Learned Behaviors (Higher Education)

by Jayce Ellis

  He scarfed down his meal on the road and pulled into the parking garage next to his building, which cost both arms and a leg, but had been worth it to be able to get to Tanisha quickly when she needed him. Now, though, it might be time to think about getting rid of it.

  God, was everything going to revert in some way to his girl? Maybe it wasn’t too far-fetched anyway, something expected of a parent, but Jaq hadn’t thought about how much of his life had revolved around being available to T, especially after her mom left. He huffed. Of course he hadn’t thought about it. He was at the office, back in work mode, instead of chillin’ at home with a beer and thinking about exactly that.

  “You all right, J?”

  Jesus Christ. Jaq hadn’t been paying a stitch of attention. Hadn’t noticed Daria walk up next to him. She was a sweetheart, the only admin assistant who volunteered to work late when things got crazy. Which was often.

  “Sorry. Just spaced out a little. Dropped T off at Howard today.”

  “And now you’re reminiscing about her entire life with every breath you take?”

  He laughed. “How’d you know?”

  “Been there, done that. Did it with all three of mine. The first one’s the worst, though.”

  “It get any better?” he asked as the elevator doors opened and he followed her on.

  “Yep. When they come home from break and you realize how calm and clean your house was before, you’ll see the bright side.”

  Jaq snickered, which led into a rumbling chuckle, then full-on laughter. Bless her, Tanisha was amazing, but that girl spread her clothes and makeup over every available surface, and often over already-occupied spaces too. Part of the reason the house looked so dead, even before she’d left, was because it was clean. He was still chuckling when he and Daria got off at their floor and went in separate directions.

  “You’re here. Good. They’ll be calling in forty-five minutes and we need to make sure we’re all on the same page and—” Patti turned the corner, her gray curls billowing behind her. She was always a little jittery, but now bordered on panicked.

  Jaq laid a hand on her upper arm. “Patti, calm down. Take a deep breath.” He waited until she’d followed his instruction, breathing deeply for a few moments, before he continued. “We’ve been brainstorming for months. We’ll pull up our ideas and narrow it down to the top three to five before they call.”

  Patti closed her eyes and inhaled again. “You’re right. I know you’re right.”

  “I know I am too. Let’s do this.” Jaq held her arm and led them to the conference room, where Daria was setting up for the call. “Let me get our past notes and we can review.”

  But Patti was already deep into conversation with one of the other folks in the room, which was just as well. Jaq went to his office and closed the door for a minute. He needed to decompress. He hadn’t expected to feel the onslaught of emotions he’d had today.

  His phone buzzed, but this time it’d probably be Tanisha. He pulled it out, saw she’d sent a text, and swiped to open the message. There she was, a huge grin on her face while she gave a thumbs-up sign at the camera. He ran a thumb over the screen. His daughter.

  When Sara had gotten pregnant at sixteen, she’d been convinced her life was over. Hell, JaQuan had felt the same way. Gran took them in, swallowed her tongue at every turn, made sure they both graduated, and provided extensive daycare for T, but it’d been hard. They’d fought, a lot. Hell, they’d broken up and kept living in the same house. Once Sara got her associate’s, though, she was out. Done with being a mother, done with the responsibility. She’d gone off to work one morning, and he hadn’t heard from her since. At twenty, Jaq knew Gran was the biggest reason T was doing so well, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t considered doing the same thing. For a minute, he’d been convinced his daughter was better off without either of them.

  But when Tanisha held up her grubby little arms and cried for him, something in Jaq had both hardened and softened. He’d vowed to protect his girl with his life, to make sure she didn’t do the dumb shit he’d done, and get her where she was. His job wasn’t over, not by a long shot, but he could feel proud of what he’d—they’d—accomplished.

  Now she was in college, and that picture was, he knew, her reassurance to him that everything would be all right. He took a deep, cleansing breath and got back to work. He found the files of their previous meetings, ones where they’d specifically talked about ideas for holiday collections, and forwarded them to Patti. She had them somewhere on her computer too, but her files were a mess and he couldn’t risk her accidentally deleting something. That one time was one too many.

