by Kathy Noumi
“I-I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t realize it would matter to you so much.” His response sounded sincere and full of regret, and although my nostrils flared, I couldn’t help but relax a tiny bit.
We sat there in silence for a few minutes. Then I finally broke the hush, grew a pair, and decided it was now or never. I had to tell him my decision. Clearing my throat, I said in a quiet voice, “I’m giving my notice today.”
His knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel tighter. He cut off onto another road and sighed. “You’re quitting,” he said coldly.
“I can’t stay here and work under you, Jameson. I’m moving to New York at the end of the month. I thought you should hear it from me.”
Everything I said sounded like the right thing to do, but what I wanted to do was kiss him—to feel his fingertips on my skin, and breathe in that blissful scent right beneath his ear, the one I would never be able to get enough of or forget.
We’d pulled into the underground parking garage beneath the WSquared building, and Jameson turned off the engine. His dropped his hands from the wheel and rotated slightly toward me. A dimness appeared behind his eyes, one I’d never witnessed before.
He took my hand in his. “You’re just going to walk away?”
“I can’t see a way past everything. This isn’t a place I can work anymore, or a place I would be allowed to grow, become an equal. I need to go. Make a fresh start and get my life back on track.”
Jameson placed his bent finger under my chin, tilting it up so my eyes met his, and there was a moment where it seemed as if he were looking for something. Then the moment fell away, lost, and he dropped his hand. Without meeting my stare this time, he said, “I didn’t take you for a quitter.”
My heart sank into my gut in one huge dive, and the deeper it sank into the dark pit, the less I could breathe. The pounding of my pulse grew louder in my ears as I tried to think of something, anything, to say, but nothing came.
Frightened at what I would see in his watchful gaze, I avoided his line of sight and glared down at my lap. “I’m not a quitter, but—”
“What do you call running away to New York then?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.
Whipping my head up I caught his white-knuckled grip on the wheel, then narrowed my eyes. “Do you honestly think William will let me bypass his own son?”
“I don’t give a fuck about him.” He adjusted his tie. “Did it ever occur to you that I would have made sure you got what you deserved for all your hard work?”
I shook my head, closing my eyes to fight back the sting of tears threatening to leak out. “How? How would he have allowed it? He didn’t even let us work on separate teams, Jameson?”
“Eden—”
I pressed my hand to his mouth. “Let me finish. I won’t be passed up for another promotion because I’m not the boss’s son. He would never let me win, can’t you see? Jameson, you will always win, regardless of how incredible I am at my job. He may not value you, but if he treats you like shit, then he certainly won’t hold me in high regard.”
“And if I told you I wouldn’t let you go?” he whispered, eyes glued to my face.
Moving my palms to hide it, I said, “I’d never forgive myself for coming between you and your family and your company. William may not think you deserve to run things, but I know you do. I knew it the day I met you, and I sure as shit know it now.”
“I want you—”
“No. You think you want me, but we’re not good for each other. We fight about every fucking thing, and you consider omissions no big deal when it’s—it’s . . .”
He stretched an arm out toward me, but I blocked his advance.
“. . . the exact fucking thing my dad did to my mom!” I blurted out in a swift yell. “He never told her a fucking thing. He had another family, another wife, another child. A whole other life he’d hidden from her. He left us because she figured it out.”
“Eden, I had no idea.”
The tears I’d held back, the years of hate, my dad’s betrayal, the fucking breaking of my heart, they all came pummeling into the car, spilling into our laps. “I can’t stay here and do this anymore, Jameson.”
As I left the car, I willed myself to stop, turn back, tell him I did want him, but I couldn’t. There was nothing left to say.
When the door slammed shut behind me, I whispered a small “Goodbye” under my breath.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jameson
My father’s assistant was nowhere to be found, so I turned the handle to his office door and walked in unannounced. He didn’t bother to look up from his computer.
“What is it, J. R.? I don’t have time today.” His tone was dismissive. He punched the keyboard with his fingers.
I clenched my fists. “You’ve seemed to have plenty of time to gallivant off to who the fuck knows where. Enough time to lie to my goddamn face.”
All at once, his fingers came to a startling halt over the keys. My father did anything he pleased. He expected never to be questioned; and yet now I questioned everything. Opposing him seemed to be the ultimate transgression, even though he’d screwed over the company, my mother, and all of his loyal employees, including Eden. If he thought he could get away with this, he was sorely mistaken. I’d had enough.
His voice was chock-full of animosity. “That is none of your goddamn concern. Your precious little pet didn’t have enough experience to run her own team. I made the right decision for my company. Now get out of my office. I have a business to run.”
“It’s not your company anymore. You have a board now.”
William let out a grotesque, unnerving laugh. “I still control the majority of the shares. Those pawns on the board wouldn’t dare go up against me.”
I took a step toward the desk, my hands shaking at my sides. His words lit the flame in my veins ablaze. “You’re a fucking piece of shit. I’m ashamed to call you father, you low-life scum. Majority shareholder or not, how dare you use her to get to me? She could have easily been head of her own team, and you fucking know it.”
