Chapter 4
JESS
I’m floating for the rest of the morning, pretending I understand all of the information my line manager is throwing at me.
Of course this whole thing was too good to be true. It felt like it.
I don’t know how well I’m gonna achieve those goals Nadir was talking about when we share history. And three kids. He’ll never be finding out about the latter.
Our time was short and we both wanted it to be that way. He took my virginity, planted three kids in my belly, and we redressed afterward. I went back to being sandwiched in economy for the rest of the flight, and by the time I was disembarking after landing, Nadir was already gone.
The perks of business-class and getting to leave first before everyone else…
I continue nodding at my line manager as he explains something else I know I’ll have to read up on again later…like I have all the time in the world to revise…
Focus, Jessy.
Who’s to say I won’t quit before this day’s done with. How the fuck am I supposed to work here when Nadir owns the goddamn company?
What’s even more of a surprise—aside from the obvious—is how he remembers me. To Nadir, I was just a number. One of his many mile high conquests. Fuck knows how many other women he took to the restroom on that same flight. I was probably one of many. And that was just one flight. One time.
Dare I say I made a good first impression on him all those years ago?
I certainly haven’t made a good impression now.
I curl my hand into a fist under the desk and resent the bastard for calling me fucking Jessy. It’s making me wanna quit.
“We’ll reconvene after lunch,” says the line manager—I don’t even remember his name. “You have thirty minutes to get a bite to eat and start looking like you actually want to work here.”
Oh? That obvious?
I gulp and take off from my seat.
“Cafeteria’s that way,” he says, pointing. “Take the stairs at the end of the corridor, down one.” His zeroes in on my heels, like he doesn’t think I’ll be able to handle a flight of stairs in them.
I handled Nadir—kinda. Everything else should be a breeze from now on.
The lunch food is decent. Asian fusion makes a change when you’re used to eating steamed vegetables, rice and protein. I cook to make sure my kids get all of their nutrition, not because of how stuff tastes.
I’m in for the second shock of my life today when I take my first bite of Korean taco. Wowzer. And this shock doesn’t make me want to pull my hair out like the last one.
I’ve never tasted food this good before.
People leave the canteen as quickly as they enter, grabbing a bite to eat before heading back to work. Clearly, lunch breaks don’t exist here. It explains why Nadir makes them only thirty minutes long.
I shovel food into my mouth and try not to look like this is the first time I’m eating Asian fusion. Between bites, I study the activity. Men in three-piece suits enter, pluck apples and yogurts from the cold food section, and disappear back upstairs into their workspaces.
The others that stay have their laptops open, alternating between typing and eating.
I have an excuse for slacking—I don’t have a laptop yet.
I turn to look over my shoulder when I hear heels clacking against the marble floor. Finally, another woman around here, one of a similar age to me. She struts across the room wearing a beautiful pantsuit that I might have to take inspiration from.
“Nice outfit,” I compliment.
This place is male dominated enough. Us girls need to stick together.
Only, she narrows her eyes and looks down at me from her slender nose. I’m definitely being judged, and I’m definitely coming across like I don’t belong.
She mutters something in her native language—Russian, I believe.
I bet Nadir has had a crack with her if he likes to eat where he shits.
I take another bite of the taco but it turns stale in my mouth. She’s not the first Russian I’ve encountered here. Leon has the same accent, same as Nadir.
He must like to keep it in the family…if they’re even related.
Speaking of Leon…I see him descending the stairs with some friends, making a beeline for the chicken. It was probably apples and yogurts this morning for them.
The six of them gather around a circular table and all lean in. I’m close enough to hear them, but can’t. They’re talking very quietly. Maybe they came straight from a meeting.
I abandon my taco and try to listen in. It must be an important conversation if they’re ruining their good posture to debrief.
Unable to eavesdrop, I toss the rest of my taco in the trash and spend the next ten minutes outside trying to find some grass to touch. Nothing about this feels like reality.
“Savannah,” I drawl as soon as she picks up the phone.
“Oh no. That doesn’t sound good.”
“Two words,” I begin, keeping my voice to a minimum. “Nadir Medvedev.”
The silence on the receiving end of the phone speaks fucking volumes. Savannah gasps after letting my words sink in. “He works there?”
“More like he owns the fucking company.” I plop myself down on a bench. “I’m so close to tearing out my own hair.”
