Feverish (Bullet #3)

by Jade C. Jamison

  “Yes, you did. But I’m your father, and it’s my job to worry.” He smiled at his daughter. She noticed how the crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes had grown more prominent over the last few years, and his hair had turned a salt-and-pepper color. Maybe her going to school really had been harder on him than she’d thought. “I just wanted you to know I think Bryce is a good choice for a husband, Em. No, you don’t need my blessing, but you have it just the same.”

  Yes, Bryce was an excellent choice for a husband…which was why she’d stuck by him long after the initial spark had fizzled. Honestly, the only thing they had in common was their degree—both were going into business. Aside from that, they were night and day. He was from a well-to-do family and he had an older brother and younger sister; Emily was from a down-to-earth middle-class family that consisted of herself and her father. Her dad’s brother also had a family, but they lived in Delaware and Emily and her father didn’t have much opportunity to visit. They were like an island unto themselves. Her father had always been heavily involved in his church, though, and they were like a second family to him, and Emily had gotten the idea that he might be interested in a woman who’d started attending a few months ago. She couldn’t get him to talk about it, though.

  That was fair, she guessed, because he couldn’t get her to talk much about Bryce, either. She knew her dad worried about her, rational or not, and she wanted to remove that concern. She’d known from the first that her dad liked Bryce. Her dad wasn’t much for airs or titles, but Bryce was a bit of a charismatic smooth talker, and he’d wormed his way into her father’s heart. In fact, he’d been the first guy to do so, and Emily was convinced it was because her father saw what Bryce could do for her.

  Over the years too, Emily had been an outside observer with her friends’ families. Their parents seemed happy and content, and one by one, over the years, those marriages crumbled. The first was Sam, a girl she’d lost touch with once they entered high school, but Sam’s parents split in the third grade. They were young and Sam didn’t understand it much (nor did Em), but there was a vague impression that there was another woman in the picture. Her other elementary school friend Tracy’s mom had been single from the get go. Then in middle school, her new friend Kim’s parents got a divorce. In high school, one by one, she saw the rest of them happen. If the original parents were still together, they split up sometime during those four years. She knew two—two!—people whose parents were still committed to each other and their family was intact. There were others who’d remarried since splitting in the younger years. Some of them had much more successful marriages the second time around, but a few did not. Emily still believed she would have rather weathered a divorce than lose her mom in a tragedy, but she suspected, deep in her heart, that her parents’ marriage wouldn’t have lasted any better than those of her friends.

  So when it came to her own relationships, she was pragmatic. She learned at a young age that it was better to extricate her heart from the matter and instead focus on how a relationship would benefit her life. The first two boys broke her heart when they called it quits, but Emily saw that as being similar to marriage. One of the boys said he just wanted to explore other relationships, and the other was nice enough about how he said what he said, but Em surmised that he just didn’t like her much after spending time with her.

  Emily never stopped to think that some of her friends’ marriages ended because the woman wanted them to. She imagined it all the man’s fault. And after dating a lot of guys through high school and college and getting serious with several of them, she realized she couldn’t have it all. The guys who really made her heart beat, her blood rise to the boiling point? Those were the men she couldn’t get along with. Ultimately, she knew, being with them would spell disaster. The men who treated her well and worshipped her on some level might not make her get all tingly, but often they were reliable good guys who would take care of her.

  Bryce fell in that category. He was a good looking guy too, and she’d found him exciting at first, simply because he seemed to be a little of both—a steady guy who flipped her switch. But her switch didn’t stay flipped. She refused to leave him, though. She felt like she had to give it a fair shot. They were decent friends, and that had to count for something. So what if she didn’t feel her pussy dripping every time he kissed her? That didn’t mean anything, did it? She was sure it didn’t. So while Emily’s sweet father continued extolling the virtues of her fiancé, Emily twirled her dark brown hair and tried not to fantasize about what kind of guy might be the real man of her dreams.

  * * *

  Clay lay on Brian’s couch, trying to fall asleep. He and Brian had been friends since high school, and Clay was grateful for the guy. He always managed to bail Clay out when things got rough. Clay had gone to the power company office that afternoon to pay his bill. They gladly took his money but said they couldn’t restore his power until tomorrow.

  He even offered to pay extra, but they weren’t having any of it.

  He was feeling lucky now that he’d paid his income taxes, like he could pretend he had anything to do with it. It had only gotten done because his accountant had him on a list. The guy’s life revolved around April fifteenth, and Clay paid him well. The taxes were always done on time. Clay just had to sign and write the check.

  Clay could have stayed at home that night, but without power, he couldn’t have done much of anything. He couldn’t get on the computer or the TV, and he certainly couldn’t jam out an improv Judas Priest solo like he’d been wanting to. An acoustic version of any song on that album would be a travesty. It would have to wait until he was plugged in again.

  So he’d called Brian and asked if his friend had plans. Vague ones, the Last Five Seconds bassist had said, but when Clay suggested food and libations (his treat, of course), his friend had taken him up on the offer. So they’d gone to Chili’s, and after they finished their burgers, they knocked back several beers. He told Brian about Tatiana followed by his power going out, and after Brian laughed so hard he cried, he told Clay he could crash on his couch.

