by Rayne,Amber
I laughed. His laughter reached his eyes with a hint of mischief as he continued. “You think they are going to probe you once—nope. They always come back for a second time.”
My own sound of laughter sounded foreign to me because I hadn’t done it in weeks. That wasn’t true, I hadn’t laughed in months. Planning a wedding, ignoring the smell of someone else’s perfume on my soon-to-be husband and the poorly veiled insults about my body and my appearance that I brushed off as him being stressed about his job, were all thing that had made laughter something beyond my reach.
For a few moments I was pulled into my thoughts and when I redirected my attention to Aiden, I found him staring at me. I focused on his intoxicating cognac-colored eyes as he studied me for a long moment, deep and penetrating. “What are you thinking?” he asked.
“The singer,” I lied. And when his brow raised, I clarified. “I like the singer. His voice is elegiac,” I admitted. And it was, as the day winded down the city lights came alive the moment darkness hit, so did his tone. His mournful crooning spoke to me on an emotional level, tugging at a sorrow that I tried to hide and thought I could escape from. I had a bad day at work and for the first time since I’d started working at the company, I had someone ask for another account manager. Jules said it happened to everyone at least one time and that sometimes personalities just didn’t work well. That may have been true, but this wasn’t the case. My job performance was suffering. I spent more time thinking about what and who Jason was doing opposed to my job. I forgot things, didn’t return emails, texts, and phone calls and I was short with people. I was spiraling into failure and eventually my career would fail just like my engagement. Blinking back tears, I brushed away one that managed to escape. Great. Just what I needed.
“It’s getting too crowded, let’s get out of here,” Aiden said coming to his feet and waiting for me to stand. It took a few minutes because embarrassment made me want to make a mad dash for the door and never look back. Sucking in a breath, I stood, and his hand snaked around my back before guiding me out the door. His touch was warm, firm and unexpectedly comforting.
“Tell me about the asshole?” he asked as we walked down the street. The cool air bristling against my skin, the constant chatter of the people who passed us and the scent of food from the neighboring restaurants inundated air and were all welcomed distractions. I focused on them instead of Aiden who was watching me just a few inches away.
My lips were raw from chewing on them and I had to moisten them before I spoke. “I think he’s just a run of the mill asshole,” I said, making an attempt at a smile that didn’t quite make it. Was he? A man that: calls off the wedding three weeks before it, asks me to move out during the same week, and two weeks later asks me out for dinner, screws me for old time sakes giving me false hopes that maybe a relationship could be reconciled, only to ask for the ring back via text, wasn’t just a run of the mill asshole. He was the king of assholes.
I didn’t want to talk about Jason. I had given him too much of my night. He was out living his life with whomever and I was sulking. I couldn’t do it. Nor would I talk about one of the most devastating things of my life with a stranger. I mumbled something about needing to go home and started toward the street. Aiden took hold of my wrist.
“Ella,” the command in his voice made me stop mid-step. “Don’t go.”
Seconds stretched into minutes as I contemplated my next move. What was happening between us? He moved closer and his fingers brushed lightly over my shoulder. “I want you to stay, okay?”
“I don’t feel like talking,” I admitted.
He gently took me by the elbow, “Then we don’t have to, but I want you to stay with me.” He led me back to the coffee house where the guitarist was still singing. It was more of an upbeat melody but I knew it was just a matter of time before he would return to the previous melancholy tunes because it seemed to be the favorite of people hopped up on caffeine at eight at night.
An hour later, I sat next to Aiden sinking into the luxurious leather of a Bentley. I wasn’t sure what “this and that” entailed but it afforded him different luxuries than my “this and that”. When he pulled up to my apartment, I waited before getting out. I’m not sure what I expected. That’s a lie, I wanted a kiss; to feel his full supple lips pressed against mine and his commanding hands touching me, entreating response. His lips lifted into a smirk as though he could read my intentions. He leaned over and lightly brushed his lips against my cheek. The warmth of them licked at my skin, the gentleness of his touch left me craving more. I want more of him.
“Good night,” he said.
But I wasn’t going to get it.
My office must have been a storage room in another life. I sat in the small room that was just big enough for a file cabinet, a desk and a small corner table that held a vase that I tried to keep filled with lilies. The mahogany desk was nice and I knew it was the owner’s effort to show her appreciation, but the beautiful ostentatious desk looked out of place and imposing in the small space. The hardwood floors, the small window covered with only wood blinds and the large square mirror that was the only decoration—I suspected these were used to give the illusion of space.
I had finally stopped thinking about the kiss yesterday and chastising myself for behaving like a teenager when I refocused on the reports. I’d secured five more accounts. We weren’t totally above water but it was just enough not to have to worry about paying the bills. If we could get an account; maybe an apartment complex, several more luxury townhomes or larger homes to manage, we could get there. Finally focused on my job and not Aiden I was distracted again by the clicking of heels across the hard wood floors.
A short blonde poked her head in, waiting for my undivided attention. Soft graphite colored-eyes still held a hint of youthful vigor despite being their owner being well into her forties. The pink suit complemented her fair skin and the pencil skirt rode up her legs as she took a seat in the chair at front of my desk.
