ONE
Joa
To say it’s the most wonderful time of the year would be an understatement. Though if you’d have asked me a year ago, I’d have vehemently disagreed.
Last Christmas was a nightmare of epic proportions, but fortunately the sole asshole responsible for that hot mess is light years away.
Two thousand and fourteen miles away, to be exact.
He couldn’t ruin my holidays if he tried.
“You wanted to see me?” I stand in the doorway of my boss’ office Friday afternoon and check my watch. I was supposed to leave after lunch today, but he sent an email asking me to meet him at one o’clock for a quick chat. He ended his email with his signature smiley-face, so I’m not worried, but it doesn’t make me any less annoyed at the fact that I should be at home right now, peeling out of this pantsuit and kicking off these toe-pinching heels as I fix myself a Hot Toddy and watch The Family Stone for the fifth time this month.
“Shut the door, please, Joa, will you?” Smiley-face Harold folds his hands across his desk, waiting.
“Is everything okay?” I take a seat in the chair across from him. “You’re making me nervous. Is this about the Gilliam account? Because I heard from Julie, and they’re signing first thing after the New Year.”
“No, no.” Harold flashes a tender smile that dissipates a moment later. “Corporate is coming next week.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Corporate? Why?”
Harold shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine. But they’re sending the CFO.”
My stomach turns. “What? Why?”
“I don’t know, Joa. This is news to me too.” Harold’s liver-spotted forehead creases and he reaches for a pen, tapping it on his desk and twirling it between his fingers. In the year that I’ve worked under this man, I’ve yet to see him break a sweat over anything, but he can’t sit still to save his life right now.
“Are you familiar with Mr. York? From your time at the LA branch?” he asks, referring to the current CFO of Genesis Financial Securities. Turns out the position he stole from me a year ago was nothing more than a stepping stone for him, a mere rung on a ladder. He wasn’t Vice President of Acquisitions more than four months before he was tapped for the CFO spot.
Must be hard getting everything you’ve ever wanted with the flash of your brilliant white smile …
No one ever said life was fair, but news of his promotion was a kick in the teeth that I remedied with an entire bottle of Pinot Noir and a two-hour rant session to my Chi-Town work bestie, Lucy Clarke.
“I … know of him. Why do you ask?” I answer his question with one of my own.
Harold places the pen flat on his desk and folds his hands before leaning forward. “He’s asked for your assistance during his tenure here.”
I snort. “I’d be happy to recommend a concierge service. Chicago is full of them. And tenure? What do you mean tenure? How long is he planning to stay?”
Harold blows a breath through pursed lips and shakes his head. “I don’t know. His email said it would be the week leading up to Christmas and possibly through New Year’s, with an extension if necessary.”
“This is a really busy time for me …” I say, hoping he doesn’t call my bluff and pull up my calendar. Last I looked I had all of three standing appointments between now and January fourth.
Harold offers an apologetic half wince. “Joa… he asked for you personally. He wants you to be his right-hand gal, so to speak. He’s my boss. He’s your boss, too, if we want to get technical. We’re not in any kind of position to tell him no.”
I choke on my spit when I try to respond, and then the words get lost.
“Firstly,” I manage to say, “I’m an acquisitions coordinator for the Chicago territory. I’m not a coffee runner or reservation maker or dry cleaner picker upper.”
Harold places his hand out, maybe to stop me, maybe to imply that he understands, but I go on.
“I’m sorry, Harold. I’ve always done what you’ve asked me to do, but I can’t do this.”
He frowns, an unusual expression for Smiley Face Harold. “I’m sorry. My hands are tied on this.”
“Then I’ll tell him ‘no’ myself.” I rise from my chair, my feet aching, my dress nearly strangling the air from my lungs.
Harold examines me, probably wondering what this is about. And I don’t blame him. I never told him why I transferred from LA to Chicago, and he never asked. He’s always been hands-off like that, a trait I’ve grown to appreciate. And he’s always gone to bat for his staff. But he’s powerless as far as Reed’s absurd request goes, so I’ll have to deal with him myself.
