Chapter 19
19
JOBE
The last few days have been hell.
For the first time in years, I’m over the shitshow of business fuckups. Dealing with incompetent dickwads is doing my head in. I have respect for my brother because this is Franklin’s life, and he is great at it.
Today, I’m grateful for the break and to be with family at Thanksgiving. Pulling into the long circular paved entrance out the front of my parents’ home, I park beside Franklin’s black Bentley. Penny and her parents emerge from the car.
Frank takes Summer from her baby carrier and places her in a stroller. I’m out of my car, clicking the security button while Penny is still fussing over the bedding. I walk over to them and peer in. Summer is asleep, her tiny lips in a pout.
Penny looks tense. “She doesn’t travel well,” she whispers, pulling me in for a hug. “Happy Thanksgiving, Jobe.” I kiss Penny’s cheek and tighten my arms around her, feeling the gentle love. She has brought much warmth into our family and brought us closer in a way.
Franklin shakes my hand and pats my shoulder in a reassuring way. “Happy Thanksgiving, Jobe.” I place a hand over his. Franklin is the person I admire the most, even more than our father.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Frank.” I turn to greet Penny’s parents, Lacey and Ray. Penny walks ahead with the stroller and her parents on either side through the front wooden double doors. Franklin drops back with me, wheeling a large case.
“Is this what you need for one outing with a baby?”
He chuckles. “We are staying overnight. The bag is for Summer and Penny’s parents.” He cocks a thumb over his shoulder. “Royce is spending time with his family, and with Lacey and Ray with us, we didn’t fit in the sedan.” He looks around to see if my driver is here. “No Joseph?”
“No. I’m not staying long. Like you, I decided he needed to be with his family.” I tap his shoulder twice. “We’re softening in our old age.”
“Do not elaborate. I refuse to be known as a soft cock.” He gives me a sideways glance. “And don’t mention anything about Zara unless Penny asks.”
“Why would I? It’s no one’s business but ours.”
Frank gives me one of his do-not-fuck-with-me looks. After thirty-five years, I’m immune to his scowls.
We all head into the dining room, where everyone is seated. Mom and Dad stand to greet Penny, Frank, and her parents first, while the staff takes Summer to the nursery.
Mom takes my face in her hands and kisses me on the cheek. “You look tired, darling.”
It’s an accurate assessment. “I’ll be fine. The international flights are catching up with me. ”
“Are you sleeping, darling, or working the entire journey?”
Before I answer, my father comes to stand with us and shakes my hand. “Happy Thanksgiving, son. While I respect your dedication, your mother is right. The stress will catch up with you, and you’ll be forced to rest. Take some time to reset and sleep on the jet.”
Wow. Usually, my father is all work, work, work.
“If there’s anything I can do…” my mother begins.
I shoot her a reassuring smile. “I’m fine, Mom.” If she hears the slightest inkling a woman might be involved, then there’ll be no stopping her interference. I witnessed her meddling with Penny and Franklin. She has met Zara before and would be on the first fucking flight to London.
I take my seat and read the special Thanksgiving menu printed for each setting.
Main
Whole turkey with seafood bread stuffing (Alaskan king crab, Maine lobster, Southern Bluefin tuna otoro, and golden caviar from the Caspian Sea),
seasoned with imported saffron and spices and covered in edible gold flakes
Sides
Candied sweet potatoes and butternut squash seasoned with spices from India
Caramelized onions with spices from Egypt
Sauces
Cranberry sauce with Sembikiya Queen strawberries and dekopon citrus from Japan
Asparagus vinaigrette with Pappy Van Winkle Family Reserve Bourbo n
Gravy infused with Louis XIII Cognac
Dessert
Pumpkin and pecan pies with apple and coconut custard
My mother’s idea of Thanksgiving is firstly about being grateful, and her prayers reflect her appreciation. Our meals are extravagant. Only today, the fancy menu is next level.
Byron makes a face at his best friend and teammate, Brandon, the Aussie who practically lives here. “Jesus,” Byron mutters. “We’ll need to train five times a day to be ready for our next game.”
I grin at him. It is excessive even for my mother. Dad brings out a bottle of Michter’s 25-year bourbon whiskey and hands me a glass, which I down quickly.
“I spoke to Zara,” Penny tells me. “She looks happy. I mentioned the gala and how Frank and I want to attend,” she says with excitement in her voice. “I just want to see her. I think she’s as excited as me.”
