Chapter 3
Chapter Three
JACKSON
“Welcome back, Mr. Carter.”
My driver, Tony, gives me a warm smile, his eyes crinkling beneath the gray ivy cap he’s always worn. Before my parents’ divorce, he used to be my family’s driver and would drive me to school every day. I reached out to him prior to returning to New York, grateful when he accepted my job offer.
“Thanks, Tony.” I return the smile. “And please feel free to just call me Jackson.”
“Of course, Mr. Ca—I mean, Jackson. Let me grab your luggage.”
“I’ve got it.” I take my luggage and load it into the trunk of the Mercedes-Benz before heading for the back seat.
It’s eighty degrees, though not as humid as I thought it’d be for late June weather. Still, I take off my suit jacket and roll up my shirtsleeves.
I wonder whether Isabelle’s still wearing all those layers she was sporting on the plane.
A frown forms on my face at the sudden intrusive thought. I’m not sure why I’m thinking about her when we’ve parted ways already.
The sound of the car engine starting jolts me back to the present, and I clear my throat. “How’s your week been, Tony?”
“Good,” he cheerily responds. “My wife and I just celebrated our thirtieth wedding anniversary last week.”
“Wow, congrats!” I’m happy for him. “That’s exciting.”
“Thank you, Jackson.”
“I’ll have to hit you up for marriage advice when I get married,” I joke.
Realistically, marriage is a faraway prospect for me, considering I’ve never even had a relationship. I’m only twenty-four, so I like to think I’m still young, although my back pain, which likes to visit every now and then, might have other thoughts.
Tony looks at me through the rearview mirror, another smile gracing his face. “Whoever you end up with will be one lucky lady, Jackson.”
“Thanks. I’ll remember that whenever I need an ego boost.”
Tony laughs, the sound rich as it reverberates in the car. I grin in satisfaction. At least someone appreciates my great sense of humor. Unlike Isa—no, fuck. I’m not thinking about her again.
“How was your flight?” Tony asks.
I rub my jaw, glancing out the window at the line of yellow cabs. So much for not thinking about Isabelle again.
“It was all right.”
It definitely was nowhere near all right.
I was doing some reading for work and barely got any rest. On top of that, Isabelle seemed to think my shoulder made for a good pillow when she fell asleep, which made it difficult for me to concentrate on work.
I debated waking her up earlier, but she looked so peaceful sleeping.
In the end, I let her sleep longer as my act of kindness of the day. I now regret every bit of it.
The chances that we’d be on the same flight and seat neighbors appear to be second to none, but of course, Isabelle just had to be the damn exception to the norm again.
Admittedly, even wearing multiple layers, she looked good, and even better than I remembered. Silky brownish-black hair, big brown eyes, luscious lips and—
I shake my head, snapping out of it. Looks can be misleading after all, like how some plants look pretty but are actually poisonous.
Back in school, Isabelle was always an annoying presence.
Showing up to speech and debate practice late, spilling things on me—all right, that was only once and allegedly an accident—making assumptions about me, and overall just being a goddamn distraction.
Not to mention the time she tried to hijack my student council president election campaign and convince everyone not to vote for me. For the record, I still won.
Life really has a way of messing with you sometimes. I knew I should’ve spent the extra money on a business-class ticket instead.
“Do you have any coffee recommendations, by the way?” I ask, grateful that Tony doesn’t press any further about my flight.
I’ve been back to New York several times over the past eight years, but I’m out of the loop with what’s good around here. The city changes every time I return.
“The Daily Brew is great,” Tony responds. I make a mental note to check it out.
“It’s only a five-minute walk from Carter Marketing Solutions’ office,” he adds.
I sink deeper into the car’s leather seat at the mention of Carter Marketing Solutions—the marketing consultancy my late dad, Eric Carter, founded. It’s where I’m currently headed for my final transition meeting before I officially start my role as the firm’s CEO tomorrow.
When Dad passed away from a stroke during my first year of college, he left a portion of his shares in the company to me.
I was to become CEO when I turned twenty-four.
I’ve had six years to mentally prepare myself for the role, and I thought I was ready, but now that I’m back in New York, I can’t help but feel a sense of dread.
Tony eyes me through the rearview mirror. “Are you all right, Jackson?”
“Yeah,” I say absentmindedly.