A year of trying to forget his cedar and vetiver cologne and the way that gaze of his lit like a struck match every time I walked into the room, a year of deleting his bullshit company-wide emails and purposely scheduling client meetings and lunches during branch-wide conference calls so I didn’t have to hear the velvet tenor of his voice … only to be forced to endure his presence in the very refuge I sought to escape him – is the very definition of unfair.
“Joa …” Harold stands, tugging on the hem of his suit jacket. “I would heavily advise against that.”
“All right. I’m off.” I walk to the door, ignoring his unsolicited advice. “See you Monday.”
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I make it all the way to the elevator before the reality of the situation turns my legs to gelatin and sucks the Christmas-scented air from my lungs.
I don’t know why he’s coming or what he wants, but if it’s me – he’s wasting his very expensive, CFO-salaried time.
A blink later, I’m adjusting my knit hat and dashing through the slushy Chicago sidewalks to catch the L to quaint, suburban Mills Haven, where I reside in a charming brick brownstone half a mile from my childhood home, four blocks from my sister and her family, a half hour from my brother in Wicker Park, and a world away from my life back in LA—which is equal parts bittersweet and promising.
Giant snowflakes melt on my face as I pass carolers and bell ringers. Digging into the bottom of my bag, I grab a handful of change and deposit it into a red kettle before locating my Ventra pass.
The past year has been an adjustment, but in the best of ways. I’ve found my footing back home—which is crazy because all I ever wanted to do growing up was live anywhere but here.
The Chicago team is smaller than the LA team. More family-like. More personable. Much less drama. There are eleven of us—and I know everyone’s spouses’ names, whether or not they have pets, and how they take their coffee or if they prefer tea, if they’re on some kind of Intermittent Fasting Keto diet this week or if they recently discovered the evils of gluten.
My place in Mills Haven is a little cheaper and a little bigger than my apartment in LA was. And I’ve spent every major holiday plus every Sunday dinner at my parents’ house, which I’ll admit is a lot more enjoyable when I’m not on the other side of a computer screen partaking via Skype. I’ve caught up with old friends from high school. Dated a couple of nice-as-pie average Joes who were a tall drink of the most refreshing water compared to Reed, and next year, I’ve decided to get a dog.
Life is good.
And once I get through these next couple of weeks, it’ll be even better.
This is just a minor hiccup, an annoyance. That’s all. Like a rash you have to ignore until it clears up.
I refuse to let him ruin another Christmas.
{Past – Joa}
“Everyone, I’d like you to meet Joa Jolivet.” Genesis Financial Securities president and founder Elliot Grosvenor introduces me in front of no less than twenty-five staffers, but in a sea of unfamiliar faces, a striking set of diamond-blue eyes catch my attention.
With hair the color of Pacific coast sand, a stone gray suit that strains against his shoulders, and a panty-melting smirk on his full lips, I make a mental note to steer clear of that one.
There’s heartbreak written all over him.
“J
oa brings with her a masters’ degree in business administration from Purdue University with a focus on finance,” Elliot continues. A girl in a white blouse yawns and checks her manicure. A guy next to her checks his Apple watch. “Her thesis was on the effect of cryptocurrency on the private financial sector. Quite an impressive read. Highly recommend checking it out if you haven’t yet. Anyway, Joa, we’re thrilled to have you here, and I have no doubt you’ll fit right in.”
“Thank you, Elliot,” I say from my seat. “Excited to be here.”
God, I sound like a dweeb, but honestly, I couldn’t care less. I’ve just landed my dream job working in the budding cryptocurrency industry. Nothing else really matters.
Diamond Eyes is still staring at me, his thumb sliding up and down his silver pen.
My attention diverts to Grosvenor as he mentions a couple of bullet point items and dismisses us a moment later.
The team files out and a couple of people stop and introduce themselves, but Diamond Eyes takes his sweet time.
