Chapter Sixteen
Eric would never get enough of Jane. When he left her place Sunday, he was fairly certain they wouldn’t be together intimately again. Fortunately, he was wrong.
After four days of hell, both of them reached a tipping point yesterday at lunch and they ended up locking his office door and using his desk for much better things than financial risk analysis.
As he stared out his office window, he imagined not having constraints on their relationship. What it would be like to date her openly without the danger of losing his job looming over his head. To tell the whole world that he was crazy about her.
He’d never know.
With a sigh, he flipped the page of the report he’d been studying.
His calendar app dinged with a reminder about his annual review at two o’clock that afternoon, and his heart sank. He’d looked forward to this meeting all year. Now, it seemed more a threat than something to anticipate. Instead of achieving a life goal, this review represented a wedge between him and Jane. While he was at Dixon, Rosenbaum & Schoot, he could never really be with her. Not like he wanted.
He closed the file. Leaving the firm wasn’t a viable option. It would mean giving up what he’d worked for since deciding to be a lawyer his sophomore year in high school.
All those years to get to this point.
But then, there were all those years that loomed ahead without Jane.
He placed the file in his drawer and grabbed his phone and wallet. Since Jane had a catered lunch coming in for her team meeting, she wouldn’t be popping in today to surprise him with creative uses for his office furniture.
He knew he should order in and work through lunch as always. He needed to put the finishing touches on the Smith Steel merger but couldn’t concentrate. He felt cooped up. Trapped in his office. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to go out to lunch for once.
Maybe Jane was right. Maybe taking time off was healthy. Hell, maybe he’d even walk through the park. He hadn’t done that since taking this job two years ago. The weather was beautiful, and he could easily make it back before his review at two o’clock.
…
Jane couldn’t focus. Her annual review was that afternoon at four, and she had no idea how it would go, especially in light of the dismal outcome of the Zimmerman case. Worse than that, she honestly didn’t care. She shoved her salad around on her plate and feigned interest in her colleague’s report, but heard none of it. Her mind kept drifting to yesterday at lunch when she and Eric had made love in his office. She smiled and speared a cherry tomato. The look on his face when he realized she didn’t have on panties under her pencil skirt was priceless.
“So the client is pleased with the settlement and has already listed her brownstone for sale,” her team member said. “You’re on, Jane.”
They’d already made it through all five attorneys and it was her turn to report. “I, uh…” Glancing up, she winced at the perplexed looks on her colleagues’ faces. Ordinarily, she was totally on top of things. Now, all she could think about was getting on top of Eric. Or under him, or in front of him… Shit.
She cleared her throat and shuffled the agenda to the left of her salad. “Yes. Well, my only settlement this week was the Zimmerman case.”
No one moved. This was a big case and had been on the news as much as the weather report.
“My client…” She sighed. “My client gave up everything.”
There was a moment of frozen silence followed by shifting in chairs. Finally, Fran, an attorney who had been with Dixon, Rosenbaum & Schoot for five years, spoke up. “Why did you let her do that?”
“I can’t make her fight. I can only present the facts and my legal opinion.”
“Okay then, why did she go against your advice? I mean, that’s nuts. She lost millions.”
Because my advice was bad. My advice didn’t come from the heart. “She wants her husband, not the material wealth.”
The general outrage around the table buzzed in her head like a swarm of angry bees. The firm was paid. What did they care? “It’s not always about money and power,” she said, feeling oddly defensive. “It’s not about doing something because that’s what conventional wisdom, or your friends or family, or even your attorney tell you to do.”
Everyone at the conference table fell silent.
“Sometimes, you do something because your heart tells you to. Because…”
The room closed in all of a sudden, as her own heart made something terribly clear. She loved Eric. Was madly, crazy in love with him. And this job? She hated it with everything in her.
“Are you okay, Jane?”
She had no idea who had spoken. Not a clue, and it didn’t matter. Suddenly everything was crystal clear. “Yeah. I’m great. Amazing, actually.” She closed her file, and as her colleagues sat in shocked silence, Jane pulled the pins out of her hair and shook it free, then left the conference table without looking back.
Chapter Seventeen
Eric leaned back on the park bench and stared at the clouds. Instantly, his mind searched for familiar shapes as he’d done with his mother so many times as a boy.
A cow, a fish, a sailboat. He smiled as the sun warmed his face. He should do this once a week, he decided. Get out and do something for himself.
A boy ran by clutching a kite, followed by a puppy whose feet seemed too large for its body. Eric had always wanted a puppy, but his mom would never allow it. He understood why, now. Owning a dog would have been difficult financially and impossible time-wise. His mom never worked less than two jobs to make ends meet.
The boy’s mother caught up with him, pushing a baby in a stroller. She grabbed the puppy’s leash and held the boy’s kite while he took off running with the string.
A couple strolled by hand in hand, then stopped to watch the kid launch his kite. The man leaned on his cane and whispered into the woman’s ear, and she smiled. It was the kind of smile that reflected decades of familiarity.
