by Avery Laval
“Anyone? Or anyone but Grant Blakely?” Marissa asked. Jenna felt her mouth drop in shock.
“Oh, no. Is it that obvious?” she asked.
“Not at all. And don’t worry, I’m a vault when I need to be,” said Marissa, and Jenna fully believed her. “It’s just that Grant called me ten minutes ago, asked me if I’d been in touch with you, but wouldn’t say why. He just said if I was planning on giving you a call anyway, it might as well be right now. The whole thing was highly suspicious to a trained detective like me.”
“He asked you to call me?” she said, hope bubbling up to the surface against her will. “Did he say anything else?”
Marissa paused. “No, I’m sorry. You know how stoic he can be.”
“Of course,” Jenna said, embarrassed by her reaction. “And this isn’t high school—I don’t know why I thought for a second he might be communicating through you. I’m so embarrassed I even asked.”
“Don’t be,” Marissa said. “We’ve all been there. It must be tough with a guy like Grant, though—I imagine he’d be particularly inscrutable when the chips were down.”
“You have no idea,” Jenna said, feeling completely comfortable confiding in her. “One second things were…” she trailed off rather than give too many details. “Well, very good, and the next second, disaster.”
“You poor thing. Can I come over and feed you a bucket of chocolate caramel swirl as big as a house?”
Jenna thought for a second about saying yes. Any company would be welcome in this kind of misery. But her pride wouldn’t allow it. She could confess a little upset over the phone—that was one thing. A full-on sobfest in front of this woman, whom she wanted so much to like and respect her, was another thing entirely.
“It’s late, and I think I’d rather be alone, as incredibly thoughtful as that offer is, “ she said dejectedly. “But will you do me a favor?”
“Anything.”
“If Saturday rolls around and I’m not on your couch in sweatpants watching When Harry Met Sally, then would you do whatever it takes to remedy that situation?” Jenna tried to make her voice light to match the words, “Because no matter how bad I may feel right now, there’s no way I’m missing out on a gala event at Marissa Madden’s house over some guy.”
Marissa laughed, and Jenna was glad despite everything that she’d taken this call. “You can count on it. In the meantime, happy wallowing. I’ll see you in a week!” she said, and disconnected. Jenna looked at the phone, wishing for a moment that she could slip through it into Marissa’s life and out of her own. Marissa was probably off to the pool for an evening soak, or maybe planning to putter around in the kitchen and whip up a midnight snack for the whole Madden family. Whereas Jenna had a busy schedule of feeling so heartbroken she couldn’t even get out of bed, followed by crying alone.
Damn that Grant Blakely. She should have gotten up, baked cookies, watched a movie—anything but wallowed in the loss she felt for his warm arms and heady scent. But the moment’s relief she’d felt from talking to Marissa was already gone. And in its place, the misery of knowing the man she loved would never return the feeling.
Despite all the tears, Jenna felt no better on Monday than she had the night before. Was love supposed to make you feel this miserable? she asked herself, for the fiftieth time. If only she’d stuck to her mother’s way of doing things. Her mother’s philosophy of life had no room for falling in love against all better judgment. Nor had it room for wallowing in heartbreak.
But it also had no room for the passion she and Grant had shared. And all the heartbreak in the world couldn’t erase the skin-memory of his hands tracing the curves of her body, the trail of kisses that still seemed to burn on her neck.
Would she have done it again, despite the hurt she felt now?
Probably. She was that far gone.
Even though she’d slept hardly at all, she’d set the alarm to make sure she got up with plenty of time to stand in a long, hot shower and try to steam the tracks of her tears away. It kind of worked, she thought glumly. Kind of. She still had red puffy eyes, and her skin still looked sallow. Anyone with half a heart would take one look at her and see the sadness written all over her face.
