Haze (39 page)

Room 45 popped into view, a boardroom with glass on both sides of the door. There were opened blinds that could be closed to quickly provide privacy if needed. Given my interactions with Sam, I hoped they would close them while I was here.

I knocked on the door and waited. It swung open slowly. There was an older gentleman there, his full head of black hair dotted with patches of grey. "Miss Jacobs?" he asked.

"Yes." I extended my hand and shook his. "Mr. Hiller?"

"Right," he said. "Do come in."

He introduced me to the other members of the HR department, a man younger than him named Michael and a woman around his age named Deb.

"We heard from some of the interns that you had somewhat of an
unfortunate encounter with Mr. Beckermann earlier this week.

"Yes," I said, my confirmation just the tip of the iceberg.

From that point, the conversation went in a number of unexpected directions—there were apparently sexual harassment charges from other girls in the office, along with charges from female artists on top of that. Nothing too serious, but things that had been investigated and the results deemed "inconclusive."

"We discovered that Mr.
Beckermann has faced a number of restraining orders from women related to our industry. He seems to get fixated and then a little
carried away
." He never clarified that bit, but I wasn't sure I needed to know the full definition. "Nothing too serious, however. Nothing to worry about."

Ryan dominated the conversation the whole time, the other two just taking notes and occasionally providing a small rehash of HR jargon.

Much of this was surprising to me, especially given the background info that Sam had provided me about himself. None of this fit.

On top of all of that, Sam had used his influence to appoint an HR person who would turn his back on Sam's misconduct, one that had been fired a few weeks ago for unrelated insubordination. The incident with me had provoked so many complaints that they had to do a full-scale investigation, one that involved Sam being suspended until a judgment was made.

"We had numerous reports of him drinking on the job and using, shall we say,
demeaning
verbiage with you."

I didn't hold anything back, even admitting to the stuff with Jack after they inquired. I wanted to be totally honest, even if it negatively affected the outcome of this meeting. Jack was right—this was actually helping.

At the end, the three seemed to compare notes briefly before Ryan took the lead again. "Ms. Jacobs, based on what you've told us, we'd like to offer you an apology and inform you that, if you wish, your position at MCI will resume effective this coming Monday. It is our opinion that you didn't violate any portion of MCI's non-compete clause, and therefore, your termination was unjustified. And although our decision regarding Sam is incomplete, at the very least he'll be transferred to another office, no longer your superior. Well, if we keep him at MCI at all."

Whoa.
I certainly wasn't expecting this at all.

"Uh, I—" I trailed off, not sure what to say. "Well, t-t-thank you," I said, my voice full of confused gratitude. Now that options were hitting me left and right, it was getting even tougher to make decisions. "This means a lot to me."

Ryan slid a business card toward me, his card with his name across the top in fancy typeface. "Miss Jacobs, if you have any questions or concerns here at MCI, don't hesitate to contact me directly at anytime. We're here to create a positive environment for both our workforce and clients. We greatly appreciate you coming in."

"It was no problem." I nodded to punctuate the sentence.

"We want to know that Sam Beckermann is not representative of the policies were believe in here at MCI, we are dedicated to—"

My mind started to wander as he gently assaulted me with his corporate schlock. God, this development really made things more interesting.

"... so we're glad to have you back."

"Yes, thank you." I meant it, even though I again felt like I was wandering aimlessly through life—and it had become a barren
desert.

After a series of brief, professional goodbyes, I got out of the building and headed to my preferred coffee joint, sitting down with a friendly Americano, a treat for myself. I didn't usually use that much cream, but today the espresso seemed extra strong and so I went a little crazy.

Although I wanted to talk to Jack, I didn't really feel like struggling with my phone if it decided to be stubborn. I sat with the coffee, my mind cooling down in tandem with the hot drink. I thought about the fact that I suddenly had a job again after several days of misery and lost direction.

I had entered a clearing, an empty space where everything seemed all right. Questions still seeped into the fibers of my mind, but now they weren't so obtrusive. Did I want to take back my job, or did I want to go with Jack? Could I do
both
somehow?

Each had its pluses and minuses, or so I thought. When I remembered how Jack's arms had felt around me, how malleable he'd made me with his comforting words, it felt like something else. A tiny spark lit a fire in my mind.

I remembered my conversation with Stacy and how she and Jack had strayed apart due to their conflicting schedules and relentless work ethic. The answer hadn't been present then, when I had worried for just a moment that with Jack, a relationship would be tough. Maybe even impossible. How could I stay close to a guy who always needed to be gone for work? Most people didn't want that sort of relationship, though for many, it was a harsh reality.

But here was the answer, the answer Jack had given the previous night without ever knowing about my conversation with Stacy. He said it was just a spur-of-the-moment thing, but what if he had considered something like it since the inception of his own label? His job offer didn't sting so much anymore, didn't feel so much like a dumb way to avoid responsibility, a one-way ticket to fantasyland, millions of miles from the real world.

This
was
the real world. It was a world that Jack wanted to create for us, a world that allowed us to thrive—together. He wanted to take me on trips, wanted to treat me to the best that the world had to offer.

Why should I fight the one who loved me, maintaining tension and hard-headedness for no real reason at all? Having a career of my own and being with Jack weren't mutually exclusive, and finally I saw it.

Nothing with Jack had been even remotely short of breathtaking—the food, the sex, the talent, the looks, the personality, the care and concern. I would be an idiot to let him to go, because he was the
fucking man of my dreams.

