Accidentally on Purpose 6 Book Box Set

by L. D. Davis

  “You’re late,” he whispered after taking a satisfying sip of the flavored iced tea I handed him.

  I scowled. Of course, I was late! My whole grind had been thrown off for the day.

  “What did I miss?” I whispered.

  “Larry’s knackered, but he claims he’s been sober for thirteen days now.”

  “Whatever he’s been for thirteen days, it sure hasn’t been sober.” I shook my head. “Did Judy stand up and insist that her cat has healing powers again?”

  He nodded. “Larry wants to test out the kitty-healing theory.”

  “Maybe Judy’s pussy will heal Larry and solve both their problems.”

  “Then where will we get our entertainment?”

  With feigned eagerness, I wagged my brows. “We can always buy drugs and get high. I’ll share my needles with you,” I whisper-sang.

  He stared at me coldly as he spoke dryly. “That sounds like a very fine idea. We can slip into violent psychopathic fugues together and attack the people we love.”

  “Like rabid Rottweilers,” I whispered gleefully. “Even though you’re an infected penis head, you totally get me.”

  “Frenemies forever,” he said, tapping his cup to mine.

  From the time I entered into recovery more than eleven years ago, I had attended various meetings and programs for addicts. I hated them. I hated the idea of people standing around sharing that they were a bigger loser than the person who shared before them. Who originally thought it would be a good idea for people to air their personal problems in such a fashion?

  My psychiatrist told me that group meetings helped others to know that they weren’t alone. That was a load of malarkey. How did one broken person help another broken person? In my humble opinion, the only satisfaction a person could get out of the meetings was the knowledge that someone else sucked at living worse than they did.

  If it were possible to avoid the meetings entirely, I would have, but I couldn’t. When I was a teenager, it was because a court of law told me I had to go. Then the meetings were deemed necessary as part of my compliance to receive my meager inheritance in my early twenties. After a slip up a couple years ago, however, Sterling Corporation also insisted upon it.

  No one knew about that slip-up, save for my bosses and one other person, the man that had been sitting beside me every Tuesday night for almost two years.

  I had a laundry list of reasons why I hated Kyle Sterling. For starters, he ruined my whole life. Okay, so, maybe not my whole life.

  After I’d gone into recovery all those years ago, I needed a focus. Somehow, during my foggy drug years, I’d managed to complete several college credits. My therapists, my family, and I had all thought that going back to school would help keep me anchored. So, I fully immersed myself in my studies, and with the use of the CLEPs—in addition to attending a few classes—I’d been able to get a degree in business administration in a little over two years. Wanting to carry myself just a little further, I had begun taking classes to also get a second degree in public relations.

  I’d had been very proud of myself. I had accomplished something for the first time in my life that didn’t hurt me or others. My family had been proud of me, too. My cousin Emmy was so proud and so confident in me that she pulled a few strings to get me an interview at Sterling Corporation, where she’d been working since she was a college student. I’d been considered for a couple positions—one of them, in particular, was pretty ambitious for a recent grad, but hey, it was go big or go home. That motto worked when I was doing drugs anyway.

  The position required an extremely motivated individual, preferably with a background in real estate and/or acquisitions. A few years of experience was also required, but Emmy had said that there were plenty of people within Sterling Corp that got positions they didn’t necessarily deserve, including the man who would be my boss.

  “Kyle got his position because he was born a Sterling, not because of his qualifications,” Emmy had said. “But he happens to be very good at his job. You can be very good at yours, too.”

  I didn’t have the qualifications, nor did I have the Sterling name behind me, but I did have the Grayne name. Emmy wasn’t the child of a chief officer of the company, but she had been a star in her own right, an administrative beast, and an exemplary employee. With nepotism at its best and my excellent gift for bullshittery, the hiring manager had ended up offering me the position.

