The Fifth Avenue Story Society

by Rachel Hauck

  Though she kept her plans to visit ZB this afternoon to herself. What the doc didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

  She was also well on her way to moving back to her apartment. Once she got hold of the superintendent and had him install a shower hose.

  After slapping down her debit for the copay, Lexa was free. Out on the sidewalk, she turned her face to the receding heat of an October sun, texted Jett and Coral the news—they’d both hounded her during the appointment for an update—practically walked backward to the bakery on the corner in order to guard her arm, and grabbed a chocolate croissant and chocolate milk.

  Standing on the corner, waiting for a cab, she glanced back at the corner drugstore and saw a sign for Pink Coral lip gloss. She nipped inside to buy one, try it out. Give Coral her uneducated opinion.

  There was one left. Diamond Dust. A glittery soft rosy desert sand color.

  “We can’t keep this on the shelf,” the clerk said as she checked out.

  “Really? My friend owns CCW.”

  “Good for you.” She was not impressed.

  Stuffing the lip gloss in her bag, Lexa hailed a cab and made her way downtown to ZB Enterprises.

  She’d been itching all week to check in, make sure Zane and Quent hadn’t driven the place off the rails.

  Dressed in her broken-arm attire—yoga pants and an oversized shirt—she pushed her way through the steel and glass entrance of ZB, the atmosphere electrifying her dull senses. Angling over the mezzanine railing, she greeted the buzzing Think Tank.

  “My people.”

  “Lex! You’re back.”

  “We miss you.”

  “Zane is crazy when you’re not around.”

  She gave that one a thumbs-up. “Tell me about it.”

  Turning for her desk, she yearned to be back in the thick of things. Here is where she felt most like herself. Working, contributing, making a difference.

  Being with Jett in their old apartment messed with her concrete reality. Made her want things she’d left in the past.

  It had taken her two days to overcome the effects of the kiss. Monday morning in the breakfast silence, she broke through with her little comment. Sort of glad Jett agreed they were heading toward dangerous territory.

  Then all day Monday she looked forward to seeing him again. And when he came home from the story society calling her name, so eager to tell her about the unpublished Gordon manuscript, his actions and demeanor, his enthusiasm, were so like the Jett she’d fallen in love with.

  As he spoke, describing how he felt holding this rare book, she wanted him to scoop her up, bring her into his joy, swing her around, and kiss her.

  But they weren’t together. Not now. Not tomorrow. Not ever again.

  One can undo a marriage but not a divorce.

  Lexa slowed as she approached her desk. “Hello, Quent.”

  “Lexa, what are you doing here?” Quent tucked a large poster under his arm.

  “Came to check on everyone.” She pointed to the poster. “What’s under your arm?”

  “The Zaney Days campaign.” He held up an image of a smiling Zane holding their number-one gourmet burger, the Zane Train.

  “Quent, that’s not the ZD poster. Where’s the one with the families and the whole team in Central Park?”

  “Tossed out. This is the new poster.” He walked around Lexa. “I’m late getting this to promotions.”

  “Since when is that the new campaign?”

  It was way too late to redesign the poster. And there was no need. Zaney Days was gaining a solid reputation as a must-go-to family event.

  “Since Zane hired Tim.”

  “Tim?”

  “The branding consultant. Tim Fraser? You know about him, right?

  “The consultant. Yes, of course I knew. His name slipped my mind.” She pointed to her fading bruise. “The concussion knocked some things loose.”

  “Zane’s in there with him now if you want to go in.” Quent disappeared down the curved stairs to the Think Tank.

  Lexa peeked through the glass to see Zane bent over a drafting table with a short, stocky man in khakis and a button-down.

  “Lexa, good, you’re still here.” Lois Watkins came from the direction of HR with a printed form. “I was going to email this to you, but since you’re here . . . Zane approved your vacation time.” The woman retrieved a pen from the canister on her desk. “You had over three hundred hours built up.” Lois wagged the pen under Lexa’s nose, one hand on her blue polka-dot hip. Her dyed-red hair, teased into a frenzy, danced above her lined face and squinty green eyes.