Luckily, Grant didn’t have half a heart. She threw on a dark purple shell sweater and the black skirt from her suit, draped a brightly colored scarf around her shoulders to distract from her raggedness, and pulled her hair back into a tight chignon. She even passed up wearing a fun pair of shoes—what a sad day when her peep-toe heels couldn’t cheer her up—and popped on a plain black pair of ballerina flats. In the mirror she saw the picture of a composed, businesslike personal assistant. She looked almost bland, she thought, with no trace of amusement.
The drive to the office was spent lost in sullen thoughts. She imagined seeing Grant for the first time since their fight and what he would say to her. A tiny part of her dared to hope he’d be waiting with an apology—or at least some kind of explanation for his behavior. Maybe he’d take her aside and tell her he loved her and had been a fool.
And maybe the earth would suddenly start spinning in the opposite direction. More likely, she’d walk in and he’d say something completely impersonal, maybe ask for coffee, no cream or sugar, or have a document he needed revised out at the snap of his fingers. Doubtless, he’d act like nothing had transpired between them, like they were nothing more than employee and employer. It would be worse than total scorn or angry yelling, because it would confirm what she knew had to be true. He felt nothing for her. Nothing at all.
But when she reached her desk, she found a strange sight. A beautiful bouquet of Gerbera daisies in a riot of oranges, yellows, and reds plunged into a lovely green ceramic vase was sitting right on top of her desk. They were unbelievably cheery, with their vibrant colors and feathery petals spinning around the bud like sunbeams. Not apology flowers. Not romantic flowers. Just friends flowers, maybe?
She looked for a note, first amongst the lush stems and leaves, then on her desk. She had just lifted the vase and discovered a little white envelope taped to the bottom when she was interrupted by the entry of a visitor.
She looked at the man, an older dark-skinned gentleman wearing a well-tailored gray suit and carrying a smart leather briefcase she recognized from an expensive boutique in the Galleria. She glanced at her watch. Eight-thirty a.m. A very early hour for a meeting, she thought, even understanding Grant’s workaholic tendencies as she now did. Slipping the envelope under a file folder on her desk, she stood and offered him her hand. Her curiosity at its contents would have to wait.
“Good morning, sir,” she said, tearing her mind away from the note. She looked at the visitor’s face for the first time, and wondered at how familiar he looked, but she couldn’t place him. She knew he didn’t work there—she’d met the bulk of the senior staff through the meetings she’d organized so far—but felt that she’d seen him before, somewhere. Probably just in one of the business magazines she’d flipped through or as a talking head on TV.
“Morning,” the gentleman said amiably. “I’m here to see Blakely. I have an appointment.”
“Oh dear,” Jenna said, searching her memory. “I’m afraid I didn’t remember there being any appointments on Mr. Blakely’s calendar this morning. If you’ll give me just a moment to settle in and check the records, then I’ll be happy to assist you.”
“Of course, of course,” the gentleman said. “I’m not surprised he didn’t get me on the official calendar. He only just set this appointment up with me late last night.”
Jenna shook her head, a bit disoriented by his comment. Even after their terrible fight, Grant had gone right back to work last night as if nothing had happened? Well, of course he had. This man had probably agreed to meet first thing to talk about Grant’s precious land deal. It stung to think that while she was drying her tears over him last night, he had forgotten her and gotten back to work.
She looked to his office door, and found it closed. Ha
d he beaten her in again today, maybe left those flowers on her desk on the way in? Her heart started to race with possibilities. What if he had come in early for the meeting and swung by a flower shop to make a peace offering? Perhaps he’d considered what she’d said, and realized that his impression of her had been wrong all this time.
No, Jenna, she scolded herself. Don’t think it. Even if he did apologize for a million years, he’ll never change what he thinks of you. To him you’re nothing more than a party girl looking for an easy way out.
She turned her face back to the calendar, hoping it wasn’t growing red at the thought of their awful fight and the cruel things they’d both said. Then she searched and searched…and found nothing.
“I’m sorry, sir, but Grant—Mr. Blakely doesn’t seem to have put anything into the schedule for this morning. Surely we’re just getting our wires crossed. If I could just tell him you’re here, Mr.…uh…”
The man chuckled at her obvious fishing. “Isn’t that just like Grant, never to be prepared for anything?” he asked. Jenna frowned. No, that wasn’t like him at all. She let the confusion spread over her face.
