Mister Know It All: A Hero Club Novel

by Amélie S. Duncan

  “Stop,” I interrupted. “Stop talking like nothing is different.”

  Her brows raised. “Whatever do you mean? I’m trying to be mature instead of screaming like I want to do.”

  I snorted. “Too late for that. You fucked around in my house.”

  “I was upset. I messed with your childish toys, so what? We agreed on a break, and you promised to give me time. Instead, you send a message that you’ve moved on?”

  My jaw ticked. “You’re upset about messages? For three months I sent messages to you and you didn’t answer. I shouldn’t have bothered.”

  “Now, Ford, you know why I chose not to communicate. It was because you smothered me after the accident. I had therapists taking all my time and you double-checking on whether or not I did everything. Your obsession with everything was excessive. Hell, you were helping me dress every day, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I felt like a doll, not a desired woman. It was too much, and it made me feel guilty.”

  I took a deep breath and said what I kept in for months. “Guilty, because I forgave you for cheating on me with Andre? I did whatever it took to help you recover, but you didn’t care. You left anyway.”

  I’d used what I learned to keep my alcoholic mother from ruining the lives of my siblings. When she couldn’t do it, I took over her job as their parent, organizing their lives so they would eat, sleep, study. My heart told me caring was loving. But she saw my caring as oppressive. Would Jasmine see it that way too? She was much more independent and had her life together. She’d done nothing to make me think I need to help her take care of herself. What she needed was care for her heart.

  Cecile picked up her glass of wine and drained most of it. “You’re silent, making me uncomfortable. Have a drink of wine. You can handle it. Many children of alcoholics drink an occasional glass. I’d hoped you’d have gone to therapy and worked on yourself while I was gone.”

  I’d done therapy, and I’d decided to only drink occasionally. Cecile’s idea of mental health treatment meant I should change into who she wanted me to be. Hell, she didn’t like who I was personally, only that I was a photographer and had money. She detested my “stupid geek stuff,” as she called it from the start. Jasmine thought of it as a badge of honor.

  “I’m not interested in drinking or talking about the past. Why are you here?” I asked.

  She furrowed her brows. “What kind of question is that? I’m here because we love each other and you asked me to marry you. While I’m thinking, you take a lover to punish me.”

  “Jasmine isn’t a punishment for you. I like her.”

  “But you love me,” she said and smiled. “You’re infatuated. I saw your pictures of her. I suppose a few images show some promise, but I hear she doesn’t even live in New York City. She’s a college student from Boston.”

  I frowned. “Who told you?”

  She cocked a brow. “I still have some friends in New York City. I do check in with the gallery on your work. Liberty talks to Martin.”

  I seethed. Martin needed to talk with his assistant, Liberty. “So, you can talk to people here, but you can’t talk to me? You’re here because I started seeing Jasmine?”

  “I’m here to end our break. I’m also here to help repair your friendship with Andre. He said you wouldn’t take his calls.” She took a big gulp of wine.

  “You’ve talked to Andre?” I growled.

  Cecile finished her wine and poured another glass. “I had no choice. Andre needed my deposition for his court case. The DUI cost him his license, and they demoted him at work. He told me you’re holding out on signing over the property his dad left to you when he was too far gone with his illness.”

  I folded my arms. “That’s a lie. Andre’s dad wanted that property to become a retreat for people with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, like he had.”

  She curled her lip. “His dad didn’t know his son would need the money. I’m sure he wouldn’t have wanted his son to become destitute.”

  “Andre is not destitute. He’s angry his dad didn’t leave him everything. So that’s why you’ve returned? To get me to dishonor his father’s dying wish?”

  “Ford, stop being so sensitive.” She reached over and touched my hand. “I came back because I want to accept your marriage proposal, but you must leave your affair behind.”

  “I’m not ending things with Jasmine,” I said and removed her hand. “There is no marriage proposal. You said no, and I don’t want to marry you anymore.” And now, I was glad she said no. I knew what I wanted now, and it wasn’t Cecile.

  She blinked rapidly. “So, you’re mad. I suppose I deserve that. I should have come back sooner, but you can’t tell me you don’t care for me or all your feelings are gone. You sent me a message instead of moving on. You wanted to provoke me with another woman, and it worked.”

