5. Jax
Jax
Even the entrance of Sterling House’s office building is impressive. The enormous revolving doors deposit me into a soaring marble lobby with twenty-foot ceilings and a wall of glass that floods the space with light.
I tug at my leather jacket, pulling my ponytail over my left shoulder, and head in. I really need a haircut; my hair is so long it pretty much hovers around the top of my ass, and I’m constantly having to tie it up when I do anything.
I’m buzzed into their office space, and as soon as I set foot in the place, I know this whole thing was a mistake. It’s swanky as hell, and there are three very prim and proper women waiting in line ahead of me. They’re all in designer clothing, and I’m in my cheap black dress and leather jacket.
Awesome.
I sign in at reception and go and sit down. The marble flooring and huge mirrors on the wall should look tacky, but instead, they make the space all the more imposing.
Glancing around, I notice two of the women staring at me, one of them sneering unpleasantly. I rise, wandering to the other side of the office to get away from them.
Catching my reflection in one of the mirrors, I wish I had worn less eyeliner. And the heavy shadow on my lids makes me appear hungover in this lighting. Compared to the other women, I look like some kind of slutty biker chick.
My hair, which I’ve been dying different shades of red and purple for most of my life, looks like a bird’s nest at the bottom. I tug at it, re-tying it more tightly to combat my nerves.
I swipe at my eyes, wondering if I have time to go to the bathroom to take off some of the shadow before the interview.
“Jacqueline Jenson?”
No such luck.
I turn as a blonde woman emerges from the door behind me, carrying a clipboard, an unreadable expression on her face. I raise my hand like I’m in junior high, and she nods for me to follow her.
Straightening my spine, I walk confidently past the other women waiting. If nothing else, I can look like I belong, even if they obviously think I’m below them.
The office I enter is opulent in the extreme. I feel a spike of annoyance as I look around. Whoever this woman is, she has exquisite taste. It’s the kind of space I would long to have for myself if I had the money.
The walls are lined with cream wallpaper, with birds fluttering upward toward the ceiling. Gold trees and branches stretch around me like I’m in some kind of fantasy forest, and my heels sink into the carpet with every step as I walk forward.
I sit down, and her eyes move slowly over my face, my breasts, and down to my waist. I hope she didn’t see the hole in my tights when I walked in.
She clicks her mouse and glances at her monitor. “I’m Pippa Grooman. Nice to meet you, Jacqueline.”
“Everyone calls me Jax.”
“And you live in Irving, right?” she asks, her eyebrows rising. Irving isn’t a good neighborhood, and I would bet she has no one else working for her who lives even close to that part of town.
“That’s right,” I say and curse inwardly as my voice comes out just as defensive as I feel.
Don’t fuck this up, Jax. Play nice for the snob.
“Uh-huh,” she says, clicking through my application, her bright blue eyes scanning over the form with a less than enthusiastic expression. “And what brings you to Sterling House?”
“It was recommended by one of your… members,” I say lamely, and her eyes dart to me and back to the monitor.
“Oh, yes? Which one?”
“Bethany.”
“Bethany who?”
She waits, her lips twitching up at the corner, and I stare at her. She’s enjoying humiliating me; that much is obvious.
“I didn’t get her last name,” I say, attempting to salvage this, but I have a feeling she’s already mentally thrown me in the trash.
“And where did you meet Bethany?” Pippa asks.
“At the nightclub I run.”
She turns back to the monitor, and it’s as if the room gets colder by degrees the longer the silence stretches.
I feel like punching something, preferably her, and telling her to stuff her fucking job. But Scott needs me to get cash fast, and from what I read online about this place, you can earn some serious bonuses if you make their clients happy.
“You know what it is we do, right?” she asks, glancing at me. “You certainly look the part. I could see some of our clients being very satisfied with you.”
“Yes, I know what you do,” I reply. “I’ve looked into it; you have an impressive reputation.”
“Yes, and I’d like to keep it that way,” she mutters, not looking at me.
I fidget in my seat, waiting for her to tell me to get out. Instead, to my surprise, I see her scrolling through her client list on the monitor.
That has to be a good sign, right?
But as the silence continues, my mind begins to whirl with different possibilities. I’m clearly not their usual type—so why hire me?
Then a potential explanation occurs to me.
I’ll bet they have a variety of packages. Maybe, for a reduced rate, they offer cheaper women to their less-affluent clients…
I clench my jaw, and hold my hands in my lap, so I don’t start throwing things. There’s a cup on her desk that has a crown painted on it, and the words ‘Pippa knows best’ beneath it. I bite my tongue, watching her look at her screen.
There’s a small mirror behind her desk, and in the reflection, I can see pictures flitting past as she clicks through. I’m surprised when I recognize one of the men.
“Is that Gray Jones?” I ask, and Pippa pauses, her eyes fluttering in annoyance as she glances behind her and quickly puts the mirror face down on the cabinet.
She blinks, licking her lips, and leans back in her chair. The little huff of laughter she makes is worse than any response she could have given.
Is this bitch laughing at me? Seriously?
“Gray Jones is one of our most discerning clients,” she says, her perfectly manicured nails coming to rest gently on her stomach. “You’re not his type, Jacqueline, trust me.”
