“Unless he knocks up your best friend. People never read the fine print on that one.”
“Claire...”
“Mr. Hayes.” Greg was suddenly standing next to me. “It would be best if you didn’t utter another word to Miss Gracen. You are not welcome on this property.”
Ryan’s eyes dimmed and he shook his head, looking at me as if he was hurt.
What the hell is wrong with him?!
“You have five seconds to walk out of this door, Mr. Hayes.” Greg narrowed his eyes and Ryan walked out of the office, looking back at me as two other security guards escorted him out.
“I’ve notified Mr. Statham about the intrusion.” He sounded disappointed. “Mr. Hayes slipped by our watch today and managed to take a cab here. My sincerest apologies, Miss Gracen. It won’t happen again. Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.” I lied.
I hated Ryan with every ounce of my being, but I’d seen that pained look from him twice before, back when we were married: Once, when we were being evicted out of our first apartment because we hadn’t paid the rent in three months. And again when I went into labor with Ashley and Caroline four weeks early.
It’s definitely something serious...
“Miss Gracen?” Greg snapped me out of my trance.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Statham asked if he needs to come by now.” He was holding his phone up to his ear. “He wants to know if you want to be taken home early because of this.”
I shook my head. “No, tell him I’m okay. I’ll go to his office after my three o’ clock.”
He nodded and repeated my message to Jonathan before leaving me alone.
Sighing, I walked over to my desk and sank into the chair. I shook my head, hoping that would remove any thoughts of Ryan from my head, but then I spotted a white envelope on my desk. Something that wasn’t there before.
I grabbed it and realized that Ryan had probably placed it there before he was escorted out. I knew that I shouldn’t open it, that I should simply shred it and go about my day, but I was curious:
Claire,
I’ve been sending you photos and letters every day, but last night I realized that you probably haven’t received any of them. So, I thought I would personally drop this one off.
I’m not here to cause any trouble in your new life—which seems to be quite wonderful by the way...
I moved here six months ago with Amanda and I decided not to tell the girls so I could have the opportunity to talk to you without you shutting down but...It seems as if you’ve already done that.
I would like to speak with you over coffee. You can tell me which shop, and I swear I’ll only use a few minutes of your time. (Do you honestly think I would be going through all this trouble if what I had to say wasn’t important? IT IS.)
Please call me so we can meet up with each-other.
Your first,
Ryan
PS—You always were beautiful, but you look fucking amazing now :-)
PSS—I know a part of you still loves me...
Monday September 1, 2014
Jonathan
You can’t help who you fall for...
At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
I sit down at the end of the boardroom table and try to look like I want to be here. I just got back from having angry sex with Claire and I’m starting to wish I’d stayed with her for the rest of the day—to make sure she sends off those damn invitations.
Does it really matter if they’re ivory or white? If they have lace accents or pearl ones? If they have four or five different parts on the inside?
I’m beyond restless because she made me stay up all night so I could help her choose between hundreds of envelope styles: “White cream with no border? White cream with a white border? Or ivory and white cream with a slightly shadowed border?”
She also spent two hours this morning going over the seals that will be on the back of the envelope—the place where no one fucking looks: “The white seal will give our wedding a more elegant vibe, but the silver one says that it’s going to be an upscale event. Gold is a bit too much I think...But wait, what if we were able to get the seals personalized? Maybe white seals with our initials in silver and gold accents?”
She has undoubtedly mastered the art of getting under my skin because I told her that it didn’t matter, and that she better (better...) have those invitations sent off by noon today. But as usual, she has to fulfill her weekly ‘make Jonathan angry’ quota and when I stopped by on her lunch break, she said she was “still deciding what [she] should do about the seals.”
“Mr. Statham?” My number one trust advisor—Milton, clears his throat. “Did you hear what I said about my proposal for a new benefits package for all employees?”
“Loud and clear.” I smile and he rolls his eyes.
Today’s meeting is about spousal benefits for Statham Industries employees, but I know this is a thinly veiled attempt to make me force Claire to sign a pre-nuptial agreement.
My board members are nervous because they know that the second I marry her, she’ll automatically be entitled to a twenty six percent share of Statham Industries, which—next to mine is the largest share for any individual person. They don’t trust her because she didn’t grow up with a silver spoon in her mouth, because they think she’ll turn on me once the ink on our marriage papers dries.
But I don’t believe that at all. I trust Claire completely.
Sure, she tests my nerves like no one has ever tested them before, but she’s real—frustratingly real, and that’s what I love most about her.
Chapter 7
Jonathan
“Do you think I won’t fire you because you’re family?” I narrowed my eyes at Hayley and shook my head. She’d been showing up late to meetings, turning in subpar work, and asking my secretary to cover for her almost every day.
“I think you won’t fire me because your fiancée won’t let you.” She smiled.
“What makes you think Claire has any control over what I do with my company?”
