by Stasia Black
I pick at my finger nails. “Um, at the time?” Duh, obviously. I answer my own question. “Nineteen years older.”
Mr. Maury nods. “A man old enough to be your father, in a position of power, seduced you, got you pregnant, and then left you with nothing.”
Oh. That obvious thing. I swallow as Mr. Maury continues.
“Yes, you got upset when he suddenly dropped you to go back to his wife, but he’d emotionally abused you by separating you from friends and family by forcing you to lie to protect his reputation and therefore creating an unhealthy bond.” His eyes flash down at his notes before looking back at me, “It was the first time you’d ever left home. While professor/student romances are not officially banned at Stanford, they’re discouraged. He was seeking tenure back then and it would have reflected badly on him.”
He looks back up at me. “I looked into it after our phone consult. And isn’t it interesting that David’s only now seeking custody after he’s been granted tenure and you’re no longer a danger to his career?”
I can’t help huffing in a sharp gust of breath. That bastard. He’s only willing to try to see his son after he made sure his stupid career was safe. His own son.
“Miss Cruise? Are you all right? Miss Cruise?”
I look up, startled to realize Mr. Maury’s been repeatedly calling my name and looking at me with concern. That’s when I notice my hands are clutched into fists and I’ve all but half-risen out of my chair.
“Yes,” I try to smile. “Fine.” I relax my hands and smooth out my skirt. “Just realizing what a bastard my ex is.”
Mr. Maury’s features turn sympathetic. “Quite. Now, let’s see what we can do to keep him from getting custody of your son.”
I nod emphatically.
“Good. Let’s start with you making a list of everyone you can think of who can testify to your fitness as a stable guardian. Then everyone you can remember talking to at the time of your pregnancy who may have known about your relationship with David. The hearing is in four weeks, so we have to work fast.”
We talk and strategize some more and then the hour is over. I swear it felt like I was only in there for ten minutes. He promises he’ll get his investigators on discovery. I tense as soon as I hear the word.
“Hold up,” I say, body tensing. “I’ve done my research on your firm and from your reputation, you don’t waste client hours. But my last lawyer did and I was charged for a ton of sh-” I pause, “er… stuff I didn’t end up needing.”
Mr. Maury shakes his head, lips curving down in what I would almost call disgust. “Miss Cruise, I would hardly call that man a lawyer. He’s a bottom feeder. My firm is all about transparency. Every associate and paralegal in this firm is aware of the tight spaces our clients are in and we work our hardest not to add to your burdens. But discovery is a necessary part of our work. I can keep you updated via email of everything we’re doing so that nothing comes as a surprise. You’ll have control over how in depth we go.”
I nod, feeling the weight lift at his words. But words are just that—words. Still, I can’t afford to get screwed over again. This is a business decision. I smile to soften the blow. “You have my email. I look forward to receiving those reports.”
He doesn’t look at all offended. “Of course. And call me Don.”
“Thanks, Don.” I reach out a hand.
He gives my hand a firm shake. “Make sure to make appointments with my assistant before you leave. And Miss Cruise,” he says before he turns to go, “you have a strong case.”
I nod and give a tight smile in return. I can’t quite bring myself to return any platitudes. No matter how well this meeting went, I don’t want to jinx anything.
Still, as I finally change from my toe-pinching heels into my sneakers on the steps outside the office, I can’t help but feeling hopeful for the first time in forever.
Seven
When Bryce calls me in for a meeting with an investor at another private lunch on Wednesday, at the same restaurant we met Mr. Vale at no less, I’m sure I’m about to be put on sexual parade again. But no, I’m only there to do my job. I have to scramble to come up with the numbers and figures from last week’s production meeting that Bryce requests on the spot. It’s a different sort of performance, I guess, and no less nerve-wracking. But at the end of that meeting, having successfully met each of his demands, I feel proud of myself, not humiliated and ashamed.
“Good girl,” Bryce says with a pat on my ass as we get back to the offices. But that’s as far as he took it. Patronizing and sexist sure, but it was praise all the same. It even sounded genuine. Stupidly, it lit me up inside.
