by Roxy Sloane
“Love you guys,” I said.
Then I turned and walked briskly toward the building.
23
I have to hand it to Bianca. Maybe it was the flash of leg, or the forcefully confident tilt of my perfectly-coiffed head, but a couple of men nearly fell over themselves trying to open the door for me. In the lobby, I felt even more eyes on me—in a good way. I felt strong.
One of the older security guards at the front desk gave me a big smile. “Good morning, Ms. Parker.”
“Good morning, Jimmy,” I replied.
“You look like sunshine itself today,” he said.
“Thank you, sir.”
By the time I reached the eleventh floor, I felt ready to face my fate, despite the furious pounding of my heart. In the hallway, I made sure to look everyone in the eye and say hello. When I got to my office, Carolyn stood at her desk.
“El, you look amazing,” she said.
“Thanks,” I replied. I went to my desk and dropped my coat on my chair.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“I’m ready,” I said. “Do you know where the meeting is? With Jackson?”
“It’s at Dom’s,” she replied.
I shuddered. On the top floor of our building is a well-known steakhouse called Dom’s where most DR editors take agents and prospective writers to impress (and intimidate) them. I’d been there many times.
But I hadn’t planned on meeting with Jackson and Jennifer Carpenter in public. The last thing I wanted was another scene. And with Ford’s profile, our little group was sure to attract attention. I sighed as I picked up my pad and pen.
“I wish it was in her office,” I admitted. “Okay. It is what it is. Thanks, Carolyn.”
At the elevators, I waited impatiently. Finally, with a familiar ding, the steel doors opened, but before I could enter Louise exited. I froze. Seeing me, she stopped abruptly, giving me a once-over.
Slowly, she smiled. “You are surprising, Parker.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I replied.
“Where’s the meeting?”
“Dom’s.”
“I see.” Louise raised a brow. “Do you want me there?”
“No,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”
She nodded. “Come see me after.”
“I will.”
When the next car arrived, I stepped in and hit “PH.” This was it.
The restaurant was only about half full, thanks to the hour. Of course the maître d’ had seated Jackson at the center table. Jennifer Carpenter was to his left. Seeing them there, together, I momentarily lost my nerve. I couldn’t do this. I had to get out of there. But before I could run, Jackson spotted me.
“Ellie.” He stood, his broad shoulders and nipped waist beautifully accentuated in navy Italian wool that brought out the blue of his eyes, a crisp white shirt underneath. God, that man could wear a suit. He’d obviously dressed for the occasion, as well.
As I approached the table, Jackson scanned my body from head to toe, lingering at my breasts, my hips, my legs. Then he glanced at my face, his eyes burning into mine, and looked away.
In that moment, I knew he wanted me.
I swallowed hard and nodded at them both.
“Hello Jackson,” I said, accepting his cold handshake with a tight, close-lipped smile. “Jennifer.”
“Thanks for joining us,” she replied sarcastically. She was obviously enjoying the reversal of our roles.
She had squeezed herself into a charcoal grey knit dress that prominently featured her ample breasts. Clearly she’d selected it for Jackson’s benefit.
I was about to sit opposite them when Alex, a waiter I knew well, appeared and pulled out my chair for me.
“Thank you Alex,” I said, already feeling more at ease.
“Would you like something to drink, Ms. Parker?” he asked.
I smiled. “I’ll just have water, please.” He nodded, but paused before heading away. “You look lovely today.”
“Thank you,” I said, feeling a slight flush in my cheeks as Jennifer scowled at me across the table.
When the waiter left, I turned to Jackson. For several moments we just looked at each other, our eyes locked. The energy between us was like a force field.
“Now that we’re all here, why don’t we get started,” Jennifer said, attempting to pry her way back into what had suddenly become a two-person party. Neither Jackson nor I said a word.
“Okay,” she continued, “so this meeting is to ensure a smooth hand-off of responsibilities, and get everyone up to speed on where the manuscript is at. And then to come up with a game plan for your writing schedule, Jackson.” Jennifer looked expectantly at Jackson, but his eyes were still on me.