“Because she does.” She laughed. “I’m not being lazy, Mr. Statham. I promise. I’m still adjusting to the West Coast and working here...And to be fair, I redid all those reports hours after you marked them up. You’re just being extra hard on me because I’m your sister and you know it.”
“Okay.” I shut my folder. “Who’s the guy?”
“What guy?”
“The guy that turns you into a blubbering idiot at every board meeting. The guy who fed you that bullshit line about me being extra hard on you. I put an eighty thousand dollar bonus clause in your contract just for showing up to work every day. I’m pretty sure that means I’m being the most lenient with you. ”
“Did you just call me a blubbering idiot?”
“You have forty eight hours to re-do that mess of a presentation you gave this morning. And since you don’t want to tell me who this man is, I’m going to find out and then I’m going to—”
“Have a few words with him, i.e. ruin his life. You really have to wonder why I don’t tell you who I’m dating anymore?”
“So you are dating someone?”
She sighed and stood up. “Is there anything else you need from me today? I have a thirty page presentation to redo per the CEO’s ridiculous request. Word around the office is that he’s an ass.”
“He’s also brilliant and extremely sexy.”
She rolled her eyes and walked out of my office.
I picked up my phone to call Corey so I could get to the bottom of her secret life, but I spotted a strange red envelope on top of my mail stack. I put the phone down and reached for it, noticing that there was no return address—just a simple “To Mr. Statham” written across the front.
Is this the Red Ball invite Angela told me about? Did I forget to reserve tickets for me and Claire?
I opened the envelope and pulled out the plain white notecard:
Mr. Statham,
; As amused as I am about you feeling “threatened” by my presence in San Francisco, please be advised that I am a lawyer and can press necessary charges against you for the following criminal offenses: Stalking, mail tampering, and being an asshole. Well, that last one isn’t necessarily an offense, but as soon as it becomes one, I’ll be sure to serve you with the proper papers.
Since you seem to enjoy hijacking my letters to Claire, I thought I’d send you one of your own so you can feel just as special.
Enjoy your day,
Ryan Hayes
I crumpled his letter into a ball and rolled my eyes as I tossed it into the trash can.
I didn’t feel “threatened” by him at all.
Annoyed? Absolutely. Irritated? Definitely.
The fact that he was a lawyer didn’t mean shit to me. I had the district attorney’s number on speed dial and a team of high profile lawyers that would make his accomplishments look like a high school student’s.
I really hope I get to see this man in person one day...SOON...
His pathetic letters to Claire still came like clockwork, although they were a lot shorter now: “Can you join me for just one cup of coffee?” “You can’t give me five minutes? That’s all I’m asking for, Claire...” “I was once your best friend...Remember that.”
Before I could call Greg and ask him if there were any new updates, Angela’s voice came over the intercom.
“Mr. Statham?” she called.
“Yes, Angela?”
“Your mother is here. Are you available to speak to her today?”
I hesitated. “Sure...”
I leaned back in my chair and watched as she stepped into the room with her shoulders slumped. For some reason, she looked sad—an emotion I wasn’t used to seeing from her.
“You don’t look too good.” I raised my eyebrow. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Besides the fact that my only daughter still won’t acknowledge my existence, and I have to ask my son’s secretary if I have permission to see him every time I show up to his office?”
I sighed. “What do you want?”
“I um...I was just doing some shopping today at the Farmer’s Market and I...I was wondering if you wanted to join me for dinner at my place tonight...I’m making your favorite.”
“You know what my favorite food is?”
“Pasta. Chicken alfredo with extra pepper to be exact.”
“I don’t have any memories of you cooking anything when I was younger, so I’m not sure if I’d enjoy it. I appreciate the offer, but Claire and I already have plans for our anniversary. Besides, Thursday is family dinner night.”
“Right...Well, that’s...That’s all I came by to ask... Thanks for not turning me away today.”
“Wait a minute,” I said before she could turn away. I reached into my desk and sifted through a stack of envelopes. “I spoke to Claire about this and...She wants you to know that she doesn’t harbor any ill feelings about what you did to her last year.”
“So, you can officially forgive me for everything now?”
“No.” I rolled my eyes and walked around my desk to hand her the envelope. “But I do want you to come to my wedding. It would be nice to have at least one of my birth parents there.”
Her eyes lit up and she ran her fingers across the engraved “S” that sat on the edge of the flap. Then she slowly pulled the invitation out and stood still, silently reading it to herself.
I expected her to say something negative or ask “how much” we’d spent on the invitations, but she leaned forward and hugged me. Hard.
“I’m sorry I was so terrible to you when you were growing up, Jonathan...” She cried. “I really really am...I know it doesn’t mean much to you, but I’m very proud of all you’ve done with your life despite the fucked up start you got...And I’m glad you’re getting married. I’ve never seen you this happy before...”
I looked down into her teary eyes, trying not to get sucked into her worn-out apologies.
She hugged me one last time and stepped back, pulling a small blue box out of her jacket. “I led a rehab session yesterday and all the women were talking about how much they missed celebrating their kids’ birthdays when they were younger.”