Because I’m a fucking idiot and part of me hopes it means that somewhere deep down he’s coming to respect me.
Just wait for the other shoe to drop, Cals. Never let your guard down.
Which is my mentality as I go in on Thursday morning. But again, it’s all professionalism as Bryce comes in and we go over the next week’s agenda. He’s traveling to Japan in a few weeks and it’s my first-time booking travel plans.
His smile is easy as he thumbs in a name on his phone. A ping resounds on the tablet I’m holding. “I just sent you the booking agent my former PA used. She’ll help you arrange the hotel and car service I prefer in Tokyo.”
“Great, I’ll get right on that.” My tone is clipped and professional. It’s my go-to when I’m dealing directly with Bryce. I can’t tell if he’s pretending not to notice how stiff I’ve gotten around him or if it simply amuses him. While I grow increasingly rigid, his posture only gets more relaxed. I’ve tried to loosen up. I realize that even my stiffness plays into his control over me—this constant paranoia on my part that keeps me always on edge.
“And you already have the contacts for the meetings I’ll be attending?”
“Yes, I’ve got your itinerary already in your inbox and I’ll be calling to confirm each appointment.”
If it was anyone else, I’d describe the expression on Bryce’s face as encouraging. “You’re doing great. I know I’m in good hands.” There’s not even a trace of sarcasm in his voice.
I just stare at him a moment before I realize I haven’t responded. He arches an eyebrow. “Right,” I finally get out. “Thank you.” Then I turn on my heel and high tail it out of there.
But that’s it. I’m not called back for a strip tease or anything else.
I spend the morning arranging his flight plans and accommodations and double-checking his itinerary as promised. That turns out to be a good thing because his previous PA who’d initially set up the meetings had him double-booked one morning. It takes an hour of pleading/arguing with two Japanese PAs to get it settled so that one of the appointments can be switched to a lunch meeting. Then I had to make sure I could get a suitable table at an illustrious enough eatery to satisfy Bryce’s gastric snobbery.
By the time I email the updated itinerary to Bryce, it’s about five minutes till lunch. I glance over at him. Like always, the glass is unfrosted, and like always, he appears completely unaware of my presence.
Goddammit, what is he playing at? My stomach is constantly in knots waiting for whatever he’s planning next. Or maybe he doesn’t plan. Maybe that’s his deal. There’s no agenda at all and he just randomly decides to screw with me when he feels like it. Just for kicks. Maybe he genuinely doesn’t care what this is doing to my head. God, he probably doesn’t give two fucks about me and here I am stewing about what he’s going to do next almost every hour of the day that I’m here working.
Impulsively, I click print on the itinerary in front of me and then march over to Bryce’s office. The sensor-triggered door between our offices slides open smoothly as I approach.
Bryce looks up as I enter. If he’s surprised, it doesn’t show on his face. “Yes?” he smiles easily. The way he’s been acting, I’d swear he had an evil twin and the nice one switched places this week.
I eye him, looking for… I don’t even know what. A flash of t
he sinister? Christ. Why did I even come in here? I just need something to happen. Or not happen. This not knowing is seriously screwing with my head.
“I finished your itinerary for the Tokyo trip. I emailed it to you but thought you might like a hard copy to look over as well. So, you know…” I flounder, “you could tell me if you’d like to make any changes.”
I set the piece of paper on the desk in front of him.
“Very good.” He looks at me. After an uncomfortably long beat, he asks, “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
Dammit. How does he always do that, even when he’s the nice guy version of himself? Make me feel like I’m constantly on uneven footing with him. “No, well… I—”
“Yes?”
“I was just wondering…” I trail off. Damn it. How do I ask what I want to know? I was wondering when you plan to start up your games of messing with me again? Would you just tell me why you’re doing whatever it is you’re doing with me? Why you hired me in the first place? I sigh internally. Even if I did have the lady balls, he’ll just give me some vague non-answer that will put me at even more of a disadvantage because I was stupid and vulnerable enough to ask.