I imagine he’s the kind of guy who always gets what he wants with the flash of his perfect smile. Unfortunately for him, I won’t be had that easily.
I didn’t come here to date.
And I don’t do the whole pen-and-company-ink thing.
The SoCal Adonis in the gray suit makes his way over, laser-focused, and I swallow the lump in my throat and straighten my shoulders.
“Reed York,” he says with guarded authority. “You’re on my team.”
“There are four of us, right?” I ask.
“Right.”
“And we all do the same thing?”
His sparkling gaze squints. “Right.”
“So it’s not technically … your … team,” I say.
“Semantics.” He studies me for a minute before shaking his head and wiping the smirk off his distractingly kissable mouth. “You’re going to keep me on my toes. I can already tell.”
“Meaning is everything,” I say. “I minored in communications.”
“Yeah, well, I’m more of a numbers guy,” he says. “Anyway, Phillips tasked me with training you, so … lucky you.”
He flashes a smile that sends an electric zing to my core.
As long as he keeps his pen from my ink, we should have nothing to worry about.
TWO
Reed
“Visiting family?”
I glance up to my First-Class seatmate, a sixty-something woman with silvery hair, diamond studs in her ears, and a lavender cashmere twinset.
“Chicago at Christmastime is just lovely,” she adds. “My daughter and son-in-law live there. He’s a pediatric surgeon. One of the best in the state. They’re expecting their third baby any day now, so I haven’t booked my return flight yet. Fingers crossed we have a little one to hold before the new year.”
The cabin doors have been secured and the flight attendant passes through the aisle, and I take a quick look around, hoping to eye an empty seat so I can get away from Chatty Cathy, but no dice.
“Do you have any children?” she asks.
I bite the inside of my lip and look away before I make an ass of myself and ask this woman if she’s never flown First Class before. It’d be the only explanation as to why she’s not following the first unspoken rule of this section of the cabin—mind your own business.
A chime interrupts her before she has a chance to start again, and the captain’s voice fills the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Your flight attendants are preparing the cabin for takeoff. In just a few minutes, we’re going to …”
Chatty Cathy listens carefully, and I dig into my inner jacket pocket to find my ear pods—only one seems to have vanished.
Of course.
“Champagne?” A caramel-haired attendant stops at our row.
“Oh, my goodness. Yes, please!” Chatty Cathy says before leaning toward me. “I’ve never flown First Class before.”
Was I right or was I right?
The attendant looks to me and I shake my head. Once we take off, I’ll order my usual two fingers of whiskey, pop in my lone ear bud, and close my eyes.
“My daughter and son-in-law bought me this ticket,” she continues. How she hasn’t yet noticed the one-sidedness of this conversation is beyond me. “She wanted to surprise me with an upgrade. A little Christmas gift, I suppose. I’m sorry—you seem a little agitated. Are you one of those people who get scared on airplanes?”
I stifle a chuckle before giving her side eye. “No.”
“You’re just so … quiet.” She toys with the diamond cross pendant dangling from her neck, tapping her fake red nails against it as she studies me. “Me, I have the opposite problem. I get nervous when I fly and then I can’t stop talking.”
She laughs—no, cackles. The suited man across from us shoots her a look.
“Magazine? Newspaper?” A different attendant stops beside us. “Last chance before takeoff.”
“Well, let’s see. What do you have?” Chatty Cathy asks, clucking her tongue and perusing like we have all the time in the world. “Oh, I’ll take this one. Thank you.”
Finally.
Paging through a pristine issue of Good Housekeeping, the woman stops after a minute and folds it in her lap.
“I’m sorry—I just can’t help noticing how agitated you are,” she says to me. “Something is clearly bothering you, and you know how I can tell? I’m a body language expert. I’ve written three books on the subject. Your breathing and your rigid posture and the way you keep situating and re-situating yourself in these extremely comfortable chairs … the fact that you refuse to engage in small talk … It’s the holidays, isn’t it?”