“You don’t wanna do that,” she advises. “That will get Nadir’s attention, but in the wrong way.”
“News flash: I already got his attention in the bad way.”
“Oh, no, Jessy, please tell me you didn’t go there again?”
“Nope. But I had a nice journey all the way down to the floor…which he had to pick me up from.”
“What the hell happened?”
“I freaked out is what happened. My knees weaken every time he’s near. God”—I toss a frustrated hand through my hair—“Savvy, I wanna quit.”
“No, you’re not letting one man get in the way of your future. I want you to find the nearest bathroom and fix your hair. I can feel through the phone that you’re pulling it. Heels and messy hair do not go well together.”
“I’m barely walking in these things. Maybe I’ll—”
“You’re not taking them off. When you step into the Louboutins, you step into your alter ego.”
“Fine,” I say, picking myself off the bench.
“Look, I gotta go. My meeting’s about to start. There’s still time to turn things around.” She ends the call, leaving me without a hand to hold.
When you step into the Louboutins, you step into your alter ego.
I flick my hair away from my face and return inside. Finding the nearest restroom is a struggle when everything in here is so big. The natural daylight is nice and the plants are lowering my cortisol levels slightly, but there’s way too much space and I spend half my time finding the elevator.
I ride up to the third floor, and walk down several corridors, following signs for the women’s restroom.
Apparently, ground floor bathrooms are optional.
Period emergencies, less so. Men don’t have to think about bleeding through their underwear on their commute to work, and it shows.
Things happen fast when you have a heavy flow.
God, I’m dreading starting my next period.
I announce my presence to anyone around with the clacking of my heels, but I own it and remember how effortlessly the Russian lady from the canteen made it look. One step, two. A little sway to the hips.
Two men appear down the next corridor, exchanging a concealed item.
It’s weird that they’re so far away from everything.
They turn to look over their shoulders, registering me. I stare at them, advancing closer, taking slower steps. Is this what Nadir meant by “suspicious”? Everyone in this place looks at me weird, but these guys look at me like I’ve seen something I shouldn’t have.
They mutter something in Russian.
What’s the deal with all the Russian people? Does Nadir have his entire family working here? Could they be spies, or is this my espionage movie obsession talking?
Nadir is Russian. Hiring other Russians is probably just his way of feeling at home.
I shrug it off, walk past the men, and locate the women’s restroom. Finally.
I glance behind me and see them looking at each other again. The man who received the item tucks it away and disappears down the corridor.
I wanna know what the item is. But I also can’t stick my nose too much into things on my first day.
I close the bathroom door behind me, comb through my hair, and try to release all of the tension I’ve been holding on to ever since this morning. Worst first day ever.
But Savannah’s right—the day isn’t done.
I pat some life back into my cheeks, since this morning drained it all out of me.
That’s when it hits me that I’m still working for the very same people I hate.
Nothing’s changed there. I’ve gone from sucking up to Lululemon moms to corporate kings.
The same rules apply. It’s my job to run around after them.
The only difference here is that I’ll be running around after grown men instead of kids.
Arguably, it’s a downgrade.
I fix myself up in the mirror and take a page out of Savannah’s book, telling my reflection I look hot shit. Apparently she’s been saying that to herself every morning since she was eighteen years old, and now she owns a successful activewear brand.
Some words of affirmation can’t hurt. Especially in my case. The foster system never told me anything nice unless agencies were visiting.
I exit the bathroom, expecting an empty corridor to strut down so I can practice my walk.
Instead, Nadir appears from around the corner.
When you step into the Louboutins, you step into your alter ego.
“Jessy,” he greets me.
“Don’t you think it’s a little ironic we’re meeting outside of a bathroom?”
God, what am I saying?
“Very ironic,” he agrees.
I’m addressing the elephant in the room and he’s not even twitching.
Nadir scans my body and I feel my skin prickle. He passes me in silence, and we head in opposite directions. I reach the elevators and press the button to call for one. My heart is pounding in my throat, and my blood is thick as anything.
After growing up in foster care as a child, being tossed from one family to the next, I accepted the fact that I was always going to be second best. The families only wanted me for a short period of time. I was never permanent enough for anyone, never enough.
But I made peace with that early on, and walk through life now with no expectations.
Until today.
I slip into the elevator with a game plan. I’m going to prove Nadir wrong and show him exactly what I’m made of.