“Miss Cruise?”
I paste on a fake smile. “Nothing. I’m off to lunch now. Can I bring you anything back?”
He nods. “A Philadelphia club on rye from the shop on the corner.”
“All right. I’ll be back at the end of my lunch hour.” With that, I all but scurry from the room. I only feel like I can really breathe again once I’m in the elevator and heading away from Gentry Tech offices. Which is how it usually goes.
Stepping into those offices every morning is like jumping down the rabbit hole. I become some strange Not-Me version of myself for eight hours only to emerge on the other side a bit dazed. Then I try to block out everything that happened until I have to return again.
When I come out onto the sidewalk, I take in a deep breath of air. It’s noon and the sun is right on top of the city. I love the way it warms me. Summer in the Bay Area never gets very hot and it’s still only mid-June. It feels like a perfect seventy-degree day, balmy with an idyllic breeze coming in off the bay. I pull off my suit jacket so I can feel the sun directly on my skin.
There I am.
I’m still here underneath the craziness my life has become. I saunter down the street, not even caring that I’m wasting minutes of my lunch hour. I haven’t actually gotten to take my full lunch hour very often since I started working for Bryce. Usually I work straight through it and just grab a granola bar from the vending machine and other times there have been business or working lunches.
But the couple times I’ve taken the escape like this, it’s just pure pleasure getting out of the madhouse. No expectations or anxieties.
I don’t have to be Personal Assistant/Sex Toy or even Mommy. I’m just an anonymous face in this big, diverse city. Speaking of diverse—last time I was out on my own, I ate at one of the food trucks. But today I’m looking for something a little more interesting.
I stop at a Korean restaurant because they have tables outside. It’s too beautiful a day to shut myself back up indoors yet. A hostess seats me and brings me water while I look over the menu.
I don’t recognize most of what I’m looking at. I didn’t do a lot of adventurous eating even when I was at Stanford simply because I didn’t have the money for any frivolous spending.
A cute young girl, maybe college age, introduces herself as Seo-yeon. It’s on her name tag, too. “What can I get for you today?”
I smile up at her. “I have no idea, but I’m pretty game for anything. What do you recommend or what’s the special today?”
“Are you vegetarian?”
I shake my head no.
“Then how about the bulgogi beef tacos? They’re a favorite.”
“Tacos?” I laugh. “I thought this was a Korean place.”
She grins. “It’s California. Everything comes in a taco. Though shh,” she lowers her voice and leans in, “we call it Korean-Mexican fusion.”
I laugh again and it feels good. “That sounds awesome. The Korean beef taco it is.”
I order iced tea with it and soon I’m sipping my iced tea and leaning back with a relaxed smile on my face as I people watch on the busy street. There are people in business attire like me, but blended in are college kids since the U is only a few blocks from here. Plenty of tourists, too. Take for example that sun-burned couple with the fanny pack who can’t stop taking selfies with every palm tree they see. Then there’s a dad pushing a stroller with two little girls, one a baby and one who looks about a year older than Charlie. The older one is chattering nonstop while they roll past me. I’m still smiling even when a shadow comes up behind me and blocks my sun.
“Miss Cruise.”
I almost spill my drink as my whole body stiffens. I look behind me. What. The. Fuck?
“Mr. Vale.” I’m halfway up and out of my chair before he holds out a hand as if to calm me down. “Are you stalking me?”
He walks around the table and takes the seat across from me. I still don’t know whether to sit down or take off down the street.
“Relax, Miss Cruise. I’m not, as you put it, stalking you.” The idea sounds ludicrous coming out of his mouth and his next statement calms me even more. “Coming across you and your son the other day in the park was entirely coincidence. And please, call me Jackson.”
I sit back down in my chair.
“As for meeting you now, well, I was hoping to catch you at lunch. I did have my driver watching for you. My office isn’t far and he reported you were here. I wanted to apologize. It felt like I might have…” he swallows and looks across the street, “made you uncomfortable when I approached you and your son at the park last Saturday.”
