by C. L. Stacey
“Of course it is!” She beams up at me. “Isn’t it great?”
“For Willy Wonka, maybe!” I exclaim, and I immediately regret it when I cause her to flinch with my tone, so I take it down a notch. “I thought I was very clear about what I wanted in here, Lexi. What happened?”
She brings a hand up to rest over her hip, and she stares at me like I’m the crazy one here. “What happened was you gave me free reign, and I decided to run with it,” she retorts. “What happened to trusting me?”
“There’s an excellent question.” I walk over to the shirts, and I pull the one I have the biggest problem with. The purple one. “Why?” I ask. “Never, not once, in my life have I worn purple. I’m not Barney!”
“It’s lavender! Barney is a gross plum color,” she corrects me, as if it matters. As if it makes a single difference.
“Well, shit, that makes all the difference, doesn’t it?” I say. Judging by her current expression, I see that she doesn’t appreciate my sarcasm. I take a moment to breathe, in and then out. Then I try again. “To men, purple is purple, but thank you for correcting me. I’m sure I’ll look like less of an idiot in lavender. My mistake.”
Her other hand finds its way to the other side of her hip, and a frustrated sigh passes through her mouth as she fights to rein in that temper of hers. “How many meetings do you take a week, Mr. Anderson?” she asks. “About ten?” she ventures a pretty accurate guess.
I shrug. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I get that the black-on-black thing is your signature look, but after a while it gets to be kind of creepy. It’s sexy, for certain occasions, for a date maybe, but for business meetings, not so much.” She takes the ‘lavender’ shirt from my hand and hangs it back up. “Bringing some color to your look changes a lot of things. It makes you more approachable, less frigid. These people are trusting you with their business when they bring you on as a major investor, and you want them to feel comfortable during your meetings,” she continues on. “I know these colors may look kind of crazy at first glance, but I promise they look so much better worn than they do just resting on their hangers.”
A lot was said just then, but my brain sort of stalled after the word sexy left her mouth.
“I put a lot of thought behind each purchase,” she speaks again, so I blink out of my little moment to give her my undivided attention. “For instance, I know that the lavender shirt you hate so much will go great with this new tie.” She points to the one she’s talking about, and then she moves along to a blue shirt, tugging lightly on the sleeve so I can see it. “And I know that this shirt will bring out more of the blue in your eyes, rather than the grey that stands out when you wear so much black…”
I’m tuning her out again, now stuck on the fact that she thinks about the color of my eyes.
She didn’t say that outright. But she did just say that she picked out that blue shirt based on the color of my eyes, which means that she’s studied them closely before.
She thinks about my eyes.
Why in the world does that do things to my heart?
I stand by the choices I made, and I will defend them until I’m blue in the face, but what’s the point when he’s not listening to a word I’m saying? He completely checked out during the middle of my awesome speech.
“Mr. Anderson!” I clap my hands together in front of his face, and he jumps when the loud noise startles him. “Are you listening to a word I’m saying?”
He blinks down at me again. “Of course I am.”
That’s a load of crap. He hates all the pieces in here too much to care for the legitimate points I’m making, but that’s perfectly fine. I’ll just show him.
“I will prove to you that any of these will look great on you. What is it that you’re attending tonight? Meeting? Event?” I wait for an answer I can use to help make a selection.
“Meeting.”
I nod, narrowing the choices in my mind. “With?”
“My lawyer.”
My mouth stretches back reflexively following his response. “Yikes. That sounds super fun.” I hear what sounds like a soft chuckle come from behind me, and I can’t believe what I’m hearing. My head turns toward the unfamiliar sound, my eyes widening at the sight of his smile. “He laughs,” I say, unable to hide the evidence of my own smile.
I shouldn’t have said anything at all; I’ve scared it away with that remark. I don’t know why, but I feel disappointed by the loss of it.
“Rarely,” he says in a way that makes me feel so sad for him.
Instinctually, I itch to ask him about his answer. But we’re not friends, he’s my client. The only relationship we share is a professional one, and it would be totally unprofessional of me to ask about his personal life.
In my head, I’m commanding myself to move it along. I think quickly on my feet and ask the first thing that comes to mind. “So, what kind of meeting will this be? Pleasant or unpleasant?”
“The latter,” he says without delay.
“Well, then, Barney’s out. Clearly.” I offer him a small smile to go with my lame joke, and I’m grateful when he decides to humor me by returning it.
“So, black, then.”
“No, not black.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Let’s take a break from black, Bruce.”
“Bruce?” He frowns.
I chuckle. Right, I haven’t let him in on that one yet. Of course he doesn’t get that joke. “Never mind,” I say. “I’m thinking a color not too cheery, so how about we go with one of the darker greys?” I pull a few items from the rack without waiting for an answer, because it would make no difference to me if he gives one.
Jackson makes a face at the three-piece I pick out. I ignore it as I pluck a baby blue shirt to go with it, and his expression sours even more.
I hand all the pieces out for him to take. “Off you go.”