And as Eric sat there on that bench, a horrible truth clarified, causing the hair on his neck to prickle. He was on track to miss this—all of it. The kites and puppies and lifetimes of smiles. Yes, he was young still, and there would be plenty of time after he had made full partner in seven to ten years. But by that time, he’d be older than his dad had been when he died.
“You don’t count,” his father’s voice echoed in his head.
Had all these years he’d spent proving he did count been wasted?
He stood, taking in the park around him as if seeing it for the first time. In a way, it was new and totally foreign. Something else occurred to him as well: in trying to not be like his father, he’d fallen into a pattern just as destructive. One of rigidity and the single-minded pursuit of success for success’s sake. Where his dad had put off responsibility in favor of personal happiness, Eric was putting off happiness in the name of responsibility. His mom was taken care of. Now it was time to take care of himself because he did count.
Like Scrooge realizing he hadn’t missed Christmas after all, he took off running, joy filling him from head to toe.
…
“Please sit down, Mr. Blackwell,” George Dixon said, indicating an empty chair at the head of the polished mahogany conference table. All the partners were present, including Joel Rosenbaum and Don Schoot, as well as the more recent ones.
Bubbling with energy, Eric sat in the prescribed seat.
“Big day,” Mr. Dixon said.
“Yes, sir.” It was a huge day. A far bigger day than he’d envisioned when he woke up this morning with the expectations of making junior partner. He’d dropped by Jane’s office on his way to his review to fill her in on his plans, but she was still in her meeting. Besides, he didn’t want to steal the thunder from her own promotion.
Mr. Schoot looked up from the file in front of him, most likely Eric’s personnel file, and studied him over his glasses. “We’re impressed with you, Mr. Blackwell. You’ve successfully handled several key tra
nsactions in your time here, and your team speaks highly of your leadership skills as well as your work ethic.”
“Thank you, sir.” Eric found it hard to sit still. It was as if he were a balloon with the end pinched, and if somebody let go, he would just float around the room in exuberant circles making raspberry noises.
This was a formality. Something for a resume. He’d worked hard and wouldn’t deny himself the rush of this victory, no matter how short-lived. He patted the newly printed document in his pocket.
“Rather than take any more time than necessary out of your day, let’s cut straight to it,” Mr. Rosenbaum said from the chair next to his. “We are all in agreement that you should be promoted to junior partner.” The man stood and extended his hand. “Congratulations.”
Eric accepted the offered hand. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate the confidence.”
The rest of the men and women in the room offered congratulations and handshakes with the exception of Mr. Dixon, who watched him with interest until the room had cleared except for the two of them.
“I need to speak with you, Mr. Dixon.”
“You certainly do.”
Suddenly, the light-headed thrill of triumph dropped to lead in his feet. Eric consciously stilled his fingers twitching at his side, then reached into his pocket and retrieved the paper. “Sir, I—”
“How serious is your affair with my daughter?”
Sonofabitch. He didn’t see that coming at all. One of the things he’d learned in law school was when to keep his mouth shut, and this was one of those times. Schooling his expression, he met Mr. Dixon’s eyes, finding the man’s face neutral as well.
Mr. Dixon crossed to the table and sat at the head, where Eric had received his promotion only minutes ago. “Jane hates being a lawyer, you know.” He toyed with the wedding ring on his left hand. “Her mother and I still don’t understand why she did it—or still does it for that matter.”
Frozen in place, Eric gritted his teeth. It wasn’t his place to talk about Jane with her father.
“You said you needed to speak with me, but all you’ve done is stand there like you’re lost.”
Eric held out the paper and Mr. Dixon took it. “I appreciate the confidence the partners have expressed in my abilities. My experience gained here is invaluable and I’m grateful. However, I—”
“You’re quitting,” Mr. Dixon said, scanning the letter, then tossing it on the table.
“Yes, sir.”
“But you accepted the promotion first in order to use it on your resume.”
“Yes.”
“You planned this.”
“I did.”
“For how long?”
“I made the decision less than an hour ago.”
The corners of his mouth turned up in amusement. “I didn’t take you for an impulsive person, Mr. Blackwell.”
He placed his hands on the back of the chair to Mr. Dixon’s left. “Nor did I, sir.”
“Until you met my daughter.”
“Until I discovered what really mattered in my life.”
Mr. Dixon sat back in his chair, studying Eric, who consciously focused on relaxing his muscles to hide his nervousness.
If Mr. Dixon had evidence Eric had broken the non-fraternization agreement, he could revoke his promotion and fire him on the spot. Having to admit he was fired in a job application or interview would seriously damage his chances of working for another big firm.
“Well, then.” Mr. Dixon folded Eric’s resignation letter and slid it into his inner jacket pocket. “You’ll be needing a referral letter. Be sure Marcie has your correct address, and I’ll draft one.”
Chapter Eighteen
Eric checked his phone for the hundredth time. Still no text from Jane. Her review was at four. Surely, it wasn’t still going on two hours later.
They hadn’t firmed up plans for their usual Friday movie night, but it was an ongoing thing, so he changed into his jeans and hit the train like usual. Hopefully, she had some good news and reason to celebrate.
