Follow My Lead: A Joy Universe Novel

by Louisa Masters

  Maybe he’s the youngest? Forced to assert himself to avoid being overridden by all the rest? No, he just mentioned his youngest brother.

  “I’m number four,” he tells me, and boy, did I have it completely wrong. I would never have picked him for a middle child.

  “So… the house was completely full while you were growing up.” Man, that must have sucked for him. I’ve noticed how protective he is of his personal space. His office is his sanctuary—anytime I go in to discuss anything, he moves us to the conference room, claiming we’ll be more comfortable. I mean, the offices aren’t huge, but they’re not that small.

  “Yep. We were stacked in like sardines.” He tilts his head, looking thoughtful. “It wasn’t until I moved out that I realized a lot of people don’t have siblings always in their space like that. There were days I would gladly have sold a brother or sister just to get ten minutes alone in a room, but I thought that was normal. If I could relive my childhood, I don’t think I’d sacrifice any of them. They’re all kind of amazing in their own way, even the simpleton. I’d never live with any of them again, though. It’s bad enough some of them stay with me for the holidays.” He’s smiling as he says it.

  “Is it really that bad?” I tease, because I don’t think he means it.

  “Horrible,” he assures me. “The ones who are single crash with me, and we generally stay up late watching bad movies, eating junk, drinking, and talking about the shit that’s going on in our lives. At some point, sins of the past usually get brought up and we drunkenly argue over things like who really broke the window that one time and who told Mom about any of the many times any of us broke curfew.”

  I’m hit by a pang of… envy? Maybe. I don’t have that kind of relationship with my brother and sister. I mentioned their disgraceful behavior over our parents’ estate, right?

  “That sounds perfectly awful,” I say, heavy on the sarcasm, and Trav murmurs agreement.

  “I don’t know how you cope, Dimi,” he adds, straight-faced.

  Dimi shakes his head, still smiling. “Mock all you want, until you’ve had to hear my sister shrieking about the state of the bathroom after either of my younger brothers have been in there, you have no idea about my pain.”

  I snort, because when I was starting out on Broadway in my early twenties, I lived in a two-bedroom, one-bathroom dump with six other guys. I get what his sister is screeching about.

  “And that’s what I’ll be doing for the holidays this year,” Dimi concludes. “Our big family dinner is Christmas Eve.”

  “Not Christmas Day?” I’m a little surprised. If the family is all coming into town especially for the holidays, they probably don’t have other commitments on Christmas Day.

  Dimi shakes his head. “No, on Christmas Day we all go to the party at the theater.”

  I look at Trav and see on his face the same combination of interest and curiosity that I feel. “What party? At the community theater?”

  “Yeah. I guess you wouldn’t know, since this is your first holiday season here. A lot of the employees here at JU aren’t ‘native’ to the area, right? And since the complex is a holiday destination, nearly everyone has a shift at some point over the next few weeks. Enough time off over the holidays to leave town is rarer than hens’ teeth. So since not everyone has family to go to, about forty years ago some of the local business owners banded together and hosted lunch at the theater for anyone who was interested.” He shrugs. “It’s grown a lot since then, changed from lunch into an all-day party. People come and go all day from about eleven, usually bring a dish of some kind, just hang around and have fun.”

  Wow. I mean… wow.

  That’s a huge effort.

  “That’s amazing,” Trav says, sounding just as flummoxed as I am. “I kind of wish we weren’t going to New York, just so we could come. Derek never mentioned this at all. Has he been?”

  Dimi laughs so hard he’s nearly crying by the time he calms down enough to talk. “Has he been? He’s played Santa at least five times that I’m aware of since he moved here.”

  I clear my throat, then bite my lip. I don’t want to laugh out loud—volunteering to be Santa at a community party is a nice thing to do, and laughing at the image I have of Derek in a Santa suit and beard would be rude. But… it’s an image of Derek in a Santa suit and beard.