  Unfortunately, I’d never received the chance to excel or fail. Keith, the hiring manager, had called me just as I had walked into the building for my first day of work and asked me to meet him in his office. When I’d arrived, Kyle Sterling was already there, standing off to the side with his arms crossed, his eyes narrowed, and his mouth set in an ugly scowl.

  “Mayson, have a seat,” Keith had said. He’d tried to smile, but with so much tension around his mouth, it didn’t look like a smile at all. His fingers had nervously adjusted and readjusted items on his desk.

  I hadn’t wanted to sit down, but I’d done so without remark. Keith had cleared his throat and glanced at Kyle. I’d glanced at Kyle, too, but not with anxiety like the middle-aged man behind the desk. I’d looked at him with curiosity. He’d clearly been one of those men that contorted his very fine-looking face into one that would make most fear him, but I’d had no fear. I’d seen and dealt with worse guys than some stuffy suit with a pretty face.

  “Mayson, I have some bad news and I have some good news,” Keith had stated, trying again to smile. “Unfortunately, we have to rescind our last offer of employment. However,” he’d added quickly when I frowned, “I can offer you a position in our human resource department. The pay is…well, significantly lower, but there are many benefits and room for advancement.”

  I wouldn’t have minded if I had never been given the job to begin with. It had truly been a long shot, but I had been given the job. I was disappointed, but not angry or hurt; however, I’d wanted to know why they had taken it away. I would have understood if the position was going to someone more qualified, but I’d wanted to hear Keith say that since he’d given me the job to begin with.

  “Why, may I ask, have you made this decision?” I’d asked politely, as I folded my hands tightly in my lap.

  Keith had opened his mouth to respond, but Kyle Sterling answered before he could, and with much less grace.

  “You are not only inexperienced, but you are also incompetent,” he’d said sharply from the sidelines.

  I had taken a quick breath before turning my head to look at him.

  “Inexperienced, yes, most definitely,” I’d said with an edge in my voice. “However, there is no way for you to measure my competency as you have yet to see my performance in any capacity.”

  “Your employment history is sketchy at best.” He’d picked up a file off Keith’s desk, opened it, and then proceeded to read to me my life’s history. “Mayson Mariah Grayne. Your first arrest was at the age of fourteen for drug possession and trespassing. You were arrested seven more times over a five-year period for drug possession, theft, lewd conduct, public drunkenness, assault on a police officer, driving under the influence, and assault and battery.” The file had been dropped back onto the desk as he’d stared at me. “Your rap sheet is so long that I don’t have enough time in my day to read it all. Do you dispute any of it?”

  I’d glared at him. Keith had had every right to that report since my employment status with the company had been his decision, but I’d known for a fact that the information Kyle had read was never meant for his eyes.

  I’d wanted to punch the smug, nasty look off his face, but since I’d still had an opportunity for employment on the table, I reluctantly kept my hands to myself.

  “Do you dispute it?” Kyle had asked again.

  I’d ignored him and turned to Keith.

  “You were aware of my background when you presented me with the job offer, were you not?”

  Of course, he had been privy to such information. We’d
spoken about it during my first interview.

  I hadn’t seen any reason to tear Keith’s face off, though; it had been obvious that Kyle was the one kicking me out of the position.

  Anxiously, he had leaned forward and folded his hands on the desk, pushing the glasses up on his face.

  “Certainly. Yes, Miss Grayne. Erm, that is, even though we are usually more…well…uh…selective with our employees, Miss Esmeralda Grayne has given you very high accolades. Also, your…” He’d cleared his throat and dared a glance at Kyle, but I kept my eyes on him. “Your therapist and parole officer also spoke very highly of you. We here at Sterling believe in giving everyone the chance to—”

  He’d been cut off once again by Crabby Kyle.

  “You haven’t answered my question,” he’d said in a quiet tone that some may call dangerous, but I just thought he sounded like Batman.

  I’d given him a one-shoulder shrug. “I can neither dispute nor lay claim to most of it, as I do not recall most of those incidences.”

