In Her Candy Jar: A Romantic Comedy

by Alina Jacobs

  Josie: I wish I was doing marketing. Anything is better than being Mace's assistant

  Sticking my phone in my mouth, I hauled myself up the ladder to the loft. I curled up on the musty mattress and passed out.

  I woke up with a start the next morning and looked at the time on my phone. Crap! I was going to be late again. I ran around, throwing the jars of candy, the mac 'n' cheese packet, and a bowl into my purse. Then I walked outside into the sunshine and looked solemnly at the trailer hitch.

  Nope, still couldn't figure it out.

  "You're coming to work with me, tiny house!" I shouted and jumped into the truck.

  "Being mindful of any wayward trains," I ordered myself over the grinding of the engine. I prayed that the truck would hold out as I trundled down Main Street and up the hill to the Svensson PharmaTech offices.

  Belching exhaust, my truck pulled up beside a cute little sports car. I looked over. Tara was giving me a sour look through the window.

  "Good morning!" I said cheerily. She didn't wave back, just zipped her little car into a parking space.

  The tiny house wasn't going to fit that neatly. I drove it over to an empty part of the lot and parked the trailer as best as I could. Something creaked in the house, but I decided to ignore it.

  I checked the time on my phone—three minutes before nine. I sprinted to the building. Tara was waiting for me in the lobby. The ground was still wet from the rain last night. I saw the mat I had tripped over yesterday and braced for impact. My foot hit the mat, and instead of slipping and falling, I was stable.

  "I had someone fix that," I heard Mace say. Tara beamed at him. I was satisfied to see that he only gave her a professional smile back. Wait, what did I care? If he wanted to hang around no-taste Tara, that was his problem.

  "I see you're a man with foresight," I told him. "Nicely done." He looked annoyed. "Today is a new day," I promised him. "I am a new me. I'm not going to let you down, boss." I clapped him on the bicep. I had to reach up slightly because he was very tall. He also had a very muscly arm under that designer suit. Not that I cared, of course.

  Mace looked down at my hand on his arm. "See that you do. This is a streamlined operation. I can't have a repeat of yesterday. You've been highly recommended by my brother's assistant. Her reputation as well as yours is on the line."

  I saluted him. "Won't happen again."

  "I highly doubt that," he replied and directed me to the stairs. "There are quite a few things that need your attention," he told me as we climbed the five flights of stairs up to his office. I was huffing and puffing once we made it to the landing.

  Mace looked at me. I bent over, my chest heaving. "I only ate wine and cookie dough for dinner last night," I told him. "I'm a bit low on energy. Give me a second."

  His mouth turned down in disgust.

  "You take those stairs really fast. You should slow down and admire the view." I snickered to myself. "Although I guess the view from behind you is actually much better. "

  I heard him suck in a breath, and I looked up at him, giggling internally at the expression on his face.

  "Sorry," I said, "that was totally inappropriate. I swear I'm turning over a new leaf. Girl Scout's honor."

  He gave an incredulous snort.

  "Hey!" I exclaimed when I walked into the office. "All the ink's gone."

  "And I see you also removed it from your skin," Mace remarked. I looked down.

  "It's still on me, it's just that this shirt is a little higher collared," I explained as I unbuttoned the top two buttons and pulled the shirt down to show him the faint ink stains. My boss reddened ever so slightly as he looked at my chest. Then his gaze went quickly to the ceiling.

  "I didn't mean it like that," I said. "I was just trying to make conversation since you brought up the ink."

  "You brought up the ink," he corrected.

  "But you brought up ink on my skin." I looked at him. "Do you have any tattoos?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "Like your twin brother, Archer. And you have another brother, Hunter, right? And one named Garrett?" I chuckled. "That's so weird. Did your mom name you all after war instruments? Was she a video game geek?"

  Mace glared at me, gray eyes steely.

  "My mother was only thirteen when she was coerced by my father to join a cult. She got pregnant at fourteen with her first child and had eight more in as many years until she left. So, yeah, that's what she named us. What do you expect? She was basically a child; she had no education. But good on you for mocking a victim. I bet you feel real superior."

  "Oh," I said, feeling stupid. "I put my foot in my mouth. It's an unfortunately regular occurrence with me. I'm so sorry."

  "Grow up," Mace snapped at me. "You are a useless person. I don't want you here, and I'm going to make sure you quit before the week is out."

  I looked down at my shoes.

  "Your work assignments are in your inbox," Mace said. "I suggest you start your day."

  10

  Mace

  I couldn't believe Josie. How dare she make fun of my mother?

  "I need to get rid of her," I fumed.

  I went across the hall to my brother Garrett's office while I watched Josie through the layers of glass. She set out jars of candy and pulled a bowl out of her purse.

  "What are you doing in here?" Garrett, my CFO, asked.

  "I hate that assistant," I told him.

  "Hate is a strong word and should be reserved for people who dump puppies on the side of the road, people who don't use an Oxford comma, and our father," Garrett said from behind his computer screen.

  "She insulted our mother."

  "Do you see me?" Garrett asked, not looking up from his spreadsheet. "I'm rolling my eyes. Mentally. You can practically hear them scraping the back of my head."

