Jazz: A Romantic Suspense Aladdin Retelling (Happily After When Book 1)

by Emily Bourne

  “You are aware you’re speaking to the future CEO of this company?” Jazz drops the pen and calms her pace. “What are we not providing for you?”

  “This site is the best in the company.” His jaw flexes. “But you’re such a control freak. Any time any of us try to expand or take on extra responsibility, you take it from us.” He takes a large breath to continue on. “It’s great to have a boss that is so committed and active in the gym, but you rob us the joy of the work.”

  Jazz’s eyes widen, and her nostrils flare. A line of sweat drops to the left of her forehead. She stands and slams her hands on the desk. “Get out. You’re finished here, effective immediately.”

  “Jazz, I didn’t mean any disrespect,” he says, quickly standing up. “I still like you and––”

  “––Now!” she snaps, arm stretched, pointing to the door. “You’re done at Ultimate ME. Don’t you dare think about grovelling back here.”

  Marcus swiftly leaves her office and Jazz collapses in her chair. Her chest rapidly rises and falls. She fixes her hair and wipes her brow. How dare he?

  She sits up straight and plants her trembling hands on the desk. I am Jazz Abadi. No one talks to me like that. I will run this company.

  That evening, Jazz wraps an intricate Kashmiri hand-embroided pashmina shawl around her shoulders. She fixes the waves of her hair amongst the drapes of the shawl.

  Flashes of light blind her vision as she walks from the taxi. She squints open her eyes to paparazzi snapping her picture. Ugh, can’t I go anywhere without someone recognising me?

  She hurries inside Overity.

  “Jazz,” Ethan says, throwing his arms wide and swivelling on his bar stool. “So glad you could join me.” He stands from the stool and extends a hand. “Can I take your shawl?”

  She lifts a hand. “I don’t intend to stay long enough to warrant taking it off.”

  Ethan lets out a boisterous laugh which forces him to hold his stomach. Jazz holds her resolve, no matter how tempting it is to roll her eyes.

  Ethan picks up his martini. “What can I get you?”

  Jazz places her clutch on the bar and addresses the bartender. “I’ll have a cosmopolitan and I’ll be taking care of Mr Roth’s tab.”

  “Now, now. There’ll be none of that,” Ethan says. “I asked you to dinner.”

  As the bartender starts on her drink, Jazz replies, “I don’t think dinner is necessary. You can say what you need to say over one drink.”

  “One drink, hey?” Ethan smirks. “We’ll see.”

  Jazz bites her tongue, reminding herself she came here to squeeze information out of Ethan, not to engage with him.

  They move to a table and Ethan gestures to the dark romance of dim lighting, rich hardwood and aged leather. “Surely this would make a good background for your social media feed.”

  “It’s a fitness page. Booze doesn’t exactly fit the aesthetic.”

  Ethan places his glass on the table and relaxes into the baby-soft leather wing chair. “Your father told you about our meeting?”

  “Of course he did. My father and I always discuss business.”

  “Even when it’s not your business.”

  “Don’t make this personal, Ethan.”

  “We’ve known each other a long time, which makes it personal.”

  The bartender hands Jazz her drink. She takes a sip, hoping it takes quick effect. “What is the point of this meeting?”

  Ethan pulls a rolled up document from the inside pocket of his jacket. “My business plan involves you, Miss Abadi.”

  Jazz’s eyes slit from his overly familiar pronunciation of her surname. Her fingers curl as she wills herself to wait for him to elaborate.

  “Please,” he says, gesturing to the document placed on the table. “Take a look.”

  “You’re giving me your business plan when the board meeting is in less than a week? You want to lose?”

  He tilts his head. “You think your only way of winning is by looking at my business plan?”

  She relents and rolls her eyes. She swipes the document and flips it open. “Why are you showing me this?”

  Ethan leans across the table and touches her knee. “Because I need you on my team.”

  Jazz’s stomach flips, and she whacks his hand away. “Team?”

  He pulls back and digs in the other side of his jacket pocket. “Here’s the pivotal part of my plan.” He places a small box on the table. “The proposal.”

  Jazz swallows bile as she eyes the box. “The what?”