  He had a few minutes before he needed to head in, so he did a quick search to see what Bernhardt had bought in the past. What sold well, what bombed. People were, to be frank, traditionalists. Red, green, silver, gold. That sold. Sure, customers appreciated sparks and flashes of color, but as accents, not the main background. Texture, comfort, luxury, that’s where Patti could shine. He printed out various pages and stacked them together to hand out.

  Jaq’s desk phone buzzed and he pressed the speaker button.

  “Mr. Reynolds? Ms. Kingsley is ready to meet.”

  “Excellent, thank you.” Time to get this show on the road.

  Chapter Two

  Matt Donaldson sucked in a sharp breath at the rap on the door. He’d long since told his assistant, Steven, not to bother. Hell, he didn’t even need his door shut. But Steven insisted on both closing the damn door and knocking on it. Not out of respect, but because he took a perverse thrill in getting under Matt’s skin. He’d admitted it more than once, and Matt hated how successful he was.

  “Here’s your mail,” Steven singsonged, dropping an unorganized stack into his inbox. Matt stifled his sigh and pasted a smile on his face. The one thing he did ask Steven to do, organize the mail, and he adamantly refused. If he weren’t dating the boss’s kid Matt would’ve fired him long ago.

  “There’s something that might be important in there.” Steven disappeared, shutting the door behind him before Matt could question him further.

  Christ. This promotion was supposed to have given him a sense of peace, of accomplishment after too many years burning the candle down to the wick, missing everything important to him until one day it had vanished. Instead he got a petulant man-baby for an assistant and increasing isolation.

  He plucked the stack of mail out from its wire basket, removed the rubber band, and thumbed through it. There it was. An envelope, intentionally weathered, the edges fraying, his name in handwritten calligraphy. Whoever had done this had taken their time.

  Matt opened it and sucked in a breath, his mouth tipping up in a grin. His son was getting married. About damn time. Joshua and his fiancée, Chandra, had been off and on for all of college, and solidly on for a few years before moving in together a year ago. Matt had been thrilled to gift him some money for the ring. Still, he’d kept the engagement quiet. Hadn’t said a word to dear old Dad until this arrived. Cheeky little bugger.

  Matt scanned the details. They were getting married in Virginia Beach Thanksgiving weekend. His chest tightened. Thanksgiving was a business nightmare because of Black Friday launches. Josh knew that. The whole family knew that. Did that mean they didn’t want him there?

  But... Matt closed his eyes and blew out a heavy breath. That was before. He wasn’t working every damn holiday in existence anymore. He could take time off, spend the week with his kids and Chandra’s family, even be polite to his ex and her new husband.

  The heavy weight ready to crush his chest disappeared like scattered sequins on a rug. He grabbed his phone and entered the information, knowing it would sync to his and Steven’s calendars. Maybe he could call Josh and congratulate him.

  Another knock on his door made him jump. Reminded him he didn’t have time to shoot the shit yet. “Come in,” he
called out.

  “Don’t sound so excited to see me,” his supervisor, Nichole, said as she walked in. Steven wasn’t with her daughter. No, somehow he’d schmoozed his way into the good graces of the daughter of Mr. Wiltshire—the head honcho—and now the barely passable assistant was gunning for junior account executive, on his way to pushing Matt out. He’d admitted as much, and there wasn’t a damn thing Matt could do about it.

  Matt straightened, his back cracking ungratefully, and tried to fix his face. He liked Nicki, a lot. Lord knew she had a better temperament for the job than he did, but his head was elsewhere right now.

  “Wasn’t expecting you,” he said as she took a seat in the leather chair across from him.

  “You handled a client for us recently, and I want you to be the point person for production.” That was Nicki, always cutting straight to the chase.

  “Who?”

  “Kingsley Enterprises.” Matt failed to keep from scrunching his nose, and Nicki cocked her head. “What’s that for?”