“How dare you,” he shouted, slamming his palms against the large oak desk. “This is my company, and I don’t need a spoiled little cunt like you to tell me how to run it. You think I didn’t know what you were up to? You’re just like your whore mother!”
“You might be my father by blood, but I haven’t considered you one for a long time. I’m doing what I have to so I can salvage the company’s reputation. How long do you think it will be before you’re behind bars?”
As those words lingered in the air, the glare he gave me fueled my anger. I needed to get the hell out of his office before I did something I could never take back. Before I could, though, my father sauntered over to the door, locked it, then turned, glowering with fire in his eyes. With his arms crossed and his brow creased, he spoke.
“You little shit. I hope you don’t think I was naive enough to believe you were mine. That sorry excuse of a mother never had the decency to tell you.”
“What are you talking about?” I said in my best taunting tone.
He let out a snarl. “You’re not my fucking son. You never were.”
All the air in the room vanished. I couldn’t breathe. I shook my head at him. “No.”
A satisfied smirk crept onto his wrinkled face. “Don’t feel bad. She didn’t tell me either until your twelfth birthday.”
“You’re a fucking liar,” I managed. “Why would I ever believe you?”
He let out an evil cackle. “Your little bitch mother is the liar.”
Something came over me. Everything I’d ever held back came exploding out of me like a volcanic eruption. It took every molecule in my body not to strangle him. “If you think this piece of perturbed information is going to make me forget what you did to Mom, to me, to the company—you are sorely mistaken.”
He gurgled a gruff, twisted laugh. “You won’t be so smug when the FBI comes for you, little boy. Thi
s company won’t miss you when you’re behind bars. Now get the fuck out.”
The sound of a crunch filled the room as fist hit jaw. Without thinking, I’d punched him. My knuckle throbbed from the impact and rage pumped in my chest. Nice one.
William stumbled back, rubbing his face. He shot me a scowl so penetrating I thought I’d turn into a mound of ash. “Get the fuck out of my office,” he advised in his unflappable manner.
In silence, I reached for the bolt, turning it, then strode out into the buzzing office.
The few minutes it took to get down to the garage and my car seemed like hours. My head spun like a high-speed merry-go-round. I tried to hold on, but reality had other plans. The world around me collapsed. William, my father, whoever the fuck he was, he wasn’t . . . anything to me anymore.
Although the company wasn’t my birthright, I’d earned my position, and nothing would change the fact. That sick man sitting in his pristine office on the top floor didn’t deserve a shred of what he claimed to deserve.
Suddenly, the missing puzzle piece positioned itself, clearly exposing the whole picture. The despicable excuse for a dad had twisted my childhood into a vile, fucked-up string of memories held together by his false claims. He’d used me to torment my mother because of what she’d told him. It all made sense now. She’d left him shortly after my birthday. I thrust my hands over my face, pressing into the flesh of my cheeks.
My entire life was crumbling around me, and the only thing I needed more than air? Eden.
If I could hold her, nothing else would matter. The nagging voice in the back of my mind told me to go after her, but what could I say that would change hers? She’d been the only good thing to come of this chaotic mess, and she had every right to be angry. The rope around my heart, the one she put there six years ago, pulled tighter, like a noose squeezing the life out of me. After I’d had a glimpse into having her again, I didn’t know how I’d survive once she left for good.
Scared shitless, I shut my eyes, hitting my forehead against the steering wheel. As much as it killed me to think she’d be leaving for good, I would never forgive myself if it was my fault she didn’t have the life she wanted. Even if I wanted more, this scenario would keep her away from the fucked-up mess I’d made . . . away from my father, away from my entire despicable family.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Eden
As I binge-watched old chick flicks on Netflix, my mother puttered around our Brooklyn apartment. It felt as if I were fifteen again. The same tufted couch sat against the far wall of the living room. My favorite fuzzy blanket kept me warm, just the way it had on autumn days as a kid. I cherished my mom’s sentimental impulse to leave everything the same. She never disposed of things from my childhood, as if each tiny memento gathered worth with every passing year. Her crystal figurines hadn’t been moved an inch, and it comforted me to know they never would. At least I could count on my mother’s reliable hoarding.
“When are you getting off the couch, Melanie?” she asked, channeling a fed-up mother of a hormonal teenager.
“Don’t call me by grandmother’s name. I’m nearly thirty years old—I think I could do without the motherly guilt trips,” I snarked as I curled under the fluffy fabric, holding on to the end as tight as I would a life raft.
She wagged a finger in my face. “Oh no you don’t, missy,” she said as she yanked the blanket off me.
“Come on, Mom,” I said, tugging the blanket back.
“No. Get up right this minute. You’ve been sulking around this damn apartment for almost two weeks. It’s enough.” Her voice rose with every sentence, but her disapproving glare and pursed lips did nothing to move me from my spot. “Stop being stubborn.”
I sat up, crossing my arms over my chest. “What should I do, Mom? William Winthrop blackballed me. No one will give me a damn interview. I haven’t been sitting here jobless because I want to be.”
“I didn’t tell you to go back to work. You can still get up, shower, and do something fun. This isn’t the end of life. There will be other jobs and other men,” she insisted.