  Trav’s staring at Dimi. “Please tell me there are pictures,” he whispers, and Dimi grins.

  “Probably hundreds of them,” he promises. “The kids love him—he’s been the favorite Santa for years. I’ll see if I can find some for you.”

  Trav’s grin is a little vicious. “I love having shit to tease him with.”

  “He’s not going to be embarrassed,” Dimi warns. “He loves it.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” Trav deadpans. “Still, I can’t believe he never mentioned it. Jase, you should go.”

  I blink. “What?” When did this turn on me?

  “Are you staying in town for the holidays?” Dimi asks, sounding a little surprised. I don’t know why—I’ve talked about the work I plan to get done over the next week. Did he think I planned to do that from somewhere else?

  “Yeah.”

  He looks expectant, but I don’t really want to explain that I haven’t been invited by either of my shitty siblings to visit them, that I lost quite a few friends when I went from being an us to a me, and that those who remain would gladly welcome me but have families of their own. I sublet my apartment when I moved down here, so I’d have to either get a hotel room—in New York, over the holidays—where I would spend most of my time alone, or stay with friends and intrude on their family time.

  I sound bitter, don’t I? The truth is, I have several friends who’ve asked me to stay with them for the holidays. I know their families well and know I would be welcome. But it’s so easy to feel like the odd man out, and since the breakup, it seems like that’s all I ever am.

  There’s no way I’m saying all that to Dimi.

  “I’ve got momentum going here,” I say instead. “I don’t want to break it by leaving town. I’ll take a long weekend and visit people later on.”

  He nods. As motivated as he is, it doesn’t surprise me that he accepts that excuse. Trav, on the other hand, looks a little suspicious. But then, he knows about the ex-who-shall-not-be-named, and he was also around when I took time off from a show during the final decline of my parents.

  Yeouch, that sounds awful, doesn’t it? Like the title of a Greek tragedy. “The final decline of my parents.” I didn’t realize I was quite that dramatic.

  “You should come, then,” Dimi says. “It’ll be a great opportunity for you to get to know people.”

  I smile, because I was not looking forward to spending yet another day alone in my apartment, working or watching TV shows I have no interest in. Being able to spend even just a couple of hours in the company of other people in a social setting sounds great. “I will, thanks. Is there anything in particular I should bring?” I’m not great in the kitchen, but I can manage basic dishes—and I’m hell on wheels when it comes to ordering stuff. There’re still a few days before Christmas; I’m sure I can buy what I need somewhere in town.

  “I’ll ask Mom,” he says. “I know last year we had heaps of desserts but not that many sides. She’s on the organizing committee, so she’ll have a better idea of what dishes we’re most likely to need.”

  I’m about to thank him when I hear his assistant, John, say, “Can I help you?”

  The three of us shut up, shamelessly eavesdropping. We still don’t get that many visitors to the office, and John knows most of them, so this must be someone new. The door to the conference room is open, which makes it easy to listen.

  “Is Jason Philips here?” a low female voice asks. Dimi looks surprised. He gets up and goes to the door.

  “Kiara?” he asks. “
What’s brought you here?”

  “Dimi, unless you’re ready to come and work for me, I don’t want to see you.”

  I can’t see his face, but I hear the smile in his voice when he says, “You haven’t forgiven me yet for taking the job with Derek instead of you? It’s been years.”

  “Never. Jason here?”

  I get up and go to look over Dimi’s shoulder. There’s a woman around my age with a truly amazing afro standing in our reception area. The tips of her hair are dyed in a multitude of colors, including metallic shades that I’ve never seen before in hair. My friend Brice, a stylist who changes his hair frequently, would adore it.

  “I’m Jason,” I say. Whoever she is, Dimi knows her well enough to have a jokey relationship with her, and that’s recommendation enough for me. He moves aside, and I stroll out and stop about six feet from her.

