Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
MEYER
“You can’t be fucking serious!”
I flinch at the tone of his voice. Naively, I thought this conversation would go a lot smoother. We both know he messed up—the proverbial final nail in his coffin.
“Reggie,” I say, trying to inject some remorse into my voice. Even though I’m the farthest from remorseful. “It’s unfortunate, but we need someone we can rely on to get the job done. And…someone who doesn’t steal.”
I hate to admit it, but Jackson was right about this. About Reggie. I should have listened and cut him loose before he decided to try his hand at lifting money from the register.
After Jackson spilled the beans about his interviews with the rest of the kitchen staff, I went and spoke to them myself. They admitted the same thing to me—that Reggie makes their jobs harder by not doing his fair share. Then I went and spoke to him. I told him what would happen if he didn’t clean up his act. Yet here we are .
We’re sitting in the office, me in the chair behind the desk and him directly across from me. I called him in here a few minutes ago, despite the nerves that plagued me. But I got us into this mess, so I’ll be the one to get us out.
My phone buzzes on the desk beside my elbow, an irritated text from Jackson flashing on the screen, but I ignore it and focus on the task at hand.
“That’s a bullshit accusation,” he replies. His fingers are wrapped around the arms of his chair, his knuckles white.
I sigh. “I checked the cameras. I saw you.” Not to mention, Ashley had brought it to my attention as soon as she noticed the float was short.
“ Bullshit .”
“Reggie, I know this is hard, but?—”
The door to the office swings open then, and Jackson enters looking none too pleased. I figured he probably wouldn’t be happy when he realized I sabotaged his wakeup time. It only takes him a second to register what’s going on, though, and then he rounds the desk to stand beside me, crossing his arms.
Reggie glares. “Oh, so now you need backup so you can gang up on me?”
I shake my head. “No. Jackson is my business partner, he has every right to be here. But this meeting is between you and me.”
Because this Reggie is not the Reggie that I know. I’m firing him, yes, but I also want to help him. If something is going on in his personal life, I want to be there for him. Up until this year, he was a model employee.
“I can no longer have you working here,” I reiterate. “But if something is going on with you, Reggie, I want to help. I?—”
“You’re a fucking bitch, Meyer Ellison,” he spits, cutting me off. “A certified, ice cold bitch.”
The words slam into me as if he physically threw out his palm and let it connect with my cheek in a reverberating smack . My ears ring with his words.
Jackson tenses beside me. “What did you just say?”
Reggie is stupid enough to meet his eyes. “You heard me.”
This meeting is devolving, quickly turning into something it was never meant to be. The urge to cry hits me then, but I can’t. I won’t. I refuse .
“You need to leave. Get out,” Jackson says. Pure ire coats his words, leaving no room for argument. “You are no longer welcome on the premises.”
Normally, I’d be telling him to shove it—I can handle myself, thank you very much—but this uncharacteristic reaction from Reggie has admittedly frayed my nerves. A certified, ice cold bitch . Is that true? Is that really how people see me?
I try to be a good person. A kind person. I know I’m not the most open and inviting all the time, but am I truly that bad? Reggie apparently thinks so. Do the rest of my employees feel that way, too?
“You know what? I’m sick of this shit anyway. It’s only a matter of time before this place runs itself into the ground now that Beatrice is gone,” Reggie says, shoving out of his chair.
Calling me a bitch, although a bit jarring, I can handle. Kind of. But sticking a hot fireplace poker right into the heart of my biggest fear? That has me second-guessing every decision I’ve made in all of my twenty-five years. I suddenly feel very, very small.
“ Out ,” Jackson barks. “Now.”
I hold my head high, staring at Reggie. Or rather, Jackson’s back. He shifts slightly, shielding me from the disgruntled employee. Ex employee. Admittedly, I’m grateful.
When Reggie finally decides to heed Jackson’s command, the sound of the door slamming in his wake is enough to reanimate the dead. A framed picture, formerly on the wall, plummets to its death from the force. My chin wobbles.
“Well, that sucked,” I say. My nose stings as I blink back the tears. “But c’est la vie and all that.”
“Ellison…”
I grab the computer mouse and start to mindlessly click around on the monitor, unseeing. “He stole money from the restaurant. I had to do it.”
Jackson nods. “You did the right thing, but?—”
“Okay. Good.” My shoulders lift in a shrug. “Then I’m just gonna get back to work now.”
“Meyer,” he says. His voice takes on a softness I haven’t heard from him before. “Are you alright?”
I sniffle, working to clear my throat and stop my nose from running. My eyes are also still threatening to leak, a fact I find very annoying.
For fuck’s sake, Meyer. No crying in front of your business partner! You can't show weakness .
My palm clenches around the mouse. “I’m fine," I manage to get out. “Just…something in my eye.”