  “Lois, I’m on sick leave. Not vacation.” Lexa examined the form. “We have unlimited sick days, remember.”

  “Change of policy.”

  “Since when?”

  “Two months ago. You read the revisions, didn’t you? We talked about it at the executive roundtable.”

  “What executive roundtable?”

  A soft pink splashed the HR manager’s cheeks. “Sick leave is unlimited, but with more than a hundred and sixty hours of vacation on the books, you must use it first before going to sick pay.” She waved the pen at Lexa again. “Page thirty-four in your handbook.”

  Lexa walked around to the desk and with her awkward left hand, opened the employee manual. Sure enough, on page thirty-four, the vacation-sick policy had been changed.

  “Doesn’t matter. I don’t go on vacation anyway.” Lexa signed the form with a loopy left-handed script.

  “Other than getting hit by a car, how was the gala?” Lois said. “Sabrina looked stunning in the pictures the Post ran.”

  “The mini ZB burgers were a hit,” Lexa said. “Lois, when was this executive roundtable again?”

  “August. One of Zane’s off-site luncheons. Don’t you arrange his schedule?” Lois turned for her office. “Good to see you. Can’t wait for you to return.”

  The electricity she experienced when she walked in ten minutes ago ebbed so quickly Lexa reached for the desk to steady herself.

  Meetings and policy changes behind her back? Not that he owed her anything, but she was a core member of the team.

  Trembling, she made her way to his office. “Got room for one more around the table?”

  Her boss, her friend, rose up and glanced toward her. “Lexa, hey, what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be resting and healing.”

  “I came to check on you. See how ZD is coming.” She stepped toward Tim, offering her good hand. “Lexa Wilder.”

  “Tim Fraser, Halo Branding Consultants. Nice to meet you. Zane’s told me a lot about his amazing assistant.”

  “Interesting.” She glanced at Zane. “This is the first I’ve heard of you.”

  “Really?” Zane turned away.

  “When did we first meet, Zane?” Tim reached for his coffee. “Last fall? I’m horrible with time frames.”

  “Last fall sounds about right. Excuse us, Tim. Lexa, can I see you out here?” Zane gently steered her from his office.

  “The blank spots on your calendar.” With each step, revelations dawned. “You were meeting with him?”

  “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d protest.” Zane guided her toward an empty conference room and closed the door.

  “You hired a consultant without telling me? Why? Consultants charge big money with little to no ROI. We’re doing great. We don’t need a consultant. People want us to consult with them.”

  “Because we need a plan for growth.”

  “We have a plan, Zane. And an amazing team in the Think Tank. What more do you need? How much does this consultant cost? You need a CEO more than you need him.”

  He sighed and paced. “I hired him because we’re not growing as fast as I’d like.”

  “Zane, are you crazy? Any faster and our heads will be backward. What’s wrong with a solid but steady trajectory? We’ve been on a rocket ship for three years. Don’t you think it’s time to slow down, catch our breath?”

  “I hav
e franchise offers, airports and malls calling.” Lexa could see the tension in his august face. “We could be one of the top restaurants in the nation in five years. A Realtor called yesterday with a primo lot on the water in Melbourne Beach, Florida. Three million. I ran the numbers, Lexa, it’s a gold mine.”

  “Great, let’s fly down and see it. But we don’t have to decide today, Zane. Why are you so nervous? Why did you change Zaney Days?” She pointed toward Quent’s desk. Her desk. “That poster of you is ridiculous.”

  “Tim made a great point about me being the focus of the company, the brand face. Like Dave Thomas from Wendy’s or—”

  “Ronald McDonald? Cause that’s what you look like.”

  “Will you shut up?” He slammed his hand on the table, his cheeks fire-engine red. “This is my company, and I’m a little tired of you telling me what I can and cannot do, Lexa. Believe it or not, I have personal and business goals you are not privy to, and your constant butting in and objecting is tiring.”