I blink. So he wasn’t stalking me on Saturday at the park, but he is today. That’s supposed to make me feel better?
“Um… okay?” I eye him warily. He’s dressed very similarly to how he was when Bryce and I met him for lunch last week. Sleek, dark gray business wear. White shirt, gray tie. Obviously expensive. Again he’s got that sexy five o’clock-shadow-at-noon thing going on. Shit, did I just refer to him as sexy?
I shake my head and am about to look away when I’m caught by his eyes. Ice blue. Focused entirely on me.
I do look away then. This guy is too intense. I’ve already got one of that kind of man in my life. I definitely don’t need another. Especially one that witnessed what Jackson Vale did. My cheeks pink with shame at the memory and I duck my head.
“All right. Apology accepted. The meeting at the park was an accident. Got it.” I give an awkward hand wave. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Vale. If you’ll excuse me, I’m just going to enjoy my lunch now.”
I keep my eyes firmly on my table but I can tell out of my peripheral vision that his hulking body isn’t moving to leave.
“I told you, it’s Jackson.” His voice is a deep baritone, like the air is echoing around in that large-chambered chest of his before it makes it up his throat and out of his mouth.
“I feel like I need to warn you about Bryce Gentry. He’s not a good man. Associating with him…” he pauses as if not knowing how to get out what he’s trying to say. “I worry— He’s just not—”
My eyes flash up at him and I can’t help the laugh that comes out of my mouth. “Are you kidding?” I lean over the table. “Look, pal.” I meet his dark eyes with mine. I don’t bother hiding how pissed I am. “I don’t know you. You really don’t know me.” I enunciate each word carefully. “I can take care of myself just fine. I don’t need strangers trying to get involved in my business.”
Just then Seo-yeon comes back with my food. It looks and smells delicious. As ever, I’m not a girl who loses her appetite when stressful things are happening. I’m the opposite. I stress eat. The longer Mr. Vale sits across from me, the more I want to stuff my face.
Screw it. I just told him I don’t care. I grab th
e taco and take a huge, satisfying bite. And a juicy bite. Did I mention juicy? Because some kind of sauce drips down my chin. I try not to be too obvious about searching for my napkin. Yeah. Tacos, not so great for dining with a companion.
Then again, I never asked for this companion.
“If you don’t mind,” I say with my mouth still full of food. No need to bother with politeness, after all. “I’m trying to have a nice, relaxing lunch here. Alone.”
As I watch, one edge of his mouth quirks up. He reaches over and hands me a napkin.
I snatch the napkin and swipe at my chin. I can’t take my eyes off Jackson. Is that a smile I see on the untouchable Mr. Vale’s face? It’s not like Bryce’s smiles either, which always feel fake or manipulative. No, from the little I’ve known of him, Mr. Vale doesn’t seem like the kind of man who bothers with fake smiles. If I’ve managed to get one out of him, it’s genuine. Granted, I did it by being a gross lunch companion, but…
But nothing. I do not want this man around. Frankly, I don’t want any men around, and certainly none associated with Bryce. Even if they are enemies. Although, if this guy is Bryce’s enemy, doesn’t that actually say good things about him?
Shut up, brain. I grab my ice tea and take a big swallow to wash down the too-large bit of taco I just ate. The whole time, he just keeps sitting there, watching me with that steady gaze of his.
I huff out an exasperated breath. “What?” I ask. “Why are you sitting here? What do you want from me?” It feels good to ask the question, the one I didn’t dare put to Bryce earlier.
Mr. Vale… Jackson… leans back in his chair, his eyes narrowed, scrutinizing me. “I’m trying to understand. Why you?”
“What do you mean?” I genuinely have no idea what he’s talking about.
“Why is Bryce dangling you in front of me?”
Wha— I just blink. “Dangling?”
“Why do you think he brought you to that lunch meeting?”
Um. To screw with me?
He looks at me like he’s waiting for me to catch up with the program. “You were bait.”
