My cell buzzed and broke my concentration. Jack.
Their extension was denied this time. The depositions will occur as scheduled.
Click, click. The court reporter, perched inconspicuously in the corner of the large boardroom, typed quickly. I felt my heart fluttering madly. One milligram of Xanax, zero sleep the night before, and many prayers later, I was as ready as I would ever be. Dressed to a tee in my brand new suit, I appeared professional, but inside I swam against the current in an ocean of emotion, splashing through every ounce of anxiety in an effort to gain the courage I needed.
The time arrived for Jeff’s deposition to begin. Oaths were taken and Jack and his co-counsel positioned themselves. I stared at Covington’s legal counsel, stone-faced and whispering in their sharp suits. Jeff didn’t look at me. This wasn’t the time for fake smiles and casual hellos. Given the physical distance between parties, depositions were to take place within a two-day period.
“Please state your name for the record…” Jack smiled cordially. The court reporter straightened her glasses, ready to begin.
“Jeffrey Tyler.”
“Where were you born?”
“Atlanta, Georgia.”
“Ah! I’m a Braves fan. I haven’t missed a home game in five years.”
Jeff actually smiled.
After the usual pleasantries, I could see the demeanor in Jack’s smile shift.
“Mr. Tyler, did you respond in writing to Mrs. Cook’s emails on April third?” He fanned a printed email in the air. “Mrs. Cook requested information on how to improve her ratings, which had never been less than superior before.”
Jeff coughed nervously. “I check in with my representatives several times a week, and my preferred method of communication is the telephone.”
“A yes or no answer, please, Mr. Tyler.”
He clutched the table, and a flush crept up his cheeks. “No.”
“How about on May twenty-fifth?”
Jeff looked extremely uncomfortable. He loosened the tie around his neck. “No.”
“How about on August seventeenth? Did you respond in writing then?”
A long silence passed. “No.”
“No paper trail, eh?” Confident, Jack raised his eyebrows and scanned his notes. “What did Jana do to see her ratings slip so drastically? We’ve already established that her sales performance was consistently superior, and she has never been warned by Human Resources on any occasion.” Jack paused. “Her former territory manager, Chris Broome, contends that Jana’s work ethic was superb. Reviews from her previous regional manager, Matthew Haywood, state that both her sales numbers and behaviors ranked in the top ten percent of the company.”
“Jana did not cooperate with the tenured territory manager in her geography. She refused to attend promotional events that were required.”
Furious, I slipped Jack a note under the table.
Jack cleared his throat. “We have clear documentation showing Jana’s desire to cooperate with Mr. Olivier. Regarding the promotional event, are you referring to Jana’s refusal to go to a bar with customers, while she was sick, at a medical convention?” He held up a copy of an email pointedly.
Jeff’s face turned white, and a murmur traced its way among Covington Company’s attorneys. “Uh-um, no.” I waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t.
Jack glanced at Covington’s counsel, and then fixed his intimidating eyes back on Jeff. “I understand the scale utilized to determine placement of employees was validated, but it’s undeniably subjective. Can you please explain why you ranked Jana a three out of six on the category described as ‘Selling Competency’? I find it strange that an employee who consistently wins national awards is rated average on her selling competency by her manager.”
“My opinion as her supervisor is that her partner’s selling skills were superior to hers and led to their success.” Jeff coughed nervously, refusing to meet my angry stare.
I fought back tears of fury and frustration, but Jack didn’t miss a beat. He fired questions left and right…
“ Your opinion … I see. In your opinion, I see that your initial rating of Jana was a five out of six in that competency, shortly after you hired her … prior to her pregnancy. Is that correct?”
Boom. I wanted to jump up out of my seat and tackle-hug Jack.
Jeff looked at his attorneys with a twinge of fear. “Yes.”
The rest of his deposition flew by in a blur. Jack fired questions, his confidence radiating.
“Jana won the company’s national award two years in a row. When was the last award Mr. Olivier won?”
“On August first, you questioned Jana’s ability to perform her job once she became a parent. Can you explain this blatant discrimination?”
