Beaming at him, I say, “I haven’t even gotten to the best part. I spent the rest of God’s gift card and bought us a fancy charcuterie platter and a turtle cheesecake for dinner.”
“It’s good to have friends in high places,” Zay says, but I can see in his face, he’s not exactly happy.
“Do you hate the sweater? Because I can take it back.”
“No, I love it,” he says, holding it against his chest. “I … I’m just worried that this guy you’re texting is some sort of psycho who’s catfishing you.”
“You’re such a skeptic,” I tell him while turning away from him and getting some plates from the cupboard. “You don’t trust anyone.”
He gets up and walks into the kitchen and we start pulling the food out of the bags and plating up together. “I know I can be a harsh judge of character, but the truth is, you’re way too easy on people. You’re like the human equivalent of a Labrador retriever, bounding up to everyone thinking they’re going to be your friend.”
My head snaps back in offense. “Thanks for comparing me to a dumb dog.” Even though Labradors are lovely and loyal, I don’t think Zay means it as a compliment.
“You’re not dumb. But you’re definitely too trusting. Remember the time you let that burglar into the building because he told you he wanted to surprise his grandmother, and what he really wanted to do was rob three apartments?”
My chest squeezes at the memory. “He was carrying flowers and a box of chocolates!”
“He also had a crowbar.”
“He told me he was a mechanic—you know what?” I say, suddenly feeling like the total loser Zay thinks I am, “I don’t need to answer to you. Yes, I’m friendly, and yes, I expect people to treat me fairly and be kind, but most people are kind. Sometimes I get a nasty surprise and that sucks, but usually things turn out.”
“He’s not God, Jen. He’s not THE GOD. It’s just not true,” Zay says, raising his voice. “And there are a lot of bad people in this world too. What if this guy is some sort of cult leader who pretends to be God so he can lure women in and have fifty wives he keeps as slaves?”
“Cult leader? Yeah, no. He’s not a cult leader.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I do,” I snap. “Because somehow he showed up exactly when I needed him, and I know I can’t explain it, but neither can you. Your whole cult leader explanation is every bit as crazy as me thinking God is texting me.” And I’m not just saying that because I really need to believe God is texting me. No cult leader would give me a five-hundred-dollar gift card to Macy’s.
I fill up my plate and walk over to the couch, suddenly too irritated to enjoy the expensive meal before us. I’ll still eat it, but it won’t taste as good.
Zay sits down next to me. “I’m not trying to upset you. I just really care about you and I’m worried. This is a tough city, Jen, and you have to be tough to make it here. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. You’re literally my only friend.”
“If you don’t believe in miracles, you can’t expect to ever have one.”
Zay doesn’t say anything for a long time. When he finally does, his voice is quiet. “I used to believe in miracles as a kid. I prayed all the time, no matter where I was or what I was doing. But when you go your whole life without your biggest prayer being answered, it’s hard to keep the faith.”
I kick off my shoes and run my fingers through my hair, my heart aching at the idea of a much smaller version of my friend, wishing he could be big. “I’d say we’re both long overdue for a miracle, Zay. But you’ve got to believe it’s possible. I mean, look what’s happening to me. The job and the gift card. God even gave us the idea for your lifts. I can’t explain it, but whatever this is, I don’t want to question it. I just want everything to work out for once. I need things to turn around, Zay, and that’s what’s happening, so just … please don’t spoil it for me.”
He stares at me for a second, worry written all over his face. “Just promise you’ll be careful, okay?”
“I will.”
We dig into our dinner, and I want to tell Zay how I’m pretty sure God sent me the man I could easily fall in love with today. But I don’t because I know he’d say that Mr. Daly was in on the whole “God scam.” That would make it impossible for him to believe the connection I felt with him was real. And it was.
But I can’t act on it because he’s got a beautiful girlfriend and they’re already at the stage where they say I love you. I should really put that man out of my head. Also, I don’t even know his first name. Surely, if he were interested in me, he would have given me that much info about himself. Or his phone number. Likely both.
Urg. I’m never going to see him again, am I? I totally scared him off trying to sell him some art. Negative Me says that’s exactly what happened.
Positive Jen counters with the fact that I’ve had two miracles already this week. Maybe God’s got one more in store for me.
If he turns out to be real and not some insane stalker who gets off on random acts of kindness, all the better.
Chapter Ten
Gabe
The rest of the week comes and goes without me getting much more than a couple hours of sleep at night. I cannot seem to get Enzo Bulgari off my mind and, even though I know I’m expected to put the final nail in his coffin, I can’t bring myself to pick up the hammer. Instead, I’ve made a decision.
While my new course of action will mean that I can stand the sight of myself in the mirror, it will also mean that I can kiss any chances at partnership good-bye. I’ve decided to tell Covington to offer Bulgari a settlement. I just wrote up a lengthy email to the partners to let them know what I’m advising our client to do. It may very possibly lead to us losing their business, but I can’t bring myself to be part of what the firm is doing.
