voice comes from nearby, and it’s like ice water in my veins.

  I freeze, moving only my eyes when searching for him. I find him casually sitting on a stool by the bar, just watching me. “How long have you been sitting there?” I ask.

  “Ten minutes?” he guesses as he stands to his feet. “You have a lovely voice,” he compliments me, and my face sets fire.

  I wasn’t aware I was singing along to the music, but when he smugly lets me know, I’m too embarrassed to act so nonchalant about it. I grill him with my eyes when he makes his way over to me.

  “What’s the title of that track you were singing along to just now?” he asks.

  I can’t tell if he’s asking because he’s genuinely curious or simply for the sake of conversation, but I can’t say that I care for either.

  “Why?”

  “Because I like it.” There’s a hint of confusion in his tone, making his statement sound more like a question.

  It’s probably because no one ever answers his questions with another question. He’s probably used to hearing “yes, sir” and “no, sir” all goddamn day.

  I need this job, I remind myself.

  Swallowing every urge I have to answer him with a flip of my middle finger, I grumble the title of the track instead. “When You Sleep.”

  “Pardon?”

  “The title of the track,” I snap impatiently.

  Jackson’s head jerks back just slightly, like I’ve physically stricken him. Then I catch that familiar smile appear on his face, the one that barely exists, and in the most polite manner, he says, “Thank you.”

  I don’t respond to his expression of gratitude like a mature adult. No, I just turn around and immaturely make a series of different faces to mock him behind his back.

  Do I normally behave this way? No, I really don’t. But he’s a pompous ass, so there’s that.

  “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again,” he says, attempting to carry on conversation.

  I’m tempted to shoot back with one of my witty remarks, and I almost do, but again… I need this job.

  “I am here to work, Mr. Anderson.” I carefully pick his wrinkle-free, all-black suit up and hand it to him. “If you could just help me make this as quick and painless as possible, that’d be wonderful.”

  I shake the hanger when he doesn’t take it right away.

  Something on his face changes following my dismissive response. He stares at the suit like he isn’t ready to take it just yet, like he has more to say, but I have zero interest in hearing it.

  Just as he opens his mouth to say something, I cut him off. “Mr. Anderson, all I need from you today is your full cooperation. Please go and put this on, I will make any and all adjustments when you come back out.”

  Jackson finally takes the Armani from my hands without uttering a single word in return and disappears into one of the rooms.

  My shoulders drop with the huge breath I blow out, and I smooth my hands over my pencil skirt before I begin sorting through the stuff I’ve laid out on the coffee table.

  A few minutes later, Jackson returns to m
e with his buttons half done and jacket hanging open. It gives off the look of someone ready to end their night rather than just beginning one, and it makes him look almost normal somehow, less intimidating, and more approachable.

  Wherever it is he’s going tonight, I assume he needs to look his best, so I walk over and get to work on tidying him up.

  I circle my arms around his waist like I’m getting ready to hug him, then I shove my fingers down the back of his waistline to tuck in his loosely-tucked shirt.

  Jackson’s body noticeably tenses at first contact, and I do my best to ignore it as I work my way around to tuck in the rest. I feel his eyes on my face the entire time, and I feel something in close resemblance to butterflies in my stomach. I do my best to ignore that, too.

  “How have you been?” He’s the first to break the awkward silence.

  “Fine.”

  We stand in silence again as I work. Then he asks me an odd question. “Where’d you learn to sing like that?”

  “I didn’t.” I take a few steps back to pluck several different ties from the table and hold them out for him to see. “Which do you prefer?” I keep the question simple.

  “None,” he answers, so I set them back down, and then I get to work on the buttons at the front of his shirt.

  I feel another question coming before he even speaks it. He really wasn’t this chatty in the elevator, what the hell happened between then and now?

  “You were looking for a job when we first met,” he comments on my life.

  “I was.”

  I’m being as vague and as short as possible with my answers, but he refuses to take the hint. Either that or he’s just duller than I thought.

  Completely disregarding my clear disinterest, he asks me yet another question. “When did you start working for Stephanie?”

  “Today.” I secure the last button, leaving two undone at the top. I took note of that preference the first night I met him.

  Next, I grab a simple black leather belt from the collection without asking him. He needs something more if he isn’t going to accessorize with a tie, and I’m not going to take no for an answer.

  “Today?” he repeats my answer as I slip the belt through the first loop.

  “Mm-hmm,” I hum dispassionately.

  After I secure the buckle at the front, I start on his cuffs. I pull his sleeve through the end of his jacket, securing the buttons, then switch to do the same on the opposite side.

  “So that makes me your first client?” he asks, although the answer is obvious.

  “Yep.”

  “You must be good.”

  I roll my eyes, but he can’t see me because I’m staring down at his hands. Pompous ass, the words echo in my head as a reminder.

  Given he is one of Stephanie’s more preferred clients, his pompous remark is warranted, but it still makes my insides twist.

  “I am.” I don’t smile, not wanting him to mistake my response for humor. “But that isn’t why she assigned me to you.”

  When he waits for me to enlighten him, I do. “Stephanie couldn’t be here today. You refused to work with anyone else from the company, not that any of them would have willingly come back after you sent them away a blubbering mess, so I was really the only choice you had.”

  “Not a bad one,” he adds. “If you don’t mind me saying.”

  I ignore his flattery and take a few steps back to assess.

  Boring.

  Not a single splash of color on him.