We ride in silence as Tony navigates his way through the busy traffic to Manhattan. As expected, the city is bustling with activity—tourists walking around, locals hustling about, and street vendors serving customers. I lean back against the seat and close my eyes.
I’m home. I’m home for good.
The iconic Flatiron Building comes into view as we enter the Flatiron District, and after weaving through a few more streets, we arrive at the mid-rise brick building that houses Carter Marketing Solutions.
I thank Tony before putting my suit jacket back on and exiting the car.
My soon-to-be secretary, Clarissa—a woman in her fifties—is already waiting for me outside the building since I don’t have my key card yet. We shake hands and exchange introductions.
Clarissa beams. “How are you feeling about starting here?”
I put on a professional smile. “I’m really excited to be here.”
The words don’t sound as convincing as they did in my head when they leave my mouth. If Clarissa notices it, she doesn’t let on that she does.
She leads me inside the building and up the elevator to the eleventh floor. Carter Marketing Solutions employs over fifty staff, and its offices are spread across two floors.
“Alex is waiting for you in conference room 3A,” Clarissa says, referring to the company’s current CEO.
“Thanks, Clarissa.”
I head down the hallway toward one of the conference rooms to meet Alex, and for the next hour, he gives me a final detailed rundown of everything I need to know—strategy, operations, and staffing.
After my meeting, Clarissa gives me a tour of the rest of the office, which ends in her showing me to one of the empty rooms.
“This will be your office,” she says.
Rays of sunlight spill into the room as I glance around my surroundings. Aside from a simple desk and office chair, there’s no decor or any other furniture. I wonder if this used to be Dad’s office. I picture him sitting at the desk, reviewing files and taking calls with clients.
Clarissa heads to one of the desk drawers, taking out an old photo, which she hands to me. The photograph looks like it’s been folded, the edges starting to turn yellow.
“I found this a few months ago. It must have been missed when your father’s office was initially cleared out. I kept it, thinking you might want to eventually have it.”
The photo is one of my parents, my older sister, Lucy, and me. We took it in Spain, outside the Sagrada Família, our last overseas trip as a family before my parents got divorced two years later.
Back then, Lucy was twenty and I was fourteen.
I remember being in absolute awe of the architecture—from the kaleidoscope of vibrant colors and the lighting, to the forest of columns and intricate details.
It was what first sparked my interest in pursuing architecture and led me down a rabbit hole of all things architecture-related.
But architecture’s a dream I’ve forgone, from the day I gave in to Dad’s expectation for me to attend business school.
A lump forms in my throat. “Thank you.”
“I’ll leave you to it.” Clarissa gives me a nod and exits the room.
I place the photograph of my family on the desk and walk around my new office. Despite my mixed feelings about working here, I’m proud of what Dad built from the ground up, proud of the legacy he left.
“Jackson?”
I turn to the source of the voice, to the middle-aged man entering the room, dressed in a charcoal suit. He has brown eyes and brown hair that’s starting to go gray at the sides.
Recognition washes over me. “Andrew?”
Andrew Burke was one of Dad’s closest friends. He used to come over to my parents’ house from time to time when I was younger.
Andrew smiles as he gives me a once-over. “I’m glad you still remember me. The last time I saw you, you were, what, fifteen or sixteen?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Something like that.”
“Time flies.” Andrew sighs. His gaze meets mine. “But I’m pleased you’re joining the company, Jackson. Your dad would be very proud. You’re going to make a great CEO.”
“Thanks,” I say, shuffling my feet. “I … didn’t realize you worked here.”
“Ah, yes. I’m fairly new.” Andrew places his hands inside his pockets. “Long story short, I wanted a career change, and what better than honoring Eric’s legacy by working here?”
I nod. “I see. Well, it’s nice to see you again.”
Andrew clears his throat. “I better get ready for my next meeting.” He places a hand on my shoulder. “See you tomorrow. I’m looking forward to working together.”
“Likewise.”
He offers another smile and heads for the door, leaving me alone. I grab the family photograph and place it inside my pants pocket before heading out as well.
The glass doors of Carter Marketing Solutions swing shut behind me when I exit my new workplace, the click echoing in my ears.
I glance back at the company’s large logo mounted on the wall, reminding myself I’m here as the next CEO because it’s the right thing to do—because it’s what Dad always wanted.