“El,” I cringed. The congenial smile lingered on her lips and made its way to her eyes, gentle and entreating. “El,” she repeated, her voice wisped in the silence. When she exhaled a deep breath and took too long to speak, I knew it was serious. My eyes fastened on her and the panic moved in fast as I recounted the many problems I had at work over the past weeks and it quickly dawned on me that I was about to get fired.
For the past week I had been trying to do my best but most of the time I went through day like an automaton, mechanically doing my job, emotionless. We hadn’t lost any clients but I wasn’t giving them the personal feel that was the company’s mission. It was our marketing technique to set us apart from all the other companies. But when people called, they got a sullen voice of a person that was just seconds from tears. Last week was better but apparently not enough because Jules pensive look hardened her delicate features and for the first time she looked her forty-something years.
“You don’t smile anymore,” she finally said after a long moment of consideration.
“What?”
“You don’t smile anymore.” She repeated. “After being here a week, I knew you were the best choice. You brightened up this place. Clients loved you and no one could walk in here and see you and not smile. I assumed your last job was such a hell hole that you were just happy to be anywhere but there. You’re not that same person Ella. I need you to be her again.”
“I’m fine. I am just getting back to being me. Please, just give me a day,” I said.
“It doesn’t work like that El,” she said softly. “I’ve never been through what you are going through but I can’t imagine it is easy. This is a business decision, not a personal. You’re not getting back to yourself. Well, at least not fast enough.”
My heart dropped and I blinked back tears. Please don’t fire me. I loved my job. It was a welcomed reprieve after my brief stint in Corporate America where I quickly learned my degree hadn’t truly prepared me for it.
Running
her hands over her hair, pushing back hair that wasn’t there, it was apparent she was still getting use to the shorter cut. This was a business meeting; I was so used to our overly casual dynamics that it made this even harder to deal with.
My breathing slowed as she continued to speak, preparing myself for the worst.
“Take the time you were going to use for the honeymoon and come back when you are Ella again. Our Ella. Since you’ve been here, you’ve tripled our accounts but in the past two weeks, three clients have asked to work with another manager and I’ve had to keep one from cancelling their services. Take the three weeks off and when you come back, I expect you to be back.”
Eventually I was able to settle into the relief. My hands, which had been balled tight, relaxed and the red imprint of my nails pressing into my palms lingered for a few more minutes. But I heard the warning behind the kindness. If I didn’t pull myself together, she would have no other choice but to let me go. I was no longer an asset and as kind as she may have wanted to be to me, this was a business and she had to make decisions based on that.
Jules was kind with an infectious personality that could turn the most morose mood around. The tranquil smile comforted most which is why people loved to work here. We didn’t work sixty hours a week because we loved working crazy hours; we did it for her. This place was more of a family than a business. When we landed a large client, we didn’t expect bonuses although she gave them without a second thought. I didn’t want to lose this job and I needed to pull myself together and maybe time off was what I needed. When I was idle, I thought about him. When I jogged, even with music pounding in my ear, adrenaline strumming through my veins, and the fresh air relieving me of most of the stress of the day—I was thinking about Jason. Even if he was just a distant thought he was there.
“Can I finish the week? There’s just one more day.” As long as I was busy, I didn’t think about Jason and who he was with now, and how he just woke up one morning and say “Nah, I can do better.”
At least she considered it for longer than I expected before she shook her head. “No, today is your last day. I’ll see you in three weeks.”
I nodded but I just couldn’t look at her. The concern in her voice was surely on her face as well and if I saw it, it would make me cry. I’d cried so much over the past weeks my tear ducts couldn’t take another battering.
I needed to pull myself together. I had given Jason too much of me, I refused to give him my job.
CHAPTER 3
After packing up my things and cleaning up my office for my extended vacation, the last thing I wanted was to be sitting in a restaurant waiting on my mother for the dinner she insisted we have today. It wasn’t in me to pretend that life was splendid, something I knew she would expect. I tried everything to get out of it, but she wasn’t taking a raincheck. I sipped on the water although I wanted wine, but I knew it would relax me too much and I wouldn’t be able to handle the torrent of emotions that was inside of me. Maudlin displays of emotions were things that my mother frowned upon and I didn’t need to give her more things to criticize; she seemed to have a nice running list without any help.
My mother followed the host to the table, her brunette hair swept into a bun on top of her head. Her sharp jaw line had softened now that she was in her fifties. Her skin was smooth and absent of distinctive signs of aging due to what she wanted us to believe was her wonderful beauty regimen, but my sister and I knew was the result of her bi-annual visits to Dr. Singler. Her slim frame looked even thinner with three inch heels and the slacks accentuated a body that was the result of Pilates and yoga two hours of day.
“How are you Ella?” she asked, taking a seat and making a production of putting the keys to her new Mercedes in her purse. It was to the model she had wanted for years but my dad said it didn’t fit in their budget. I wondered what changed his mind?
I shrugged and gave her a noncommittal “Fine.”
