Chapter 36
JAMIE
The doorman at Park Towers calls me Jameson twice before I remember that’s my fucking name.
My penthouse feels empty and cold. I’ve owned it for twelve years, and it might as well be staged, down to the white furniture no one sits on.
I left Colorado before sunrise with a few hours of sleep. The entire flight back to the city, I was a wreck and couldn’t nap. Somewhere over the middle of the country, I quit trying.
Once I walk inside, I shower and put on a charcoal suit, white shirt, and black tie. I smooth it flat against my chest. Under it is my necklace. It takes me a little longer to make the knot than it usually does. I’m rusty.
On my left hand is the proof that we happened. The mood ring is still on my finger, and it’s violet. I stare at it, then make my way downstairs to the car that’s waiting for me.
The headquarters is half an hour away and takes every minute of it to get there. When I enter, my name is stenciled in gold lettering on the lobby wall.
The receptionist stands and smiles. “Mr. Cross, good morning,” she says.
“Good morning, Mrs. Childress.” I give her a nod, moving to the elevator.
I have to use my key card to scan up to the top floor, where the boardroom is. The walls overlook the Hudson, and the water sparkles below. My eyes scan to the room, where twelve men wearing black suits sit. I enter, and I’m handed a stack of papers that looks like a small novel.
David sits at the head of the table. He’s the only one who treats me like a person instead of a product, but even then, it only goes so far.
Bart is to his left with a notebook full of notes in front of him. The general counsel is also in attendance. He’s wearing the calm expression of a man who’s billing thousands by the hour.
“Jameson,” David says. “Thank you for being early.”
“I’m punctual,” I say. “I keep my commitments.”
“How was your vacation?”
“Great.” I keep it short.
The first few items on the list takes him eleven minutes to go through. We discuss the grant disbursements first, then the spring gala venue, and a proposed roof repair at the Boston youth center I opened five years ago. I patiently sit through all of this, wondering what Blaire is doing right now.
Then Bart slaps the folder open, and a few people sitting around the table jump at the noise.
“Now let’s discuss the most important thing on our agenda,” he says.
He slides several color printouts across the table as if they might be evidence in a murder trial. They’re different articles that have been written about Blaire and me. There are photographs of our hands, us close enough to kiss, along with the Salem photos. It makes me smile.
“I had a great fall, as you can see,” I say, scooting it all back across the table toward them.
Bart reads headlines. He talks about love spells and curses and cults. He brings up the fifty-thousand-dollar payment I made to a witch. Several people mutter under their breath.
“Yeah? And? Last time I checked, I could spend my money on whatever I wanted. It’s no one’s business.”
“They say you’re bewitched. Not yourself. Basically, your mind is controlled by that woman.” The older guy at the end speaks up. I think his name is Gary. “Have you joined the Pine Haven cult?”
I’m shocked by the ridiculousness of this. “This is a joke, right?”
I look around the table, and everyone is sitting on the edge of their seats.
A second member is genuinely concerned that I’ve been hexed or tricked into being with Blaire.
It might be the funniest sentence ever spoken in this room, but nobody laughs. These men flew in from different time zones to discuss witchcraft. I’ve howled at a thinning moon from the middle of a salt circle, and I’m the sanest person in here.
“There have been some changes in the contract that’s up for renewal,” Counsel says, passing the paperwork toward me.
It’s a statement drafted for my signature.
The phrases inside it include a lapse of judgment, manipulation by an individual now under public scrutiny, and stepping back to focus on his health.
At the end, it demands no contact with Ms. Wardwell and states that the foundation disavows any association with her or her business.
“I’d advise you to sign it,” David says, “and then this all goes away. The coverage dies, the sponsors return, and in a year, nobody will remember any of these headlines. Your salary will increase significantly. There’s a lot on the table, Jameson.”
“And if I don’t?” I ask, glancing around the room at them.
“We will not be renewing your contract,” Bart states.
I don’t say anything.
Marketing explains the press strategy to make this disappear. He talks about the alleged bewitchment narrative.
