Four #2
And after he left, after I agreed to the meeting, when I checked, the message was there on my phone. It started with J. Not Jory, but J. I liked that a lot.
I cleaned up well. Always had. I wore my Pinwale corduroy suit under my tweed topcoat to meet my possible new employer. I thought Fallon was going to pass out from shock.
“What?”
“No, nothing,” he muttered, his eyes all over me. “You just … you look—you look good.”
I smiled at him. “Where’s the table?”
“You want a drink?”
“No, I’m good.”
He led, I followed, and the second I reached the table, I turned on the charm. Something about how badly Fallon wanted it to work transferred to interest on my end. He was excited to partner with me, so I felt the same back. It had been a long time since anyone had been happy to have me along.
Gina loved me, but I exhausted her. For Michelle, I was a chore.
She had to be on her guard and watchful, concerned with her career, so therefore, she was worried about what I would say or do and how that would reflect on her.
And I understood it all. I tired everyone out who came in contact with me on a regular basis.
Maybe that was the reason for Sam’s extended absence. Maybe he just needed a break.
And it wasn’t as though I wasn’t loved. Both Gina and Michelle adored me, but it was like when your drunken uncle went home and you could breathe and enjoy the rest of the family gathering in peace.
I made Gina and Michelle wary, and I was tired of doing that and being treated like that even if I was on my best behavior.
But Fallon? Fallon wanted me in the cockpit with him.
He wasn’t treating me like I was stupid or a burden or draining.
He wasn’t rolling his eyes, telling me it was lucky I was pretty since I wasn’t that bright, or placating me.
He was treating me like an equal, he was counting on me, and it was really sort of different and kind of nice.
I didn’t want to let him down. It was suddenly very important, and everything else fell away.
“Pleasure,” I said to Mr. Riggs and then said it to Mrs. Pearlman as well.
I was quiet, I nodded in all the right places, and I smiled when anyone looked at me.
“What do you think?” Fallon asked me in that lull between when you ordered lunch and when it came. Right after everyone passed the waiter the menus and you had to start a new topic.
“About what?” I asked him.
“J …”
“Like, you really wanna know, or you want me to sit here and be polite?”
“I, for one, would like to really know,” Mrs. Pearlman said.
I liked her already. Mr. Riggs seemed uncertain.
I wasn’t sure if it was me who was making him twitchy, or the restaurant, or his gin and tonic, or his tie he kept fiddling with …
I didn’t know. But Mrs. Pearlman—Anna—her, I liked, and I could tell she liked me back.
But it was kind of a given. Me and women, it was sort of destined.
“I think people don’t want to be lied to.
I think if their event sucks or the idea stinks, you owe it to the client to say, No, it’s crap, and this is why, and not just go along with it and point at it later and say, At least it wasn’t your idea, so it ain’t your fault.
Because you produced the train wreck, no matter how you slice it, so if it sucks, then by all rights, you do too. Just spit it out—that’s my motto.”
“Mr. Har—”
“No, wait,” I corrected myself, thinking. “That’s Dane’s motto. Mine is, When in doubt, throw it out ’cause if it’s really important, you can ask someone to fax you another one.”
“Mr. Har—”
“And that’s only my work motto, mind you. At home, I keep stuff. Some stuff. Not like newspapers or crap like that—I’m not a hoarder. I just mean, like, old records or pictures—you should never throw away pictures.”
All three people were staring at me like I’d grown another head.
“What?”
“Okay.” Mr. Riggs smiled wide, and I saw him let out a breath and become a completely different person. He suddenly got comfortable right there in front of me. “I like honesty, I like that people are told what to expect, and if they don’t want to be, I don’t want them as clients. Mr. Har—”
“Jory,” I corrected him.
“Jory,” he repeated. “Excellent. I think you and Fallon will do well with us. Let’s talk some numbers and see if we can put together some sort of package.”