“Stop it.”
“No...I know I’ve missed all of your birthdays and important milestones, but...Here.” She pressed the box into my hand and rushed out of my office without looking back.
I set the box on my desk and stared at it, unsure of what to do. I was honestly tempted to throw it away and forget that she’d ever stopped by. Yet, as much as I loathed her for things she’d done in the past, I couldn’t deny that she was trying to make things right.
I slowly unwrapped the light blue box and hesitated before flipping off the top: A silver Audemar Piguet watch and a small, handwritten note:
Jonathan,
I’ve been a terrible mother to you throughout your life—even more terrible for what I did to your fiancée last year...I want you to know that I’m fully aware of the mistakes I’ve made and if you ever let me back into your life I won’t make the same mistakes again...In the grand scheme of things, I don’t have much time left to make things right, but I’ll be grateful for any seconds you choose to share with me from this point on...
You deserved so much more than what I gave you,
Mom
Ugh...
I felt that soft spot in my heart melting, that spot that wouldn’t let me give up on this woman, no matter how many times she fucked things up.
I rushed onto my private elevator and rode it down to the parking lot. I headed over to her car and held the door open before she could shut it.
“Would you be opposed to making the pasta at my house tonight?” I sighed. “We can make it together.”
My mom looked around my kitchen, running her fingers against the granite countertops. “You have a very nice home, Jonathan. It suits you well...”
“Thank you.” I poured a tall glass of wine and handed it to her. “Are you allowed to drink alcohol yet?”
She shook her head.
“My mistake.” I set the glass down and walked over to the refrigerator. “Cranberry, orange, or apple?”
“Cranberry.”
“I’ll have the same then.” I fixed two glasses and sat across from her at the breakfast bar.
For the past hour and a half we’d traded recipes and made a huge pot of chicken alfredo. There were only “Oh, I always put extra cheese on the noodles once they’re done boiling,” and “I never use pre-packaged garlic” sentences between us. Nothing personal.
Whenever those empty words weren’t being spoken, there was nothing but an awkward silence hanging in the air between us, a silence that revealed we still weren’t comfortable with each other.
I took a sip of my juice and decided to give it a try. “How are you liking your new job at the department store? You’re working at Saks Fifth Avenue now, right?”
“Oh, no. I quit that after my first day.” She laughed.
“What? Why?”
“It wasn’t my scene—too many fashion trends to keep up with every week. I work at a salon now. I do make-up and eyebrow waxing.”
“You enjoy that?”
“A lot.” She smiled. “I know I don’t need the money but I’m really really good at it and I love seeing the reaction after someone’s been made over...” Her bright smile dimmed. “Claire’s not coming to dinner because I’m here, right?”
I looked at my watch. “Actually, she should be home any minute. Her assistant said she was running late. I didn’t get a chance to tell her you were coming.”
“Oh...Well, great. Feel free to tell her that my pasta is ten times better than yours when she gets here.”
I rolled my eyes and laughed. “Because you use oregano?”
“Because it just tastes better and you know it.”
I did know it, and I’d written down everything she used so I could copy it for next time.
; Since Claire still wasn’t home an hour later, I asked my mom to make another batch so I could have it flown to Arizona for Ashley and Caroline. As she and I continued to talk, I realized that for the first time in my life, I actually enjoyed being around her—even if we only discussed the simple things.
“Thanks for having me over, Jonathan. This really meant a lot to me.” She stood in front of her car in tears. “I hope this wasn’t the last time...”
I stepped forward and hugged her. “It wasn’t. I’ll see you in therapy next week.”
She nodded and slipped inside the car, and I waited for her to make it down the long driveway before I went inside.
I was putting away the leftover pasta when I happened to look up at the glass clock that hung on the wall.
That has to be a mistake...Did we never reset it?
I pulled my phone out to double check and realized that our clock was absolutely right.
Claire was testing me. Again.
Chapter 8
Claire
I pulled into our garage at nine thirty. I had no idea my last consultation would take three hours, and no idea that the second set of flowers that arrived at my office this afternoon had been sent by Ryan.
It wasn’t until I was closing that I’d noticed a small pink notecard hanging from the stems and realized that I’d placed his bouquets all over the store with Jonathan’s. Before I left, I’d made sure to toss every last one of his roses into the dumpster and flush his note down the toilet. Still, I couldn’t forget what it read: “Do I have to send you flowers every day like your billionaire fiancée does just to get your attention? You WILL talk to me, Claire...—Ryan.”
I shuddered just thinking about him. He literally made my skin crawl.
I scrolled through my phone and saw that Jonathan had sent me several texts while I was driving home: ‘Where are you?’ ‘Claire, call me...’ ‘I called your office an hour ago but you weren’t there. Are you okay?’ ‘Why aren’t you answering your phone?’
Today was a Thursday—a family dinner night and our anniversary. He’d been talking about it all week, making love to me every night for hours, and telling me how happy he was that we’d been together so long.
Mid Life Love: At Last Page 11