  “Even without Jasmine, I’ve changed, and like you, I like who I’ve changed into.”

  Cecile had inspired me and brought my hobby to a greater audience, and I’d forever appreciate her for that. Seeing her stronger was good, and I admired that in her. But I expected more than sex from a relationship now. I wanted someone I had something in common with. Someone who had ambition and their own dreams. Someone who I could share all of my life with.

  She sniffled. “Our break was a mistake. It hurt you instead of making you stronger like me. Please don’t cast me out, Ford. Give me time to readjust. I have no job, and my accident left me living off my savings. I thought maybe you could do a second collection of me? Since I’ve changed, you can do a contrast of maturity in the images—”

  “My art is about my attraction, sensuality, and sexuality. I don’t do redemption art.”

  She blanched and furrowed her brows in contemplation. I was about to leave when she lifted her head and asked, “Have you tried to expand your art? You might surprise yourself with what you find. I mean, you have clients willing to blank-check you. They will take anything.”

  I tuned her out and bit the inside of my cheek. Cecile finally told the truth. She came back because she wanted to extend her fifteen minutes and make more money. She’d also put Liberty in an awkward position that Martin would have to let her go. Why hadn’t I seen this side of Cecile before? I’d been in lust, infatuated with her. She was my muse, and my artwork thrived. I thought we’d been in love. I was, but I was also missing most of the time with work. Cecile liked that. She only wanted to use me.

  “Martin handles that, but you already know that part. That’s why you remained in contact with Liberty. So let me bottom-line this for you. I won’t be taking any more photos of you. I don’t even care if you decide to see Andre. Just go on with your life and stay out of mine.”

  “Ford, I need you. Don’t shut me out,” she cried.

  “Like you did me? We’re over.”

  She had no comeback for that. She looked scared because her scheme didn’t go as she planned.

  What stunned me was that she showed no signs of remorse or genuine care for leaving me waiting for her.

  “We’re done, Cecile. We’re over.”

  I left the table and walked out of the restaurant a body lighter and better for it.

  JASMINE

  You’re lucky I like you

  “Are you still lunching, Ms. Celebrity?” Quinton teased.

  I spoke around the pencil between my teeth as I typed on my work laptop. “One second.”

  Quinton always wanted to make things at work feel less like work, and I liked him for it. Work was already bright, but thanks to Graham, it had turned even brighter with the change in my position. Morgan Financial had given me a new job as a temporary research writer. The semi-promotion gave me a small office off the kitchen, complete with a desk, fake plant, and a window facing a brick wall. Not exactly a mover or shaker, but the position came with a pay increase that covered my next semester expenses and the house insurance without asking my parents for anything. Yay me! Working at Morgan Financial wasn’t college, but the same soc
ial issues were prevalent. I was spoiled for topics. And that was only the start.

  After only a week on the job, New York Magazine requested to reprint one of my blog articles. I’d been the only one surprised.

  I enjoyed the boost in profile, and for the first time, I received all the accolades with my name in print instead of ghostwriting Randall’s academic papers.

  Besides the new perks, I got to flex my time to visit other businesses all over Manhattan. My schedule also gave me free time to move around Ford’s schedule. He’d been working longer hours because Margot had decreased her hours in preparation for her retirement. But we found a way to spend time together by working at his home. We’d cook, watch movies afterward, and always had sex before sleep.

  Ford took off this afternoon and even more days the next few weeks. I’d been given access to his schedule to add things for us to do together within reason. I didn’t care as long as I got to see him. When I didn’t, I missed him terribly.

  I finished typing and put my handbag on my shoulder. “Coming.”

  “Is that what you told Ford?”

  My face burned. Yes, many times. “No. Whatever you heard, it’s wrong.”

  I lied, and Quinton wasn’t having it. He closed my door and folded his arms.

  “Come on, Jasmine. We all know. You leave with him. He’s smiling and talking to us. The grinch who works on Christmas is taking time off. He’s got his sexy back.”

  I rose from my chair. “Days off and saying hello is code for someone having sex at the office? Even I couldn’t find a way to prove that theory.”

  We skipped the elevator to take the five flights of stairs to the lobby. Since Quinton had figured out Ford, I wondered what the office gossip was about me.

  “Priscilla said when you all went to the spa over lunch, you got a wax,” Quinton said. “Oh, and by the way, she hates you now. Meow.”

