BWWM Interracial Romance 3: Family Heart

Family

Heart

Elena Brown

Copyright © 2014

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Copyright © 2014

Table of Contents

Meetings

Sorry

Dinner and a Movie

The Other Woman

Cold Shoulder

Insecurity

It’s Complicated

Sisters

A Suitable Replacement

Together

Jessica walked briskly from her office to the main conference room on her floor of the
Texan
, trying to sort out in her mind whether it was the third or the fourth meeting that she had for the day. In spite of the fact that her feet were starting to get sore from so much walking in heels, and she hadn’t had time for more than cups of coffee between meetings, Jessica thought it was just as well that her schedule was so packed; whenever she had more than a few minutes to think—more than the time it took for her to pull together what she would need for the next meeting—Jessica’s mind swam with images of Evan. The drive into work had been gloomier than usual, even for the early-morning hour. Jessica had barely managed to keep her stinging, burning eyes from filling with tears as she remembered the man she had loved so well.

It’s not fair!
She had thought, over and over again during the drive; she had turned the music up loud and made herself sing along with whatever came onto the radio just to keep the thoughts out of her head. It would have been Evan’s birthday—they would have been planning a big party, or maybe a weekend out of town to celebrate. If he hadn’t been in the accident. If he hadn’t been ripped out of her life in an instant.

So when Jessica looked at her calendar as soon as she came into the office for the morning, arriving early out of restlessness and a desire to just get through the day and past it, she had looked at the pile-up of meetings that were in front of her with relief. If she was busy the whole day, she thought, she would be able to keep Evan firmly out of her mind—at least most of the time.

Jessica had focused on prepping for her first meeting, sipping coffee while she reviewed the pitches that the writers had submitted. When she had finally gotten the promotion to editor, Jessica couldn’t have been more thrilled; it had come after years of hard work, taking any assignment she could get, accepting any challenge and putting herself forward. It felt even better to Jessica to know that her staff trusted her; there wasn’t a single writer who worked under her who questioned her right to the job, even if she was one of only a handful of women in positions of authority at the Texan, and even if she was one of the few people of color. There had been a few tense moments with some of the other section editors, but Jessica had held her own—and the reward for advocating for her writers and managing her department the right way was that there was not a person in the company who didn’t respect her.

Jessica strode into the section meeting with the pitches she was ready to approve in one folder, and the ones she thought needed more work in another; the ones she was rejecting outright she kept in her office—and the people whose pitches were rejected outright would see her privately about them later in the day. It was a system she had instituted early on, and one that Jessica stood by. Where there were promising pitches that needed just a little bit of work to be perfect, she didn’t see the harm in getting feedback from the other writers on the staff. But when it came to rejecting a pitch outright, Jessica didn’t think it made sense to even mention what the pitch was; anyone could have a bad week for ideas, and besides, it was bad enough for the writer to know their pitch wasn’t accepted without any jokes from the peanut gallery.

The section meeting was over with only a few minutes to spare, and as those who now had accepted pitches went back to their desks to get started, Jessica spoke to each of the writers of the rejected pitches and set times for their meeting to discuss why she wouldn’t let it go forward. Some of them were newer writers, who didn’t have as firm a grasp of the magazine’s voice and priorities; it was understandable that they’d occasionally throw in a bad pitch. “It happens,” Jessica told one of the newest writers, named Ricky, with a smile. “How else are you going to learn, if you don’t make mistakes?” She had firmer words for Alessandra, who had been at the
Texan
for over a year. “I feel like you’ve gotten a bit sloppy,” she said, after giving the writer her meeting time. “I need you to focus, or tell me what’s getting in the way of your focus.” Alessandra nodded and left quickly, and Jessica wondered whether she would be seeing the woman’s resignation letter in the near future—normally, when writers started getting messy with their pitches, it meant they were on their way out.