Mrs. Pearlman offered me a breadstick and told me that she’d wanted me to work for her since she’d attended the Price event at the Four Seasons a year ago.
“Oh, the Saturday Night Fever party,” I said, grinning at her.
“Your master of ceremonies quit at the last minute, and you had to fill in.” She smiled at me. “Mr. Har— Jory, I have not laughed that hard in years. I was crying all over my husband.”
I took her hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back.
“Oh,” she said quickly, almost startling herself, and we all looked at her. “I just put it together what you said a minute ago about Dane. Are you related to Dane Harcourt, the architect?”
“Yes, ma’am. He’s my brother.”
Whatever she had liked about me seconds ago was made even better, bolstered as I was by my brother and his flawless reputation.
“Dane Harcourt is the most amazing, intriguing man. He’s just really…”
“Something,” I offered.
“Yes,” she breathed out.
And the way her voice did that thing when she said his name let me know everything I needed to know.
She was in love with my brother. Not in the way where she didn’t love her husband, just the way every woman I knew crushed on him a bit.
And that was okay. Dane’s wife didn’t mind that.
The all-out flirting—that was the only thing that irritated her.
I still remembered the night Aja and Dane had met.
It was a black-tie fundraiser, and she crossed the room to ask him to dance.
And it was not that she was the first woman who had ever asked, but it was the way she spoke to him.
Confident, powerful, but warm, all at the same time.
She knew who she was, she knew what she was about, and she knew she was looking at her future husband.
Dane—who needed a partner, an equal—found most women wanted to surrender up their lives to him, wanting him to lead.
Aja Greene was different. She wanted to join her life with his, not disappear.
She didn’t need him to take care of her; she could take care of herself.
She was never jealous or possessive, certain that she was the one for him.
Dane had been in agreement after their first words were spoken.
Aja was not the first woman to ever ask him to dance, but she was the last.
“Jory?”
“Sorry,” I said with a cough. “It’s nice to hear that you like him ’cause, really, he’s kind of a jerk.”
She chuckled, nodding, squeezing my hand before she let go. “Is he?”
“Oh my God, yes,” I was adamant.
“Well, let’s talk about you now. Let’s see if we can come to terms that will work for you and Mr. Strauss,” she said with a sigh.
Two hours later, I was standing outside in a monsoon under the canopy, waiting for a cab with Fallon Strauss.
In one month, because the company was moving offices from one building to a more centralized location downtown, on a Monday, we would meet with Mr. Riggs and Mrs. Pearlman again, and they would have a package ironed out for us.
It was the promise of a job without a signed contract, but because of the reputation of the company, we were sure to be the newest creative team at Benchmark Limited.
“I don’t know what to say,” I told him, “which is a stupid thing to say since saying words at all means I did say something.”
He shook his head. “Jesus, Jory, you’re really something.”
“Something good or something bad?”
“Good,” he said as he smiled at me, reaching out and fiddling with my tie, adjusting it. “So, I’m going to the office and cleaning out my desk. Let’s have dinner this week and talk about things, and then meet a few times before we start, okay?”
“You’re taking this team thing to heart, huh?”
“Aren’t you?”
He had snatched me from professional death, and I owed him big.
“I am.”
But more importantly, I was kind of digging him.
“How about we meet at Trieste, in Lincoln Park, at eight on Saturday? I’ll buy you a steak.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’d like you to meet my partner.”
“Really?” That was really nice and meant a lot, the sharing. “I’d love to.”
“You would?”
I nodded.
“You want to bring Detective Kage?”
I cleared my throat. “Um, Detective Kage is on assignment, so he can’t come. But I would love to come and meet your man.”
His smile was huge. “Okay, then, eight.”
“Eight it is.”
He looked at me, and I lunged. When I was hugging the life out of him, the last of his reserve melted away. He wrapped me up and squeezed the breath out of me back.
As I watched him walk down the street away from me, I finally checked my phone. Forty-two missed calls was a lot.