It didn't fucking matter if I felt unworthy, or if I felt inferior to the women he had dated in the past. None of that mattered anymore. I believed what he said, believed every word that came out of his lips like it was the most brilliant thing ever spoken. I had treated him to unjustified ups and downs, rushes of emotion that I had allowed to overtake me, to confuse and weaken me.

If I went back and analyzed his reassurances, his promises that everything would wind up okay, he had
been right
every single time after the dust settled. I was okay. I would survive. I was being overdramatic, immature and stupid. After so many years of thinking that men like Jack just didn't actually exist, I could understand my opposition, my brain's desire to move to slowly while my body wanted to travel at light speed.

Jack was real. This wasn't a dream. Everything would be okay. His offer was both pragmatic and dreamy, a situation in which infatuation concurred with reality. Things didn't usually happen this way—but if they
could
, why should I avoid them?

As if he had been listening to my mind all along, Jack called
my phone
, currently the only frustration-free way I could communicate with him. "Hi, Jack," I said, my voice masking the visible satisfaction on my face.

"I can tell you're smiling. What's up?"

"Drinking coffee at my usual spot. They offered me my job back." I wasn't sure how he would take the news.

"Great, just great. What'd you tell them?"

"Nothing yet. I thanked them for being reasonable. Sam's been suspended thanks to people defending me in the office."

Jack started laughing so hard I had to pull my phone away from my ear. "Those guys are like sharks. They terrorize everyone else until a bigger group of pricks come along and hunts them down." There was some commotion in the background. "Fuck it, I'll be there in a couple of minutes. I don't know why we're talking on the phone when I'm two blocks away." The call ended and I sat quietly, my coffee nearing completion.

Less than two minutes later, Jack popped up in the doorway. He glanced at the cup in front of me and then locked with my eyes. "Do you want anything else?" he called.

"Only if I don't have to decide what it is."

He nodded and started talking with the barista. I saw her eyes ogling him—I absolutely couldn't blame her—and it only made me prouder. Jack Teller was
mine
. They would look, but they couldn't touch.

After his order came up, he tossed a ten-dollar bill in the tip jar and walked to me with two mugs. "Here," he said, handing me a drink.

"What is it?"

"Just coffee. Black. They have a really nice French roast here. This batch was roasted today. Fresh as it gets."

"I'm not really a black coffee sort of person," I pleaded.

"Yeah, because shitty coffee isn't any good. Try it. I made her make a new pot."

As usual, he was right. It was a lush variety of fruity chocolately flavors that all came together in this one glass of hot liquid. I almost spit it out because of how surprised I was. "What the fuck am I drinking, Jack?"

His wry smile was as delicious as the drink. "People never drink any good coffee. Believe me. Some people live their whole lives drinking garbage. But this, this is bliss."

He was right in every possible way. I was sitting here in New York City, relaxing with Jack, sipping fresh coffee in the middle of the day—and everything was going to be all right.

Jack suddenly switched gears, his face becoming serious. "Effie, I just
wanna say something."

"I do too," I interrupted.

A quizzical look emerged on his face. "Who goes first then?"

"Flip a coin?" I suggested.

He reached in his pocket and pulled out a gold dollar coin. "My lucky coin. A very famous person gave me this."

"Does that mean I'm
gonna lose then?"

"There's a fifty-percent chance you'll lose. Heads or tails?"

"Heads."

He flipped it. I won.

"I want to work for you," I blurted out, my voice cutting off abruptly.

"You
do
?" he asked, cocking up one eyebrow.

"Yes. That's my decision."

"Well, shit," he said, resting his head on his hand.

Oh great, what now?
Had he given away the job or something? Was this all just a fluke? "
Well, shit
what?" I asked.

"I was going to tell you that MCI is most likely just giving you your job back so you won't sue them. And I was going to once again recommend that you walk away and, well, work for me." He righted his posture, and grinned. "I'm selfish. I want you all to myself."

I leaned across the table and grabbed his neck, pulling his face—and lips of course—against mine. I dominated his mouth, dominated his tongue with my own. Both of us tasted like coffee, and that was fine by me.

"I feel the same way," I said after lowering back into my seat.

"You want
you
all to yourself? And I thought
I
was the narcissist."

I giggled. "Shut up, Jack. Also, I love you too."

He wrapped his fingers through mine and closed them tightly. "Good."

This was a brand-new start, and it
really didn't seem that anything could go wrong.

Chapter 21

Fuck, life was
good
.

It had been about two months since I started working for Jack—the HR guy seemed really disappointed that I turned down the reinstated position; I stuck to my ground anyway—and it was everything he had promised it would be. Challenging, fresh, and unique. I had my own desk and my own work area at the label. I didn't feel burned out when I went home, and having a hot as hell boss sure helped with that.

Quite frequently, I had
Jack
for lunch, and yeah, he could be quite tasty...

Fancy dinners embellished with champagne and rich desserts became the norm. I did more spontaneous fun things than I had ever done in my life. I spent more time in hot tubs than ever too, a routine that was, well,
great
.

Although we had taken it slightly easy, practicality was starting to suggest that I just officially move in with him. I really didn't own much, and I felt bad that I was rarely ever in my apartment. Most of my outfits had already made their way over to Jack's closets, so the need to return home became less and less pressing.