“Jana was voted ‘Most Valuable Player’ among those in her position last year, and Mr. Haywood remarks that Jana’s team spirit is ‘contagious’ and ‘remarkable’ in her performance review. Chris Broome supports that statement. Can you explain why you rated her a two out of six on team contribution?”
Covington Company’s attorneys were sharp as a tack and definitely helped Jeff redeem himself, but my gut told me it was not enough to discredit me.
Jeff’s deposition was over before I knew it, and we moved on. Chris and Dr. Tynes painted a picture of me as an excellent teammate and device representative. The opposing counsel couldn’t shake them, no matter how they tried. Chris never faltered, even when they tried to pit us against one another.
My own deposition began at two o’clock the next day. Fatigued, I willed my shaking knees to still and my pounding heart to slow. Jack prepared me for what to expect. My opposition tried to discredit everything, from my conversation with Kevin, to my emails to Jeff, to my execution of my every day responsibilities. With a confidence I did not know I possessed, I sailed through with flying colors.
One question surprised me, though: “Mrs. Cook, you are the daughter-in-law of former United States senator Allen Cook, is that correct?”
“Yes.” My eyes widened as they exchanged an unreadable glance.
When it was over, Jack placed his hand on my shoulder as they walked out, boasting a smile full of pride.
“Why did they ask about Allen?” I faced him, hungrily gulping back the ice water his secretary brought me. I was famished.
“Your father-in-law’s positive political reputation will be something they consider, not to mention any connections he may still have where it matters.” He grinned. “You did great, Jana. Sometimes when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. You just made lemonade.”
I grinned, my anxiety melting away with his old-fashioned saying.
“The worst part is over. Slam dunk, kid. Slam dunk.”
All things work together … the whisper.
SHE LIFTED MY left hand lackadaisically, exposing my two-carat heirloom style diamond ring. “Look at that rock. Andrew must want everyone to be damn sure you are off the market.” She cast a seductive look at Andrew and slyly raced her eyes up and down the length of my green Vera Wang gown that clung to every curve. “Can’t say I blame him.”
She was Andrew’s completely out-of-the-closet bisexual office manager Darla, and she had already downed too many gin and tonics. His office holiday party was in full swing, and Darla was making her rounds, scanning the room for a bed to end up in. Absolutely harmless, but annoying.
“At least this time, it’s me getting hit on in front of you,” I teased, playfully running my nails up and down Andrew’s arm.
He grinned and pulled me close. “You look stunning. My fantastic trophy wife.”
Trophy Wife (AKA Tina) and her awful fake tan and overdone breasts flashed through my mind, and I winced. “For God’s sake, I am not a trophy wife.”
“Yes, you are.” Darla was back again, handing Andrew a Corona and me another glass of Pinot Noir. She grinned, and I envied her pearly white teeth.
“Gorgeous, smart, and a sweet little stay-at-home mom
my, now, right?”
I grimaced. “Right, Darla. Thanks for the compliments.” Politely, I sipped the wine she brought. It was too warm for my taste.
“Do you dye your hair or is it naturally that dark?”
“It’s naturally this dark.” Self-consciously, my right hand sprung to my hair, which was spun up in an elegant up-do, courtesy of Jessica.
“Love you, babes.” She trotted off loudly, lumbering for Andrew’s boss, who was belligerently drunk and falling all over some new guy’s wife. “Andrew, take care of that girl while I go take care of Max. Better keep her at home with those model legs and that fabulous face.”
“I bet she’ll take care of Max, all right.” Andrew rolled his eyes. Max, a divorcee with three children who hated him and an ex-wife who raped half his salary, would never miss an opportunity for a no-strings-attached rendezvous.
Chuckling in agreement, I set the wine down on the nearest round table, the once pristine tablecloth already littered with half empty glasses and dotted with stains. Dinner was fabulous—filet mignon, grilled to a perfect medium plus, drowned in a light garlic cream sauce with organic greens and the best scalloped potatoes I had ever tasted. I polished Andrew’s leftover potatoes and the final quarter of his strawberry cheesecake. I paid for it with interest, ending up with a bulging, uncomfortable waistline.
