Chapter 4 Pepper and Soap
TANNER
Idecided to park my car a few blocks from work because I figured the extra five minute walk in the mid-August humidity was worth five less minutes in the office.
Despite the temperature, the sun is shining, and it seemed like a crime to waste such a beautiful day in the confines of my stuffy office.
Peachtree Street is crowded with people walking to and from the surrounding office buildings and restaurants.
I make my way down the street, doing my best to dodge people heading in the opposite direction.
The sidewalk narrows, and I try to move around a puddle of standing liquid.
It’s probably water, but the air smells like hot trash, and I’ve lived here long enough to know that whatever it is, I don’t want it on my brand new white sneakers.
Just as I’m about to step around it, someone on my left runs into me, throwing me off my balance and causing me to put my right foot smack in the middle of the puddle.
“Fuck,” I say under my breath, trying to shake off the brown liquid that now covers not only my shoe but the bottom of my jeans too.
Frustrated, I look up to see who is responsible.
A woman with long red hair and freckled skin is running a few feet ahead of me.
She’s dressed in a navy sports bra, matching leggings, and headphones.
She looks just like Wren Dawson, and dammit, I’m doing it again.
She consumed my thoughts and my dreams all weekend, and despite my conversation with Jacks and my most valiant effort, I can’t get her out of my head.
“Hey!” I yell, trying to get her attention, but she doesn’t turn around. I break out into a jog, catching up to her just as the crosswalk sign turns red and she stops.
“Hey, Wren,” I try again, this time touching her shoulder to get her attention.
The woman turns to face me, and it’s definitely not her. Shit.
She removes her headphones and looks me up and down, focusing on my shoe and wet pants for a second, before looking me in the eye.
“Can I help you?” she asks, confused.
“Oh, no, sorry. I thought you were someone else. My bad. Enjoy your run,” I say awkwardly.
She looks for oncoming traffic and then crosses the street. I continue my walk to the office, disappointment blooming in my chest.
Of course that wasn’t her. It’s Monday, and she has a job. I need to pull myself together. If I’m lucky, she’ll be out with all of us on Friday, and I can maybe try to get on her good side then.
I make it to the front doors of my office building and exhale.
I consider turning around and going home, but it’s the second Monday of the month—and the one day my absence doesn’t go unnoticed.
I pull on the door handle, stand up a little taller, and begin to move across the porcelain tile floor towards the elevators, trying to ignore the whispered side conversations that stop abruptly when I get too close.
I never know what it is they’re saying exactly, but I know they’re talking about me, and I know most of them don’t think I deserve to be here.
I don’t think I do either, but that’s nepotism for you.
Being here reminds me of the pepper and soap experiment I did as a kid.
I don’t really remember the point of it, but I do remember my third grade teacher showed it to us.
She filled a shallow dish with water and then dumped a bunch of black pepper on top.
First, she stuck a clean finger inside, and nothing happened.
Then, she covered her hand with soap and repeated the experiment.
The minute her soapy finger touched the water, all of the pepper retreated toward the sides of the bowl.
That’s how I feel when I’m here. I’m the pepper. This place is the soap. Or maybe I’m the soap and this place is the pepper. Either way—we don’t mix.
I call the elevator, tapping my foot as I wait.
I’m pleasantly surprised when it opens a moment later and is empty. I step on, and the minute the doors shut, I feel my shoulders relax.
It hasn’t always been this way. When my grandfather was alive, being here felt more comfortable.
He always made sure I had a place at the table, but then last December he passed away, and it became harder to be in a place that reminded me so much of the one person in my family who thought I was worth a shit.
I’ve considered walking away. Hell, I even asked the owner of The Local after a particularly shitty day if he’d consider selling me the bar, but I made a promise to myself to always make my grandfather proud.
And while no one else seems to want me here, he did, so I’ll keep trying as long as I can bear it.
I step off the elevator and move into my office. It’s framed by large windows that overlook the entire Atlanta skyline. The view is absurd. I have no business calling it mine, but it is the one perk of being a nepo baby I enjoy.
Before I can sit down, my babysitter—or assistant as my father and brother refer to him—John, knocks and enters the room with a freshly made latte.
“Good morning, Mr. Mitchell,” he says, handing me the paper cup. I take a sip and breathe in the scent of brown sugar and cinnamon. It smells like fucking heaven.
I lied. There are two perks I enjoy—the view and the free lattes, but that’s it.
“I’ve told you to call me Tanner,” I say, taking a seat behind my desk and slouching down in the tall leather chair.
“Right. Um. Okay. Mr. Mitch— I mean Mr. Tan—”
I put my hand up to stop him. “Just Tanner. No mister necessary.” I swallow down a long sip of my latte.
I’ve had babysitters since I started working here, but John is new.
According to Dad, every executive vice president gets an assistant, but I’ve always had the suspicion that mine only exists to report back to my father.
I honestly don’t know where my dad finds them, but so far they’ve only been men.
John is the least annoying one yet, so I hope he sticks around longer than the others.
He’s the first who hasn’t run to my dad to tattle every small transgression.
He’s also only been working here for a few weeks, and I’m sure he’ll be fired soon for the same reason.
That, or the fact that he always looks a little disheveled.
His dark hair is always a little messy. His shirt is wrinkled and haphazardly tucked in, and his tie is looser than it should be.