  Her sharp dark gaze takes me in, head to toe, and then she nods. “Nice to meet you, Jason. I’m Kiara James, the head of human resources.” She steps forward and extends a hand. I’ve automatically reached out to take it before her words fully register.

  “It’s nice to meet you, too,” I tell her. “Is there a problem?” It’s perhaps a little blunt, but I’m pretty sure she’s here to tell me I need to hurry up and hire another assistant, and I’m not ready.

  I don’t wanna.

  She can’t make me.

  Anything else I can say to sound like a whiny child? No? Just as well. I’m sure you get the gist.

  “Yes, but not for you. Can I have some of your time?” She meets my gaze steadily, and I get a really good vibe from her, so I tip my head toward my office.

  “Sure. We were just slacking off, anyway. Dimi needs an excuse to get back to work.”

  “Hey!” Dimi exclaims, but he doesn’t sound mad, and I can hear Trav laughing. Kiara grins and walks ahead of me.

  I close the office door and wave her over to the couch. We could sit at the desk, a formal meeting with me taking the seat of power, but even though I really don’t want to hire a new assistant, I think Kiara could be a great connection and being an asshole isn’t how I want to start relationships here.

  Well, not more than I already have, anyway. Dimi’s been great, but there are still moments where he seems a little wary, and that’s all my stupid fault.

  “So,” I sit at the other end of the couch and turn toward her, “what can I do for you?”

  She smiles, and again I get that vibe. It’s impossible for me not to be comfortable with this woman.

  “Either you think I’m stupid, or you’re trying really hard to dodge the issue,” she says, and I make an embarrassing sound that’s somewhere between a groan and a laugh.

  “Fine, I know why you’re here. I promise I will get back to hiring an assistant right after the holidays. I know it needs to be done—but part of the reason I haven’t done it yet is that the workload’s increased because I don’t have an assistant.”

  “A vicious cycle,” she says slyly. “But that’s actually not what I’m here for.”

  Oh.

  Huh?

  “It’s not?”

  “No. Although I’m glad you’ve agreed to restart the hiring process, and I will make sure you follow through on that promise.” She’s still smiling, but there is suddenly something about her that makes it obvious why she’s the head of her department in a company this size.

  “Okay. So… you just came down to say hello?”

  “No, I came down to ask why you haven’t filed a formal complaint.”

  Oh, right. I’m a little disappointed, actually, that this visit is just about covering her department’s ass.

  “You don’t have to worry, I have no plan to file a complaint,” I assure her, and she shakes her head.

  “We just keep misunderstanding each other,” she says. “I want you to file the complaint, Jason.”

  Well, that’s not what I expected.

  “Say what?”

  Her grin is sharp. “File the complaint,” she repeats. “Dimi already, er, explained to your recruiter that she missed some crucial parts of the process”—I snort, because I heard Dimi’s “explanation,” and while he never raised his voice or used any inappropriate language, I was still extremely glad not to be on the receiving end—“but until you make a formal complaint, I can’t officially remove her from your brief, I can’t require her to redo any training, and I can’t begin an on-record review of all her previous hires.”

  I blink.

  “I’d like to make a formal complaint,” I say, and the words are no sooner out of my mouth than she’s whipping out her phone and tapping away. A moment later, my phone vibrates in my pocket.

  “I’ve just sent you the form you need to complete. Why don’t I walk you through it?”

  Yep, my vibe was right. Kiara’s good people.

  I grab my tablet and bring up the file she sent me. The form has a lot of fields, but with Kiara’s guidance, it actually doesn’t take too long. At first I tried to just type in that my assistant had resigned because JU’s policies hadn’t been properly explained during the hiring process, but Kiara had snatched the tablet away and deleted that.

  “Be specific,” she instructed, handing it back. “I know it’s difficult. It’s embarrassing and painful to relive exactly what happened, and I’m sorry to make you do it. But I am going to make you do it. This is a serious breach of JU policy. The recruitment process should have prevented this, and I never want you or anyone else to have to go through a similar situation. What I need to work out now is whether this was a problem with the process, with the training our recruiters receive, or with the recruiter herself.”

