Made In America

by Jamie Deschain

I can only hear one side of the conversation, but whoever’s on the other end isn’t delivering good news.

  “Christ. Okay, I’ll be right there. Give me…one hour. No, I’ll grab a cab. It’s fine. I said it’s fine. Don’t let him leave. Okay.”

  He hangs up and snatches his coat off the rack, threading his arms into it. Looking at me, he says, “I have to go.”

  “Is everything okay?” I ask timidly.

  He nods. “Yeah, it’ll be fine. I’m sorry, Raven. I really am. I’ll text you later. I mean, I hope I’ll text you later. If not, then I’ll see you in the office tomorrow morning, okay?”

  “You mean I still have a job?”

  “Why wouldn’t you still have your job?”

  “I just thought after last night you—”

  “I thought you said last night was a blur?”

  Shit.

  Oh what a tangled web we weave, right?

  Grant laughs and makes his way back to me. I quickly put down my mug and stand up to face him. He cups my face in his hands. “Look, forget about last night, okay? Let’s just chalk it up to too much alcohol and a hell of a lot of foreplay. Tomorrow, we’ll start fresh.”

  I nod, not quite sure what that means, but I can tell he’s in a hurry to leave so I’ll figure it out later.

  Then he leans in and without warning plants his lips to mine. Not in the hungry, animalistic embrace that would be fitting for someone like him, but rather in a tender moment that causes a gasp of surprise to seep into his throat before I can reciprocate, and all of a sudden there were are. Locked on to each another as our lips gently dance as one, parted only by the tips of our tongues brushing up against one another in what can best be described as the sweetest kiss I’ve ever had.

  And then it’s over, and Grant’s gone, and I’m left falling…

  …falling.

  …falling.

  - 13 -

  Grant

  I don’t normally travel by taxi, so it’s all I can do to keep from barking orders at the driver as he weaves his way in and out of Sunday morning traffic. In New York, there’s always traffic.

  Leaning back against the leather of the cab and biting my tongue, I run a hand down my face and touch my lips. I can still feel Raven on them. Pressed softly against me, her warm, wet tongue searching mine. Just the thought of it makes me think of all the naughty things I wanted to do to her had we not been interrupted by the ringing of my cell phone.

  She was right, I never should have answered it, but being who I am, I can’t afford to not take calls. Especially after last night when I had it shut off. Who knows how the media might be spinning the story of me carrying Raven out of Drake’s. I haven’t had a chance to look at a paper, or get on the Internet.

  But this call was something else, and already it’s got me on edge.

  “Turn right up here,” I shout at the driver, a Pakistani man named Mahnoor. He nods pleasantly and makes the turn as requested.

  My residence is at The Heritage, located on the Upper West Side, a good 45 minutes away from where Raven lives in Queens. I live in a $40 million dollar condo in a building guarded 24/7 by security that’s top notch. Nothing rarely ever slips through the cracks.

  Rarely.

  There is the odd occasion someone who’s not supposed to be there might make it into the building, and unfortunately this happens to be one of those times.

  Getting on to the Grand Central Parkway, I close my eyes and think about more pleasant things. Raven. Putting her into her bed, sleeping on her couch. There’s a terrible crick in my neck, but it was worth it for that kiss alone. Worth it because I got to be close to her, and for a while I was able to forget about everything else. Forget about last night. Forget about work.

  Forget about the confusion I feel every time I look at her, because it was just us, and none of that other stuff mattered.

  I can’t believe she thought I was going to fire her. She obviously doesn’t know me very well if she thought a little hiccup like a drunken night of embarrassed fun was going to scare me away.

  I’ll have to remedy that. Let her in a little more. Let her see the real me. The me who isn’t just about fucking and sexual innuendos meant to shake her to the core. The thought of doing that terrifies me, but at the same time when I think about the two of us together, it makes perfect sense when it has no reason to. That’s where part of my confusion comes from.