He always looks like he just fucked someone in the bathroom but didn’t have time to look in the mirror before jetting off to grab me my latte.
I should care, but I’m not Mitt Mitchell, so I don’t.
“Oh, um, right. Tanner. Sorry.”
“What time is the meeting with my father and brother?”
He fidgets nervously and pulls out his phone. I watch as his eyes scan the screen, and his face falls.
“I don’t see a meeting on your calendar, sir,” he says.
I check the date on my computer. “Is today not the second Monday of the month?”
“It is,” he confirms.
“Then we have a meeting,” I say. “My brother, Mitch, texted me yesterday, saying that he had a busy morning, and that he would have his assistant call you to set up a time for this afternoon.”
“No one has called, and I’ve been here since eight.”
“You sure?” I click on my inbox and scan the emails for something from my dad or brother. Nothing. My eyes shift to the clock. It’s twelve-thirty.
“I’m sure,” he says.
“Okay, well can you call and see when they want to meet. I don’t need them accusing me of missing another meeting, and I specifically came in today to meet with them.”
“Yes, sir,” he says, turning to leave.
“Oh, and can you grab me something to clean my shoe with? I stepped in a puddle on the way here, and it’s covered in street sludge.”
He nods and exits my office. I send some emails while I wait and then grab my phone.
S.H.I.E.L.D.
Did the girls say if Wren was coming out with us on Friday
Logan:
I think everyone is but Chloe.
Okay cool
Donovan:
Why?
Jacks:
Yeah, why are you asking about Wren?
Bastard.
Just wondering
Jacks:
Is this what your gut is telling you to do?
Maybe
Logan:
Wait, what does Jacks know?
Nothing
Enzo:
Why don’t I believe you?
Donovan:
Yeah, something’s up.
Logan:
Jacks? Care to share?
Jacks:
I’ll let T share.
I just want to get on Wren’s good side
And I think Friday might be my chance
Logan:
Not this again.
She just acts like she can barely tolerate me
I didn’t realize wanting to be liked by our friend was a crime
Logan:
I know you aren’t used to girls not being interested in you, but I think it’s best you let this one go.
But what if I don’t want to let it go.
I’m not trying to get in her pants
I’m just trying to show her that I’m not a total douchebag
Come on please help me
Don’t tell me you’re all coupled up and I’ve lost my wingmen
Logan:
What did you have in mind?
Maybe she and I could play you and Poppy in ping-pong and you suggest it
Logan:
Haven’t we tried this before?
Donovan:
Or you could just talk to her.
Jacks:
That’s what I’ve been saying.
She doesn’t like talking to me
Enzo:
Then maybe you should let it go.
I like the ping-pong idea better
Come on Logan
Jacks:
Why not Lacey and me?
Because the last time she and I played you and Lacey we kicked your ass and then she refused to dance with me
Logan:
I knew we had tried this before.
Maybe second time's the charm
Logan:
Fine, but if she wants nothing to do with you then you leave it alone.
My office door swings open, and I look up to find John walking in. He’s noticeably a little paler than when he left. He walks over to my desk and hands me a packet of wet wipes.
“Did you get a hold of Mitch’s assistant?” I ask, bending down to clean off my shoe.
“I did, um…” He swallows hard and clears his throat. “She said that the other Mr. Mitchells met this morning at nine.”
What the fuck.
Without thinking, I try to stand, hitting my head on the underside of the desk with a loud thunk.
“Fuck!” I yell.
“Are you okay, sir?”
“I’m fine,” I say, standing and tossing the dirty wipes into the trash. I smooth my shirt and try to ignore the spot on the back of my head that’s throbbing.
We head out of my office and toward the elevator.
“Where are we going?” John asks, following behind me.
I hesitate for a minute. I’m not really sure where I’m heading.
The meeting was with both my father, Mitt, and my brother, Mitch.
I try to calm myself, give both of them the benefit of the doubt.
I don’t know that I was purposely left out of the meeting.
I should talk to them. This time it could have really been a mistake, but deep down, I know this has my dad written all over it.
And Mitch, being the obedient puppet that he is, probably went along with it.
“To see my father.”
After a short and silent elevator ride, we step off and are greeted by my dad’s assistant.
“I need to see my dad, er, I mean Mitt,” I say as I walk up to her desk, rubbing the back of my head.
“He’s not here,” she says.
“He’s not here?”
“No, he and your brother headed out thirty minutes ago.”
“Why?”
“I think they had golf with a client,” she says, nonchalantly. “Were you supposed to meet with him?”
“No, um, Mitt mentioned he was golfing today, but I forgot,” I lie. Trying to control my breathing, I inhale and exhale slowly. It’s been clear they haven’t wanted me around as much since we lost Granddad. This shouldn’t be a surprise, but it doesn’t change the fact that it feels fucking terrible.
“Do you want me to take a message and tell him you stopped by?”
“No, I’ll text him. Thank you.”
Turning around, I call the elevator, and when the doors open, John and I board in silence. He follows me back into my office.
“I’m really sorry, Tanner. This is my fault. When I got here this morning, I had to use the bathroom, and they must’ve called while I was in there. I’m—”
I put my hand up to stop him. “This isn’t your fault John. They didn’t call.”
“You don’t know that,” he tries.
“Yes, I do.”