21 JANIE
JANIE
“Here’s how we’re going to do this, Boss.” I call from behind my door.
“Hm?”
“I’m going to come out and you’re going to go all Benedict on me, all at once.”
“All Benedict? What does that mean? Be charming? Sexy? Manly?”
“No. None of that.” I snort. He huffs but I can hear he’s smiling in the hallway. “I mean you’re going to get all your stupid overreacting and complimenting out of the way right now.”
“You really think you look that fantastic, eh? No concern you might be overselling—” He stops as I step out.
This is not a big deal, but I know he’ll make it a big deal.
I’m in a simple, black dress. Super thin spaghetti straps attach to a high neck before the stretchy yet thick fabric hugs my figure down to just above the knee.
It is modest but it is skin-tight. I have my hair up and dark sunglasses on, as discussed. Black pumps.
“Well?” I say, smirking at his apparent inability to speak.
“I’m allowed to make a fuss?”
“Yes, get it all out.”
He lifts two fingers to his mouth and does an actual cat-call whistle thing. Loudly.
“Benedict!” I scold, my ears ringing in the tiny hallway.
“Blood-y-hell woman! Where do you find these dresses made for you? You look gorgeous. Sexy and classy too. Just fantastic. Honestly.”
“Are you done?”
“Not hardly, spin ‘round.” He makes a motion with his finger. I glare at him. He glares back and crosses his arms and I can’t help but notice them.
Either he’s buying smaller shirts or he’s been working out more.
Has to be the shirts, it’s only been a few days since he was passed out on the couch.
Still, whatever he did the last few days, it’s working for him.
He’s in a white button up with black pants, also snug on bulging thighs, and a black weighted workout vest that’s meant to look like Kevlar.
His top buttons are undone to expose tanned skin beneath black and gold aviators tucked there, like mine.
“Would you like me to spin as well?” He gloats, catching me ogling.
“Ugh, stop it.” I say, turning around quickly.
“There it is. The world’s sexiest ass. Have I told you I love your ass? And your legs. I must’ve.”
“You may have mentioned it.” I deadpan when I complete my turn. “Can we go now?”
“Am I allowed to touch you?”
I frown, “Aren’t we contractually obligated to hold hands?”
He sighs, “Ever the romantic. I meant more like, if I was married to you in real life I would grab that ass at every opportunity, am I allowed?”
“No.” I say quickly.
“Damn. Had to ask.” He pauses dramatically like a fool then extends his long fingers to me. “I suppose your hand will do.”
“What happened to you? Like, as a child?” I tease.
“Neglect, nannies, the suffocating pressure of my mother’s joy and my father’s expectations,” he replies easily.
I stop walking, “Really?”
“No,” he laughs, “My childhood was grand. Let’s get going.”
He squeezes my fingers and hurries me out to the town car in the driveway where a driver and Nigel wait.
He starts in on the night’s festivities, explaining who will be there and what I can expect.
He is back to his animated, unaffected self but I can’t help but wonder if there was some truth to what he said earlier.
I doubt his childhood was “grand.” I mean, his own father just threatened to blackmail him. I don’t ask further, though.
He seems genuinely excited about tonight’s party.
I might be a bit of a grump but I’m not going to spoil his fun.
Parties are his jam. This is kind of his party and everyone will be dressed up and buzzed.
Plus, it’s in the city that never sleeps.
This night has Benedict Clark written all over it. I just hope I can keep up.
_____
Why? Why did I agree to this? More so, why did I wear pumps? Real secret agents probably wear running shoes. I sneak a look at my watch when Benedict is distracted. Nine thirty!? Well, Shitsticks. We’ve only been here an hour and a half!
I’ve done well, though, I think. We’ve had a couple rounds of drinks and sampled every single appetizer that came around.
I stood and smiled for an entire line of people, a literal line like at a wedding, filled with employees waiting to talk to Benedict.
I did the laughing and the small talking. Now I am ready to do the leaving.
“Isn’t she though?” Ben beams down at me.
I smile, pretending to have heard what was said.
“I am one lucky bastard that’s for sure.
