by Layla Hagen
He pauses, as if waiting for confirmation.
“Assuming, aren’t we?” I think he can hear that I said the words on a grin.
“After tonight, I have no doubts.”
“Ah! Well, I’m the one who will keep you on your toes now. I will neither confirm, nor deny that.”
He laughs whole-heartedly. “I’m glad you moved to London, Jess.”
“And I’m glad you’re saying that. But I really have to go to bed now. I have to wake up early.”
“Take care.”
“I will.”
Chapter Six
Jessica
When my phone alarm rings, I have the distinct impression that my head will fall off if I don't get more sleep. One glance at the phone’s screen shows why. It's five o'clock in the morning, one full hour before I usually wake up. I curse my stupidity and almost turn off the alarm, when I remember that I set it to ring at five on purpose—I have a Skype call scheduled with Serena in a few minutes. I jump from my bed, the thought suddenly filling me with energy. I haven't spoken with Serena in two weeks, both of us too busy working during the week and sleeping on the weekends. The time zone difference doesn't help our case, either, which is why we settled on this lousy hour. It’s late in the evening for Serena.
I open my laptop and turn it on, then walk to the kitchen and hurriedly pour myself a cup of coffee. When I get back, I hide the pack of cigarettes on my bedside table. Still, I'm sure Serena will lecture me about smoking. I swear that girl can smell smoke through everything. Perfume, air freshener, and now that there's an ocean between us, through the screen of my laptop. She was very strict about the whole smoking thing when we lived together, and I could only smoke in my own room. Dani couldn't care less about it, but I mostly smoke here in my room anyway.
Old habits die hard.
I log into Skype and check that the webcam works. Joy overwhelms me when Serena appears on the screen, and then—
"Oh my God, we've been robbed," I yelp, almost spilling the coffee on myself.
I should've said you've been robbed, but I lived in that apartment for four years, and it still feels like home in many ways. But hers or ours, the place is utterly and completely empty. I strain my eyes, thinking that maybe I'm not seeing properly, which might be entirely possible at this ungodly hour. Nope, still empty. Serena is sitting on the floor, the space behind her devoid of the couch that sat there for four years, the shelves on the wall empty.
"You are moving out?" I say slowly.
"Bingo," Serena says, a sad smile crossing her face.
"Why? Where?"
"With James. Both of us work a lot and barely spend time with each other. I sleep at his place a lot, and sometimes he spends the night here, so we decided it's best to live together in his penthouse."
"So where is he?"
"In my room, packing my DVDs. It's kind of sad, leaving this place," she says, looking around. I know that feeling only too well. Moving out was a bittersweet experience. I was excited to move to London, but I dreaded leaving everything: Serena, our apartment, and the tons of things I couldn't take to London with me due to the airline's ridiculous weight limit.
Which reminds me . . . "What are you doing with all the stuff I left there?"
Serena bites her lip. "Umm . . . well, this is sort of why I insisted we have this call today."
"You can't throw it out," I warn.
"Not throw it out," Serena says with gentleness, "donate it."
I frown. "That's the same thing. I still won't have it anymore."
"You don't need it, Jess," Serena says.
"You never know."
"You said so. You said you were only taking things you absolutely need."
"For now."
"So . . . when are you thinking of wearing this striptease costume again?" The image on the screen changes, and I realize Serena is shifting the computer until the webcam no longer shows me the wall with the empty shelves, but the front door and the numerous boxes around it. Only one of the boxes is open, and by the way its contents are threatening to spill out—I know it's one of the boxes I packed before leaving. Right on top of it is a short black . . . dress. My God, it does look like a striptease costume. I know exactly what that box and the other three belonging to me contain. Almost my entire party wardrobe.
"Well," Serena asks, "what do you think? You'll still need this?"
"I don't understand. How can any place you'd donate this stuff to use it?"
"They can sell it and use the money for other things."
"Okay . . . let me think."
At that precise moment James's voice booms, "Serena, do we really need to take all of your DVDs? I already have all your movies."
"But you don't have them as DVDs," Serena says over her shoulder.
"Aha," I say. "So you don't want to get rid of your DVDs, but my stuff has to go?"
Serena goes bright red, but doesn't say anything. James enters the visual field of my laptop, holding a few DVDs in his hand. I swallow hard. He looks so much like Parker; he's almost his carbon copy except for the hair, which is just as dark as Dani's.
"Oh, hello, Jessica," he greets me. "Long time no see."
I grin. But not such a long time since we heard from each other.
Ever since I moved to London, I swear I've spoken to James more often than to Serena. James and I did an awful lot of scheming before I moved here in his attempt to win over Serena. Talking to him was always good fun. Since I moved, the fun factor has shrunk to zero. His phone calls are nothing more than poorly disguised attempts to spy on Dani. I almost expect him to ask how Dani is any second now, but he stays quiet. In spite of his nagging, James will always have a soft spot in my heart. Immensely rich and powerful, James seems to give equal importance to his businesses and to ensuring those he cares about are safe and happy.