He wants to argue with me again, I can sense it.
A switch inside of me flips when I officially hit my limit for the day. “You hired me to do this one thing. Let me do my job, Jackson,” I snap at him.
Both of us realizing my slip at the same exact time, we react; his eyes peel back further with surprise, and my mouth hangs open as I dumbly stare back at him.
“Oh, my God.” I shake my head in disbelief. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Anderson.”
“No, that’s really okay,” he says, taking everything from my hands without argument.
I shake my head again. “That was incredibly unprofessional of me, I promise you that it won’t happen again.”
“I’ll tell you what…” He stares down at the outfit in his hands and then back up at me. “I will wear this, and whatever else you give me from now on, without giving you any grief, but that’s only if you agree to drop the formalities and just call me Jackson. It’s not like I haven’t asked you to do so before.”
This marks the second time he’s asked me to call him by his first name. The first time seemed like a request out of courtesy when I asked him to start calling me Lexi, but this time seems more genuine, like an actual preference.
For the sake of professionalism, I turn him down again. “It would make things easier for me to keep things as is, Mr. Anderson…” I respectfully decline.
“Stephanie calls me by my first name, Lexi. It’s really not that big of a deal,” he argues.
“Yea, but I’m sure she does that against your wishes.”
He smiles again, this one more effortless than the last. “This is true. But the difference in this case is that I’m actually asking you to.”
Curious as to why he’s so insistent, I ask. “Why? If you don’t mind me asking…”
“No, I don’t mind. I just…” He shakes his head, his fingers toying with the hook at the top end of the hanger. “I don’t have anyone in my life, who isn’t family, that calls me by my first name anymore. So to hear someone finally say it…” He shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s nice to hear, I guess.” The corner of his
mouth lifts into a pitiful smile, causing my heart to cramp a little.
I try not to appear so sympathetic when I take my best shot at returning his smile. “Okay,” I agree with a nod. “Jackson.”
That earns me another genuine smile, and then he gives a single nod before leaving me to change.
My smile fades as soon as he’s out of sight, and I immediately begin to question my decision.
Lines exist for a reason, and they are never to be crossed. They are drawn to remind people of their boundaries, like a sort of safety zone, if you will. Stay on your side, and you won’t explode into tiny bits and pieces.
In this case, the line exists between professional and personal. Why did I agree to cross that line?
Befriending your employer usually ends badly. You expect special treatment without realizing it, and the next thing you know, you end up disappointed, and or fired. It’s why I haven’t taken any offers from Harper, because things would inevitably go south if we worked together.
Thanks to my stupid mouth, I am now straddling that fragile line with Jackson, and I fully expect to be landing headfirst into the steaming shit pile that awaits me at the bottom.
And I was just starting to tolerate working for him, maybe even like it… sort of.
I bring my hand to my forehead and slowly pace the floor while I wait, trying to slow my mind down from simply running amuck. No more than it already is.
This is another one of my many flaws. Making decisions I will later come to regret. I do this a lot. I make a decision, and then I convince myself that it’s the worst decision ever made.
I shouldn’t be allowed to make any more from now on. This should be a new rule of mine.
It’s okay. This is fine. Everything will be fine. I’ll call him whatever he wants to call him, just as long as I don’t forget my place when I’m on the clock. Simple.
Simple, yet I still feel like I completely screwed myself here.
“Everything okay?”
I spin back around when I hear Jackson’s voice come from the entrance of the walk-in, and I assess. While he’s neglected a few parts of the suit—the parts I usually tend to—I can still see that it’s one decision I know I didn’t screw up.
He looks amazing.
“I’m fine. Why do you ask?” I play it cool, waving him over to me.
“You were pacing,” he points out on his way over to me, stopping when he’s standing in front of me again.
“Was not,” I say, my hands busily working over buttons left undone. I shake my head and click my tongue against the roof of my mouth three times.
He takes notice of my disapproval right away. “What was that for?”
“Of course you left your collar open.”
“I always leave it open.”
“Yea, well, you can’t when you’re wearing a tie.” I hold it out for him to see, and his face screws with distaste.
“I’m not wearing that.”
I tilt my head to the side, mocking a confused frown. “Oh, no? Mr. Anderson?”
His face changes again, and for a moment, he looks displeased, until I witness a very familiar smile, the one you have to pay really close attention in order to see. A trademark of Jackson’s that I’ve grown to like. His ghostly smile. He plays them off very well, but I always manage to catch them.
“If you say so, Mr. Anderson.” I shrug, feigning disappointment as I take a step back to return the tie to where I got it.
Jackson halts my movement by tugging against the opposite end of the tie, and he pulls against the cloth until I’m standing in front of him again. I wait for him to argue, or to tell me how impossible I’m being, or something, anything, but he doesn’t. Instead, he picks his hands up to fasten the two buttons at the top of his shirt, and then he pops the collar for me.
Fully satisfied with my victory, I smile to show it, wide and proud. The fact that he doesn’t return it this time doesn’t go unnoticed. The muscle along his jaw tightens when it locks together, and he’s suddenly doing everything in his power to avoid eye contact with me.