As soon as the glass touched the tabletop, Andrew whisked me into his arms as several couples around us danced to an old love song. “Relax and dance with me.” The warmth radiating from his muscular physique drove familiar shocks of electricity through my body. I stood taller and pressed my hips closer to him, wishing we were alone.
“I feel myself forgetting that I’m suing my company, my best friend is in heaven, and that I have a precious baby who I miss terribly.” The alcohol skipped its way through my bloodstream, and all I could think about was stripping my clothes off. There was no way to explain it, but our sex life was better than ever. Maybe the manufacturer of this new birth control pill had a whole new market to tap into…
“Good,” he whispered, gently pulling my head to rest on his shoulder. I caught a whiff of his masculine cologne and felt myself getting turned on.
“You make me feel beautiful,” I whispered back, closing my eyes.
After a romantic pause, his whisper rose to a sweet murmur. “You sing to Calla even though you can’t carry a tune because she smiles when she hears your voice. You bring dinner to sick neighbors even though your schedule is packed, and you leave extra tips on the table for single mothers. And the way you paint with your heart … if those things are not beautiful, nothing is.”
I melted, swaying in time to the music, wondering for the millionth time how I got so lucky to marry Andrew Cook. I listened to friends fantasize, clearly dissatisfied with their marriages. We certainly had our problems, (hello—job loss, death of best friend, a move—three of the top five life stressors bit us all at once) but at the end of the day, I was certain of one thing: I married my fantasy.
My lips found his, and I tasted him, not minding the tinges of Corona. Nor did I care who was watching. “How long do we have to stay? I need your mouth over every square inch of my body.” My temperature rising, I sighed and tightened my grip around his neck.
Andrew backed up until we were hidden behind a sculpture. I felt the steady beat of his heart as his mouth traced its way down my neck, sending shivers up my spine. “Jana, if you keep talking like that, we are going to have to find an empty room.” The growing arousal in his eyes was provocative as hell, especially coming from the man who loved me unconditionally.
I reveled in the fact that I could turn him on with such little effort.
I raised my eyebrows. “I’m up for it.”
“Whoa.” Grinning, Andrew pointedly steered us back toward the crowd. While my hormones raged, he swirled me around in tune with the music, our semi-formal attire glistening in the lights. “Slow down, sexy. I’ve got plans for the night. But we have to stay until Max gives his speech.” He rolled his eyes carelessly.
“Plans?” Plans that didn’t involve going home to a fussy baby named Calla? Jessica and Daniel were babysitting. “I like the sound of that, if it involves me and you and maybe a shower…”
“It’s a surprise.” His vivid eyes—the ones that had me at hello—hypnotized me as they always had and always would. One mesmerizing look and my knees weakened, even after years of intimacy. “You amaze me, Jana Cook.”
I’ll show you amazing later, I thought slyly.
Eyes closed, I gently placed my lips on his and opened my mouth, inviting his tongue to dance with mine. Andrew’s kissing was positively professional, seducing me into surrendering to his sexual advances far earlier in our relationship than I intended. Gone was the good girl who should have made him wait. My clothes were thrown on the floor before he could ask me my boundaries.
Our kiss deepened, and I imagined he was probably swelling under those fitted pants. I willed my mind to stop wandering where it shouldn’t before we both suffered unbidden frustration for the rest of the night. No matter how many times I’d had that man, my desire for him never lessened. I wanted him again, and again, and again…
“Ah-hem!” Max, eyes bloodshot and shirt sloppily un-tucked, clapped his hands together and fumbled around with the hand-held microphone that Darla gave him. He stood in the center of the room, clearing his throat. “I have a few words to say. This has been a fun night, huh? Max does it right!” He grinned heartily and sloshed his drink around in the air in something like a toast.
His gesture was met with cheers from the men and looks of disdain from their wives. Darla stood at Max’s side and shrugged her shoulders apologetically at the crowd.