Is that what Zara told Penny?
I nod and down more whiskey, ignoring the way Franklin is eyeballing me. “She misses you,” I tell her. “I don’t see her often, but she is endeavoring to enjoy the time she has there.”
“She said she made new friends.” The way Penny is staring, I sense it’s a quiz on how close we are. I told her I check in on Zara most trips and no one needs to know anything more.
“She was with them once when I messaged her.” I’m doing my best to act na?ve, but the weight of Franklin’s eyes boring into me has me sweating.
“Zara is staying at your penthouse now?”
My gaze flits to Frank, then back at Penny. “Yes, but we come and go at different times. I’ve barely seen her. ”
“Jobe’s penthouse is huge. His bedroom is at one end, and the other bedrooms are at the other end, along with the media room,” Franklin points out.
“And I leave for the office at the crack of dawn and in bed early,” I emphasize.
“Oh, right.” Realization hits Penny. “Zara likes to sleep in and is a night owl.”
Don’t I know it.
“After talking to Lacey…” Mom begins and looks at Penny’s mom sitting at the end of the table, “… we decided next year we’ll have a smaller lunch after we volunteer at a soup kitchen.” Pride shines in Mom’s eyes.
I stare into the empty glass. What’s in the fucking whiskey? My mother announced she will work in a soup kitchen…
“While I enjoy fundraising and the galas, Lacey has shown me the benefits of helping other charities, especially those that support the homeless. I hope you all can join us for a few hours next year before coming home to be truly thankful for our blessings.”
“Wow,” I murmur. “I never imagined I’d see the day you would fundraise without being in a ballgown and diamonds. I’m proud of you, Mom.” I stand and round the table to hug her. One by one, everyone follows to hug Mom, Dad, and Penny’s parents.
Mom fans her hands at her face. “Oh please, you’ll make me cry and mess my makeup.” She composes herself and whispers, “Let us pray.” We link hands since Mom has always asked this of us. “Lord, thank you for all the blessings you grant us every day. May you bless this food, and may it nourish and sustain us and strengthen our hearts and minds to do your work. Thank you for surrounding us with family and friends and for guiding us toward gratitude today and every day. Amen. ”
“Amen.”
Lola starts to serve the food, but Mom says, “Lola, we can manage. Please, you and Sergio should join us and enjoy the meal.”
After working with us for as long as I can remember, even when I was a child, Lola and our chef, Sergio, didn’t sit with us. Penny’s parents’ charitable lifestyle has influenced my parents.
Penny’s influence on my family is for the better. Her opinions matter. It’s why I can’t tell my brother everything, as he’ll tell his wife, and it will cause complications.
Late afternoon, I apologize for leaving early, citing work commitments—an excuse my father accepts. Instead, I’m heading home to text Zara before I do anything else. It’s after midnight in London, and she probably won’t see the message until morning, but I can’t wait until then. She is continually on my mind, and I need to speak to her… apologize if I upset her with the merger secrecy. I know I could trust her, but what I could not have is her voice in my head if she felt sorry for Tim or any of her workmates. Zara has a kind heart, and empathy cannot interfere with a business decision.
Just checking how you are. I know it’s your first Thanksgiving away from family and friends. I hope you had a good day.
My cell buzzes on the table and hope swells for it to be a reply from Zara.
It’s from Hayley. Why is she working on Thanksgiving?
Contracts are ready to proceed with the takeover. You need to sign off first. Hope you’re having a relaxing day.
This major takeover of Sir James’ company is a priority and the main reason for my frequent visits to London. When it’s done and dusted, I can cut back on travel. My gut tightens because it’s the last thing I want to do. I enjoy being in London. I tap a quick reply.
Thank you, Hayley. Stop working on a holiday and enjoy time with your husband. FYI, on Monday, I’ll explore some residential markets in London. If this takeover happens with Sir James, we’ll have potential growth in the real estate sector of the investment company.
My phone buzzes again.
Take your own advice and relax!
I smile at her reply. Hayley knows me well.
My cell buzzes again, and I sit upright when I see it’s not from Hayley.
Today was just another day in London. I watched a movie and fell asleep early. Do you know when you’ll be back?
Is she asking so she can avoid me while I’m there?
Next week. Looking forward to it.
The following Thursday, I arrive at the penthouse around midday. Instead of heading to the office, I make calls from my study and Zoom into a meeting, blaming jetlag for my physical absence. I want to be here when Zara arrives and not caught up in meetings until seven o’clock tonight .
