28. Sean
At about two p.m., I arrive with my “johnny cakes” gift in hand, and walk past Sarah’s empty desk. I assume she’s either taking a break or making a coffee run. A sense of déjà vu washes over me as I spot Richard Rutherford. He’s sitting on the visitor’s couch, waiting. For a brief moment I wonder if he enjoyed the art piece looking exquisite in the lobby. Of course, I’d never actually inquire.
When he notices me approaching, he gets up.
“Mr. Blackwood,” he says, standing tall, impeccably dressed as always. “Good to see you again.”
He’s holding a huge bouquet in his hand. Did he bring her flowers? I’m well acquainted with the costs of flowers and the extravagant requests of the one percent elite who frequently stay in our priciest hotels. The exquisite orchid bouquet he’s holding is an opulent creation with a price tag in the thousands.
“Mr. Rutherford, how do you do?” I ask, shaking his outstretched hand. “You brought my fiancé flowers?”
“Well—” he starts, glancing down at my plain gray pancake box, somewhat greasy on the sides.
I’m not worried, nor jealous—why would I be? Clearly, he doesn’t know anything about Jess if he thinks he can impress her by throwing money around. Still, I cannot wait to hear what he has to say. After all, she’s my soon-to-be-wife, so what the hell is he doing here with flowers?
Before he has a chance to answer, Jess turns the corner. “What are you doing here?” She marches toward us, ignoring me, eyes on Rutherford. If looks could kill, Rutherford (and his bouquet) would be pushing up daisies.
“Hey, Jessie,” Rutherford says brightly.
“Not now, sorry.”
He puts on a fake smile. “Jessie, I’m still waiting for your final answer. You haven’t answered my calls.”
Join the waiting list, buddy.
“I’m not selling to you,” she says coldly. “That was and is my final answer.”
Just before she walks into her office, I step forward. “Baby, can I talk to you?”
She might as well have said “Don’t you fucking baby me” with the glance she shoots my way, as if I’m the less-preferred choice, perhaps even the more questionable one, but then realizes I’m her fiancé—so she forces a happy smile, nods, and steps past me.
“Have a nice day, Mr. Rutherford,” I tell him.
He gives me a curt nod before he steps to the trash can by the guest sofa and drops the bouquet inside. It lands with a rustling, heavy thud. Then he walks off, empty-handed.
So much for Jessie.
Blackwood: 2, Rutherford: Still Trying to Catch Up.
Looks like we’ve got ourselves a worthy comeback.
I close the door behind us, following her citrus scent.
“I brought you something from Providence,” I tell her. “You’ll never guess what it is.”
She ignores me.
I put the box of griddle cakes down on her desk and walk to the window where she’s standing, looking out. I don’t step closer than absolutely necessary.
“How the hell are you doing?” I ask.
“Great.”
All right. “Care to tell me why it feels like you’re about to bite my head off?”
Jess sighs heavily and turns to face me. I’m met with a smooth mask of indifference, which is actually frightening, because I’ve never known Jess to school her emotions, unless it’s Rutherford-related. She has always been open and honest, and I’m not used to this closed-off version of her. “You really don’t know?”
“I don’t,” I admit.
“Really?” she asks, an ironic smile playing on her lips. “You think I’m stupid?”
“No, I know how capable you are.”
“Is that so? Because it doesn’t seem that way.”
Am I missing something here? Her competence has never been called into question, at least not by me, and I don’t understand why she’s addressing me as if I’m unaware of what she’s bringing to this establishment and her team.
“This is coming from a place that I’ve tried to silence for too long.” Jess crosses her arms protectively over her chest. “When we first met, you came off as such a douche and I thought you had changed my opinion with your actions and sweet words. But it turns out my initial thoughts of you were correct.”
“What are you talking about? Where’s this coming from?”
“I heard you, Sean.”
“Heard what?”
“Last night. I heard you on the phone with your father. You know, in the conversation where he told you to ‘finish with me and be done with it.’”
As bewildered as I am by what she’s saying, I’m surprised I didn’t put two and two together, that I blamed her mood swing on her rule.
“You disappeared,” she continues, “and I went to find you in your kitchen, and then I overheard my name. I don’t appreciate being talked about behind my back.”
“I thought we took care of this?” I counter. “I thought you had more faith in me and thought better of me. I already told you that I’m not in the habit of playing with my business associates to get what I want.”