“So, if I may have your attention…”
The few couples still chatting quieted and turned their attention to Max and Darla, who yanked her dress at the shoulders to hide her plunging neckline. The act itself steered the eyes of every man to her voluptuous breasts. Max’s eyes lingered somewhere between her ribcage and collarbone before focusing his attention back on his employees and their guests.
“A hard pecker has no conscience,” a woman probably in her late-sixties muttered. I failed at stifling my laughter, and within milliseconds I experienced Andrew’s hard jab in my side.
Max’s words slurred. Annoyed, I cringed at his redneck tone, and my expression matched that of several other wives who were also forced to listen to his obligatory spill. “Thank you for all being here tonight. You are all very important to this company, and I could not ask for a stronger group of employees. You sacrifice a lot for the success of your company, and your efforts are not in vain. We have made great strides this year and gained clients I never dreamed we would sign.”
Several claps emerged from the crowd. I linked my arm through Andrew’s and winked at him. This was the part where holiday bonuses would be announced. Max adored Andrew and told him he was invaluable—that moving up quickly was a sure thing. Andrew expected an impressive bonus, at least in the low five digits.
Max jammed his hands in his pockets and started to look uncomfortable. My spirits sinking, I sensed his announcement was not favorable.
“That being said, corporate has made the unfortunate decision to withhold holiday bonuses this year. I know this comes as a surprise and a disappointment to you—”
Sighs and groans erupted, and Darla slammed her wine glass down so hard the liquid flew into the air and landed on the unlucky dresses of two senior accountants’ wives. They were clearly furious.
Max continued to blunder about the economy, the rewards he anticipated for next year, how much he appreciated his employees’ hard work and loyalty, blah blah blah. At the mention of no holiday bonus, I tuned him out. My eyes stayed fixed on Andrew, who seethed with discouragement.
“This is bullshit,” he said under his breath. “This firm is doing fine financially.” He crossed his arms tightly, frustrated.
I squeezed his arm, hoping I was
comforting. “I’m sorry.”
I would have to work extra hard to make him forget about this tonight…
Max cleared his throat again, loudly. “However, we do have a lot to be thankful for. Although we aren’t getting a bonus this year, we do still have our jobs. Not everyone has been so lucky.”
As he chugged back the rest of his drink, his bloodshot eyes locked in on mine. Point taken.
“Mmmmm…”
I was bound until death do us part to the king of suck-up seduction. Our suite at the Grand Hotel in Point Clear was saturated with everything that whispered “second honeymoon.” He missed no detail, including a sexy new chemise that made me feel as hot as a porn star. The Lindt truffles didn’t make it five minutes in my presence, and I wasted no time running the Victoria’s Secret Love Spell bubbles, my favorite, under the gushing water of the elegantly tiled Jacuzzi tub. With two glasses of Robert Mondavi’s Moscato d’Oro waiting to be enjoyed, we sunk into the water, the steam evaporating any stress that lingered in our bodies.
“Mmmmm is right.” Facing me, he reached out his hand until our fingers locked. “This was overdue.”
“Way overdue.” I relished my first sip of wine, my taste buds dancing at its sweetness. “You are so good to me.”
After leaning in to lock his lips with mine, our eyes met in an intense gaze after he broke the kiss. “I’m a smart man, Jana. When I asked you to marry me, I told you that you would never feel unloved. I meant it.”
“How are we different than other couples? We’ve been through so much, and we have so many differences … but we still want each other.”
“Because we want to.” He paused as I pondered his response. “I wanted to take care of you the moment I laid eyes on you. I didn’t just want to fuck you. I wanted to kiss you. I wanted to talk to you for hours. I wanted to feel your body curled up beside mine every morning. I saw us in rocking chairs on the front porch in our seventies, laughing until we cried under the stars. I wanted all of you, and I always will. Love is not a feeling, Jana. It’s a commitment. And I’m committed to loving you every day for the rest of my life, no matter what happens.”
The Storm (Fairhope) Page 20