  The power of his accusation shoved her against the glass. “I-I was only trying to help.”

  “No, you’re trying to run the company.”

  “Because you asked me to, Zane. You gave me jobs to do and I did them. I sat in board meetings, talked to Realtors, vendors, and suppliers. I dotted I’s and crossed T’s. I hired and even fired so you could be free to do your magic. I stayed late when everyone else went home. I stepped up when the first store opening fell behind schedule. When we realized we needed a policies and procedures manual, a human resources guide, and an accounting system, I rolled up my sleeves and made it happen. How many nights did you call at ten or eleven in a panic when something was overlooked? Who fixed it? Who found this building and moved us in a weekend? Me, Zane, me. And it cost me. I was here, working, instead figuring out what was wrong with my marriage. Instead of going to Switzerland with Jett when he begged me. I’d have been with him the weekend Storm died. But I chose this place because I thought you needed me more. Thought I was part of the team. The permanent team. And now, I learn you have executive roundtable lunches without me and changed the vacation and sick leave policy. I have to use my vacation time to heal from a broken arm I got on account of you.”

  “Me? I never told you to run in front of a cab.”

  “You promised me, Zane. If I went with you to the gala, I’d get the CEO job.”

  “Lexa, I didn’t want to go here, but I have to ask.” He looked at her with some sort of sympathetic pinch as his posture collapsed and his voice dropped. “Are you in love with me?”

  “Am I . . . what?” She charged toward him. “How can you . . . in love? Why would you—”

  “We’ve worked closely. Been good friends. Confidants. And, I guess, to be honest, we’ve flirted.”

  “You’ve flirted.”

  “Which you didn’t reject.”

  “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”

  “Hurt my feelings?” He laughed in a tone that pitied her. Poor Lexa. “I think we both know—”

  “I’m not in love with you, you egomaniac.” She breathed fire. “Never have been. Never will be. But I did consider myself your partner in business. That one day I’d be CEO.”

  “You assumed too much, Lex. Do you really think I’d give you a CEO position just because you went with me to a gala?” The raw realities released with the heat of the confrontation. “That’s not how to run a company. You’re my assistant. No man in his right mind would promote an executive assistant to CEO.” He hammered the table again. “You do what I need and if that means you represent me at a meeting or on a call, you do it. But it does not put you on the same level as me. Your name and signature do not carry my authority. You’re not the boss, Lexa, I am.” For the first time in seven years she saw a greed in his eyes she’d never seen before.

  She verged on exploding. The scream in her chest rumbled and rose. Thoughts rumbled, words collided with every late night, early morning, and emergency problem she’d fixed in the last seven years.

  She’d brainstormed the brand image, marketing, promotions, uniforms, and store designs, even came up with Zaney Days, one of their best promotional events.

  The bile of betrayal filled her. At last, three words escaped her taut lips.

  “You used me.”

  “Used you?” He paced around the table. “You used me. To get your way over mine. Since you’ve been out with your arm, I’m learning all kinds of things you’ve done without telling me and—”

  “If you’d read your emails and listen in meetings you’d know everything. I never hid anything. You just never cared.”

  “I gave you too much rope, Lexa, and I’m sorry.”

  With a string of black-and-blue words, she shoved past Zane for the exit, her jaw so tight her teeth ached.

  “Not half as sorry as I am.”

  She rode the elevator down twenty floors to the lobby, kicking the side of the car and simply trying to breathe. At the curb, she hailed a cab.

  Zane had dismissed her. Rejected her. Said she was an interference. A busybody.

  By the time she unlocked Jett’s apartment door, the rage of her tears had boiled to a frenzy. Slamming the door, she threw her bag and keys on the floor, collapsing beside them.

  Her moans vibrated in her chest, releasing sob after sob until her wailing cry saturated her entire being.

  Somewhere in the noise and pain, she heard her name.

  “Lex?” Strong hands caressed her shoulders. “What’s wrong? Hey, hey, shhh.”