  I sigh. I never really imagined myself to be sheltered, but the fact that I don’t want to type “My assistant resigned because she found out I’m gay and she didn’t want to work for a homosexual” seems to imply otherwise.

  “It could have been worse,” I mutter, more to myself than Kiara. “I was lucky. She could have been violent.” Or she could have been in a position of authority over me—or someone else. She could have hated gays but not been willing to resign.

  “No,” Kiara insists, and I look at her in surprise. “I mean, yes, it’s good that she wasn’t violent, but you’re not ‘lucky’ because of that. This is supposed to be a safe place for you, Jason. You should never have had anyone speak to you that way here. This is not something silly. It’s a serious incident.” She points to the tablet. “Now type.”

  By the time she’s satisfied and lets me send the form back to her, I feel like the equivalent of a wet rag, but I’m no longer embarrassed about it. Kiara’s right—just because she was “polite” doesn’t mean it wasn’t an attack. I’m allowed to feel bad about it. It doesn’t make me weak.

  “Stay there,” Kiara orders as I make to stand and show her out. “I know the way to the door. I’m gonna get this filed and start things in motion before I leave for the day. You’ll have a new recruiter when you start looking for an assistant after the holidays—someone I know will carry out the process right.”

  “Thanks, Kiara. We should have lunch one day.” I could use someone like her in my circle.

  “Absolutely. After the holidays, though—who has time before then?” She waves carelessly as she opens the door and strides through. I hear her talking to someone outside, but I’m too busy flopping back on the couch and staring at the ceiling to try and listen.

  A moment later, I sense a presence and lift my head to see Dimi standing in the doorway.

  “Oh. Hey.” I struggle to sit up straighter, but he comes in and closes the door.

  “Relax. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  That desperate niggle of attraction that I’ve been pushing down for weeks struggles to be heard. He cares!

  I shove it right back down again. He’s my colleague. He knows about t
he incident. He’s just showing the same kind of concern any decent person would.

  “I’m fine.” I smile tiredly, letting myself sink back down. “It wasn’t the most fun thing I’ve ever done, but I survived it. And I really like Kiara.”

  He studies me for a long moment, then comes over and flops on the couch beside me. “Yeah, she’s great. She’s been head of HR for as long as I’ve been working for JU.”

  I roll my head along the back of the couch so I’m looking at him. “Tried to poach you for HR, did she?”

  “Nah.” He shakes his head. “I was quietly looking for a new job when the role of Derek’s assistant opened up. She had a pretty senior position open in HR at the same time, and she tried to convince me to go for it, but it was never a real option, and she knew that.”

  “Mmm.” I close my eyes. It’s not that late, not quite even close of business, but I still feel like I’ve been awake forever. Emotional exhaustion is the worst. I can hear Dimi talking quietly, and I try to stir myself to listen, but the warm, fuzzy feeling is just too nice to give up.

  “Jase?”

  There’s a hand on my arm, shaking gently, and I force my eyelids up. Dimi’s handsome face is smiling at me, and I smile back.

  “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

  I pretty much just loll on the couch while Dimi goes back to his office, then he comes back in and shuts down my laptop. He’s putting it in my bag and gathering the rest of my stuff before it occurs to me that I should be doing that.

  I make myself sit up. “Hey, I can—”

  He holds up his hand and shakes his head. “I’ve got it. Are you ready?”

  Am I? Forcing my brain into gear, I think about it. “Yeah.” I lever myself off the couch and follow him out into the reception area. Trav is there with John, and from the concerned look on his face, I figure he knows I’m not my best self right now.

  “Call if you need anything,” he says. “We’re just a few minutes away.”

  I’ve gotta smile at that. It’s nice to know people care. “I’m fine,” I assure him. “I’ll be a new man tomorrow.” I hope. Psychological exhaustion goes away after a good night’s sleep, right?