The second meeting had been with the editorial board; it always followed the section meetings. As always, Jessica found herself shaking her head as it ran over, though she smiled to herself. The editors at the
Texan
were all passionate about their sections, and almost every meeting involved asking for more space in the magazine, wrangling and negotiating with other sections; Jessica had never much seen the point, because the editor-in-chief, Hadley Michaels, always set the final layout anyway—and would make decisions as to what got cut if the magazine was over or if there was a need for space for an ad partner. It didn’t make sense to Jessica to barter for space with another department when her overrun might get cut anyway—but she knew that other section editors didn’t have the same opinion.

When Jessica came out of her third or fourth meeting of the day, feeling a dull headache working at her temples and the base of her skull, her phone buzzed, vibrating against her hip. She took the phone out of its case and, seeing it was her friend, Gail, answered it with a mixture of hope, confusion and a little bit of dread. Gail would only have a few reasons for calling her in the middle of the afternoon. “Hey, Gail,” Jessica said, turning into her office and closing the door. “I can’t talk long—I’ve got another meeting in fifteen minutes. What’s up?” Gail snorted in response to the question.

“We were supposed to get lunch today, that’s what’s up—you stood me up!” Jessica set her portfolio case on her desk and racked her brain; Gail was right, of course. She had made plans to meet with her best friend for lunch, since Gail knew it would be a difficult day for Jessica.

“I’m so sorry,” Jessica said, sitting down in her desk chair and scrubbing at her face. Her stomach was twisting knots inside of her, the headache beginning to intensify. She opened a drawer in her desk and took out a jar of peanut butter, kept for just such a situation, along with a plastic spoon and a sleeve of crackers. “If it makes you feel any better,” she said with a wry smile, “I’m starving because I forgot.” Gail laughed briefly.

“It doesn’t make me feel better. Look, eat your peanut butter crackers. But tonight, you and I are going to go out and get a few drinks in us.” Jessica took advantage of the need to chew on a peanut butter-slathered cracker as an excuse not to immediately answer. She reached out and took a sip of room temperature coffee to clear her mouth.

“I don’t know about that, Gail,” she said quietly.

“Nope, you’re not getting out of it. You need a few good, stiff drinks to remind you of why it’s good you’re still alive! I will not take no for an answer. In fact: I will pick you up at seven-thirty sharp.” Jessica tried to summon up a reason she shouldn’t go out, but between her need to eat something quickly and her fatigue from multiple meetings, she couldn’t force her brain to come up with something that Gail wouldn’t immediately shoot down.

“Fine, fine,” she said weakly. “I’ll be ready at seven-thirty. I’ll have two drinks, but that’s it. Then straight home.” Gail laughed and Jessica felt a sense of dread; she knew, deep down, that she would not be leaving after two drinks. It was just a good thing that she didn’t have to be in the office early the next day.

“Jessie!” her mother called, as Jessica finished the final touches to her makeup in her bedroom. “Gail’s here!” Jessica smiled to herself, giving her hair a final swipe of the hand and grabbing her purse on her way out of her bedroom. Whatever flaws Gail might have, Jessica thought ruefully, her friend was always precisely on time, something that Jessica appreciated in her. “You have a good time, and if you need me to come pick you up, call me,” Jessica’s mother told her, giving her a kiss on the cheek as she went through the living room. Jessica knew her mother was worried about her; her mother knew only too well how much Jessica had loved Evan, how much he had meant to her.

“I’ll be fine,” Jessica said, smiling. “Just a couple of drinks and then I’ll come home safely.” Jessica walked out of the house and met with Gail, who had made it halfway up the front walk.

“Looking good! There’s hope for you yet.” Gail was maybe two inches taller than Jessica, with long, blonde hair that tumbled about her shoulders and a slim body. They almost couldn’t be more different physically; Jessica had inherited her father’s darker burnt caramel skin tone, and her mother’s voluptuous curves. She preferred to keep her hair short, since it made styling it in the morning easier—not for her the long, finicky braids or extensions that some of her other friends spent so much time and pain to acquire.

“I’m not looking for a guy, Gail—especially not tonight.” Jessica frowned, wondering what was on her friend’s mind. Gail threw an arm around her waist.