  Ethan opens the box and a large princess cut diamond shines a top a platinum ring.

  Jazz chugs her drink and lifts the empty glass, gaining the bartender’s attention. “Another!”

  “What do you say?” Ethan says like he’s asking her to share a side plate.

  “Are you seriously asking me to marry you?”

  “You know I’m the front runner for CEO,” he says, lacing his hands. “But your father whispered to the board that an Abadi should run the company. The decision between the right move and pleasing Darius has confused the board. Let’s put them at ease. Marry me and bring me officially into the Abadi family. Run the company with me.”

  Jazz stands, her heart palpitating. “You’re mad.”

  “You don’t stand a chance, Jazz.” He stands and wraps an arm around her low back. His fingers press into the fabric of her dress and she shivers like he’s touching her bare flesh. “Work with me. Let’s be a team and move Ultimate ME into the future.”

  “Are you suggesting co-CEOs?”

  “No, of course not.” His fingers explore downwards. “The board wants to name me CEO. We will give them what they want and you can help with decisions in the background.”

  Jazz grabs his hand and twists at his wrist. He yelps in pain. She tosses his hand away, and whispers harshly, “You want me to be some kind of doting housewife?”

  Ethan shakes off his hand and smiles. “I’d love to see you in an apron.”

  The bartender comes by with Jazz’s drink. Jazz throws it back and plants the empty glass on the tray before it’s moved an inch. “Another.”

  “Thirsty?” Ethan jokes.

  “Trying to block out your stupid voice.”

  Ethan nods to her empty seat. “Sit, please. Let’s talk about this.”

  Jazz’s head spins with the weight a feather. The effects of a swift vodka intake take her over. She sits out of necessity, pinching the bridge of her nose.

  “Did you hear me?” Ethan’s voice warbles into focus.

  She drops her hand and finds his face. “Huh?”

  “Do you want to go over the proposal with me?” He slides the document closer to her and sits the ring box behind it. “Our marriage would be the ultimate power move. We’d be unstoppable.”

  You mean you’d be unstoppable. Did I say that out loud or not?

  Another cranberry-soaked vodka lands in front of her. She pulls it to her lips like a life-force.

  “Are you just going to keep drinking instead of taking this seriously?”

  Jazz slams the glass on the table. “Seriously? No, I won’t take marrying you seriously.”

  Ethan straightens his tie and moves from his chair to her side. Before Jazz can react, his hands sneak under her shawl and massage her shoulders.

  “If it’s bothering you, we can get intimate to get you in the mood.”

  Jazz gags at the thought. She leans forward, moving the shawl over her head and hiding in the darkness. “Grotesque.”

  Ethan laughs. “You know, I am named one of Maiden City’s hottest bachelors.”

  Jazz drapes the shawl around her face like a hood. “Maybe because you should be lit on fire.”

  “Either way,” he says, rounding back to his chair, “you will lose. At least being with me you might have some say in what goes on.”

  Jazz snatches his half-empty martini and kicks it back. With her vision blurring, she makes a sloppy getaway to the front door.

>   “Hey, where are you going?” Ethan calls out. “I thought you were paying.”

  His laughter trails behind her as she escapes to the streets.

  Guilt

  ADRIAN hangs his throbbing head and fidgets with his ill-fitting suit as he walks inside the shelter. His gut pangs with guilt as he avoids the common room. His eyes run over the peeling paint, holes in the walls, the bowed ceiling above, and the torn vinyl flooring below. The mess of thoughts hurry his steps, and he jumps when someone grabs his arm.

  “How’d it go?” Eddy asks. His green eyes shine with a mix of hope and apprehension.

  Adrian twists his lips, heaves his chest, and falls into a sluggish stance.

  Eddy spins him by the shoulders. “Come into my office.”

  Adrian lets Eddy push him easily, too exhausted to disagree.

  “What happened?” Eddy asks, sitting on the edge of his desk. “I knew I should have gone with you.”

  Adrian flops on the couch and sighs, rubbing his temples. “No, you needed to be here... We had no one else to stay.”

  “You look haggard.”