  "You never liked Mom."

  "Of course I didn't like Mom," Garrett sneered. "By the time I was born, she was five kids deep and threw anything within reach at you if you came near her or interrupted her TV-viewing time."

  "She was a victim."

  "No one forced her to live in that compound."

  "She was a child," I argued.

  Garrett shrugged. "So were we."

  "I forgot what an asshole you are," I snapped at him, though I knew I was going to regret it.

  My younger brother looked at me, eyes cold. His military-short haircut made him look dangerous. It was not an inaccurate conclusion to draw. I'd seen Garrett bring companies to their knees and devour their carcasses.

  "I have zero sympathy for people who make bad choices," Garrett said in a clipped tone. "Now you are starting to get on my nerves. You need to calm down."

  "You could help," I said churlishly.

  Garrett waved his hand. "How do you think everything gets funded, hmm? You think Greg and Hunter are that smart?"

  "No?" I said cautiously. Talking with Garrett was like dancing with a snake that had a knife duct-taped to its tail. I was always going to be on the losing end.

  "The only way we're able to keep our family afloat is finances. This company would be bleeding to death in a ditch if it wasn't for me." Garrett tapped his pen on the desk, punctuating each word. "Do you know I have headhunters regularly calling me, wanting me to save the Fortune 500 Company du jour that's been run into the ground? Do you even appreciate the sacrifices I have made?"

  "I do, but I'm just tired of being the only person taking care of the kids. If you could help out—"

  "I'm already helping Archer with his stupid little conference center idea. He's thinking about buying that defunct zoo and bringing in penguins. Penguins! I am obviously trying to steer him in a more profitable direction, but I can't have you having a nervous breakdown," he warned me.

  "I'm not having a—"

  "You've wasted enough of my time. Go put together another one of those seizure-inducing PowerPoints for the quarterly address to the company. You're going first. Presenting after you always makes my slides look bette
r," he ordered.

  I slunk out of my brother's office. I usually tried to avoid him. Garrett was odd, even when we were kids. He had all the star charts memorized, and he could count prime numbers to the hundredth digit. He and Remington spent too much time together, I decided. The two craziest brothers shouldn't be that close. It was dangerous. Who knew what they were plotting?

  Not wanting to be that close to Josie, I went to an empty conference room. Normally I liked all the glass walls since it was usually so cold and dark this far north in New York. But now I wanted some privacy. Hoping no one would bother me, I quickly searched on my phone for information on how to convince someone to quit.

  One article had a whole list. The first recommendation was to play favorites. I could do that. I could tell she and Tara didn't get along.

  The next suggestion was to assign an overwhelming number of tasks. I sent out an office-wide email replying to the one Tara had sent out a few days ago reiterating that anyone needing help with anything should contact Josie.

  The article also suggested making the undesirable employee stay late. I could definitely do that, especially if I insisted on unreasonably short deadlines for all my assignments.

  The biggest recommendation was to demand success in areas the person wasn't trained or hired for. What project could I put her on? I didn't want Josie to work on something that was actually important. The company quarterly presentation was coming up. That would be a perfect opportunity to send her over the edge.

  "See, Garrett?" I muttered as I put away my phone. "You're not the only one who can plot."

  Tara was walking down the corridor to one of the conference rooms as I headed back to my office.

  "Is Josie still upstairs?" I asked her.

  Tara made a face. "She's making microwave pasta."

  "She what?"

  "Don't ask. You know, Mace," Tara said. "You work too hard. Maybe you should get out more. The cider brewery just opened a restaurant. Maybe we should go?"

  I nodded noncommittally. Tara constantly wanted me to do stuff with her. I had gone to get a drink with her once, just for business, and now she was constantly around me or doing things for me.

  "I am stressed," I told her, trying to divert her attention. "But Josie is the main source of my stress."

  "She does seem to have trouble fitting in," Tara said. She looked up at me from under her lashes. "Maybe you could fire her?"

  "I can't," I said, "at least not anytime soon. But if she quits, it won't be a problem."

  Tara winked at me. "I think things might just work out in your favor."

  I felt a little guilty for trying to make Josie quit. But then I remembered how she had mocked my family situation. That particular sore point was more tender than I liked to admit. No, it would be best if she quit. Especially since she somehow always seemed to ruin my carefully managed day.

  As I rounded the corner, there, like a ghost that just wouldn't quit, was Josie, sitting in the middle of the hallway. Irritation bubbled to the surface.

  11

  Josie

  I slumped down at my desk. I had had no idea about Mace's mother—I bet that was a real sore point for him. There was no way he would keep me around after I made a mean joke about her. I really needed to learn to keep my mouth shut.

  Promising the employment gods that I would absolutely do better if only I wasn't fired, I opened my email inbox.

  Someone needed a hotel reservation. Someone else wanted some samples sent to the Palo Alto branch. Closing the email program, I rested my head on the desk, feeling overwhelmed. I needed some breakfast before I could deal with all the demands.

  I took out the mac 'n' cheese packet and the bowl I had thrown into my purse. After heading to the breakroom, I mixed up the water, noodles, and cheese packet, then I checked the snack selection while it cooked.