“Never mind,” the man said, with a casual wave of his hand. “Just tell him Mr. Richards is here to see him.”
She buzzed Grant on her intercom, once, then twice. There was no answer. So she moved to his door and knocked, and when her knocks went unanswered, she tried the door. Locked. It was never locked when he was in the building.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Richards,” she said, turning to face the man, “but Mr. Blakely doesn’t seem to be in at the moment. I think we’ve simply missed each other, but I know he’d rather not waste another moment of your time. I do apologize for the inconvenience.”
“Not your fault,” the man said warmly. “These things happen. I don’t mind waiting.”
Jenna frowned. If Grant was on a building site this morning, this man could be waiting all day. But before she could suggest rescheduling, the man spoke again.
“Say,” he looked at her, an infectious smile spreading on his face. “You look very familiar. Have we met?”
Jenna smiled back at him, happy to pull his attention away from the missed appointment. “I was just thinking that about you,” she admitted. “I’m Jenna McCormick.” She crossed the room and extended her hand to the man.
“Of course!” he exclaimed, shaking her hand heartily. “Mac’s daughter. You’ve got his eyes.”
Jenna warmed to the sound of her dad’s old nickname. “Did you know him?” she asked.
“Did I ever! He and I were old friends in college,” he said. “He was a great friend even when UNLV was barely integrated. We still had that godawful confederate mascot, don’t know if your dad ever told you about that.”
“Of course he did, and they changed it thanks to a petition he helped create,” said Jenna, delighted at this turn of events. “Did you keep in touch after graduation?”
“Sure we did,” the man said, patting the seat next to his for Jenna to join him. “Right up until the end. I saw him at that last college reunion—that’s how I recognized you. He showed pictures of you and your brother around to anyone who’d look.”
Jenna crossed the room to sit next to her father’s friend. “What was he like in college?” she asked, Grant and the flowers all the heartbreak momentarily forgotten.
“Well,” the man started. “Your father had a hell of a wild streak,” he said. “Until he met your mom, that is. She tamed him so fast all of our heads were spinning. But could we blame him? The way he looked at her—well, is it any wonder he went into the jewelry business with a woman like that on his arm?” he chortled.
Jenna laughed along with him, enjoying the sensation of a smile on her face after a night of crying. “She did enjoy a bauble from time to time, didn’t she?”
“Sure did. Those two were quite a pair.” The man’s voice drifted off as he looked at his watch. “Holy Moses, that Blakely does know how to keep a man waiting, doesn’t he? Where did you say he was right now?”
Jenna’s smile faded only a hair. “He’s probably at one of his building sites,” she answered, hoping he would go back to telling stories about her parents. “Or checking out that land he was researching,” she added without thinking. “But you must know all about that. I’m surprised he didn’t just ask you to meet him there.”
“You know, come to think of it, maybe he did,” the man said, slowly, not moving his eyes from her face as he spoke. “Wouldn’t that just be the thing? If he was waiting for me over there and I was waiting for him over here?” He chuckled, perhaps more than the thought actually deserved. Then he paused, as though he were gathering his thoughts. “Say, Jenna, you wouldn’t mind looking up that address for me so I can go on down and see if he’s there? That way we don’t have him storming up here like a wet cat when he gives up waiting on me.”
Jenna frowned for a moment. She had no reason to suspect anything of an old friend of her father’s, but something about the situation didn’t feel right. If he was involved in the land deal, wouldn’t he know exactly where the land in question was? She tried to think of a way to politely refuse him, but he snapped his fingers abruptly, setting her on edge.
“I’m sure the address is in that computer of yours,” he said, suddenly impatient.
Jenna bit her lip. “Uh, I’m sure you’re right,” she agreed, deciding to stall for time. “If you’ll just give me a moment—” she began, but as she spoke, she noticed that the visitor’s eyes left Jenna’s face and moved up, up above her head. Jenna stopped too, turned to look behind her, and felt the smile dissolve from her face.