I glance down at the mood ring on my finger. For the first time since I put it on, it’s a different color. The purple stayed through the doxing, the leaks, and the worst press of my life. It was an anchor. Now, it’s dark as night.
Absence has a color. I’m wearing it.
“… any form of external influence,” Counsel finishes.
A pen is set in front of me, and I take my time reading all 113 pages. At the end, I stare at the signature line, then push the pages away.
“Think about this,” David says.
“I have. I choose Ms. Wardwell,” I say.
A few people gasp.
“He’s infiltrated,” Bart states.
“I built this place.” I stand up and button my jacket.
My voice is calmer than I expected it to be.
“For over a decade, I was at every camp, training rinks, scholarship giveaways. I advocated for so much, using my name and connections. I built this, but you know what? I don’t want to be the face of anything that doesn’t support people being with who they love.
I’ll start another foundation,” I say. “The magic is me.”
“You can’t do that,” Bart says, slamming his fist on the table.
I laugh. “I can do whatever I want.”
Counsel flips through the old contract, searching for any verbiage that might stop me. There isn’t anything, because there was never a scenario in which I wasn’t here.
“Is someone going to stop him?” Gary asks.
Nobody does anything.
David catches up to me at the elevator. For a second, he looks at me.
“I voted against that,” he says.
“I know.”
“Before you go …” He glances back at the glass wall, where the suits discover their meeting is over. “I’m proud of you.” He shakes my hand once. “Go get your witch.”
“I plan on it.”
In the car, as the building slides past the window, I grin, knowing I have nothing to lose.
I’d lose it all for a chance to be with Blaire.
On the way back to Park Towers, I call Patterson.
He picks up on the first ring.
“It’s over,” I say.
“What is?” There’s silence. “You and Blaire?”
“Me and the foundation.”
“Are you on your way home?” my brother asks.
“Yeah.”
“I’m on my way to your place.”
We show up at the same time. He arrives with champagne, and it’s the kindest thing he’s done for me since he dared me to get my palm read.
He pours two glasses and hands me one.
“To telling all those douchebags to kiss your ass,” he says, and we drink.
The first call I make as a free man is to her. My phone gives me a failed call message. I try again and get the same two words, and then I realize it’s disconnected. As of this afternoon, I’m not a part of my foundation.
Fuck.
Patterson works it out and hands me his phone before I ask.
I copy her number out of my phone into his. It goes straight to voicemail.
“Hi, friend,” I say. “I don’t know if you’re trying to reach me; my phone has been disconnected. This is Patterson’s number. I’m with him right now. Call me?”
“You’re being weird,” Patterson says when I hang up. “You act like she doesn’t want to see you or something.”
“I don’t know what she wants right now,” I admit. “I left without an explanation to keep my promise that the fling would end on November first.”
He glares at me like I’m a moron.
“When the fling ends, the relationship can begin,” I tell him.
“Don’t be a doofus,” he says, standing shoulder to shoulder with me as we watch people walking around Central Park. “So, what’s your plan?”
“I don’t know.” I sigh.
“I do.” He refills his glass and pushes mine toward me. “Take the house on the ridge. I’ve never seen you happier than I did when I visited. Look at you,” he says. “You’re fucking miserable here.”
“Let me buy it from you,” I offer.
“Please. I have plenty of money. I’d rather you owe me for life,” he says with a laugh. “I get to visit without notice whenever I want.”
I stare at my brother, sipping the champagne. “You’re serious.”
“Yes. You only find love like that once in a lifetime.”
Laughter falls from me, and I wrap my arm around him as a chill runs up my spine.
“What do I do about this place?”
“Keep it. Rent it. Who gives a shit? Worry about it later.”
Excitement rolls through me. “I guess I’m moving.”
“Yes, you are. Get to packing.”
He helps me pack a few of my bags and skiing gear and promises to let me know if Blaire calls him. I buy a new phone and try calling her myself, but there’s still no answer.
As the sun begins to fade, I stare out the window at the city lights glittering. I think about Blaire and how after I take care of a few things here in the morning, I’ll be back in Pine Haven.
I can’t wait to see her again. She’ll never expect it.