Chapter 18 Verify the Final Head Count
? Verify the Final Head Count
Jordan stares at the whiteboard on his office wall.
All those important dates. Color-coded notes. His future plans.
So many reminders of the things he has yet to accomplish.
There’s a buzzing in his ear. Like a bee. No, like his phone’s alarm. The one he won’t set for tomorrow morning. Or the day after.
For however long it takes for Kami to make a decision.
He’s worked so hard for his position in the company. His career’s promising trajectory. Being the one employee everyone outside his office door sees as great.
He wonders what they think now.
Stupidly, Jordan thinks back to how he got here. Not this office. But here, on the verge of losing his job. Losing … everything.
Did it start when Jamie fed him that sample of citrus cake at the bakery?
The weed gummies at the bridal boutique?
Piedmont Park or Jamie’s apartment or when he didn’t walk away at the engagement dinner?
Before he opened his dumb mouth to the Peterses?
Before he let them get so far under his skin he needed a bottle of champagne to puke them out?
His mind hits so many twists and turns, he might throw up again. Yet at every dead end, it’s always the same:
Jamie, Jamie, Jamie.
Jordan’s eyes trail around his office. Why is he still here? He’s suspended. He needs to go home. Wait out Kami’s deliberation.
The door swings open.
Of course his mom doesn’t bother to knock. Honestly, he expected her sooner. Gossip travels fast around here. It travels at light speed when Cheryl Carter’s involved. He’s surprised she didn’t know the second he walked into Kami’s office this morning.
She waltzes in wearing a chic pink drape midi dress and … a smile? “Jordan, I’m so glad I found you,” she says, pausing in front of him.
His brow creases. “You are?”
“There’s someone I want you to meet.”
A beautiful, brown-skinned woman with high cheekbones, a heart-shaped face, and a fluffy ’fro steps inside. She looks around Jordan’s age, maybe younger. Her fun, floral-print dress matches the softness of her smile.
“This is Juliet,” Cheryl says perkily. “I wanted to introduce you two. She’s—”
Reality comes at Jordan too fast.
Three things become very apparent at once: (1) his mom doesn’t know what happened in Kami’s office; (2) he’s being ambushed; (3) his career is headed down the drain and all his mom can think about is setting him up with a woman whose first name starts with a J.
“No,” he snaps a little louder than intended.
Juliet steps cautiously backward.
Cheryl raises an indignant eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“No more blind dates, Mom. I’m not interested.”
He half turns to face Juliet. “Sorry. I’m sure you’re a great person. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”
Juliet blinks rapidly.
Jordan pivots back to Cheryl. “Stop trying to fix me up. You don’t know what’s best for me. Fuck, I don’t even know what I want. Who I want. Who I am.”
Cheryl’s mouth opens. He cuts her off.
“I don’t care what your psychic said. Or anyone else. I just—” Jordan pauses, breaths coming tight and fast. “I need … space.”
Fuck, isn’t that what Jamie had said?
It aches all over again. Unwanted tears mist his eyes. He refuses to cry in front of his mom and a stranger and the entire company floor.
For a beat, Cheryl looks like she’s processing everything he’s just spit at her. Jordan already has some regrets. Then his mom’s face clears.
“As I was saying,” she says through a strained smile, “I wanted to introduce you two because Juliet is Eric’s new personal assistant. Since you worked so closely with Kami, I had hoped you could give her some pointers.”
Oh, shit.
“Oh,” Jordan whispers.
Cheryl shifts her gaze. “Juliet, can you give us a moment? There are two amazing, respectful”—her eyes briefly cut back to Jordan—“event coordinators named Connor and Kim who can show you around. They look like the lost members of the Scooby Gang. You can’t miss them.”
Juliet nods, giving Jordan a last look before disappearing out the door.
Cheryl closes it after her. With a deep breath, she spins around to Jordan.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he chews out.
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m your mom because I didn’t ask. I said tell me.”
Jordan stares at her. In this instance, she’s not Kami’s personal assistant or the office gossip. She’s that no-bullshit parent from his childhood. The same mom who made more than one of Jordan’s basketball coaches cry for saying the wrong thing about him. He knows not to cross this version of her.
But the longer she eyes him, the softer her expression turns.
“Talk to me, Jor-Bear.”
That’s all it takes, isn’t it? That silly childhood nickname.
The first fat tear slips down his cheek.
He’s seven years old again, angry with his mom for being at a 24 Carter Gold Halloween event instead of taking him trick-or-treating.
He is nine and furious that he has to explain to kids at school that Tevin is his dad, even though he’s not his dad.