  Tara came over to me as I was picking through the plain rice cakes and little packets of something called chickpea butter.

  "I have a marketing meeting," she told me. "You need to prep conference room 25-T."

  "Sure," I said, taking the pasta out of the microwave.

  Tara looked disgusted as I stirred the neon-orange food. "You aren't a good fit for this company. If I were you, I would consider finding somewhere else to work and bowing out gracefully."

  "I am going to prove that I am an invaluable member of this organization," I bluffed. Truth be told, I figured Mace would have me out of there by tomorrow evening. "I'll have that room ready to go," I told her.

  I grabbed my bag and filled a container with trace paper, card stock, and boxes of pens and markers from the supply closet near Mace's office. Balancing my bowl of breakfast pasta on the plastic container of brainstorming material, I walked to the conference room. Except I couldn't find it.

  "The map says it's supposed to be here," I muttered. I set down the container and sat down on it, taking bites of pasta and contemplating the floor plan that had been included in my welcome packet.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Hey, boss!" I said to Mace. He walked around my impromptu seat to stand directly in front of me. I had to crane my neck up to see him. I tried not to make a comment about how my head was strategically at crotch height to him. Probably best to keep that to myself.

  "Just trying to find a conference room."

  "You're eating pasta."

  "Wanna bite?" I asked, offering the bowl to him. "I think it's organic. I bought it at that hippie general store down the way."

  "I told you only healthy food is allowed in this facility."

  "Pasta is healthy!" I told him.

  He held out his hand.

  "Seriously?"

  "It's company policy," he said, half smiling at me.

  I put the bowl in his hand, and he tossed it into a nearby trash can.

  "That was my only bowl!" I yelled at him, running to the silver bin.

  "Don't," he ordered, grabbing me and wrenching my hand back just as I was about to stick it into the large metal trash can.

  I stared up at him, feeling apprehensive. I didn't think Mace was the physically violent type, just the glaring, broody type who loomed around corners and broadcasted his disapproval.

  "It's a compacting trash can," he said softly, releasing me. "It could have crushed your hand."

  "Oh. Well, thank you for saving my hand." I swallowed. "You should probably not have those things just lying around. Sounds like a liability issue."

  "There's a huge sign on the front of the trash can"—he pointed—"and one on the wall behind it. It's never been a problem until now."

  "Great. As always, it's been a productive conversation, but I have to prep a conference room."

  He stood there silently as I picked up my box, said a little prayer, and picked a direction.

  "This seems right," I said, feeling sweaty as I walked away from Mace. My body echoed with the sensation of his large hand on my arm and the heat from his body.

  I looked at the door numbers in the short hallway. Where was the conference room? I turned a corner and saw Mace standing there expectantly. Fuck. I was right back where I started.

  "Are you lost?" Mace asked with a quirk of his eyebrow.

  "Nope," I said. "Just enjoying some exercise."

  "What conference room?" he asked, the hint of a smile playing around his mouth.

  "I don't need your help," I countered. "I'm just admiring the view."

  "But you're standing in front of me," he said.

  Did he just—

  "There you are!" I heard Tara screech. "Mr. Svensson is very busy. Stop wasting his time."

  Tara did a bad imitation of the longing sigh of a Disney princess in Mace's direction then gestured impatiently for me to follow her. We turned left, not right, and then we were at the conference room. I set the box on the table.

  "What is all of this?" Tara asked as she opened up the lid to the box I had filled with paper, colored markers, and stickers.

  "You said you were brain
storming, right?" I said. "So you need something to get the creative juices flowing. I brought a few things."

  "You need to bring refreshments," Tara sneered. "That's what you do. You fetch coffee. You are not part of the marketing team."

  "If I wasn't supposed to bring this, then where's all your brainstorming stuff?" I argued.

  Tara pointed to one solitary easel.

  "That's it?" I asked, incredulous.

  "This is all we need," Tara said.

  I was about to make a nasty comment about the state of Mace's PowerPoints and the marketing collateral generally, but I was trying to make it through the week without being fired. I couldn't ruin Marnie's reputation—she had stuck her neck out for me. The least I could do was not insult people every five minutes, even if they deserved it.

  "I'm off for coffee, then," I told Tara.

  I filled pitchers of water and coffee from a nearby breakroom and was setting them out on the table when Willow walked in. She gave me a brief hug.

  "Stay strong," I whispered to her.

  "No promises."

  Tara stood in front of the room and cleared her throat, watching me. "You can go now."

  "Let me know if you need anything else!" I chirped.

  See? I'm turning over a new leaf.

  12

  Mace

  I made Josie stay late that night. She was organizing the notes from the Platinum Provisions meeting to send out. I watched her through the glass partition wall. She seemed stressed as she typed up the notes. Good. She would be gone for sure by the end of the week.

  I sent her several emails with busywork like reorganizing the supply closet and inventorying the breakroom snack supply.

  "Did you receive my messages?" I asked her from the doorway between our offices. She looked up at me. A few tendrils of her curly hair had escaped from her bun. I longed to tuck them back into place… but only because I wanted it to be orderly, not because I wanted to touch her hair.