  She burrowed further into the floor. If only the wood planks would open up and swallow her.

  “Lex, you’re scaring me.”

  But what could she say? Exposing her latest humiliation to Jett would be her undoing.

  Chapter 19

  Jett

  “Lexa, talk to me. Please.” Peeling her from the floor, he helped her to the couch. “Did you fall? Bump your arm?”

  But these were not the tears of physical pain. They were from something deep in her being. She hadn’t cried this much when the cab knocked her flat on the pavement.

  Examining her face, her arms, her legs and ankles, he found she was unharmed. Gently he touched her chin and captured her attention.

  “Zane?” He went with his gut and the rising anger that made his heart hammer beneath his button-down and ugly professor sweater. If he hurt her . . .

  Black tears streaked her cheeks, cutting through her makeup. Her hazel eyes, red and raw, hosted a dark glint he recognized.

  “He . . . he . . .” Lexa toppled forward, her forehead landing on his chest. Her sobs, softer now, watered his shirt.

  “Shh, it’s all right.” He leaned back against the cushion and rested his chin on top of her hair.

  “I tried so hard . . . accepted . . . one of the team.”

  “I know, I know.”

  He’d pummel that hamburger-selling jerk.

  What if he hadn’t come home to go over the notes he left on the banquette table? She’d be here by herself. The notion twisted him with his own pain.

  He’d spent a solid afternoon with his dissertation, written and rewritten his personal foreword, even crafted an email to his parents to warn them of what he was doing.

  He was ready to send to the publisher early. But the unpublished GPR manuscript gave him pause. If he could include some portion of the unpublished novel in his final product, it would put his work in another class altogether.

  Dr. Levi and Dr. Paulson confessed ignorance and delight at Jett’s find. Renée placed a few more calls and came back with the same. No one in the literary world knew of an unpublished manuscript.

  Lexa shivered in his arms, her energy waning. Leaving his work on the left side of his brain, he checked in with the right.

  Maybe this wasn’t Zane. Maybe it was her parents. Or Skipper. But she said “he.” Zane. Had to be.

  Lexa sat up, pushing free. He felt cold where she’d rested against him and
fought the urge to pull her back.

  “Zane?” he said again.

  She nodded, wiping her face on the extra-large shirt tail. Jett reached around her for the box of tissues on the end table.

  “He, um, he said—” She hiccupped into another series of sobs.

  “Did you go to ZB?”

  “After my doctor’s appointment. I just wanted to check in, say hi. I really miss everyone. I feel off not working.” She blew her nose, then struggled to leave the couch. “I don’t know what to do with myself.”

  Jett helped her up, his attention fixed on her troubles as she headed down the hall. “Where are you going? Can I get you anything?”

  “Water, please.”

  He took a cold bottle from the fridge and followed her to the master bath. Setting the water on the sink, he turned to go.

  “I’m a mess. Can you help me wash my face?”

  “Have a seat.” He patted the toilet.

  Bibbing her with a towel, he filled the basin with warm water and squirted a dollop of CCW face foam in his hand.

  Gently, he washed her face, the sensation of her soft skin beneath his fingers calling to his desires.

  “Your bruise is healing nice.”

  “He’s hired a consultant.” Her confession was almost breathless. “Changed the Zaney Days campaign.”

  “Is that so bad?”

  Her eyes popped wide. The answer would be yes then?

  “Instead of being about the company and the families, it’s about him. You should see the new poster. Zane’s big fat face dead center. He looks like a cheap mattress salesman.”

  “You fought about it?”

  “It’s a waste of money, Jett, and I told him so. He slammed his hand on the table. Told me I was overstepping, reminded me I was his assistant and nothing more.” Her eyes filled again.

  “What about the CEO job?” Jett soaked a clean washcloth in the warm water.

  “Surely I didn’t believe he meant to give me the job just because I went with him to the gala. No one in their right mind would promote an exec assistant to CEO.”

  “No one in his position would dare ask his assistant to be his stand-in date. Not these days.”