“Maybe not tonight, but you should start putting forth an effort to find a guy soon. It’s been a year, Jessie—Evan wouldn’t want you to be miserable forever.” Jessica sighed, but let Gail lead her to the car. She told herself firmly that she would call a halt to the evening if Gail tried to get her to talk to some strange man at the bar.

They shared baskets of fried appetizers and beers, talking about their respective jobs; Jessica apologized for missing their lunch date, explaining the interminable march of meetings that she’d managed to schedule for herself that day, and told her friend about the “greatest hits” of the bad pitches she had reviewed.

They were on their second rounds of beers when Gail looked across the room. Her green eyes widened. “Oh man, Jess, you have to meet this guy. Logan! Logan!” Jessica groaned, putting her hand over her eyes and sighing. She should have known that Gail would insist on introducing her to someone.
It’s not his fault,
Jessica told herself firmly, taking a deep breath as Gail excitedly continued to call the man over. Jessica put a polite smile on, determined to get through the situation as smoothly as possible. When the man that Gail was calling Logan walked up, Jessica felt a tiny frisson of something in the pit of her stomach, felt her heart beating just a little bit faster; he was a tall and slim, with curling, brown hair cut close to his skull and dark brown eyes and a dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks. Dressed in a tee shirt and jeans and with a ready smile curving his lips, Jessica couldn’t deny that he was attractive.

“How’s it going, Gail?” the man asked, barely breaking away from his glance at Jessica to address her friend. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?” Gail giggled.

“Logan, this is Jessica Waithe; Jessica, this is Logan Farrell. Jessica’s an editor at the
Texan
, and Logan is my boss.” Jessica found herself chuckling at the frank introduction, in spite of the instinctive discomfort she felt in the situation.

“Pleased to meet you, Logan,” she said, glancing at Gail, whose green eyes were dancing with mischief. “Would you like to sit down for a bit?” There was another chair at their table, and Logan accepted it easily, putting his beer on the table and making pleasant small talk.

In spite of herself, Jessica found herself warming to the man; there was something candid and refreshing about him. He didn’t ogle her and he didn’t ignore her, but struck a balance between paying attention to her and talking to Gail. There was no pressure to flirt, no cheesy come-on line, but Jessica was smiling, letting herself be drawn into the conversation. She told Logan how she had worked her way up from the bottom of the intern pool to become an editor, and Logan countered with the story of building up his construction company, where Gail worked in administration. Jessica had had some idea of what the company did, from conversations with her best friend—but she was still fascinated to have the “flyover view” from the man who owned the company.

She didn’t realize how late it had gotten—or the fact that Gail and Logan had somehow tricked her into a third beer—until she started to yawn. “Oh my god!” Jessica said, her eyes widening. “Please don’t think I’m bored. I just…” she yawned again, her face flooding with an embarrassed blush. “I’ve had a really long day, and it’s past my bedtime.” Logan grinned slightly at that.

“I’m not usually out this late, myself,” he said. “I’d love to have a chance to talk to you again, though—maybe over dinner.” Jessica bit her bottom lip and glanced at Gail, indecisive. Gail was nodding, her eyes wide in urgency. Jessica felt a flash of guilt, thinking of Evan, and the fact that she had enjoyed herself talking to a new man. “Unless you’re spoken for?” Jessica shook her head.

“No. No, I’m not spoken for.” She heard the crack in her voice but rushed onward anyway. “I’d love to talk to you again sometime—soon. Dinner sounds great.” She took a pen out of her purse—she always had one handy—and scribbled her phone number on a napkin. “I guess… give me a call.” Jessica smiled again, feeling her cheeks burning with a blush. It had been a year since Evan had died, and even longer than that since Jessica had had anything to do with starting a relationship with someone.
Whoa, girl!
She shouldn’t assume that just because a good-looking man wanted to see her again that he wanted a relationship. Jessica’s head was spinning—less from the alcohol and more due to the strange conflict of feelings that were rushing through her. She gave Gail the cue for them to leave and tried not to rush out; while she wasn’t sure she was ready to go on a date, she didn’t want Logan to think she was running away from him.