” He adds, sliding his arm around my waist. I lean into him more than usual, feeling a little tipsy and a lot tired.
And he’s so tall and strong and his ankle’s healed.
He can handle it. He squeezes his hand at my hip and I look up, and then… he’s kissing me. No warning.
His lips are soft and warm and without hesitation. I tilt my head back, and he hums into my mouth. Then he opens his lips just enough, like he might really kiss me, like I wanted at that tree. Like he might claim my mouth right now, in front of everyone.
Chills break out on my skin when I realize I…I want that. Here and now. Pretty freaking bad. But as I start to lean into the connection, he lets go and kisses my forehead once instead. A commotion interrupts whatever conversation has been happening around us.
“Ah, Jones and his team have arrived, it seems.” Benedict says before another line starts to form.
“Just a minute, be right back!” He calls out as he grabs my hand.
Someone boos—an actual boo—at his departure and he laughs, “Piss off, wankers, I said I’ll be right back!
” He pulls me away from our spot at the front of the room.
“How you holding up, my adorable little homebody?” He asks as we get away from the crowd.
“What? I’m fine.”
“Grand, because I have at least another hour of this nonsense.”
I work to keep my face from contorting, “That’s fine.”
He stops walking. “Didn’t we agree on total honesty at all times?”
“We absolutely did not,” I half laugh.
“Still, you don’t have to put me on. Aren’t you normally in bed now?”
I huff, “I do go out, you know. I’m fine. ” He studies me for a second and suddenly, I wish I was fine. I guess we actually have become friends after all because I…I don’t want to disappoint him.
He starts walking again, “Well, good, because there’s someone I want you to meet.”
“You sure do know everyone for a guy who didn’t work here.”
He pauses, “That’s true but I usually show up for all the parties. Morale and all that.”
“Hm.”
On the outskirts of the room there’s a striking woman sitting by herself in a black dress and classic witch hat. She might be in her forties or fifties, hard to say. Whatever age she is, I hope I have my Botox and make up as on point as her when I’m that age.
“Lou,” Benedict calls to her. She stands. “This is Janie, Janie, this is Elouise, one of our…what do you do again?”
“Chief marketing analyst.”
“Yes! And I don’t know what that is but I know she’s bloody good at it.”
“Hello,” she offers her hand.
“Hi,” I shake her hand and after we exchange small smiles, we both look at Benedict in confusion.
He laughs, “Listen, I’m going to try and get through that line of schmaltzy salesmen over there as quickly as I can.
I’ll make sure the caterers bring some food over here.
” He pulls out a chair and motions for me to sit before going on.
“But, if there were a contest between the two of you to see who is more introverted, unimpressed and/or ready to leave this party, I’m not sure who would win.
Thus, I leave you two to sit and well, I don’t know, actually.
Silently judge the rest of us while you eat? Drink? Chat?”
“Oh, um,” I start, feeling awkward that he’s sat me with what, a babysitter?
“I absolutely will not be chatting. That fine with you Mrs. Boss?” She asks me dryly.
“Totally fine,” I can’t help but smile at her. Her facial expression reminds me of, well, me.
“Brilliant.” Ben’s hands land on my shoulders before he leans down to ask, “Do you want another wine, love?”
“No, thank you,” I smile up at him.
“What about you, darling?” He asks Elouise.
She shakes her head, totally unfazed by the pet name.
I wonder if they’ve known each other a long time.
But I don’t ask. Just like she appears to be, I’m all talked out.
After some food arrives and we’ve each had a few bites, it’s Lou who breaks the silence first.
“That one in the corner is mine,” she says.
“What?”
“That dreamboat playing bass guitar in the band. That’s my husband.”
I look over at the man. I agree he’s good-looking, in an artistic, retired rockstar kind of way.
I look back at Lou. Her black dress could be described as a suit dress, like you’d see in a court room.
She doesn’t have a hair out of place and I’m tempted to ask her for the name of her aesthetician, she’s so flawless.
I look back at her husband, who is in a decaying tee layered under a worn leather vest. His hair is long and growing slick with sweat.