Did I cross another line? Have I taken advantage of our new friendship already?
The thought upsets me. We were actually getting to a nice, comfortable place, and it’s so typical of me to screw that up.
It’s definitely something else I’d like to talk to him about, but I don’t, for several reasons. One, I’m on the clock. Two, I’m afraid that if I open my mouth again I’ll only end up saying something stupid.
I make my final alteration, and Jackson still hasn’t spoken a word to me.
Is the tie really that bad?
I honestly didn’t mean to offend him… I was only teasing him.
Maybe he’s just not a joker.
…
I make a mental note-to-self to laugh about that later.
Brad Davis is my lawyer. He’s been with me since the beginning, when I lost everything. He’s always been a loyal and dependable employee. Now I’m learning from several that this is no longer the case.
There have been several complaints concerning Brad’s random disappearances throughout the day, his late appearances to meetings, his sloppy work, etcetera.
He has no prior knowledge of what this dinner is supposed to be about because what I don’t want from him is a rehearsed conversation. I don’t want to give him time to come up with lies. I want the truth.
As soon as I arrive, I find him already seated and waiting at my usual table. I shake Brad’s hand when he offers it to me and take my seat. Closing any window of opportunity for Brad to make small talk, I immediately dive into questioning his work performance.
The waiter comes by, but I have no plans to stay long, so I order nothing and ask for privacy. He doesn’t come back after that.
Brad sweats throughout the entire interrogation, supplying me with excuses that any other employer may buy, but to me that’s all they are. Sorry ass excuses.
I don’t care if he has a lot on his plate. I don’t care if he and Carrie, his wife, are having marital problems. Your job and your home life should remain separate. When you come to work, you work. You save whatever issues you and your spouse may have, and you discuss it in the privacy of your own home.
There is simply no excuse for this. This is unacceptable. I don’t tolerate incompetence in my company.
Normally, I’d cut my losses and leave it at that, but given our history, I decide against it. Instead, I extend him the courtesy of a warning, a flimsy one but it’s more than I offer anyone.
“Don’t let it happen again,” I say to him, then I leave our waiter a generous tip for wasting his time, and I walk away from the table.
As I proceed toward the exit, I question my decision. I’m not sure I’ve made the right one in keeping Brad on, but he’s been a huge part of everything I’ve done to improve this company.
A very small part of me feels like I owe him this, a second chance.
I throw the door open, and I head to where Daniel is already waiting for me by the curb. He opens the door when he sees me approaching, and I hop right in.
“Take me home, Daniel,” I call up to him as soon as he settles behind the wheel, and he quickly pulls us away from the restaurant.
“I take it dinner didn’t go too well, sir?” Daniel asks from the front.
“No, it did not,” I reply.
“Is he still with us?”
I nod. “For now.”
“I’m surprised you’ve decided to keep Mr. Davis.”
So am I. I keep that thought to myself. “He’s on thin ice,” I say instead.
“A rare second chance given for his years of loyalty,” Daniel thinks out loud. “That was a very honorable thing you did, sir. You’re as smart as you dress.”
I try not to smile, but when the thought of Lexi crosses my mind, I can’t help it. “Lexi picked it out.”
“I figured as much, sir.” Daniel chuckles. “It’s a good look, Mr. Anderson. If you don’t mind me saying.”
/> My phone chirps twice with a text alert, and I’m surprised to see that it’s from Lexi. Her timing is impeccable, almost like she was listening in on our conversation.
I open it right away and read the string of words silently to myself.
Lexi: How’d my awesome outfit work out for your boring meeting?
The message improves my mood, my mouth curling into half of a smile. I hesitate before typing out my reply.
Me: Just fine, thank you.
A short while later, she texts me back.
Lexi: Oh, you’re thanking me? You must actually like it! Haha got you.
This message brings a full smile to my face.
Me: I didn’t say that.
Lexi: Didn’t have to.
My mouth goes dry and the space in the back feels like it’s suddenly closing in on me. I’m finding it harder to breathe, so I lift my hand to the knot of my tie and loosen it. When that doesn’t seem to be enough, I crack the window open and breathe in the fresh air that comes pouring through.
I need to hear her voice…
I pull up my list of voicemails and easily locate the one I’m looking for. My thumb floats over the play button for half a second before I press it, then I bring the phone up to my ear.
‘You’re late, again…’ My eyes squeeze shut when her voice fills my ear, her words enough to make me cringe. ‘I left dinner in the oven for you. Heat it up if you’re hungry, I’m going to bed.’
The line goes silent when the message plays all the way through. I lock my screen and make a tight fist around my phone before letting it drop to my lap.
I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, and again.
In.
Out.
Repeat.
“What are you smiling about over there?” Harper’s question forces me to look up from my screen.
I let my phone drop to my lap and pick my spoon back up to shovel another bite of cookie dough ice cream into my mouth. “Just a little joke between my friend and I.”