  His eyes had narrowed more. “So you say.”

  Irritated, I’d said, “Yes, so I say. Drugs have a way of addling the brain.”

  “So, you admit that you are a drug addict.” A look of self-satisfaction for surmising such a very obvious thing had crossed his face. He was more than Captain Obvious; he’d earned a promotion to Admiral Obvious.

  “I am a recovering drug addict, but”—I’d smiled sweetly at him—“you already know about that, don’t you, Mr. Sterling?”

  There were many, many faces I had forgotten over the years, but his was not one of them. I’d seen his face at a dreaded meeting before, just as I had known he’d probably seen mine, too.

  The frigidity of his stare could have turned just about anyone else into a shaking and terrified mess, but it had only convinced me that my words had hit home.

  “Do you have anything else to add to your list of reasons as to why you believe I am incompetent?” I’d asked as I inspected my nails.

  He hadn’t hesitated to answer. “You have only just recently graduated from a generic college with an unimpressive transcript and a degree that has nothing to do with the position you were heedlessly hired for. With your offending, derelict background, ineptitude and ignorance, you hardly qualify to even work in our mailroom. Unfortunately, I only have the power to keep you out of my own department, not out of the company as a whole.”

  Even though it would’ve been wise to just take his verbal beating, smile, and prattle my way through it until he went on his way, that was a lesson I had yet to learn. I had yet to utilize the filter that connected my brain to my mouth—even after all these years, it takes a considerable effort for me not to say exactly what I think.

  “You can stand there with your ivy-league education—that your daddy probably bought for you—in your two-thousand dollar Canali suit and say what you will about my arrest record and my history with drugs. You can talk all day about how unqualified and incompetent I am for the position, but if you ever again try to tarnish the one gold star I’ve earned in my life, I will knee you in the balls so hard that you’ll be spitting them out of your mouth. Then I’ll shake some pepper on them, find a pair of tweezers to lift the wee things with, and eat them for lunch.”

  I had suddenly remembered that the man that hired me sat only a few feet away. I’d looked over at Keith and cringed inwardly, so sure that I’d lost any employment opportunities by threatening to eat Kyle Sterling’s balls. I was shocked, however, when the man’s eyes had flicked to me, and one corner of his mouth had—very briefly—pulled up into what could only have been a smile, or some kind of palsy.

  I’d glanced back up at Kyle, whose face hadn’t changed. He didn’t smile, nor did he seem surprised or angry. He hadn’t even placed a protective hand over his balls. He’d just continued to wear what I later dubbed his “Bitch Face,” which, for the most part, was his normal expression.

  “Emmy Grayne highly—if not erringly—recommended you, but I do not want you in my department. Besides, it is more likely that you will soon slip back into your old ways than to succeed here. How unfortunate that you will probably destroy your relation’s credibility.”

  He’d given me one last hard look and then headed toward the door.

  My hatred for him right then was enormous. I hadn’t hated him for the calloused and stabbing things he’d said previously. I had most likely said worse things to other people, and without the eloquence that he’d possessed. What I’d hated him for was his last couple sentences alone.

  Every day had been a struggle to keep my feet on the ground. Every hour, every minute…every second. It had taken an astounding amount of power to convince not only everyone around me, but myself as well, that I could do it—that I could get through a day without failing, let alone get through the rest of my life. Much too quickly, Kyle Sterling had made me second guess myself. The little bit of confidence that I’d had, along with the confidence that I’d pretended to have, had been blasted away.

  Had he made a derogatory comment about my weight, my mixed race, or the old track marks on my arms, it would have had far less of a negative impact on me. I hadn’t feared not getting a job at Sterling, there were other places to work. No, my worst fears had been that I’d lose myself to the drugs again and let everyone down.

  “Dickhead,” I’d muttered over my shoulder. It hadn’t been the most mature response, but it was heartfelt.

  “Excuse me?”