I can’t help but chuckle at her audacity and the blatant irony that lies in the fact that she can pick up on body language cues and brag about her expertise but be so socially inept.
“Name’s Reed,” I say, giving her my full attention now as we taxi to the runway. “And you’re correct. I am agitated. But it has nothing to do with the holidays or flying.”
“Reed. That’s a lovely name. I’m Saundra,” she says, a pleased gleam in her gray eyes. “With an ‘a’ and a ‘u’.”
“I’m actually traveling for work and I’ve got a lot on my plate, so if you don’t mind …” I offer the politest smile I can muster and lift my ear bud before placing it in my left ear.
“Traveling for work? Over Christmas? Your boss must be a real Scrooge.”
I harbor a full breath in my lungs, resisting the urge to exhale loudly. “I’m my own boss.”
I mean, technically the president of the company is a step above me, but he doesn’t have the balls to fire me—not after the information that’s recently come to light … which is part of why I’m making this trip, but that’s neither here nor there.
“Oh.” Saundra rests her manicured palm on top of the glossy magazine in her lap, brows meeting as she stares at the seatback in front of her.
Leaning toward the window, I close my eyes and offer a soundless prayer for silence to the merciful Gods of Holiday Airline Travel. Fortunately they hear my plea, because the moment we’re in the air, I steal a quick peak at Saundra and find her passed out, mouth agape, a pink shawl wrapped around her shoulders.
Turns out, though, that it doesn’t matter. Without Saundra’s gums flapping in my ear, my own thoughts are just as loud and busy, just as focused as ever on the one thing that hasn’t left my mind since the day she left LA: Joa Jolivet.
{Past – Reed}
I check my watch, waiting for Grosvenor to shuffle in with the newest hire, some recent college graduate from the middle of nowhere. I’m sure she flew out here with Hollywood stars in her eyes and sky-high ambitions that’ll be crushed by the time she finishes her first apartment lease.
I notice her from my peripheral vision first. Maybe it’s the cherry red sweater that matches her full, glossed lips or the sleek onyx hair draped over her shoulder and tucked behind one ear. A string of pearls ci
rcles her neck. She’s a vision of Old Hollywood glam mixed with a modern twist, and I can’t take my fucking eyes off her.
I want.
No. I need …
“Everyone, I’d like you to meet Joa Jolivet,” Grosvenor introduces her, and she offers the sweetest, understated smile I’ve ever seen as her sapphire gaze scans the room, stopping on me.
“Joa brings with her a masters’ degree in business administration from Purdue University with a focus on finance,” Elliot continues. Deidra yawns and checks her chipped manicure. Maxwell checks his Apple watch for the twentieth time. “Her thesis was on the effect of cryptocurrency on the private financial sector. Quite an impressive read. Highly recommend checking it out if you haven’t yet. Anyway, Joa, we’re thrilled to have you here, and I have no doubt you’ll fit right in.”
“Thank you, Elliot,” she says. “Excited to be here.”
She sounds like a nerd, but if she’s a nerd, she’s the sexiest nerd I’ve ever seen in my entire life.
I haven’t had the strength to look away yet, and my pen is gripped so tight in my hands I feel the metal bend and threaten to snap.
Grosvenor drones on with a couple of reminder items and tells us to get back to work.
The team files out and a couple of people stop and introduce themselves, but I take my time so I have a chance to introduce myself personally.
Making my way to her once the room has emptied, I watch her shoulders straighten and her lips press flat as she swallows.
“Reed York,” I say. “You’re on my team.”
“There are four of us, right?” she asks.
“Right.”
“And we all do the same thing?”
I squint. “Right.”
“So it’s not technically … your … team,” she says.
Sassy. Outspoken. Brazen.
Hot as fuck.
“Semantics.” I study her for a minute before shaking my head and hiding the smirk on my face with the brush of my hand. “You’re going to keep me on my toes. I can already tell.”
Pricked Page 25