Ten years old when he hears about what his grandparents did. A year later, the nightmares begin.
The walls Jordan built are for a reason. He turned fear into competitiveness. Into being the best. He’s been fucking phenomenal at never giving people any incentive to reject him. He kept his flaws hidden.
And then Jamie Peters came around.
Jamie made him comfortable with his imperfections. With not being number one. He eased Jordan’s guard down with gentle teasing and vulnerability and patience.
Jamie made him want something he’s never wanted before: a real love story.
For himself. No one else.
Then, Jamie walked away. Just like Jordan’s dad warned him about in that letter. In those nightmares that haunt him whenever he’s alone.
Even now, silently crying on his mom’s shoulder, Jordan knows what comes later: the loneliness. He used to choose it. Being alone was easier than being with people who might turn away from you.
Hurt you.
But maybe it’s worse to never have had those people at all.
“It’s okay,” Cheryl whispers into his ear. “Talk when you’re ready.”
He feels so small in her arms. So not like the adult he has made himself into.
But, if he’s being honest, it feels good too. To be held by his mom. Her hand rubbing the back of his head. Coco Mademoiselle in his nose. Her smile imprinted on the back of his eyelids.
“Take your time,” she instructs.
Jordan does.
Tearily, he jumps from topic to topic. From the wedding to Kami suspending him to how he felt growing up.
It’s a haphazard string of words with very few breaths in between.
He’s not ready to discuss Jamie—doesn’t know how to—but he says just enough for a lump to clog his throat.
For Cheryl to keep his face pressed to her shoulder until he rides out the next wave.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, choked.
“It’s not your—”
“This isn’t about blame, Jordan. This is me recognizing my mistakes. What I should’ve talked to you about sooner.” She brushes her hand over his hair. “Let me own that.”
He sighs. “Okay.”
“It’s a good thing this job has great health insurance,” she says with a small chuckle. “Our family therapy bill is gonna be outrageous.”
Jordan laughs into the damp fabric of her dress.
“Did your psychic predict me having a meltdown in the middle of summer?”
“Your auntie Eva’s psychic,” Cheryl corrects. “And, hell no, Jor-Bear. She didn’t. Just like she didn’t predict last night’s winning lottery numbers. I think she scammed me.”
Jordan’s next laugh turns into a half sob, and his mom squeezes him tighter.
By the time he’s finished, Cheryl’s wiped his face clean.
She sits him in the chair usually reserved for clients—or Javi.
She perches on the edge of his desk, phone to her ear.
It’s too early for her to leave work, so she calls Tevin.
Forces him to cancel all his plans to meet Jordan at his apartment.
“I’ll be there later,” she promises Jordan.
“You don’t—”
She clucks her tongue. “I’m your mom, and I do. We’ll have a sleepover. Like you and Denz used to.”
Jordan wants to remind her that he’s not a child. He’s more than capable of handling this on his own. Hell, he was babysitting himself before he turned thirteen. But, fuck, he’s missed her. Missed them.
He’s missed not being alone.
“Fine. Just this once.”
Later, despite his mom’s protests, he gives her and Tevin his bed to sleep in. There’s no way he’s letting his parents share his sofa. He takes it instead.
They cook together. Well, Jordan cooks.
Cheryl orders dessert—raspberry truffle cheesecake—from her favorite restaurant. Tevin tells old stories over wine. They watch Soul Food, a Carter family Thanksgiving tradition, and play a round of Monopoly that doesn’t end in someone (Jordan) throwing the board when he loses.
It’s not quite like sleepovers with Denz. No one almost sets anything on fire. No Mario Kart or pot brownies. There’s no Jamie either. But he’s good with that.
They need space, remember?
After his parents fall asleep, Jordan flips through Netflix options. He cleans the kitchen. Fluffs, then refluffs his pillow. He does anything but check his phone. What for?
There won’t be a missed call or message or any sign of life from Jamie.
In the dark, he looks around his perfect apartment. All the artwork on the walls and state-of-the-art appliances and stunning views. It’s the epitome of I’ve made it. This place he’s coveted as a symbol of his success. What he’s worked so hard for.
His own space in Midtown Atlanta was meant to show everyone he was doing everything right. On his own terms.
In reality, it’s just an apartment. A showpiece. Nice, but empty and lifeless.
He needs something to fill it. Problem is, he doesn’t know what.
Sadly, Jordan’s realizing he doesn’t know a lot of things. Where’s his life headed? What happens if he gets fired? What happens if he doesn’t? What did Amy say after she drunkenly stomped off and why did Javi lie for Jordan?