“Your hair looks nice,” she reached across the table to brush a few wayward strands away. “I wish you would try highlights; Richard would do a great job. And it would bring out your eyes.”
“I’ll think about it; he does a great job with your hair.” She didn’t want me to have highlights, she wanted me to go blonde. She always said I would look good as a blonde and that it would bring out my cobalt-colored eyes. The conversation seemed to come up more often since Jason had cheated on me with a blonde. As if changing my hair would have prevented that.
“You look beautiful Mom.” And she did. She always looked beautiful. I figured even during a natural disaster my mom would still have her hair pulled into a nice upsweep, nails soft pink and neatly manicured and wearing the Pandora bracelets that marked the milestones in her life.
My mom—her life was what most people imagined when they considered the suburban housewife. Her life didn’t consist of the typical stressors most people had. She worked part-time as a realtor, if she sold a house—great, but my dad made the money. She prided herself on her title as mom and it was a title she wore like a badge. My older sister had given her a new title: grandmother and she was even happier about that. I was supposed to reinforce that title and during dinner she would remind me. I took a deep breath preparing myself for the dinner that I knew would devolve into something terrible quickly.
When the server came to take our order she ordered a glass of wine. If she wasn’t driving, I was sure it would have been a bottle and I might have gotten a half a glass out of it. She smiled, her thin lips pulling back into a demure smile.
“How’s work,” she almost said it without the same disdain she had in the past. To her I was just a glorified office assistant. There wasn’t any hope for advancement. I stayed at my job at the brokerage company longer than I should have although each morning I had to pry myself out of bed to go to work, was popping antidepressants like candy and each night after working twelve hours a day, I wondered if life was worth living. But that didn’t matter to my mother because it was status. It gave the appearance of prestige until I got married and starting giving her grandchildren. In the 21st century, that is what my mom was advocating.
I wanted to get married, have children, and the whole white picket fence—or I thought I wanted it. It all could be a product of my mother’s perpetual brain washing. But it seemed like for most of my twenty-four years that had been her mantra.
By the time our diner had come, my mother was on her second glass of wine. I continued drinking water because the wine might loosen my tongue too much. I loved my mother, but she could be a lot and constantly rebuffing her thinly veiled criticisms and less than helpful suggestions got tiring.
“Have you spoken to Jason?” she asked taking a sip from her glass.
Yep, I knew that was coming. “Yes, we went to dinner, he screwed me, and then he asked for his ring back.”
She didn’t look shocked the way I hoped. For some reason, he got a pass on his behavior because he was a good potential husband and she could brag about him with her friends at brunch. “Have you sent the ring back?” she asked, as she relaxed back in the chair, her expression indecipherable.
“Not yet.”
“You don’t think it will work out?”
I shook my head.
“Did you at least ask?”
Seemingly more in love with Jason than I was, my mother was ecstatic when we started dating. And I could see why, he looked great on paper. Tall, handsome, with a promising career and if he wasn’t as smart as he needed to be, everyone knew his father’s name in the business world would open doors that would have been closed to others. My father liked him, my mother loved him and my sister loathed him and me for making her doctor husband pale in comparison. No one cared that he wasn’t nice to me most of the time, that he’d cheated on me often, and gave me an ultimatum to force me into moving in with him. He couldn’t be bothered to come out of the city to my apartment because it wasn’t his three-bedroom luxury townhouse with a large picture window that overlooked th
e city, complete with mahogany custom-made furniture, stainless steel appliances and a doorman.
“You two were good together. He just needed you to show him how much you loved him,” my mother said. I gripped the chair because I really wanted to just walk out.
“I dropped out of grad school in order to be there for him while he worked. What more could I have done?” In that moment the veil lifted: there was absolutely nothing in the world I could have done to make things right. The realization should have made me feel better, but it didn’t. It was a reminder of the wasted years I spent with him.
“I could tell—he was looking for something and you can’t blame him for going out to find it somewhere else.”
I looked around for the waiter. I needed a drink after all. The fight had left and I didn’t have it in me anymore to rebut. I had heard this over and over since the wedding was called off. I waited for my mother to come to my defense and call him an asshole, like my best friend Natalie. And if I held my breath waiting for it, I would die.
I called the waiter and as soon as he came to the table I ordered a martini.
When the server was out of earshot, I shrugged, “Maybe, after all I didn’t stop him from falling and stabbing that woman with his dick.”
Her eyes widened in horror. “Oh honey don’t be like that. I’m not blaming you.”
Really, it sure sounds that way.
“He was under a lot of stress. He worked his ass off to become vice-president of a company. At what age? Thirty-two. Your dad didn’t become a bank president until he was in his fifties and he was in his forties when he was promoted to vice-president.
“Mom, I didn’t call off the wedding, he did. I dropped out of school for him. I moved in with him even though I didn’t want to. I went to every party, every event, game or wherever he needed me to go in order to be at his side while he networked into his position,” I pointed out. “What more could I have done!” I hated that my voice raised enough for people to look at us from their tables and I hated the feel of unshed tears burning my eyes. I blinked them back. I hated even more that she was blaming it on me.