After barely sleeping on the flight and ignoring my mother’s advice, I’ll be ready for bed by seven. The more work I completed on the flight, the more time I will have with Zara.
I’m in the kitchen preparing dinner when the door opens.
She is pale as fuck, and my stomach flips. “What’s wrong?” I go to her and attempt to take her bag so I can help her sit down.
She holds up her hand. “Don’t come near me. I’m sick.”
I don’t give two fucks if she’s sick. She needs help. I place a hand around her back and walk with her to the couch. The heat radiates from her, even through her clothes. “You have a fever,” I tell her.
“No shit, Sherlock,” she snaps. “So you shouldn’t be this close to me.”
“I need to be close to help you,” I snap back. “Stop worrying about me. Is anyone sick in the office?”
She nods. “Everyone is too scared to miss work after your speech about work ethics. It started before the weekend, and now everyone in the office is coughing.”
For fuck’s sake. “This is why the staff has sick leave. You’re not going back to work.”
“I know,” she groans out. “I don’t have the energy. Hopefully, I’ll be over it by Monday.”
After removing her shoes, I swing her legs up onto the couch and cover her legs with a blanket, fluffing the pillows behind her. “I’ll get you some meds and water.”
After setting Zara up with what she needs, I call Trent and ask him to get a doctor to my penthouse as soon as possible.
Zara eats her dinner on the sofa and then falls asleep. I’m concerned for her. Why hasn’t anyone reported this? Picking up my phone, I make a call .
“Jobe. What do I owe the honor?”
“Marcus. Have you heard of the staff falling sick on level six?”
“Gretchen mentioned today we had a number call in sick.”
“A number? They’re all sick and sharing the virus because the staff are afraid to take sick leave for fear of losing their jobs. What the fuck!”
“ You did speak to them about work ethics.”
Dammit. This wasn’t what I’d meant. Clearly, I was so worried about the look of betrayal on Zara’s face during that meeting that I didn’t express myself properly. “Yeah. I get that this is on me. Now I’ve got to fix it. What is the work-from-home policy? What procedures does HR have in place?”
“This is not something our company offers.”
“Well, it is now. Ask Gretchen to update the Policy and Procedure Manual and send it to HR. If anyone is contagious and capable of doing some work from home, then it needs to be an option. You do not come to work and spread a virus. We’re on the brink of a fucking endemic within our company. The staff is to take sick leave or stay home and work. Surely, everyone has work computers and has Zoom access?”
“Not everyone.”
“Then make it happen. Moving forward, we want everyone working at full capacity.” Investing in a real estate investment trust company will be profitable, but not if half the staff is sick and making bad decisions.
An hour later, my cell buzzes.
“Trent.”
“Hello, Mr. Hendricks. The doctor is downstairs.”
“Send him up. I’ll wait by the elevator.”
I greet him at the entrance to my penthouse .
He nods. “I’m Dr. Edwards. I’m here to see Zara Hart.”
“Thank you for visiting. Zara has come home from work unwell. She has a temperature and sore throat.” He gives me a look as though I’m overreacting. I’m not.
“Hi,” she rasps when he walks in.
“Hello, Zara, I’m Dr. Edwards. May I check your vitals?” She nods, and he takes her temperature and blood pressure and checks her pulse. “I’m going to listen to your chest.” I head into the bedroom to get my wallet and hear him ask a series of questions. “Have you been around anyone who has been sick?”
She coughs before answering. “Most people at work. It started with a colleague who caught a bug from her kids.” She lays back and closes her eyes.
“From what I hear, current pathology reports are indicating a bacterial chest infection. It is rife in childcare facilities and schools. Your work colleague could have caught it from her children. It affects adults differently.”
“I have only been in the country for three months and still adjusting.”
“Getting used to different bug strains can take time for you to build immunity. I’ll take a blood sample and send it to pathology. I’ll also write a script for antibiotics. Don’t start the antibiotics until I get the results. I’ll call you in two days to confirm.” He looks at me. “You can fill the script and have it ready,” he tells me as he slides on gloves. “I expect it to be this strain of bacteria,” he notes, preparing the needle. He looks at me again. “If it is Mycoplasma pneumoniae, it can remain in the throat for thirteen weeks. Please be mindful with your partner.”
“She’s not—” I don’t bother explaining. “I will.”