“What are we doing here?” I said to him gently. “What’s going on?”
“We’re ensuring a smooth hand-off of responsibilities,” he responded. “Getting everyone up to speed.”
I shook my head. “You know that’s not what I’m asking. Jackson, talk to me. I’m right here. What did I do?”
His cool expression shifted, and for a moment I saw his anger. It was tinged with disappointment, with hurt. “You revealed yourself.”
“Why are you being cryptic?” I asked.
“I’ve never been cryptic,” he replied, leaning forward and dropping his voice to a lower register. “I needed one thing from you. I believe I was explicit.”
As we sat there staring intently at each other, I wracked my brain, struggling to remember the one thing he’d needed. The one thing I hadn’t delivered.
“Um. If we could just get back on track. . . ” Jennifer interjected awkwardly.
At that moment the waiter reappeared with my water and a notepad in hand. “Are you ready to order?” he asked brightly. The tension at the table eased up a few notches, but I wasn’t relieved at the interruption. I still had no idea what I’d done, what Jackson thought I’d done (or not done), how I’d betrayed him.
He ordered a veal chop, and Jennifer a Caesar with shrimp. I requested the daily special without finding out what it was and handed over my menu quickly, hoping no one had noticed the shaking of my hands.
When the waiter left, Jackson withdrew a couple of printed pages from a leather binder that was sitting on the table to his right. “I’d like to get opinions from both of you on a section from the new book.” He handed one page to Jennifer and another to me. “Why don’t you read it out loud, Ellie?” In his voice was a challenge.
“Alright,” I said.
“I would read softly, though,” he added. “We don’t want to shock our fellow diners.”
My curiosity was piqued. I lifted the page and began to read. “‘He sat next to her at the table. Nuzzled her neck. She spoke to him about Fitzgerald—’”
I stopped. “What’s wrong?” he taunted. “Go on.”
“I’d be happy to read it if you can’t manage,” offered Jennifer.
“No,” he said. “I’d like Ellie to read it.” Again, the challenge. I took a sip of my water and continued.
“‘She spoke to him about Fitzgerald, and he tried to keep his eyes from glazing over. As she chirped, he watched her and envisioned his cock between her full lips. He wanted to come inside her mouth. Maybe later that night. He felt himself hardening at the thought.
“‘Now she was saying something about Amory and Isabelle and Rosalind, blah blah blah. He wondered if she would drink his come. A man she barely knew. He was sure she would.’”
I felt my cheeks burning. A bead of sweat dripped between my breasts. I glanced at Jennifer. She was watching my every reaction with deep fascination, as you might watch a worm squirm on a hook.
I looked straight into his eyes. “Do you enjoy humiliating me?” I asked.
For a moment, pain flashed across his face. He looked like he wanted to reach for me. Then he seemed to force those impulses down, burying them deep inside himself somewhere where neither of us could access them.
&
nbsp; “Keep reading,” he said. I looked down at the page and continued, refusing to back down, refusing to let my voice falter.
“‘He slipped his hand under the table. Pulled up her skirt. The skirt she’d worn for him. When she’d selected the clinging fabric, had she imagined him watching the swell of her ass beneath? Had she imagined him pulling it up and bending her over the sofa, shoving his cock deep inside her juicy pussy?
“‘Under the table his hand was on her knee now. He tugged the hem of her skirt up, reaching between her thighs. She didn’t resist. She spread them for him. How easy it was to get her wet. He slid into her and fucked her with his fingers, smiling to himself at her altered breathing. How easy she was. The others at the table, they knew what was going on. They’d seen it all before. Perhaps they’d all have a good laugh later that night. Perhaps the men at the table would try for themselves. Perhaps they would all take a turn.’”
I set the page I was reading down. “Who are you?” I said to him.
Jennifer looked back and forth between us, not making a sound.