I come into work extra early so I can have it out with the top dogs without anyone witnessing it. They’re always here at the crack of dawn, and today I’m using it to my advantage. I stare at the send button for a long time before I finally press it. Immediately, I feel like I want to throw up. I’ve just tanked my career and possibly my relationship. Or maybe I’m not giving Alexis enough credit. Maybe she’ll understand and even think more of me for standing by my principles.
I sit back in my chair and try to imagine how our conversation would go.
Yeah, maybe not …
Not choosing to be a great white shark makes me feel like the man Edward thinks I am, and deep down that’s who I want to be—the kind of guy people can look up to. I stare at my office door, wondering how long it’ll take until one of the partners bursts in, mad as hell. Or maybe they’ll have an emergency meeting first, then approach me. Either way, it’s going to be bad.
Phillip Murphy doesn’t bother to knock. He just walks in, looking like I took his favorite Lambo (he has three) for a joy ride and dumped it into the Hudson. (On a side note: Who needs three Lamborghinis? Compensating much?) He shuts the door behind him—hard—and stares at me while shaking what I assume is a printed off copy of my email. “Are you kidding me? You’re going to back down? Now? After we’ve put a year into crushing Bulgari into the ground?”
“As I said in the email, it’ll help the client avoid bad—”
“They’re not going to get bad publicity because no one gives a crap about some hotel owner who’s mad because he signed a shit contract that turned around to bite him in the ass!” he yells.
“Hey, Phillip, there’s no need to yell,” I say, standing up so he’s not towering over me. “I’m doing the right thing.”
“Doing the …” he sputters. “Did something happen to you? Are you concussed? Or on some new medication? Because there’s got to be an explanation for why one of my best guys suddenly goes soft at the exact moment we’re this close …” he says, pinching his forefinger and thumb a fraction of an inch apart, “to getting one of our biggest clients exactly what they want!”
I shake my head and jam my hands in my front pockets, forcing a relaxed stance, even though my heart is pounding with the force of a jackhammer. “Nothing’s wrong with me except I don’t want to ruin Enzo Bulgari. What we’re doing is wrong, Phillip, and we all know it. We don’t have to do business that way. We can be fair in representing our clients without putting the squeeze on the little guy. There’s no need to do it, so I’m not going to.”
“You’re not going to, huh?” Phillip says with a frustrated laugh. “Like you get to decide these things. Sorry, I forgot, whose name is on the sign out front? Is it yours?” He glances at the ceiling and taps his chin as if he's trying to remember. Then he glares at me and shouts, “No! It’s mine! My name is on the door which means I’m the decider! Now, you retract that email and go back to representing our client the way they expect an attorney at Murphy, Norris, and Goldstein to represent them.”
“And if I don’t?” I ask, forcing my voice to stay steady.
“Then you’re fired.”
“You’re going to have to fire me then,” I tell him with my heart in my throat. I really don’t want to be fired, although it’s exactly what I expected would happen.
He stares at me for a long time, then says, “Guys like you are a dime a dozen. I can replace you in under five minutes.”
“Then do it.”
He was not expecting that. He opens his mouth, then closes it at least four times before he says, “I have to get at least one more partner to sign off on it.”
“If that’s how you want to play it,” I say with a shrug.
“This is not how I want it. I want you to do your job,” he says. “But apparently you think you’re too good for that.”
“I just want to do the right thing, Phillip. Is that so bad?”
“The law is not black and white,” he barks. “There are no good guys and bad guys. Only clients, accounts, money, and high-quality representation, which is what we’re offering here.”
“I disagree. I think we’re the bad guys in this scenario, and I don’t want to be a part of it.”
He sighs and taps his fingers against the side of his leg, then says, “You know what? I like you, Gabe. I always have. You’ve got a brilliant legal mind and up until today, you’ve done great work for us. So, I’m going to do you a favor, but just this one time. Go home. Take a week off to really think about what you’re doing. When you realize you’re making a giant mistake, we’ll welcome you back with open arms. The partners and I will remain tight-lipped about this little breakdown to make it easier for you to come back.”
“It’s not a breakdown and I’m not going to change my mind,” I say quietly.
“Yes, you will,” he says. “Now go home.”
Chapter Eleven
Jen
Happily, I had yesterday off to try to get my head on straight about this new job. While hotel work is obviously not my bag, I’ve decided to embrace it whole-heartedly. Hence, I’ve determined day two is going to be two thousand percent better than day one.
I’m wearing my soulless power suit with my boring kitten heels and old lady beige stockings. My hair is back in the world’s most boring bun and the only makeup I’m wearing is a swipe of lip gloss on and a hint of mascara. I should fit right in with the whole funeral home vibe at The Asher.
I arrive twenty minutes early for my shift—yay, me!—and am at the front desk five minutes ahead of schedule, ready to wow Todd with my super-duper reception skills that I know are going to magically appear now that I’m dressed for the job. I spent the subway ride visualizing myself tapping away at the keyboard in a total flow state, filling in the right fields in record time.
Todd looks up from counting out the cash float and gives me the once over. “Better.”
“Thank you. I took what you said very seriously,” I say like the butt-kisser I vow to become.
He glances at me and I can see he’s trying to discern whether I’m being facetious or if I actually mean it. I give him my most sincere smile and take a deep breath. “So, how can I make your day better?”