  Last Five Seconds had sold millions of albums, had toured worldwide, and yet Brian still lived in a shitty little apartment. Every time Clay questioned him, Brian said he was banking most of his money. He didn’t need anything bigger, and why buy something that would involve upkeep? Clay still didn’t get it, especially while trying to get comfortable on the lumpy couch, but he wasn’t going to mention it—not today when he could so easily be fodder for Brian’s jokes, and justifiably so.

  Korn’s song “Never Never” was playing on the stereo in Brian’s room, and it made Clay smile. He tried not to be wistful, a state he didn’t fall prey to often and made sure he avoided at all costs. When he got right down to it, he knew he intentionally avoided thinking about the way he felt. Sweet little Valerie was just meant to be a little summertime fling, but she’d worked her way into his heart.

  Didn’t matter. He had a beautiful child who lit up his life, and he had enough pussy to last a lifetime. He loved his job and he had everything he could ever want. Well, everything except organizational skills. He would have been laughing at having the power shut off just because he’d forgotten to pay a bill…if it hadn’t been the first time it had happened. He really needed to get his shit together.

  * * *

  Village Inn the next morning, only Brian insisted upon paying this time. Clay had a bit of a headache, but he refused to believe alcohol had anything to do with it. He’d drunk a lot more of lots harder stuff in the past and had no problems, so he couldn’t believe it was the beer talking.

  The coffee hit the spot. The hot black liquid was welcome relief on his dry throat.

  While they waited for their breakfast, Brian said, “When are you going to buy yourself a planner, man? Or at least start using the reminders feature on that fancy, expensive phone of yours?”

  “I use the stupid reminders, dude. It doesn’t work. It’s just a little notification I
miss and then it’s a little number in a red circle over a fucking phone app. It doesn’t translate into real world shit I have to do.”

  Brian rolled his eyes. “Sounds like a personal problem.”

  “It is, and it sucks.” He took a swig of the hot coffee. “I just hope the power’s back on by the time Mary gets there, or I’ll have to hear how she couldn’t run the vacuum cleaner, dishwasher, washing machine, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. I can already hear her in my head.”

  Brian chuckled but said nothing at first. The two men scoured the menu and were ready to order by the time the waitress came back by. When she left, Brian said, “You’ll probably dismiss it, but have you ever considered hiring a personal assistant?”

  “What? So I have another bill I forget to pay?”

  Brian reached over the table and slapped Clay on his temple, not hard, but enough to get his friend to pay attention. “No, you fuckin’ dumb ass. You get a personal assistant to help you manage all the shit you can’t keep a handle on.”

  “So…the assistant worries about paying the bills?”

  “Yeah, and other stuff too. A good PA will make sure you’re never late to anything, never late for anything, and all that shit. A good PA will organize your messy ass.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “Of course it is. But you better pay them a lot. They’ll earn it with you.”

  Clay chuckled. “You got that right.” But if his electricity stayed on for the rest of his life, a personal assistant would be worth his weight in gold.

  When he got back to his house, he talked to Mary about it. Mary agreed wholeheartedly and even offered to write the ad and place it in the paper for Clay. She’d often had to pay for his disorganization in multiple ways, not the least of which was asking her boss to write a check for her already late pay.

  “So, you’ll interview them, right?”

  “No, tonto. You’ll do the interviews.”

  Clay followed Mary across the kitchen. She picked up a notebook and pen that she had on the table. He said, “But what the hell am I supposed to ask?”

  She handed him the writing materials. “I don’t know. How did you choose me to be your housekeeper?”

  He shrugged. He couldn’t remember. He did know it had mostly been luck. He hadn’t known what to do or how to do it, but he’d called a temp agency and they’d sent Mary. He’d asked her a couple of cursory (and, yes, probably stupid) questions and never given her back. “I drew a straw.”

  “Don’t do that for a personal assistant. You need to know they’re organized and care about your reputation.”

  He smiled at Mary. She might have given him grief once in a while, but she was good at her job, and he was certain she’d never confessed whom she worked for, but he was also sure she did care about his reputation. He nodded. “Well, could you at least help me? I can pay you extra.”

  She sighed, but he could see the twinkle in her eye. “All right. First, we need to decide what job duties your personal assistant must be able to perform…and none of them will involve any of your body parts.”

  Clay laughed…and then let Mary write the ad.

  Chapter Three

  EMILY WAS BROWSING sites like Monster.com and online ads in local newspapers seeking a job that was looking for skills like what she had but also utilizing her soon-to-be-earned MBA. However, she wanted something low stress. She wanted something that would spotlight her skills, demonstrate responsibility and capability yet still be something that she wouldn’t mind walking away from in six months or a year when she found the perfect entry level or junior exec position in a powerful corporation. She knew she could have a job with Bryce’s dad’s company anytime she wanted, but she was hoping to move up through the ranks of a corporation on her own accord. His father was upping the ante, though, promising her a better-than-entry-level position if she joined his company in the fall when Bryce started work there as well.