  “They’re kind of...quirky, don’t you think?” That was an understatement. The owner was exhausting. She had an incredible eye for design, but her mind was permanently set to turbo and he couldn’t keep up.

  Nicki laughed. “Patti can be, but her EA keeps her in line. She’s amazing, mixing and matching colors and textures unlike anything we’ve seen, but she wants to create. The EA makes it business.”

  “His name?”

  “JaQuan Reynolds.”

  Oh yes. Matt remembered that name. Guy was a fucking bulldog, super protective of Patti’s flights of fancy, quick to tell Matt they needed to reschedule or cut him off when he was speaking. He’d left Matt scrambling more than once, but Nichole was so high on the team she’d told him to suck it up, buttercup. He distinctly recalled her adding buttercup.

  And maybe he was being unfair, but even though he’d known Bernhardt would offer them a contract—how could they not?—he’d hoped his involvement with them would be over.

  “I haven’t played point man in almost three years, Nicki,” Matt reminded her. “I’m not sure I remember how.”

  “Like riding a bike, I guess, since I never learned how to do that.” She waved him off when he opened his mouth again. “The higher-ups took too damn long to make the offer and we’re under the gun. I need someone who knows what they’re doing, who can get the product to the right level in half the time. Jesus,” she said, popping up from the chair and starting circuits around his office, “they should’ve done this three months ago at least. But they want it in the stores for the holidays and it’s August now.”

  Recipe for a goddamn nightmare. Not only would Matt need to be the point person, he’d basically be living in their offices. Given that he lived in Fredericksburg and the office was in DC, he was dreading the commute. It was an hour with no traffic, who knows how long with traffic, and folks did it daily, but he didn’t. He avoided commutes and 95 like the plague.

  And...shit. The wedding. Sure, the collection should be ready and out of his hands well in advance. Given the time crunch and the inevitable snafus, there was no room for error. Which was why she wanted him on the launch.

  He handed her the envelope, ignoring her questioning glance. She smiled, then frowned, biting her lip the way she did when she didn’t quite know what to say.

  “I’m not missing it, Nicki.” He’d missed too much, enough that after the divorce, he’d stopped getting invites for a while. He refused to go back there.

  She shook her head. A little too fast, if you asked him. “Of course not. We’ll...we’ll make it work somehow, okay?”

  He didn’t trust that for a minute, but he took it. “All right.” Matt’s shoulders sagged. “So DC, huh? I won’t be here, is what you’re telling me?”

  “We’ll put you up in a company apartment for three months in Rosslyn.”

  That brightened Matt’s mood. Rosslyn was right across the bridge from DC, just a Metro stop away. “What about my other clients?” He oversaw approximately thirty other brands. Most of them he could handle remotely. Some required more...hand-holding, and she knew exactly the ones he was talking about.

  She paused again, and those scattered sequins melted together into a solid anvil, just waiting. “I talked to them, Matt, I really did. But they want you on board. They don’t trust anyone else.”

  And there it was, large and molten on his chest. Flying hell. “So, what? I’m supposed to be on-site for this and take care of them as well?”

  “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t know you could do it.”

  He kept his private thoughts exactly that, private. “When do I need to be there?”

  Nichole checked her watch. “I arranged for a conference call at three, and I need you there tomorrow. The apartment will be ready for you this weekend.”

  Holy mother of...it was 2:50 now. “Jesus, Nicki, give a little more notice next time why dontcha?”

  She rolled her eyes. “If anyone can work on no deadline, it’s you. Just do what you do.” She stood and started to leave, stopping when Matt called her.

  “Nicki, why do you need me on this one? It’s not just the time frame.”

  She leaned against the door and blew out an uncharacteristically noisy sigh. “Things have been going sideways on a few launches and I think they want me out. This collection is a no-brainer, and it might be my job-saver. I need someone who I know won’t sabotage me.” She shrugged but her shoulders didn’t come back down, and for a second her brows pinched together. He knew the weight of the demands she constantly faced and was momentarily glad he hadn’t gotten the job. They smoothed out in an instant, that furrow replaced with a smile that looked genuine to anyone who didn’t know her. Nichole turned the knob and slid out, closing it with a soft click behind her.