“But your father said?—”
“Fuck what my father said.” I huff. “You know I want you to sell your shares to me. It’s not a secret. It’s never been a fucking secret.”
Jess vigorously rubs her face before running her fingers through her hair and tugging on her curls. “Fine. You’re right, of course you are. It’s not a secret why you’re here. Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised.” She lowers her hand and looks up at me. “Sorry, I can’t keep doing this, Sean. All of this is becoming too complicated. I thought I could handle having a professional and romantic relationship with the same person, but it’s just not possible. So I’m removing myself from the equation. From now on, we’re strictly professional colleagues. Nothing more.”
This is ridiculous.
This cannot be happening over a simple phone call.
“Just like that?” I ask. “You’re going to break everything off and act like nothing happened?”
“I’m not saying ‘act like nothing happened.’ I’m saying I think we’ll work better if we’re just coworkers.”
“Fucking coworkers.” I chuckle. “Is that what you really want?” I ask in disbelief.
I notice the tears she’s holding back.
“Jess. Look me in the eye,” I say calmly, “and tell me this is really how you want things to be.”
When she looks at me, I note the tension in her body. The tightening of her jaw, the way her fingers dig into her elbows, how her entire body is just shut down and closed off. That’s what worries me more than what she’s saying because I’ve never known Jess to be anything other than open to me.
“Yes. This is what I want.” Her voice is hollow and emotionless.
I’m hearing what she’s saying, but I still can’t believe she’s saying it. I want to argue. I want to tell her how ridiculous she’s being, that she’s throwing something like this—us—away for absolutely no reason.
She removes the fake engagement ring, and when I don’t accept it, she places it next to the pancake box. “I’ll have it returned to the jeweler in the morning.”
“You’re making a huge mistake,” I say, unable to stop myself. “This isn’t what I want, and I highly doubt it’s what you want.”
“I’ve made my decision,” she reiterates.
“Good. I’m not going to argue with you. You want things to go back to how they were before? Fine. But don’t use my phone call as an excuse. We both know damn well why you’re doing this—it’s because you’re scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“Of us.”
“You know, Sean, just because you’re smart doesn’t mean you know me. Truly know me. We’ve only spent a month together. Don’t stand there and presume you know my motives better than I do. You don’t really know me and, as you proved last night, I don’t really know you.”
“I know you’re smart. Courageous. Strong. Loyal. I know that you care about people, really honestly care about them. It’s one of the things that drew me to you. I know that I?—”
“Stop. It’s not important, Sean. I don’t want to know you anymore.”
There’s a moment of tense silence as we stand face to face, neither moving nor making any attempt to continue the conversation.
I know she’s making a substantial mistake. If she really doesn’t want us to be together, then she’s going to have to do a lot of convincing, because I don’t believe it for a second.
I’m not giving up.
I have to make her stay.
Just when I’m about to argue my strongest point, Norman’s old fax machine starts ringing, rattling through a piece of paper.
Jess immediately moves to retrieve the fax, studying it. She’s clutching it in her hand, reading it over and over. Then she holds it up to me. All color has drained from her face. “What is this?”
I walk over to take a look.
The fax is from Sanford Partners.
In large handwritten letters on top of it, it says, “As discussed.”
I quickly read through it.
Blackwood Inc.’s lawyer, Samuel Drexler, is invoking the force majeure clause, which allows for the immediate termination of the contract, citing concerns about Ms. Jessica Summers’s management style and financial decisions, particularly budgeting, cost control related to group fees, and cancellation procedures.
My father’s lawyer is arguing that her management style and decisions put the entire operation at risk.
For fuck’s sake.
“I had no idea,” I tell her.
“As discussed? Sean, it says ‘as discussed.’ Did you or did you not know of this?”
“It’s not what it seems. It’s my father’s fucking handwriting. It’s his doing. Also, he’s the only human left on this planet who uses a damn fax machine. I had no idea he would take it to such extremes.”
“So you’ve had this discussion. Why didn’t you tell me? Warn me, at least? I trusted you, Sean. I trusted you.” Jess quietly sniffles, and I watch her discreetly try to wipe a tear away. “We’re done here.”
“Wait. No.”
Without looking at me again and without saying anything else, Jess grabs her purse and heads for the door. I want to reach out to try to catch her hand, tell her not to throw all that’s between us away, but she’s out of reach an instant later.
She leaves me standing in the middle of the room, coming to grips with the fact that my world has just imploded.