  When I’d glanced back up, I noticed he’d stopped just in the doorway and glared at me with a raised eyebrow. He probably didn’t expect me to repeat it.

  At that point, I didn’t really have anything to lose. If I hadn’t lost my employment prospects over threatening bodily harm to the man whose last name had marked the front of the building, surely, I wouldn’t have lost any by my next words.

  I’d turned in my seat so that he’d see my lips moving when I spoke, just in case he really was hard of hearing. “You are a dickhead,” I’d said, pronouncing each word carefully. “An itchy, infected, puss-oozing penis head.”

  His eyes had darkened, but he’d kept his bitch face in place when he’d said, “Well, with your past, I suppose you would know what an infected, puss-oozing penis head looks like.”

  He’d walked away before I could even contemplate throwing anything at him. Distractedly, I had turned back around in my seat.

  Keith had cleared his throat when I bent forward to pick up my purse off the floor. I knew the man was about to dismiss me from his sight. My mind had raced as I’d tried to recall the other places I had applied at.

  “I apologize for the, erm, distraction,” Keith had said after clearing his throat again.

  I’d raised my eyes to meet his, and I’d found him smiling. My jaw had fallen open and my eyebrows shot up. I’d closed my mouth and then opened it again, unsure how to respond.

  Keith had leaned forward conspiringly. I’d leaned forward as well, an automatic response when someone is about to share a secret.

  “I’ve never seen anyone stand up to him like that,” he’d whispered. “In the very least, your interaction with Kyle Sterling will be entertaining for the rest of us.” He’d winked at me and he no longer seemed to be nervous. “Now, would you like to discuss the human resources position?”

  That first meeting with Kyle had sparked a hateful relationship that had lasted for years. Emmy hadn’t been too fond of him, either. She’d nicknamed him Douche Puddle. Therefore, it had been surprising when, some months later, she’d accepted a promotion as his personal assistant and department manager. It had been more baffling when a couple years after that, she’d somehow ended up in bed with said douche puddle.

  That whole situation had been a hot mess. He’d had a girlfriend, and Emmy later got a boyfriend, but they’d continued to screw around anyway. Even though Emmy hadn’t been very sensible, I had hated Kyle for his role in that relationship. He’d been in a position of authority over her and in my opinion, h
e’d had the bigger responsibility not to stick his prick in his employees.

  That screwed-up relationship had come to a very explosive and violent ending after about a year, though, after Kyle had gone into a violent psychopathic fugue.

  Amazingly, Emmy doesn’t hate him for what he did to her. Even though I’d hated him for hurting one of my best friends, I had been able to relate to Kyle Sterling. I had a few of my own VPFs when I was younger. I understood how drugs could completely alter a person. I understood the denial and the cravings and helplessness. I understood the desire to die, but unlike Kyle, I hadn’t minded trying to take my own life.

  I wish I could say that those feelings and deadly thoughts faded with time, but they didn’t, not truly. Kyle understood that, and very few others did. So, despite my many reasons for hating the guy, it was the destructive pieces of ourselves that had brought us together in an unexpected and strange association, which in a way debunked my whole broken people can’t help broken people theory…

  “It’s that kind of day, is it?” Kyle asked at the end of the meeting.

  He glanced at the origami flower on my lap. I had used the paper sleeve of my coffee cup to make it during the meeting.

  I had learned the art of origami during my last stint in rehab. My therapist thought it would be a soothing distraction for me whenever I was anxious, depressed, or had the desire to shoot up or have a line of coke. I didn’t think it would help at all. I thought it was the dumbest idea I’d ever heard. However, before I knew it, there were paper animals and flowers all over my room at the rehab center. It wasn’t a miracle cure or anything, but it helped me, as long as I really want to be helped.

  “I saw someone I used to know today,” I admitted immediately. I was never one to beat around the bush, and neither was Kyle. It was another reason why we had an equal hate for each other before, and yet another reason why we could tolerate each other later.