  “You’re a test I had to pass, Mr. Anderson.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I have to prove to Stephanie that I can handle you as a client before she assigns me to anyone else,” I answer in a monotone. “You set the bar pretty high. If I survive with you, I can survive with anyone. It makes perfect sense, now that I think about it.” I tilt my head to the side. When I notice a piece of lint on his chest, I brush it away. He tenses again. “It appears I’m done here,” I say. “Unless you need anything else, Mr. Anderson?” I stare blankly up at him.

  He takes a second to think my question over, and in that moment, I believe he’s actually trying to think of anything else to task me with. His eyes line with disappointment when coming up short, eventually shaking his head no.

  Thank the fucking gods.

  “Thank you for your help today, Ms. Moore.”

  I give a curt nod and turn on my heels to start packing up my stuff.

  Walls.

  I was right on target about Lexi having walls up all around her.

  We spent a good thirty minutes together, and she held eye contact with me for a whopping total of one. Not to mention how short she was with the questions I asked. I got lucky when I got a sentence or two out of her, but those were only given to insult me.

  She hates me, and I’m not sure how I feel about that just yet. She has every reason to, for reasons she isn’t even aware of, but I’m irked by it. I don’t need her to like me, but I don’t want her to hate me. Is that wrong?

  I keep telling myself that it’s for the best, that I should do everything I can to avoid anymore contact, that meeting her is some sick twist of fate. But it’s not that easy.

  It’s better this way, I repeat the mantra I adopted two weeks ago.

  It seems the more I tell myself that, the less inclined I am to believe it.

  My phone rings in my hand as soon as Daniel steps off the elevator. I nod to him first, ordering him to hold the elevator, then I take the call as soon as I see Stephanie’s name flash across the screen.

  “Stephanie,” I greet her.

  “So, how was she?” I detect the smugness in her tone.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, I answer. “Outstanding.”

  Hopefully Jackson reports back to Stephanie positively. If I prove myself worthy after today’s appointment, she’ll have to let me be more selective with my next client. Right?

  My phone rings in my hand as I start to load up my CLS, and I feel my heart flutter at the sight of Stephanie’s name.

  “Hey, Stephanie,” I answer right away.

  “So, how was he?” she asks. For some reason, I hear a smile laced somewhere in her tone.

  “Ugh, horrible!” I spit the first word that comes to mind, and I immediately bite my tongue after realizing my slip.

  Relief floods when I hear Stephanie guffawing from the other side of the line.

  “What’s so funny?” I laugh.

  “Oh, nothing at all. Where are you?”

  I load the last of my things and close my trunk. “I’m about to leave the parking garage right now.”

  “Okay, hurry back,” she orders.

  “On my way.” I hang up with Stephanie before getting behind the wheel.

  The thirty-minute commute doesn’t bother me much with the calls I take to keep me company. Kellan calls first to see how my interview went. I tell him the good news, thanking him again and again for hooking me up with Stephanie. When he tells me that he has to get back to work, I let him go. Then Harper calls me to ask the same thing, and I give her the longer version of the answer I’d given Kellan, telling her all about Stephanie.

  “Harp, I gotta go. I just pulled into the garage,” I tell her as I park.

  “Okay, sweets, call me later.”

  “Will do!” I kill the engine and step out of the car.

  While I’m unloading the trunk, I sense someone approach me from behind. When the sound of a man clearing his throat comes sooner than I expect, I scream, and my first instinct is to make a fist and swing, so that’s exactly what I do.

  Much to my horror, I discover the person on the other side of that punch is Jackson, and my hands fly to my mouth when realizing my horrible mistake.

  “Mr. Anderson—oh, my GOD!” I shriek, absolutely mortified.

  Jackson’s hand is up by his mouth, clutching the spot I just hit, and I look past him when he holds out his other hand to stop Daniel from running over.

  All I want to do in that
moment is curl up in the corner and die. I cannot believe I just punched my test client in the face.

  Stephanie is going to just FIRE me. She is going to fire me good.

  “Um…” I panic as I rummage through my purse, digging around for anything that can wipe the blood from his mouth. I can’t find anything in here except for old receipts, my wallet, phone, keys and a pack of fucking gum.

  I’m a girl, why the hell don’t I carry around tissues in this giant purse?!

  “It’s okay, I’m okay,” Jackson reassures me.

  One minute I’m going through my purse. Next thing I know, my thumb is running over his lower lip, wiping the evidence of my blow from his mouth.

  My heart sputters before it stops, then it starts racing wildly in my chest when the welcoming warmth in his eyes transforms. The color of his gunmetal blue turns black as his stare intensifies. Not in a good, swoon-worthy kind of way. He looks angry.

  I hold my breath, bracing myself for that verbal lashing he’s famously known for, but it never comes.

  What I feel is his fingers wrapping over my wrist, slowly peeling my hand away from his face, and I die from embarrassment all over again.

  “Mr. Anderson, I-I-” I stammer pathetically.

  Jackson doesn’t wait for me to finish. Instead, he leans into my trunk and grabs a few of the bags. Daniel rushes over and grabs the rest. “Follow me.” His voice is calm and controlled when delivering his order.

  I’m completely in the wrong here, so I don’t bother arguing. I just drop my chin to my chest when following him into the building.

  We travel in silence, even in the privacy of the elevator car. No one utters a single word.

  When the doors open on Stephanie’s floor, Helena, Stephanie’s mousy assistant, freezes in her chair. Her tiny frame trembles at the sight of Jackson’s authoritative presence, and now I finally understand what all the fuss is about.

  “M-Mr. Anderson, what can we do for you this evening?” Helena greets him, barely making it through her question.

  Jackson and Daniel stop at Helena’s desk to drop off the bags. I take my window of opportunity to flee for Stephanie’s office, running as fast as I can in my four-inch Louboutin’s and tight pencil skirt.