  The other part is hidden away. Has been for a long time. Almost no one knows there’s another side to me—another life—and unfortunately the one person who does is quickly becoming a thorn in my side when all this time he’s been my right-hand man.

  A short time later, we pull up to The Heritage and I leap out of the cab, shoving a hundred at Manhoor and telling him to keep the change. Grinning to myself as I race through the door held open by Clive, the doorman, I can’t help but think how just two weeks ago I would have stood around and waited for change. Before I met Raven.

  Now none of that seems to weigh as much on my conscience.

  “Morning, Mr. Huffman,” Dale says.

  I jog over to the security desk and nod. “Is he still here?”

  “Yes, sir. Upstairs in your apartment waiting.”

  “Good.”

  “Sir, was I not supposed to let him in? He’s been here before at odd hours and there’s never been an issue, so I just thought—”

  “It’s not your fault, but from now on I don’t want him inside this building unless I’m home. Understood?”

  Dale nods timidly, looking down at the floor like a scolded puppy. There was a time when I would have chewed his head off for something like this, but now I can only reach out and clap him on the shoulder for reassurance. “It’s fine,” I reiterate. “Don’t worry about it.”

  He looks back up at me and smiles. “Thank you, sir.”

  I climb into the elevator and it ascends to the sixth floor. When it opens, I take a deep breath and compose myself before stepping out and down the hall toward my condo that overlooks the Hudson River. Entering, I can already hear the noise coming from the living room and my flat screen TV.

  “Make yourself at home,” I mumble, throwing my keys on the table near the front closet.

  Catching a glimpse of myself in one of the many mirrors, I frown.

  I look like shit.

  My hair’s a mess, my shirt is wrinkled, and I smell like yesterday’s dinner.

  “Alan,” I call, smoothing my shirt out as best I can while making my way into the living room.

  “Hey, there’s the big man on campus,” he grins, standing with a glass of vodka in his hand.

  Christ, it’s only eleven in the morning and he’s already at it.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Alan?”

  He sips, frowning slightly before setting the glass down and opening his arms for a hug. He embraces me, but I don’t reciprocate, and when he pulls away his nose is crinkled and he looks at me clearly for the first time.

  “Fuck, you stink, but I guess I shouldn’t expect any less, right?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He winks, and goes back to the TV, picking up the remote and his drink before flicking over to some gossip news station.

  I think I’m going to be sick.

  Images of myself and Raven flash all over the screen. Thankfully, her head is buried close to my chest so her face isn’t shown, but that isn’t stopping the vultures from speculating on who the woman in my arms might be.

  “The mystery woman was seen being carried out of a sport’s bar by billionaire financial playboy, Grant Oliver Sebastian Huffman. Can you say, oh my gosh?” The anchorwoman flashes her pearly whites at the camera and winks. “We haven’t been able to ascertain her identity as of yet, but sources say they were seen getting into a Lincoln town car before heading toward Queens, a far cry east from Huffman’s lavish condo at The Heritage on the Upper West side.”

  “From riches to rags, huh Marla?” her co-anchor asks. H
e’s a pencil-necked jerk wearing a cheap suit and sporting too much gel in his hair.

  “No doubt about it, Steve, but one thing’s for sure, if Huffman’s slumming it in Brooklyn, then this girl must be something special, because that’s definitely a step down from the Manhattan socialites we’ve seen him with lately all over town.”

  “I don’t know, judging by those tattoos, maybe he just wanted a wild night of fun, if you know what I mean?”

  Alan mute’s the television. The only sound hanging between us is the grinding of my teeth while I growl ferociously at the screen. I want to throw something at it. Preferably Alan’s head.

  “So, Brooklyn, huh? Let me guess, your new assistant? I knew I’d seen those tattoos somewhere before.”

  “You don’t understand, Alan.”

  “No?”

  “It was an engagement party for some friends of hers. She asked me to come and—”

  “And what? You went? Please, I see what’s happening.”

  My pulse quickens at whatever insinuation he’s making. With him you can never be too sure, but experience has taught me it’s something lewd. “Why are you here, Alan?” I ask again, this time with a little more force.