I contemplate our limitations, but I also think of the staff. I send Gretchen a text.
Hi Gretchen. If any staff member is sick, they should be tested for Mycoplasma pneumoniae. You, especially, need to be careful. Perhaps work from home until this passes. How many weeks are remaining until you’re on maternity leave?
Hi, Jobe. I have been worried about this. Thank you. I will remain at home. Marcus has been in touch. I’ll send out an email tonight and refer to a new stay-at-home work policy. I have three weeks remaining.
Please speak to your doctor and ask for their advice. Could you please get me Lydia’s number?
She sends it through. I’ll call her later and ask her to be checked and to remain at home to work.
No one is going to lose their jobs.
The doctor writes a script and leaves it on the table. “If Zara’s condition worsens or she has chest pain, you may need to take her to the hospital.”
“I’ll keep a close eye on her.”
There is no way I’ll be leaving her side.
Zara has slept most of the day.
Between Zoom meetings, I refill her water and offer more medication, ensuring she is receiving plenty of vitamin C and zinc. Last night, she slept in her room, which I do not like. I checked on her several times and spent part of the night on the lounge chair in her room. Her condition hasn’t worsened, nor has she improved. At least the staff has been informed, and measures are in place to prevent this from happening again. Coughs and colds are part of winter, but it should never have gotten this bad.
Trent delivers a bag of groceries, and I fire up the stove to cook her chicken and vegetable soup. It’s what Lola did for us when we were sick.
After preparing the vegetables, I check my emails. There is an invite from Sir James to attend dinner this weekend.
I send him a reply.
Unfortunately, Zara is sick, but we are excited for the gala.
Two weeks…
Two weeks, and then we don’t need to fake it.
Will she want to continue the charade? Is the sex simply a fun thing for her because she is lonely?
While back in LA, I had time to consider what I want moving forward in my life. If there was a slight chance Zara and I could try as a couple, as weird as it sounds, a long-distance relationship would not work. So our situation is further complicated.
The chicken bones are boiling, and I add the vegetables to the broth and stir. Will she be able to eat bread with her sore throat? All I fed her today were smoothies full of immunity-building nutrients.
I care for her more than I want to admit. Think about her more than I should.
How do I explain that I don’t want whatever we have to end? Especially when there is no clear path to beginning a relationship.
The following day, Zara is having soup for lunch .
She received a positive pathology report and commenced the antibiotics.
“I’m already feeling a bit better,” she says. “It must be all the care from you and this amazing soup.” She gives me an awkward smile before it fades. “It still doesn’t make up for what went down before you left.”
“Zara.” I kneel on the floor beside her. “I should have trusted you.” She cocks one eyebrow. “While I made excuses that my hands were tied, I was scared that you had the power to influence my decision.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you have a good heart and see things differently to me.” I reach out and rest a hand on her knee. “You’re a refreshing influence. I see that now.” She gives me a subtle nod as though she knows it. “Is there something you want me to cook for dinner?”
She smiles appreciatively. “You’ve done enough, Jobe. Thank you. I feel sorry for the rest of the staff not receiving the same care from the Board director.”
It’s a dig, yet it also makes me smile. “At least there are now measures for people to stay home if they’re sick.”
“Thank you for rolling that out.”
“To clarify, when I spoke about work ethics, it was to the staff who were on their computer watching sports or playing games. Or the ones who would leave and think no one noticed. It was taken out of context.”
She offers a small smile. “To be fair, a shake-up was warranted, so don’t feel bad. I’ll feel worse if you catch this from me.” She pushes her matted hair behind her ears.
“Where’s your brush?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “In the bathroom. Why? And for the record, I don’t care what I look like.”
“That’s evident,” I say teasingly. “I’m going to brush your hair. ”
“No way,” she calls out. Her bathroom drawers are a mess. After a few minutes of scurrying in her drawers with makeup, jewelry, and God knows what else filled to the brim, I locate her brush and then go and sit behind her. She holds out her hand. “I’m capable of brushing my own hair.”
“I know. Allow me to do this for you.” She huffs, and for once, she doesn’t have the energy to argue. I slowly detangle her long brown hair.
“This is unusually soothing,” she whispers. “No one has brushed my hair like this for me since I was a child.”
I kiss the top of her head. “I’ll do anything to help you get better, baby.”
Baby?
I never use that word. Yet it feels good saying it to Zara.