  When she came across an ad online for a personal assistant, she thought she might have found the perfect fit. She printed it after she read it and then opened up her resumé on her laptop so she could tweak it a little:

  MUSICIAN SEEKING PERSONAL ASSISTANT. While this position is currently being developed, some of the tasks required will include organizing mail, paying bills, running errands, setting up and confirming appointments, accompanying me to interviews and appointments, and other duties as assigned.

  You will report directly to me and work alone or beside me and occasionally work with other staff members. Candidates should be familiar with Microsoft Word and Excel, possess excellent communication skills, have experience multitasking and solving problems, be detail oriented and organized. Familiarity with rock and metal music is preferred but not required. Candidates must be willing to sign confidentiality and nondisclosure agreements.

  About me: I am a professional musician who needs a personal assistant to help me manage my busy daily schedule. I travel frequently and have hectic demands that I often cannot attend to personally.

  I reward hard working team members generously.

  She thought her resumé was good to go in less than ten minutes and sent it, along with a cover letter, to the email address listed. She didn’t let any grass grow under her feet, though, and she applied for four other jobs that day.

  One week till graduation, and Emily was starting to feel nervous but excited. Bryce called her that afternoon and asked her to accompany him to dinner that evening. It was a little odd. They often ate together, and he’d usually just swing by her apartment and pick her up. He was making a big deal about it.

  She tried not to let it bother her. She busied herself throughout the afternoon by packing things she didn’t need right away, because she knew she’d be moving out a couple of days after graduation. She was also trying to decide what things she could get rid of for good. Bottom line, though, was that she’d be moving away from Boulder, the city that had been her home since her freshman year in college. Most of the jobs she’d applied for were in the Denver Metro area, not too far from where she was, but far enough that commuting would be impractical. Moving was part of the equation, and she thought it was a good thing. It would signal a new chapter in her life, one in which she was a fully realized adult, responsible for herself.

  Bryce came by her place around six. She smiled at him. He really was a good-looking guy. He had short dark hair and blue eyes. He worked out just enough to stay fit and so he was solid all over. He was a few inches taller than she stood and already owned several custom-made suits. Usually, though, he dressed less business like although not as casual as a lot of people on campus. His typical outfit was a button-down long-sleeved shirt paired with trousers and plain shoes. Emily knew he would be a dream for most girls on campus, the ones who wanted to land an eligible bachelor with lots of money and a bright future. When her heart rate slowed upon seeing him, she had to remind herself of that.

  He grabbed her about the waist and pulled her close, kissing her. She kept waiting for that spark, the tiny one she’d felt when they’d first dated, but it wasn’t anywhere to be found, so in the back of her head, she chanted her mantra: He’ll make a great husband. He’ll make a great husband. He asked, “Ready?”

  She nodded, reaching for her purse and then closing the door behind her once she’d joined him in the hall. “So what’s up?”

  He grinned at her. Oh, yes, he definitely had something up his sleeve. “Nothing.”

  “Hmm” was all she said as he took her hand in his. It didn’t take long before they were at her favorite restaurant, a Chinese place that catered to her vegan desires. That’s when she knew he was definitely up to something, but it didn’t seem as sinister as it had before.

  They ate an enjoyable meal, but she still felt anxious, wondering what he was planning. When the dishes were cleared away, he pulled a small black box out of his pocket and opened the lid. Inside was a beautiful but almost gaudy diamond ring. “I know we’ve already talked about it, kitte
n, but I’d like to formally ask for your hand in marriage.” Part of her was horrified, but the girly part, the part that believed in fairytales and romance, was rapt and giddy. “Should I ask your dad instead?”

  She giggled and threw her arms around his neck. “You already know my answer, silly.” In a matter of seconds, he had her hand in his and was slipping the ring on her left ring finger.

  “On that subject…when I get back in August, do you want to move in together?”

  She felt her eyebrows jump up her forehead. She supposed that was an eventuality, but that made it so…real. She forced a smile and said, “Yeah, we should.”

  She wore the ring all night. They went to his apartment where he lived by himself, unlike Emily who had to have a roommate to be able to afford it, and they made love, just like always, but as she lay in his arms, trying to sleep, she couldn’t shake the feeling of emptiness, and she felt guilty, because she knew that now, more than ever, she should be feeling full and happy.

  * * *

  Clay stood up and ran his fingers through his hair at the scalp. “Well, shit, Mary. That sucked. What the hell kind of stuff did you put in that ad? My questions sounded lame, and I definitely don’t think I can work with that guy.”

  Mary tried not to smile, but her brown eyes crinkled in the corners anyway. “Just because he doesn’t know who Alter Bridge or Sevendust are doesn’t mean he would be a bad personal assistant.”

  “Yeah, it fuckin’ would. What the hell would we talk about?”

  Mary started laughing now. “The work you need him to do. Didn’t you look at his resumé?”

  “No. Was I supposed to?”

  “You should. I can do this myself, but this person is going to help you, not me. You really need to choose them yourself.”