  “Relax,” he says, holding up his hands in surrender. “I just came by to tell you that I talked to McCreedy last night.”

  “Nelson McCreedy called you? Why?”

  “Because he fucking couldn’t get a hold of you, that’s why. I thought something might be wrong, so I came over first thing this morning to check on you, only you weren’t here,” he motions to the TV, “and now I know why.”

  I sigh, running my fingers through my hair. The idea of Nelson McCreedy talking to Alan instead of me makes me feel even more nauseous. He’s a potential client—a huge one—and all potentials deal with me during the wooing process. If they were to deal directly with Alan they’d run screaming for our nearest competitor.

  “What did he say?”

  “He wants to push up our meeting. The 15th instead of the 23rd.”

  “The 15th? That’s this Wednesday. I won’t have time to get everything together by then.”

  “You will if you let me come back to work.”

  Alan stares up at me with a sly smirk, like he knows he has me between a rock and a hard place. I’ve wanted McCreedy and his portfolio for some time, and he knows it, but without his help there’s little chance I’ll be able to pull everything together by Wednesday, thus losing the lucrative account.

  I instinctively shake my head. “No, absolutely not. Out of the question.”

  Alan’s smirk turns foul. “What? Why not? Because of her?”

  We both look at the muted TV. The talking heads are saying something while a blurry photo of Raven in my arms hangs in the background. God, I can’t imagine what she must be thinking if she’s seeing this. They’re all but calling her street trash, when in reality she’s a goddamn diamond.

  She doesn’t deserve this. She deserves better.

  We both do.

  I turn to Alan and say, “Yes, because of her. If Raven’s going to be working for me now as my assistant, then I can’t have you anywhere near her. You’re nothing but a distraction, and that’s not good for business.”

  “Oh, but a tattooed slut is, right?”

  I lash out, grab him by the lapel, and yank him close. The shock of the maneuver causes him to spill his vodka all over my carpet, but it’s a small price to pay just to see the look of sheer terror and surprise on his face.

  “Watch your mouth, Alan,” I rage. “Raven isn’t a slut. She’s got far more class than any of the fucking bimbos you take home with you, and believe me when I say you better choose your next words carefully, because we’re six floors up and that’d be a hell of a fall, and trust me when I say I have the money, and the means, to make whatever happens look like nothing more than a simple accident.”

  He glances over his shoulder at the window, and then back to me. I can feel him trembling and that’s good. I want him to tremble. I want him to quake with fear and know he’s never to disrespect Raven ever again, or else there will be consequences.

  “Oh…okay,” he quivers. “Whatever you say.”

  “Good.” I toss him to the couch and just glare at him.

  He looks at the spilled glass and shakes his head. Reaching into the inside pocket of his suit, he pulls out an envelope and drops it on the table.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  He swallows—hard—still catching his breath. Then he looks up at me and says, “It’s my resignation. I figured you were too far gone, so I had it drawn up just in case. Five years, down the toilet, Grant, and you’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”

  “You’re quitting?”

  He nods. “Effective immediately.”

  I stare at him. He’s a bastard, no doubt, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a trickle of remorse. No one in my company has shown more guts and determination when it comes to the business side of things. Alan makes smart investments, and once clients have been hooked, lined, and sinkered, he does a good job keeping them happy on, and off, the books. He’s a valuable asset, has been a confidant these last five years when I’ve had absolutely no one else to talk to, and despite his outlandish behavior at the most inappropriate moments, he’s my friend.

  And I’m going to miss him.

  “Fine,” I nod. “I’m sorry it has to be this way.”

  He stands defiantly. Opens his mouth like he’s going to say something—probably about Raven—but thinks better of it. Instead, he shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck, letting out an exhausted sigh and stepping past me toward the door.

  “You know, I was hoping you’d see common sense, Grant. She’s a woman, nothing more. Just another pretty face, and when you’re done with her you’ll move on to the next, only guess what? I won’t be there this time. You’ll be all on your own with no one to talk to, no one to get drunk with, and no one to shove a stripper onto your lap.”