  Adrian blows out a breath. “Thanks.” He finds Eddy’s eyes. “Six weeks.”

  Eddy brightens. “Six weeks and we get the money?”

  Adrian’s posture drops again as he shakes his head. “Six weeks until they decide yes or no.”

  “What?” Eddy gasps. “How can it take that long?”

  Adrian shrugs. “That’s government agencies for you.”

  “They didn’t make you sign anything, did they?” Eddy asks, alarmed.

  Adrian shakes his head. “No, I told you I wouldn’t do that without you.” He takes a slip of paper from his jacket and hands it to Eddy. “They gave me this. I told them to tell me what it said.”

  Eddy reads over the paper. “I’ve already seen this. This is fine.” He jumps off the desk and says, “You need to go corporate.”

  “No. No way. I am not stooping that low.”

  “Adrian, we can’t wait six weeks for maybe a yes.”

  “I know that.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and winces. “I shouldn’t have asked for a government grant.”

  “Why not? We’re a not-for-profit. We’re the people they want to help.”

  Adrian stands, face softening as he approaches Eddy. “We won’t get it because of me. They’ll check my background and dig up my past. I’ll be the reason we don’t get the money and the shelter will be shut down.”

  “Don’t let the negative thoughts in,” Eddy says, patting Adrian’s shoulder. “Maybe they’re more concerned with your age? Some people don’t take nineteen-year-olds seriously.”

  “Yeah... Maybe.”

  “You want to get into this? We could have a session now?”

  Adrian smiles, patting Eddy’s hand. “Thanks, but no. I should get back out there.”

  “You’re too stressed to––”

  “––Bud, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. Just do the amazing work you do.” He pulls the door open. “Work will be a good distraction for me.”

  Adrian leaves Eddy’s office and takes the narrow hallway to the dining room. Hector and Maria have set up the food on a trestle table and a few people scatter around tables, eating. Adrian moves by the kitchen door, ready to help clean up. His appetite left him before he left the meeting room at the government agency.

  “Thanks for dinner, Adrian,” Tessa says, scrapping her plate over a rubbish bin. “I’ve got a job interview tomorrow.”

  Adrian takes her plate, smiling. “Wow, that’s great. Good luck.”

  “Eddy helped me look through the donated clothes and I think I got a good outfit for it.” She gulps and looks at the row of trestle tables in the dining room. “I hope I get it and can move into my own place.”

  “No rush, settle into the job first.”

  “You’ve got enough people here to worry about.”

  “Hey,” he says, resting a hand on her shoulder. “As long as we can keep this place open, you’re welcome as long as you need.”

  “I’ve been here two months,” Tessa hushes. “How can you not wanna kick me out?”

  Adrian laughs. “I’ve been here for three years. Should I get booted, too?”

  Tessa relaxes with a smile. “C’mon, we’d all be lost without you.”

  After another person scrapes their plate, Adrian ties up the rubbish bag and lifts it out of the bin. “Get a good night sleep, Tessa. You need to be fresh for the interview.”

  Tessa nods, moving toward the bedrooms. “I hope these nerves let me sleep.”

  “See Eddy for some meditation tips if you have trouble getting to sleep,” Adrian suggests.

  “Will do.”

  Adrian carries the rubbish through the kitchen and out the back door to the graffiti alley, which is littered with broken glass and illuminated by one small security light. He tosses the rubbish in the dumpster, and as he closes the lid, a garbled voice rings through the alley.

  He squints as a shadowy figure stumbles around the alley. “Hello?” he calls out.

  A wispy giggle echoes as the light brings the figure into focus. Adrian steps forward as a young woman wearing a red headscarf babbles slurred words.

  “Miss? Are you ok?” Adrian calls out.

  She hears him, because she stops dead. She slurs another sentence and then collapses to the cement.

  “Whoah! Are you ok?” Adrian’s heart thunders in his chest as he races to the girl. He skids to a stop, lowering to the ground beside her. Uh-oh, he thinks at the sight of her jet-black hair. “I’m sorry,” he apologises in fear of disrespecting her religious beliefs.