And just like that, I can’t keep my mouth shut any longer.
I know I need this job, but nobody on this earth is telling me who I can or cannot fuck.
“Excuse me?” I snap, and I can tell from the triumphant look on her face that she was goading me deliberately. Well, I’m not going to disappoint her now. “You think he wouldn’t want me? Men aren’t that complicated.”
She scoffs. “He has a certain requirement when it comes to his escorts, and you,” she eyes me coldly, “are not it.”
“Oh my god, you’re full of yourself,” I say, rising from my chair, and catching her off guard. Her eyes widen with surprise as I point my finger at her.
“You sit here in your ivory tower and watch those perfect photocopies of women come in one by one and send them on their way. I guarantee in a year your clients will be bored with the obedient little know-it-alls and they’d kill for someone like me.”
I stand at my full height. “I’m everyone’s type, Pippa, and Gray Jones would be lucky to fucking have me.”
I spin around, stalk out of the room, and close the door behind me as I saunter out past the other women.
That must have been the quickest interview in the company's history.
It’s only when I get down to the sidewalk and pull out my phone that I realize I just blew my only chance of helping my brother.
My shoulders drop, and I look up at the sky as heavy black clouds release their load on me and a torrential downpour begins.
By the time I get home, I’m soaked through, pissed off, and tired. I’m annoyed, not only with Pippa and her bitchy attitude, but also with myself.
Even with Scott’s life on the line, I couldn’t just suck it up and be polite. I had to assert myself and let her know I was just as good, if not better, than all the other women they hire.
As I walk down the shitty street where I live, I realize how ridiculous it was even to bother applying at a place like that.
The steps up to my house are littered with trash bags that my brothers haven’t bothered to take all the way down to the street for pickup. Something, probably rats, has been ripping one of them to shreds, and there are remnants of pizza all over the steps.
What millionaire would want someone who comes from a place like this in his bed?
I burst through the front door, glaring at Ben and Seb, who are playing video games on the couch.
“Did you deliberately leave shit all over the steps for me to slip on?” I shout, as they both sit bolt upright and turn to face me.
“Whoa, what are you doing home so early? I thought you had a meeting,” Seb asks. He’s wearing a stained light green hoodie with a hole under the arm, his hair mussed, eyes bloodshot. God knows what they’d been up to all night, but it’s never anything good.
“Why is there shit everywhere?” I ask, as Ben rises to his feet.
Ben and Seb are my younger brothers, both with dirty blond hair, brown eyes, and long, lanky limbs. I love them more than life, but they also drive me completely nuts. They’re total fuck ups and never do anything without being asked twice.
“You think I want to sound like mom every goddamn day?” I bark at them as they both scratch their heads, glancing at each other warily.
“You think I want to be the bitch who’s on your asses the second I get in the house?
I don’t want to live like this either, and I’m sick of cleaning up after both of you.
Get your shit together, throw out your trash, and get a fucking job! ”
I storm up the stairs, but my bag slips down my arm and onto the floor, ruining my dramatic exit as I stoop to throw everything back in.
I’m so sick of this life.
Flynn and I are by far the most capable and sensible of our siblings, but he’s never around these days. He was always the “dad” of the family, since our real one got locked up, and I quickly became the de facto mom.
I fucking hate it.
Slamming my door behind me, I know I’m being childish, but I’m soaked down to my underwear, I fucked up the interview, and at the same time, the bitch behind the desk made me feel like scum.
Jesus, why can’t I ever catch a break?
Dropping to my knees beside my bed, I drag out my beat-up laptop and shuck off my shoes, collapsing onto the mattress.
My room, unlike the rest of the house, is immaculate, with everything put away and tidy. I hate clutter. That’s partly why the state of the house gets me so pissed off.
Mom never liked mess. I used to keep it tidy for her when she got sick, and now that she’s gone, it’s like no one else even tries anymore. Every piece of garbage strewn throughout the house is like a “fuck you” to her memory.
I listen to my brothers’ voices through the floor. They’re probably bitching about my attitude, but I couldn't care less at this point.
I open my browser, typing ‘Gray Jones’ into the search bar.
Immediately, several articles pop up about the guy. He’s well known in New York, famous for his nightclubs, which are high-end, exclusive, and have an elite guest list. He’s someone that Flynn has admired for most of his adult life. Jones runs the kind of clubs my brother wants to own someday.
Gray’s picture is included in most of the articles.
He’s chiseled and achingly good-looking, with dark hair that’s a little on the longer side, the top left messy and textured while the sides are trimmed close.
He also has incredible piercing blue eyes.
I look through several of the sites, but I never catch him smiling; he looks like a model posing in a photo shoot, even when he’s been caught leaving restaurants with various women.
I’m surprised when I read the captions beneath the photos and learn that most of the women he’s pictured with are his sisters.
Jesus, the guy nearly has as many siblings as I do.
I wonder why a person like him would sign on with Sterling House. Surely all he would need to do is walk into one of his clubs and crook a finger. He’d have women falling all over themselves to fuck him.
I google the address of his corporate office.
So, Pippa doesn’t think I’m this guy’s type? We’ll just fucking see about that.