After chatting with Bernie at the security desk of her apartment, he took the elevator up and knocked as always. Only no one answered.
He left a message on her voicemail when it rolled over on the first ring and sat down in the hallway to wait for her to get home. Maybe she was celebrating her promotion with her team or family.
A gold paw stretched out from under her door into the hallway. “Hey, Gandalf,” Eric said, touching the pink toe pads. “Where’s Jane?”
Even if she was out celebrating, she would have seen his half-dozen texts asking her to call him.
Something was wrong, he just knew it. Her father’s voice rumbled through his brain. “How serious is your affair with my daughter?”
A sickening wave of nausea churned his gut. Surely his resignation mitigated any concerns in that regard. How had George Dixon found out? They’d been careful to keep to their usual routine all week except that one time in his office. Even then, they’d been very quiet and the door was locked and window shades drawn. No way had that been what did it. God, he certainly hoped not. Another bout of queasiness rolled through him and he stood, pacing to burn off the nervous energy.
He’d recognize Jane’s footfalls anywhere. He’d heard her walk by his office in heels every weekday for two years, and there was no doubt she was striding toward him now from the other end of the hall. With a sigh of relief, he spun to greet her.
“I can’t believe you have the nerve to even show your face here.” She pulled out her keys and pushed by him to the door. “Go home.”
What the fuck? “Jane, I—”
“Nope. No way. Absolutely not. Just go.”
“Why?”
She shoved the door open partially, pitched her briefcase and handbag inside, stepped out of her shoes and kicked them inside as well, then turned to face him in the hallway. “You can’t be serious.”
He was serious all right, but had no clue what to do. His mind ran through everything he could think of to diffuse this, but he wasn’t certain what was going on. All he could hear was George Dixon’s voice in his head saying, “How serious is your affair with my daughter?”
Pretty fucking serious. He’d quit his job to be with her. And now this.
“Did you get the promotion? Did they make you a junior partner?” she asked.
“Yes, but—”
She crossed her arms over her ribs. “I’m happy for you. You got what you’ve always wanted. Congrats. Bye-bye.” She stepped inside her apartment, and he placed his hand on the jamb just as she slammed it shut. Hard.
Shit, shit, shit. Pain like fire raged through his hand all the way to his chest. He pulled it to his abdomen and applied pressure with his good hand, holding his breath. When he closed his eyes, he saw stars.
“Oh God, Eric. Was that your… Oh crap. I didn’t mean to…”
And at that moment, Gandalf darted past her and sprinted down the hallway toward the stairs.
“Gandy!” she yelled, running after the cat.
Eric passed Jane on the first landing, catching up with Gandalf on the fourth. With his good hand, he scooped the cat up and held him close. Fuck, his hand hurt.
Jane was standing at her door with a stricken look on her face when he got back to her floor. Gandalf had settled against his shoulder and was purring at full volume when he reached her.
“God, I thought I’d lost him. Thanks.”
He handed the cat over, worried he’d lost much more. “Jane…”
“How could you?”
His hand throbbed so badly it seemed to pound in his ears, making it hard to think straight. “How could I what?”
“You told him. My dad. He knew we’d…” With a sob, she stepped into her apartment, cat clutched to her chest, and without even looking at him, she shut the door.
Eric flinched at the sound of the security chain sliding in place, followed by the two deadbolts.
“I didn’t tell him,” he said throu
gh the door.
“Go home, Eric.”
A neighbor opened her door to check out what the noise was about. She met his apologetic half smile with a glare before closing her door.
He put his forehead against the cool wood of Jane’s door trying to make sense of all this. “What happened at your review?”
“What do you think happened?” she answered.
“Did you make junior partner?” Because she should have. Nobody worked harder than Jane.
The deadbolts clicked and the door opened, but snapped on the chain at about four inches. She peeked at him through the crack. “No, Eric. I didn’t get a promotion. I got fired.”
And then she slammed the door and locked the deadbolt.
…
Eric sat on the floor outside Jane’s apartment for a long time. Not because he hoped she’d come out, but because he couldn’t move.
George Dixon had fired his own daughter. The ultimate rejection. No bouquet of Dear Jane flowers on earth could hold a candle to this. What an asshole.
More than that, why would he give Eric a pass, but not his own daughter? With a groan, he stood and staggered down the hallway, hand aching like mad, taking the stairs to clear his head and avoid having to be near other people in an elevator.
Once outside her building, he slumped on the stoop of the retail space that looked to be a shut-down dry cleaners. His hand hurt so fucking bad, but not nearly as much as his chest, which felt like it was splitting in two. He quit his job for her—for nothing.
He shook his head. No. He quit for himself. She was in the equation, yes, but not the only factor. If not for Jane, he might still be pulling eighty-hour weeks at sixty years old and going home to work his crossword puzzles at night, missing out on life altogether.
And Eric decidedly did not want to miss out on life.
He tried to flex his fingers, but couldn’t. His hand had swollen and was a vivid shade of purple tinged with red. Damn. Clearly, his heart wasn’t the only thing Jane had broken.
Dear Jane Page 8