Jackson grabbed the page and took it back, anger seething in his eyes. “I’ll tell you who I am not. I’m not a fool. It was always about the book for you, wasn’t it? Everything between us, it was all about your ambition. Building your career. It’s amazing how easily I can take all of that away now, isn’t it?”
“You’re wrong.” My ears were ringing, my pulse rapid. “It wasn’t about—”
“How many others were you fucking?” he interrupted. “Was it worth it?” And the pain in his voice surpassed his fury.
“Jackson,” I responded, matching his hurt rage with slow, quiet calm. “I didn’t sleep with anyone when we were together. It never happened.”
He looked at me with such hatred. “You’re a liar.”
“You’re wrong,” I repeated, shaking my head and starting to lose my calm. “I don’t know where this is coming from, or what you’ve been told. But I’ve been honest with you every step of the way. Every moment has been true. And you know it. Why don’t you trust me?”
His smirk was chilling. “Because I choose to believe my own eyes.”
“What does that mean?” I said to him, my voice almost frantic. I looked to Jennifer; she still sat in stunned silence, though she’d inched away from the table.
“Ellie,” he hissed. “What if I told you that you can have the job back? You can edit the book. All you have to do is crawl under the table now and blow me. Suck me off, right here under the table. And the book is yours. You’ll have everything you want.”
Jennifer’s mouth gaped open. Jackson’s gaze burned into mine.
My legs were shaking and my breath was shallow. With each word, he had peeled away another layer of my heart. I knew I had to go. I stood.
“Admit it,” he said, his eyes shifting from a focused blaze to cold and distant. “It was all about the book. That’s all you cared about.”
I leaned towards him. I gave it one last chance. “The Pierre?” I whispered.
At the mention of the hotel, his chest seemed to buckle. He looked away. “Look at me,” I demanded. “Are you saying that night was a lie? Because if you believe that, then we really are lost. If you believe that. . . I don’t know what you would believe.”
He clenched his chiseled jaw. “We fucked,” he spat, his tone measured and even. “Don’t make more of it than it was.”
Suddenly I felt numb all over. I had my answer.
Because the broken thing wasn’t a promise, and it wasn’t trust. The broken thing was Ford.
I nodded my head and walked away.
Mercifully, I caught the elevator immediately. I went straight to Louise’s office. She saw me through her open door and called out for JP’s benefit, “Ellie. Come right in.” She came around the desk as I collapsed into a chair.
“What happened?” she asked. “You look. . . gutted.”
I just shook my head, still in shock. “He thinks I fucked someone else. Multiple someone elses. He thinks I’ve been playing him to get the book written.” A laugh burst out of me, one that hitched in my throat and threatened to turn into a sob.
“Men.” Louise shook her head, tapping her pen against her chin as she mulled something over.
“Listen, Ellie,” she said. “I’m moving up the release date on the Demeris book. We’re going to put her novel in Jackson’s slot. Can she handle that?”
“Yes,” I said. “Phoebe’s in great shape. But why push the release?”
“I’m thinking we should get you out of his cross-hairs. You’ve never taken vacation; maybe now’s the time for a break. What do you have? Three, four weeks? This way you keep collecting a paycheck, but we give Ford some time to cool off.”
It was such a kind gesture. “You are surprising, Hayden,” I said. And she smiled.
“Carolyn can cover your desk, and you’ll stay in touch with Phoebe over the phone. I’ll put someone else on your other writers if they need a lifeline while you’re out.”
I thought it over. She was right. This was the best course of action for everyone, as much as I hated the idea of hiding out. “Okay,” I said. “Thank you, Louise.”
I went to my office and gave Carolyn the broad strokes. Then I packed some things into a tote bag, gave her a hug, and took the elevator to the lobby.
Bianca and Maggie stood up when they saw me approaching. I looked into their anxious faces and answered their unspoken questions with a shake of my head. “It was brutal,” I said. “I’m taking a few weeks off.”
“What do you need?” asked B.
I thought about it. “Flats.” She laughed.
“I’ll get the Jeep,” said Mags.