  I move toward him, balling my fingers up into fists. Alan takes another, fearful step back, and holds up his hands.

  “Just think about what you’re doing, okay? You and me, we make a hell of a team. I know I can be a little abrasive from time to time, but when it counts, I always hit the target. Always. Through thick and thin, Grant, it’s always just been you and me. And now? Now what is it?”

  His chest heaves up and down and there are red rings of sorrow around his eyes. I can’t tell if it’s because he’s truly sad, or if it’s from his liquid breakfast. Either way, it doesn’t matter. His words have fallen on deaf ears because the only thing that matters is her.

  “Now,” I whisper. “Now it’s me and Raven.”

  He nods haphazardly before shaking his head and reaching for the door handle.

  “Fine,” he scolds, gathering up the last remnants of his courage before he leaves. “Fine, have it your way. Just do me one favor, okay?”

  He opens the door as I say, “What?”

  Alan looks back at me one last time and growls, “Before you get in too deep with this girl, just be sure to tell her you’re still married.”

  - 14 -

  Raven

  Despite not hearing from Grant for the remainder of the day on Sunday, I step through the copper-rimmed revolving doors of the Huffman Building on Monday morning with a spring in my step, carrying a tray with two coffees nuzzled into it. My heels click across the marble floor as I take out my security pass and swipe it with a smile, nodding politely to the guard on duty, who tips his hat to me.

  “Miss Young,” he says.

  “Good morning, Bruce. Have a fancy weekend?”

  “Not as good as you from the looks of it,” he winks.

  I giggle, step through the metal detectors, and proceed to the lifts, pushing the button and waiting patiently for one to descend.

  Thinking pleasantly of Grant and his delectable lips, I can’t help but brush my fingertips along my own, remembering the softness of h
is against them. It sends a flutter of butterflies swirling around my stomach because for a moment I wonder if things are going to be weird when I get up to my desk, but no. They can’t be. Not with him.

  The lift opens and I step aboard, shaking off the obscene feeling because there’s no reason for it. Grant stayed with me all night. Took me home to protect me and make sure I was safe. He obviously cares enough to do something like that, and if I’m being honest, for things to get weird between us now would be stupid. After the incessant flirting over texts, the skin shots, the looks we give one another—no, if things were going to be weird, they would’ve been weird way before that kiss.

  Tapping my foot, an anxious feeling replaces the butterflies, filling me with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. What did he mean when he said we’ll start fresh? Was it just a throw away remark before leaving, or does he actually have something in mind? Knowing him, it’s probably a bit of both, but I still can’t help but wonder what I’m going to be walking in to.

  Thankfully, I don’t have to wait long. The lift ascends without stopping and before I know it, the doors open and I make my way to my desk a little before eight in the morning. Grant’s door is closed and the blinds are drawn, accompanied by an eerie silence as I notice for the first time I’m the only one on the floor. No senior executives, no junior executives, no other assistants. Just the quiet hum of the central air pushing through the ventilation system.

  What the hell’s going on? Am I about to be punked?

  Taking a tentative step forward, I tap gently on his door. “Grant? Mr. Huffman? You in there?”

  Nothing.

  It’s possible he isn’t in yet, but that would be unheard of. He’s always the first one in the building, and on most days the last one to leave. To break that routine would be uncharacteristic, and while things between us have been just that as of late for him, I can’t see Grant shattering his work schedule for anything. Even me.

  I knock louder this time, opening the door a crack to peek inside his office. “Grant?”

  On his desk are a slew of papers spilling out of wide-open folders, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Following the trail, my eyes go from his desk, to the floor—where more papers lay scattered about—and finally they land on him. He’s sitting cross-legged off to one side of the room, his head down and a pair of earbuds trailing to an iPod next to him. His slacks are wrinkled, his dress shirt is unbuttoned with the ends hanging bunched in his lap, and he hasn’t shaven or combed his hair.