  He checks her breathing, and it patters against his cheek. He takes in a whiff of her sweet, floral perfume and notices the angles of her olive face. He chews his lips and stops himself from thinking about how pretty she is.

  “Adrian? You all right?” Hector calls from the kitchen.

  Adrian waves at the kitchen. “Come over and give me a hand. This girl’s unconscious.”

  “Ah, shit,” Hector yelps, racing into the alley. “Junkie?”

  “Just drunk, I think,” Adrian says, tucking an arm under the girl’s back. Hector gets on her other side, and Adrian says, “On three. One, two, three.”

  They lift the young woman, with one of her arms around each of their necks. “Let’s get her inside,” Adrian says, tightening his hold on her and checking if she stirs awake.

  They carry her through the kitchen, and Adrian tells Hector to hurry through the dining room.

  “Whoah, who’s this?” Eddy says, moving between the tables to reach them.

  “C’mon Hector,” Adrian says, nodding towards the bedrooms, “keep going.”

  They move into the hall and Tessa walks into her room.

  “Tessa, can you keep the door open?” Adrian calls to her.

  “Oh, sure,” Tessa says, startled and backing out of the doorway. “Who is that?”

  “We don’t know,” Hector says as they bustle into the room.

  Adrian lifts the girl fully into his arms and slides her onto the bed.

  “Was she in the alley?” Eddy asks, moving into the room, concern dripping off every word.

  Adrian smooths down his shirt and moves from the bed. “Yeah. She was stumbling and slurring her words and then collapsed.” He finds Tessa’s eyes. “Sorry, d’you mind if she sleeps it off in here?”

  Tessa shakes her head. “I’m sure she’ll be a welcomed distraction.”

  Used

  JAZZ rubs her head, moaning as she pulls the sheets away from her face. What happened? Why do I have such a monster headache?

  She sits up in bed, hair cascading round her face, and clunk.

  “Ow!” she wails. She rubs her forehead and squints an eye open. Planks of wood line overhead with a mattress poking between each plank. A bunk bed?

  “Ah, Adrian,” a girl’s voice calls.

  Jazz pans the room to see who and where she is. The room is bleak, wi
th a chipped dresser and scuffed walls. A girl with a spiky, pixie cut and nose ring stands by the doorway, staring at her.

  “Adrian, she’s up,” the girl says with a jittery voice.

  Jazz scrambles to the top of the bed and claws the sheets, pulling them to her neck. I’ve been kidnapped!

  “Stay away from me!” Jazz yells, her limbs trembling and colour draining from her face. “Stay away. Whatever it is you think you will get from me, you won’t get it!”

  A man bustles into the room. “Whoah, whoah, whoah,” he says, hands outs like stop signs, his volume low. “You’re all right. You’re all right.”

  “You can’t keep me here!” Jazz yells.

  The young man smiles. “We’re not interested in keeping anyone against their will. But when you walk by here drunk as a skunk, we kinda need to give ya a bed.”

  “What?” Jazz whispers. Drunk? Her mind goes into overdrive to recount last night’s memories. “Ugh. Ethan.”

  “Ethan?” the young man repeats. “Is he your husband? Boyfriend? Brother?”

  Jazz squints at him, taking in his shiny, brown eyes and the kind creases that tell of many smiles and laughter. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Adrian,” he says, kneeling by her bed. “You’re at a refuge centre, a halfway house. Is it ok that I talk to you? We don’t have any female staff here at the moment.” He turns to pixie-cut. “Where’s her headscarf?”

  “Headscarf?” Jazz repeats with mild interest.

  Adrian turns back. “I’m so sorry we can see your hair. Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable or repair any religious beliefs I may have broken?”

  Jazz’s forehead scrunches as she takes in the sincerity in his face. She runs a hand through her unkempt hair and watches the light dance in his eyes. She looks at the dark skin of her arm and then to his fair, beige skin tone, and smiles. “I’m not Muslim.”

  Adrian backs up, his expression switching between confused and relieved. “Oh, you’re not?”

  Jazz smirks. “Not all brown people are Muslim.”

  “Oh no,” Adrian says, standing and waving his arms, “I meant nothing disrespectful. I... I...”