Narrowing his eyes, he asks, “Have you ever handled a float before?”
“Yes, I used to work retail.”
“Good, you’re not going to be completely useless then,” he mutters. “At the start of each shift change, we get a new float from accounting. That would be this.” He points to the stack of cash and the rolls of coins. “We need to count it again to make sure it’s right when we start the shift.”
“Makes sense,” I tell him.
“So, do it.”
My cheeks heat up and I feel my optimism starting to seep out of my pores, but I tell myself not to take it personally. Todd just needs a hug. Not by me, obviously, but by someone who could stand to do such a thing. I set to work counting out the money, jotting a list of how many of each denomination are in each pile, then I use the adding machine to tally it all up. I love adding machines—the feel of the keys, the clicking sound, the satisfying print-off. It feels very grown-up but in a fun way. When I finish, I hand the paper to him and he stares at it for a second before saying, “This might be your forte. I’m going to let you handle the money today.”
I give myself an internal high five while asking, “What’s next?”
He points to a sheet of paper on the printer. “Take that list down to the housekeeping office. It’s today’s checkouts.”
I grab it, salute him, and start walking toward the back offices with my head held high. I am going to master this job.
“Other way,” Todd calls after me.
Crumpets. Spinning on my heel, I force a smile and carry on.
The morning flies by with calls from nearly every room asking for later checkout times, as well as a rush of people at the desk at eleven. By the time lunch rolls around, I’m tired, thirsty, and my mind is spinning with everything I’ve learned. I manage to find the back door to go out for lunch, but by the time I make it all the way around the hotel to Central Park, I only have three minutes to wolf down my hot dog and rush back. I am definitely going to have to start packing a lunch from now on.
“Being that it’s Friday, this afternoon is going to get really busy with check-ins, so do whatever you have to do to remain sharp until our shift ends,” Todd tells me as soon as I get back. No time for pleasantries with that one.
“Aye aye, captain,” I say. “I’m ready.”
“You’re going to have to run your computer, but don’t press ‘finalize’ until I’ve had a chance to check everything over.”
Things start out smoothly enough, but by three p.m. the lobby is crawling with guests waiting to check in. I keep my smile plastered on while I help as many guests as I can, but it’s slow-going and Todd laps me three to one with ease. Sweat pools under my arms and I’m glad I’m wearing this awful jacket. I finish up with a tired family of four from Wisconsin, then smile at an adorable little old man who winks at me as he steps up to the counter. “Take a deep breath, young lady. You’re doing just fine.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. “Is it that obvious I’m new?”
“You do look a little flustered, but the trainee badge was a bit of a giveaway.”
I tap on it and nod. “Right. So, how can I make your day better?”
“Easiest thing in the world. I’m heading to the park to get some sun and a pretzel, but I only have a one-hundred-dollar bill. Could you make change for me?”
Ooh! Something I’m good at! “Absolutely,” I say, taking the bill from him and pressing the button to open the cash drawer.
“If it’s not too much trouble, I’d love three twenties, two tens, and four fives,” he tells me, following it up with, “Gosh, you have lovely blue eyes.”
“Thanks,” I say, pulling the bills from the drawer. I count them out for him in three little piles and he slides them off the counter and puts them in his jacket pocket, his hands shaking a tiny bit from age. Oh, he’s so sweet, I just want to take him
home and make him soup.
“Oh, wait. I’m sorry, turns out I do have some smaller bills in my pocket,” he says, pulling some cash from his pocket. “Oh dear, that’ll be too much change to carry around. Can I change this for a fifty?”
“Sure,” I say, glancing at the lineup forming behind him as I hand him a fifty from the drawer. He places the bills he took out of his pocket down, then says, “Make sure you count it. I would hate to shortchange a nice girl like you.”
I count the coins and bills. “You’re right. There’s only forty-nine dollars here.”
He blows out a breath of relief. “Good thing you checked.” He finds a one and places it on top of the pile. “Listen, since I already have enough change, maybe I’ll just take back my hundred and give you another fifty and we’ll call it even.”
The person behind him sighs and I lose my concentration for a second. Does that sound right? He puts two twenties and a ten on the pile, then grins up at me. Okay, well, that’s a hundred in front of me so it works out. Quickly grabbing the hundred from the drawer, I hand it to him and scoop the cash up, depositing it in the drawer. “There you are. Enjoy your stay, sir.”
“I will, and good luck with the job. You’re exactly the friendly sort of person I love to see at a place like this.”
“You’re my favorite guest,” I tell him as he turns and shuffles out of the hotel.
The next few hours are an insane rush, and the entire time, I have this terrible feeling something is wrong, but I can’t put my finger on it. Finally, we get to the end of the shift and Todd tells me to count the float. He prints off what the computer says we should have and hands it to me.
When I finish counting, my heart starts to pound, and panic takes over. I’m fifty dollars short. No, that can’t be right.
I count again.
No no no no no no no no!
That sweet old man was a con artist. I shut my eyes tight, then say, “Todd, I have something I need to tell you.”
The Text God: Text and You Shall Receive ... (An Accidentally in Love Story Book 2) Page 7