He takes time from his horrendously busy schedule as one of Silicon Valley's best known entrepreneurs to talk almost every day to his sister (and often to me about her). He seems to adore her more than anyone in this world, except for Serena, perhaps. Remembering the lengths he went to in order to prove his love for Serena still melts my heart.
"Let's make a deal," I say. "I let you donate my clothes, if you donate your DVDs."
"Excellent negotiation skills," James says, pumping a fist in the air.
Serena nods gloomily and James disappears from the screen, back to her room.
"So how are things on your side?" she asks. "Other than work?"
I wonder what my good friend would say if I told her the truth. Oh, you know, Serena . . . I'm finally done avoiding Parker—on whom I've had a crush for months, by the way. Last night I let him give me the most amazing orgasm.
At the opera. Surrounded by people. And then we held hands.
No, I don't think Serena needs to know this. At least not until I figure some things out. So I just say, "Not much going on. Keeping my promise and being a good girl."
"You don't seem unhappy about it anymore."
I laugh. "It's not as bad as I thought."
Especially when it involves shattering orgasms.
"How do you feel about moving in with James? More time for your hot sexcapades?"
"Jess," Serena hisses in a low voice, turning bright red and looking over her shoulder, as if afraid James might have heard me. This is one battle I won't win. I have a hard time convincing Serena to spill anything naughty when I'm face to face with her. With a screen between us, I have a better shot at an answer if I ask James about it.
I spend the next twenty minutes chatting with Serena about the plans she and James have for their upcoming holiday—a much-needed time off from her demanding job. It warms me to see her this happy and fulfilled. God knows she deserves this—a happily ever after with the man she loves. Funny thing is, I was always convinced Serena would get a happily ever after. I thought it'd be just a matter of time until she found the right guy to be the Prince Charming in her fairy tale, despite not believing in
happily-ever-afters. My parents' marriage proved to me time and again that happily-ever-afters were nothing more than wishful thinking. The men I've dated only confirmed that opinion.
I never really dreamed of or yearned for a fairy tale ending for myself.
Until now.
I skid to the bathroom after I finish chatting with Serena. In spite of my reassurances to Fiona that my boss's return doesn't make me nervous, I must admit I'm not feeling exactly at ease as I apply a very light blush on my cheeks at six thirty in the morning. I choose to dress in the most boring clothes I can find, hoping to offset the impression I made during the interview. The dress I was wearing that day, while not in the slightest sexy, was beach-appropriate at most. Hopefully seeing me in this black suit, with a knee-length skirt and a very conservative jacket, will erase that memory from his mind forever. It's the image of the professional Jess I want him to remember. As I study my appearance in the mirror, I debate whether I should apply some eyeliner. I decide against it. Not because I think it would look unprofessional, but I've only had one cup of coffee until now. And trying to apply eyeliner this early without having at least two cups beforehand will most certainly result in poking myself in the eye. I comb my hair, thinking of twisting it in a bun, then decide to let it fall freely over my shoulders. I have high cheekbones I’ve never been fond of, and wearing my hair up makes them seem more prominent. I apply a delicate shade of eye shadow that goes well with my blue eyes and pale, almost translucent skin. While I ride the subway on my way to work, the woman sitting opposite me reads the newspaper. On the front page is the picture of some local celebrity couple busted having sex in a public place. On a whim, I take a snapshot of the newspaper and text it to Parker. My cell phone vibrates a few seconds later.
Parker: We're smarter than this, you and I.
My stomach jolts as I read the last part again and again. You and I.
Fiona is at her desk when I arrive at work, waving at me impatiently.
"Mr. Norton is here already," she whispers.
I gulp. "Why are you whispering?"
"He's not in a good mood," she says, and gives me a thumbs-up as I go to my desk, which is much closer to Mr. Norton's office. I can barely concentrate on my tasks all morning, though Mr. Norton doesn't come out of his office once. He barks orders at Fiona, who is close to tears every time she leaves his office. Fiona promised she would slip in a few good words about me, letting him know what a good job I've been doing these past two months, but I'm pretty sure this is the last thing on her mind right now. Mr. Norton doesn't call me in at all. I wonder if he forgot altogether that he hired me. He doesn't sound at all like the polite and charming man who interviewed me. I congratulate myself again on the choice of my suit. Matches perfectly the grim atmosphere in the office and the mood of my boss from hell.
Fiona sends me an email to meet her in front of the building for lunch. I think she's avoiding coming anywhere near my desk out of fear Mr. Norton will sense she's here and find a reason to make her miserable again. She suggests we go to our usual restaurant, a rather shady Chinese place located a few blocks away. She tried to convince me to make a restaurant serving traditional food—where she often went with my predecessor—our usual place, but my love for all things British does not include their food.
We come back forty minutes later. Over lunch, she told me that Mr. Norton's wife is leaving him, which is probably why he's acting like a first-class asshole, though she didn't look less miserable for it. But I pride myself in successfully having improved Fiona's mood. She's beaming ear to ear as we enter the office.
Until we see Mr. Norton.
He's standing in front of my office door, red with anger and clutching a familiar report in his hand.
"I hope you don't have any plans for tonight, Fiona. This piece of crap—because I can't call it a report—needs redoing from scratch."