Silence settles over us, though I can still hear the sound of that door slamming. Then Jackson takes a step closer to me and I brace for what he’s going to say.
Reggie’s right. You’ve been nothing but a bitch to me since I got here. Maybe you should let me buy you out and be done with it. The inn will be better off without you .
“You’re allowed to find that difficult,” he says instead. “Anyone would.”
He says that, but I have a feeling he would have had no issue coming in here and telling Reggie to pack his things. He wouldn’t have even thought twice about it. Partially because he hasn’t known Reggie for years like I have, but also because he’s frustratingly composed when it comes to work.
“Don’t patronize me, Vaughan,” I snap. And then I turn away from him, staring down at the desk in front of me to keep the tears at bay.
I sense Jackson approaching me slowly, but I don’t look in his direction. Don’t bother to lash out and demand he stay away. And when he kneels beside my chair and turns my head toward him, hand on my chin, I don’t stop him. I don’t think I could, even if I wanted to.
“I’m not trying to patronize you, I promise.” His gaze searches mine. “I’m not judging you, Ellison. I haven’t yet, and I’m not about to start now.”
For some reason, I think I believe him.
“I’m okay,” I finally get out. “Thank you for…kicking him out.”
Jackson nods, releasing my chin and then standing, putting space between us. “Of course. I won’t tolerate anyone speaking to you like that. It was uncalled for. ”
But what if he was right?
I bite my tongue. Maybe he hasn’t been judging me, but other people certainly are. Reggie has proven that. Still, I don’t need to get into all of it with Jackson. I can stew about it tonight in the comfort of my bed.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were planning to do this?” Jackson asks. “I would’ve been here.”
The unspoken words hang between us. If I hadn’t been so petty as to unplug his alarm clock, he would have been here. He truly did look like death last night, so I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone—I’d get him out of my way for a while and force him to catch up on the sleep he so desperately needs but seems to be resisting.
I shake my head. “This is my mess. I was cleaning it up.”
“That’s the thing, Ellison. None of this is yours—it’s ours . We have to both make these types of decisions.”
My eyes narrow on him as I glare. “So you’re mad that I fired him on my own?”
Jackson pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m not mad that you fired him on your own. I’m frustrated that you insist on feeling like you had to. We could have done it together.”
“Together isn’t part of my vocabulary.”
“Well, maybe it’s time you add it.”
The room grows quiet again, only this time, I can feel the pulsing tension from our disagreement hanging in the air. I should be the bigger person here—break the silence and move on. But I can’t bring myself to do it.
And then Jackson beats me to it.
“Go out to dinner with me.”
I almost choke on my own saliva. Because what ? One minute, we’re arguing, and the next, he’s asking me out? Did I somehow wind up in the twilight zone? After the morning I’ve had, I wouldn’t be at all surprised.
Turning a critical eye toward him, I make a show of inspecting his face. “Did you hit your head on your way down here?”
“No,” he says. “Why?"
I lean back in my chair, still unsure. “Because last I checked, we don’t like each other. The only explanation for you asking me on a date is a head injury.”
Jackson laughs. The sound makes something in the pit of my stomach curl. In a pleasant way. Weird.
“It’s not a date , Meyer. I just think we could both benefit from getting to know one another better.”
“Like a date .” I cross my arms. “I’m not going.”
He crosses his own arms, not afraid to square off with me. He even stands with his feet shoulder-width apart. “Like two strangers who have been thrust into business partnership. Not a date.”
I narrow my eyes. “Fine. We can have dinner in the restaurant.”
If I asked, the cook would make our food a priority, and then we’d be able to get out of there faster. I wouldn’t normally take special treatment like that, but anything to keep from spending too long in Jackson’s company.
He shakes his head. “I think we need to be on neutral territory for this to work.”
I’m not sure why he’s so insistent on this. Things have been going fine thus far. But I can tell by the determined gleam in his eye that he isn’t going to back down, and after everything that just happened with Reggie, I’m too tired to fight him. So I sigh.
“Alright, neutral territory,” I agree. “What did you have in mind?”
Jackson blinks, almost like he’s surprised I gave in so easily, and then his expression turns to one of satisfaction. “I heard about this new Italian restaurant in Calderville. Tomorrow night?”
I want to lie and tell him that I’m busy tomorrow, just to be a little difficult. But I know he’ll call me on my bluff. He has an uncanny ability to see right through me. Besides, if I show him how unpleasant it will be having a meal together, he won’t be so eager to try it again.
I smile. “Sounds perfect.”
He arches a brow. “It does?”
“Yes, Jackson. It does.”
This time, his skeptical look is directed at me. But I pretend not to see it, turning back to the computer. And I try not to think about Reggie and what he said or about Jackson and this not-a-date of ours.
I’m not entirely successful.