  No pressure at all then. When they’d been up for the same position three years ago, the choice had been between a white woman and a Black man. Nichole had probably seemed the safer option, but god, the men fought her tooth and nail about everything. And when she’d promoted him to her second? They’d about lost their minds. That subtle, and sometimes not-so-subtle, animosity hadn’t lessened since she took over, even though profits were higher than ever. If they forced her out, they damn sure weren’t going to make the mistake of elevating him. Which meant this project was both their jobs.

  Well then. Matt pulled up the Kingsley file to review. Patricia Kingsley, age fifty-two, interior decorator and FIT graduate. She’d dabbled in fashion design, but found her true calling in decorating clients’ homes. Something about them making as much of a statement as clothing. There was no such thing as not caring how a room came together, and she was known for really pulling folks in with an excitement and exuberance about their homes that was infectious. She’d launched multiple successful regional collections of throws, pillows, slipcovers, and table offerings, but this was her national debut. Her big break, as it were.

  And what she created would be exclusive to Bernhardt. The first stirrings of excitement started in Matt’s gut. He liked—no, loved—having exclusive items in his catalogue. It was his catnip.

  He checked his watch. Two minutes until he called in. He reviewed his notes one more time. All he knew about Patricia’s executive assistant was that he had a daughter. And the only reason he knew that was because Patricia had rescheduled a meeting when Mr. Reynolds couldn’t be there because that daughter had been sick and he’d left the office. Matt’d thought it was ridiculous, until Nichole had not so gently reminded him that he’d had a wife who’d always made the leave-work-to-get-sick-kid sacrifice. Matt had known better than to tell her that that wasn’t the problem—he just hadn’t understood why Patricia couldn’t meet on her own.

  Matt sighed. It was time to call. He put his phone on speaker and dialed, and was patched through immediately.

  “Mr. Donaldson?” a woman’s voice he didn’t rec
ognize asked.

  “Yes. Who am I speaking with?”

  “I’m Daria Wilson, and I’ve got Ms. Patricia Kingsley and her assistant, Mr. JaQuan Reynolds, on the line.”

  “Excellent. This is a preliminary call to discuss the parameters of your collection and our expectations before we meet face-to-face.”

  Matt heard grumbling in the background, hushed voices he couldn’t quite make out. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes! Yes, of course it is.” He recognized Patricia’s voice. “Jaq was just wondering if he needed to stay. I’d given him today off and then called him back in so, you know, he’s a little antsy to leave.”

  He’d be damned if this got rescheduled because her EA didn’t want to be here. “Am I imposing on your time, Mr. Reynolds?” Matt didn’t want to be here any more than Mr. Reynolds apparently did, but they had so much to do. What had Nichole said all those months ago? Suck it up, buttercup.

  There was a brief pause on the line before Mr. Reynolds spoke. “Not even a little bit, Mr. Donaldson. So I think we’d better get down to business, yes?”

  Matt didn’t know what he looked like, but Mr. Reynolds’s voice was deep, almost gruff. Of course, that could be because he was hiding barely concealed irritation. Still, it carried the kind of hum Matt hadn’t heard in his ears for over twenty-five years, the kind that had made him so hard he’d run screaming from it. He’d been able to ignore it before, but now, knowing he’d be working with this man up close and personal, it filtered through his veins and lit up parts of him he’d thought long dead.

  “Mr.—Mr. Donaldson? Are you still there?” That sounded like Daria again.

  Matt shook himself. “Yes, I’m here.” With that, he ran through his spiel, hashing out a tentative production outline. God, they were cutting it close.

  “I’ll need to meet with you in person. What’s your schedule like tomorrow?”

  “Morning?” Patricia asked on a squeak.

  “Yes. The sooner, the better.”