“Yup. That’s the love of my life. I want to go to bed about the time he wants to be tuning his guitar and pre-partying.
Why do we always fall in love with our exact opposite?
” she asks. I snort. Her words sound snarky but her eyes are lit up as she watches him play.
“He and his band don’t get many well-paying gigs anymore but Bossman heard I was married to a musician a few years back at one of these parties and, after getting over his initial shock, insisted C.I.
hire them at least once a year. Usually it’s the Christmas party but I think this year they’re going with a big band, with the horns. ”
“Huh,” I say, looking over at Benedict.
He catches my eye and winks at me. I roll my eyes involuntarily and of course he catches it. His smile grows wide so I look away. Lou yawns beside me.
“How do you manage that?” I ask her, yawning back on the last word.
“What?”
“Being so totally opposite? That’s never worked out for me.” She frowns and I realize what I just said. “I mean, in, uh, the past, it worked hasn’t. I mean,” I try to calm my lying self down. “Benedict and I are still, you know, trying to figure it out.”
“Eh, you will,” she shrugs. “You meet in the middle. Like the boss, knowing you need to sit here and decompress with me. He’s alright after all, isn’t he?”
My mouth falls open. Huh. He did. See me and do that for me. Without any complaining. No whining that I am affecting his fun.
He is alright. More than alright. He’s thoughtful and funny and kind but he’s also…a force. A happy, expressive, never-ending whirlwind. My total opposite.
She chuckles at me as my mind short-circuits and then goes on.
“I don’t go to all Jeff’s gigs and he wouldn’t ask me to.
On Saturday nights I try to keep up, go out dancing or to jazz clubs or whatever torture he has planned for us.
” I chuckle again. “But, most Mondays through Thursdays we’re in bed by nine reading Lori Kent side by side on our Kindles. We balance each other out.”
“You read Lorelai?” I say without realizing how it sounds. Lori, to her readers, is a good friend of Skye’s family. I’m a fan and have gotten to meet her a few times. I wonder if Benedict knows her too. I bet he does, but I can’t imagine him sitting still with me to read her books.
“Of course,” Lou says, “who doesn't love mafia smut?”
I choke on my drink, “Good point.” I don’t say I can’t read Lori’s books anymore. I can’t even really read romance at all at this point.
She makes it sound so simple but it’s not.
This is not my first rodeo. Not even my second rodeo.
I can’t imagine Ben tucked in early with me every night.
Wait, not that I need to. It’s not about Ben and I together.
I’m just frustrated that somehow, I’ve ended up here all over again.
This crappy, lame, small feeling late in the evening.
Because I didn’t want to disappoint Walker or my ex-fiance either. I wanted to balance Theo out, or let him balance me out. I really worked at it, I did. The smiling, dancing, schmoozing. I tried to keep up.
But I couldn’t.
And he left.
And Theo took almost my whole life with him when he went.
His apartment. His subscriptions to every online form of entertainment. His fancy art world friends that I thought were my friends too.
They were not.
My eyes sting and I sniff. Elouise catches it.
“Just so sweets, I, I hope we can be just like yous guy,” I stumble through the lie with a tight smile.
“You will,” She says.
But we won’t.
This time is totally different.
I don’t need to keep up with Ben.
I won’t disappoint him because he’s not expecting me to actually be his partner. I’m not truly putting everything into this relationship. So I won’t lose everything this time. I won’t lose my apartment, my friends, myself. Or my heart.
This isn’t real.
So I will be fine.
Just have to stay detached, away from thoughts about wanting to be kissed or wanting to make him lose his train of thought.
Wanting to reach my hands up under that vest and feel his firm chest with both hands.
Wanting to text him random things, or worse, call him about them, throughout the week, just to see his reaction…
Ugh, will I ever learn my lesson?
I blink hard and breathe deep.
Yes. I have learned my lesson. I need to keep myself focused on the goal. The money to keep Gran’s care. Fix her house, sell it off and right my embarrassing wrongs. Stop the incessant text messages. Eye on the prize and fake it through the next fifty-seven days.