Then the three of us walked slowly out of the building and into the bustling streets of New York.
When Maggie pulled up, Bianca and I climbed in. I slipped out of my heels and curled up in the passenger seat, pressing my head to the window’s cool glass. “Why don’t we go back to my place?” proposed Bianca. Mags looked to me for approval.
“Okay,” I replied. They waited the whole ride for me to volunteer something, anything. Finally, as we neared B’s apartment, I spilled.
“He thinks I slept with someone else.”
Bianca was speechless.
“Why would he think that?” said Maggie, voicing surprise for both of them.
“I don’t know, but it wasn’t Carpenter. She’s clueless. I think she actually felt sorry for me.”
“What did he say when you told him you didn’t?” asked B.
A bitter smile rose to my lips. “He didn’t believe me.”
They said nothing.
“He was so cruel,” I continued. “He was almost unrecognizable. Every now and then there was a flash of the man I knew, and then he would disappear.”
“I’ll kick his ass if you want, El,” offered Mags.
“I’m so sorry,” said B. “I wanted it to work out. I wanted this to be over.”
“It is over,” I said. “He doesn’t trust me. How can we build anything if there’s no trust?”
Bianca nodded. Mags squeezed my shoulder. And they allowed me a moment of silence as I mourned my heart.
24
I stayed with Bianca until Wednesday and then with Maggie until Sunday night. Over the course of those seven days, they took my shredded heart and began to reassemble it piece by piece.
My friends spent hours with me, listening to me vent and cry and say the same things over and over again. We rehashed and dissected every word Jackson had spoken, went over every piece of the puzzle, trying to make sense of it all. And it wasn’t just the pain of losing him, or how unreasonable he’d been. I also worried about my job, my entire career. How far would Jackson go?
Would my job disappear and with it my ability to care for my mother? Every day I expected a phone call from Louise informing me that I had been fired. Every day I expected the guillotine to drop. After the first week or so, those fears finally began to recede.
<
br /> On the Friday of my second week, Maggie asked me to help her in the shop. It was a thinly veiled attempt to direct my focus elsewhere, but I acquiesced. Not being at work was giving me cabin fever, and my sadness was starting to feel monotonous.
She picked me up bright and early with a bakery box of my favorite pecan sticky buns and two extra hot coffees to get us going. Together we cleaned up her workroom, sorting swatches of leather, suede and fabric, organizing her tools and equipment and the different types of wood she would eventually transform into sculpted heels.
The work was methodical and mindless and it suited me perfectly. I lost myself in the smell of shoe polish, the smooth textures of the leather and suede, and the jingle of the bells on her shop door. I was regaining my senses.
On Sunday afternoon, Bianca joined us in Brooklyn, and the three of us went to Prospect Park. The day was unseasonably warm for late autumn, and I basked in the sunlight that warmed my cheeks and eyelids. We meandered along the paths, crossed old stone bridges. Maggie brought a sketch pad.
We found a great spot on the grass, and Mags began sketching an elderly woman who was sitting on a bench opposite us. A boy of about ten was tossing a Frisbee to his frisky Lab, and when the disc landed near me I picked it up and flung it back. The Frisbee sailed high and the dog leapt to catch it.
“Hey,” yelled the boy. “How did you do that?”
“It’s easy,” I replied. And I spent the next half-hour teaching him my moves.
When the boy left, I rejoined my friends. “I’ve been thinking about going up to the cabin,” I told them. “Fix it up. Take some pictures for the listing. I might as well use this time.”
“By yourself?” asked Maggie, anxiously. “We could come with. . . ”
“I need to do this, just me. We’ll talk by phone,” I assured them. “I’ll be fine.”
When I got home that afternoon, I fixed myself some soup and rifled through my pockets for my phone. The battery had died at some point and the phone had turned itself off, so I plugged it in. Minutes later, as I was rinsing my bowl in the sink, it buzzed with an incoming email. When I picked up my cell to check my inbox, my stomach dropped.