My irises touched the back of my skull I rolled my eyes so hard. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve got to start over from nothing. Don’t you get it?”
“I’m not sure you have to start from nothing. Why don’t you use the money your father left you, sweet girl?” she stated, softening enough to cup my cheek.
I cocked a brow, frowning at her. “No.”
She shook her head. “For all the times you said you hated him, you sure have his stubbornness down pat. His daughter to the core.”
Grumbling, I replied, “His pity money can go to charity. I wanted to use it to buy that building, but now . . . I won’t start over with his cash. I never needed him or his damn trust fund.”
“Come on, sweetheart. You’re being silly. You and I have been through much worse,” she said, her words harsh but true. “You remember when Dad left and we slept in the car for two weeks?”
I pinched my temples. “Yes.”
She sat down beside me on the sofa. “I was your age, and I had a six-year-old. It was hard and scary, but I vowed to make something of myself in spite of what happened,” she reminded.
“I know.”
My mother wrapped her arms around me in a mama-bear hug. “There is no excuse for not trying, baby girl.”
“I know.”
“Don’t let some guy stand in your way. I didn’t raise you to take things lying down. So get off the damn couch and show this Mr. Winthrop what you’re made of. Better yet, vow to build a better company. Something with your name on it, not his. Use your father’s money and do something important.”
Weeks’ worth of pent-up anger and frustration poured out of me as if a dam had burst open, and hot tears flowed down my cheeks while my mother held me tight. I’d left behind my job, my best friends, my incredible apartment, and Jameson, and my resentment simmered at the top of the boiling muddle like a layer of fat needing to be scooped out and discarded. Still, my mother was undoubtedly right. There was no excuse for not trying to fight back or figure out a new plan. Skulking around couldn’t be the answer. If I let this nightmare suck me in, then it would mean William Winthrop won for the second time.
Unacceptable. Big girl panties. Pronto.
I wiped away the salty tears with my palm and cleared my throat. “I don’t want his damn money. I’ll donate it as I originally planned. Just . . . call Dave for me. Maybe he’ll be able to get me in the door at Haussmann Associates.”
She got up, walked over to the side table, and picked up the box of tissues. As she handed them to me, she said, “Glad to see you’re back.”
I laughed and took the tissue box. “Thank you.”
She winked. “Just doing what moms do best: schooling our children’s lazy behinds. Now, go shower, because we have reservations tonight and I have a surprise for you.”
“Always so sneaky,” I said under my breath.
Mom threw the blanket at me as she giggled. “And wear something nice.”
“All right, all right, sheesh,” I huffed.
She disappeared into her bedroom, leaving me to stare at the striped accent wallpaper behind the television. My mother and I had put it up when we first moved in, and it took us fifty tries to get it right; she’d swear each time it would fall or not align properly. Finally, when we’d finished, she hugged me and whispered, “Without you I would have never made it.”
She’d pushed me at every turn so I could stand on my own, without anyone’s help. For her sake as much as mine, I had to get my life back on track.
I hopped into the shower. The warm, cascading water covered me like a sheet as I sloshed off all the grime from my weeks as a hermit. When I finished, I found a pair of black leggings and a cute dress, which I paired with my favorite caramel-colored boots. After a speedy glance in the mirror, I was ready to go.
I found my mom perched on a kitchen stool and rifling through a cosmetics magazine. S
he turned when she heard my boots click on the kitchen tiles.
Smiling, she said, “Ready to go?”
“Yes, all set. Where are we going exactly?” I asked.
“You’ll have to wait a weensy bit longer, sweet girl. The surprise is waiting for you at the restaurant.”
I shrugged. “Lead the way.”
We slid into the seats of the yellow cab. My mother whispered something to the driver, and he quickly pulled into traffic. Once we crossed the bridge into New York City, I figured we weren’t dining in Brooklyn. When I saw the signs for Tribeca, I knew where she planned on taking us. Lupe’s. It was the best family-owned Mexican restaurant in all of Manhattan, and, according to Mom’s closest friend, Mrs. Sanchez, it was more authentic than Mexican food in Guadalajara. The owner had opened it shortly after she and her kids came over from Mexico, and they all still ran it together.
The cabbie dropped us in front of the blue-and-pink building. My mother held my hand as we walked in. As soon as we strode past the hostess stand, I spotted Khloe and Sophia seated at a table in the corner. I hugged Mom and scurried over to my best friends. Both of them sprung from their chairs and rounded the table to embrace me.
Sophia squealed, “Oh my god, you look gorgeous!”
I hugged her tight. “Thanks, Soph. You guys are a sight for sore eyes.”
Khloe came up behind me, wrapping her arms around me as well. “Eden sandwich.”
Both of them cackled as my mom came over, beaming. “Surprise!”
“You’re the best,” I told her.
Sophia chimed in, “She really is.”
We all took our seats and tried to decide drinks. “Best margaritas in town,” my mom assured.
“Ooo, I can’t pass up margaritas,” Khloe crooned.
Soph tapped her fingers on the table in a faint drumroll and said, “I second that.”
I shook my head. Same old Khlo and Soph. “So, tell me, what’s been going on these past few weeks in Chicago?”