I step in front of Fiona. "I put the report together."
"I should've known, Ms. Haydn," he says dismissively. "It looks like a third-grader made it."
I take a deep breath, clenching my fists. I worked many long hours to make that report about more efficiently managing the temporary collections we bring from other museums, and Fiona approved it. I open my mouth, but Fiona cuts in, probably sensing that I wasn't about to answer very submissively. "We'll revise it immediately."
"No, Jessica will do it." Then he turns to me and adds, "Don’t make me regret that I took a chance on you.”
Chapter Seven
Parker
"If I may say so, Mr. Blakesley, the measures you are proposing are extremely drastic."
I watch the older man coolly as he paces in front of my desk. He's been on the advisory board of this company since my father was running it. It's a miracle my brother kept him after he became CEO. He made sure to fill the other seats on the advisory board with imbeciles. Which is why I only kept him around after I took over.
Right now I'm doubting that decision.
"I didn't ask you to come to my office for your opinion,” I say, “but to carry out my orders."
"What you are suggesting is a prime example of the proverbial heads will fall, Parker."
The subtle use of my first name doesn't escape me. "Then heads will fall. This is my final word." The man doesn't budge. "My brother and the fools he called his advisors drove this company to the ground with their moronic decisions. It will take equally drastic measures to restore it. Do you disagree, Donald?"
The man purses his lips, pushing his thick spectacles up his nose. He doesn't say anything for a long time.
"I don't disagree," he says eventually, "but I was hoping I wouldn't get to be in the company anymore when the time for those measures came."
My hands stiffen on my desk. "You want to quit?"
"I appreciate that you trusted me enough to keep me as an advisor, but—”
"But the ship is sinking, and you have decided not to sink with it?" I demand.
"You are a young man, Parker; I don't expect you to understand me."
"By all means, explain."
He shakes his head. "I prefer to keep myself out of this. It is very noble of you to want to save this company. I know it must hard for you, given all the . . . differences . . . you and Robert have had over the years, and I admire you for wanting to do the right thing. It was your father's company after all. I am certain if there is one person who can turn this company around, it is you. You are exceptionally intelligent and have the right amount of ruthlessness. But there are people I care for in this company, and I'd rather not be here to witness what will happen, even though they made mistakes. We all did, after all."
"I don't appreciate your insinuations, Donald," I say through gritted teeth. I played my own part in this company's demise; I know that. But I won't tolerate anyone rubbing it in my face.
"I meant no offense. I am certain you will have everything under control here in no time, Parker, just like you always do."
"If you want to leave, I am not going to stop you."
He nods and heads toward the door. I raise my cup of coffee to my lips, but it's cold already.
Damn it. I stand up, starting to pace around my office. I need something to distract me from everything going on. Without realizing, I start thinking of Jessica and what happened yesterday at the opera.
I wonder what she’s up to now, so instead of focusing on the madness here at the office, I text her.
Parker: How’s your day?
Jessica: I’ve had better.
I’m instantly on alert and call her, but she rejects it.
Jessica: Can’t talk. My asshole boss is patrolling around.
Parker: When do you leave work? Want to grab coffee?
Jessica: I need one more hour. I love coffee. Where do you want to meet?
Parker: There’s a quaint coffee shop near my office, but I can meet you anywhere.
Jessica: Noooo, I’ll come there. Dani said your office is somewhere around Regent Street? I LOV
E that area.
Her enthusiasm shines in her writing, making me smile. Then I text her the address of the coffee shop, smiling even broader when she replies with I’LL BE THERE along with ten exclamation marks.
I try to focus on work after that. I was counting on Donald to help, and now it looks like he’s going to bolt. One of the reasons I don’t trust people. When the going gets rough, they bolt. But my meeting with Jessica sure makes this day seem a whole lot better.
***
Jessica
.
I leave the museum after I email the report, and then practically fly out the door, heading to the subway. It’s packed at this hour, but I still love riding it. I climb out at the Station Oxford Circus, ignoring the sign that asks us to please avoid this station at rush hour, and instead exit at one of the other nearby stations. Breaking this small rule makes me giggle. I feel like a rebel.
Of course, I’m also sandwiched between a million commuters and body odor assaults my senses, but that’s another story.
I come out at the intersection between Regent Street and Oxford Street. These two, along with Bond Street, form my favorite trinity in London. The shops are to die for; red double-deckers can be spotted everywhere, along with red telephone booths.
I was shocked when I discovered that most booths have been repurposed. It makes sense, of course, but no one really uses them. Still, I was surprised when I saw a few that had been transformed in mini public libraries. One had a defibrillator in it.
I feel British around them.
One of the best things about this city? The restaurants. Lebanese cuisine is my personal favorite. I could eat falafel, hummus, and salads every day.
Before I cross the street, I look on the pavement on the markings that say Look Right or Look Left. I am used to the driving system by now, but by God those markings saved me from a hospital trip during my first weeks.
I forget all about my crappy day as I walk toward my meeting point with Parker. It’s a side street, narrower than the Big Three, but still boasting plenty of shops on both sides.