For she saw Grant standing there, frozen in place, with a look of rage on his face that absolutely terrified her. “What the hell?” he said, loudly, and then bee-lined straight for her father’s friend. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, forcefully grabbing the man’s arm and yanking him out of his seat.
Jenna jumped up to rescue him. “You made an appointment with him last night, remember?”
“I did no such thing. If I had, it would have been in the calendar, as I’ve told you before.” He dragged the man by the arm to the center of the waiting room, looking at him and then Jenna with shock. “Jenna!” he hissed at her. “What are you thinking, palling around with him, of all the people in the world? I—” he ran his hand over his hair. “I came here to apologize to you. But now—”
Jenna stared at both men blankly, no idea what was going on here, hearing the word “apologize” echo in her head. “But he went to college with my father,” she said, lamely.
Grant slapped his forehead, wincing as if it was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. “For God’s sake, Jenna, don’t you know who this man is? Doesn’t he look even remotely familiar to you?”
Jenna stared again at the much older man whom Grant had firmly by the arm, wondering why either of them deserved this treatment. She was just talking to an old family friend.
Wait. Oh, dear God. The connection, the familiarity she’d felt when she’d first seen the man. It had seemed so distant then, but now that he was standing right next to Grant, the recognition hit her like a ton of bricks. She felt her knees buckle and reached onto the large mahogany desk for support.
“Your father,” she said, quietly, waves of shame threatening to drown her.
“Yes. Meet my father, Richard Blakely, ex-con.” Grant sighed, an ironic smile on his face like this was all some bad joke he’d heard a thousand times. “Dad, this is my personal assistant, Jenna McCormick.”
“We’ve met,” the older man said, cruel laughter in his voice. “Haven’t we, Jenna?”
She pulled further away from both men. “You’ve never even met my father, have you?”
Grant’s father laughed again, a cold, harsh sound. “Quick learner,” he said to Grant, gesturing at Jenna like she couldn’t hear. “But not quick enough.” He turned back to her. “Even in prison I heard all about how my boy stole your family company ou
t from under you. A chip off the old block, wouldn’t you say?”
Jenna looked at the man, disgust creeping over her. Grant had hurt her, yes, but he would never stoop to the low tactics his father was capable of. “I wouldn’t say anything of the sort.” Her voice was low and fierce, but it didn’t stop his bitter chuckles. “You’re supposed to be in jail.”
“Ah, but I got released on parole, didn’t I, son?” He turned to Grant, grinned at him, and Jenna’s heart broke all over again at the thought of going through life with a father like this. “Gave him a call the moment I was back in town, couldn’t wait to make up for lost time. Tried to make an appointment with him for this morning, but he told me he was ‘too busy.’ Too busy for his own father! So I thought, what can be better than a surprise visit from dear old dad?” He shook his head in mock disappointment. “And this is how he greets me.”
“Get out.” Grant’s voice was hard, cold, bitter. It scared Jenna to hear the steel in his tone. Still grasping the older man by his forearm, he yanked roughly and began to drag him towards the door.
“I’m going, I’m going,” Richard said, wrenching his arm from Grant and rolling it around at the shoulder like an abused prisoner. “Jeez, you haven’t changed a bit from that day that you put me in a jail cell and threw away the key.”
“Get out. Now.” Grant’s voice shook like thunder.
“Yes, sir,” Richard said mockingly, giving Grant a fake salute and then sauntering out of the room like he did this sort of thing every day. Which he probably would have, Jenna thought, if he hadn’t been locked up in jail until now.
“And you.” Grant whipped around on her now and look on his face was nothing but empty disappointment. It nearly broke her heart all over again to see it.
“Grant, I’m so sorry I didn’t kick him out myself. I had no idea who he was.”
“Of course you didn’t,” he scowled. “You’re right that I judged you wrongly, but I was right about one thing: how different we are. Your pampered childhood made you too naive to know a con when you see one.”