  I grimaced. “I’m not catfighting with her, but I won’t go out with her anywhere again since she gossips.”

  “She wants what she can’t have. Hell, if it was me, I’d flaunt the hell out of Ford.” Quinton swaggered. “I’d make the whole office jealous. You’re leaving anyway. You don’t have to hide.”

  A weirdness went through my chest. You’re leaving anyway. You don’t have to hide.

  I was missing Boston, but really, it was only Tam I truly missed. People wise. I missed my running companion, she’d aced her practice MCAT, and she’d also met someone new. I wanted to hear more about him. I wanted to meet him face-to-face. Yet . . . I didn’t know when I would.

  We went to the bistro around the corner, and I ordered soup and a salad.

  “So, girly, what’s your plan?” Quinton asked. “Are you staying?”

  “I’ll have enough credits to graduate in January. I plan to go back for the official graduation in May. I should hear a decision on the remaining Ph.D. programs for next fall.”

  I totally didn’t answer his question, but how could I when I still didn’t know what I would do?

  Quinton frowned. “Degrees are good on a wall. I have a social work degree, and let me tell you, college is great, but eventually, you have to leave it.”

  “But if I become a professor, I wouldn’t have to…” I stopped myself.

  I sounded like my mom. She had always made me believe the professorship was a certainty.

  “Sure, you will eventually. But you’ll be up to your ears in debt and praying for tenure so that they won’t downsize your department and end your job. I’ve heard all the stories when I was trying to place overly educated unemployed people. It broke my heart,” Quinton said.

  I’d heard stories like this before, but I always had an answer. I’d cultivated professional contacts that could work for me. Then again, would they? Randall had been responsible for sending the references before the breakup. Would that be my life? Becoming a permanent assistant, hoping one day a professor would retire or give me a shot? Or will they behave like Randall and hold me back for their own benefit?

  Quinton sat taller and smiled, letting me know someone caught his eye. But then a familiar hand touched my shoulder. His touch still felt electric. His presence still took over the place he appeared. Ford. He was handsome in jeans and a button-down shirt. No suit jacket. His blue-eyed gaze still made me weak, and his smile made me giddy.

  “Hello, petal,” he said softly, but from the grin on Quinton’s face, he heard him. Come to think of it, Ford wasn’t hiding me at all, not since the first night he touched me.

  “Hello, Quinton, how are you doing?” Ford asked.

  Quinton gave me a coy smile. “Good. Off today?”

  “I am now and would like to take Jasmine with me early if you don’t mind,” he asked him.

  “Sure thing,” Quinton said. “See you later, Jasmine, and think about what I said.”

  “I will,” I told him.

  “What’s Quinton telling you to do?” Ford asked.

  “He’s convinced I should graduate but come back to work at Morgan Financial full time.”

  Ford blanked his face. “And what do you think?”

  “I think I don’t know what to do,” I said. He picked up my stuff and put it on the tray return while I dropped the empty containers in recycling.

  “I love the work and making money. But my life is still in Boston. Tam’s there. I still have a semester left. I just don’t know…”

  I glimpsed Ford, and I could feel I said the wrong thing or not enough. Things were going good between us despite Cecile’s return. I didn’t want to hurt him by not considering him too. “Would you be able to see me in Boston? It’s four months.”

  His gaze was strong and made my knees weak. “I’d make time for you.” He took my hand, pressed his lips to the back of it, and then walked us to his car.

  “Where are we going, Jasmine?” he asked.

  “Gulliver’s Gate.”

  Ford cringed, and I laughed.

  “You’re lucky I like you, Ms. Bisset.”

  My chest fluttered. “I like you too, Mr. Lingren.”

  “I feel old,” Ford groaned.

  He told me we could do anything and my first stop was Gulliver’s Gate, a miniature museum of the world. It was located in Times Square, and just like on our first visit, it was packed with tourists with shopping bags, phones, and long lines.

  “I guess it was more interesting with Martin Scorsese in the Netflix documentary.”

  “Trust me, it’s much better in person,” Ford said in a snobbish tone as we stopped by the Paris exhibit and eyed the Eiffel Tower.

  “Well sorry, Ford. For us regular folk, a trip around the world is just a dream, but here we get to see it and dream it. Oh, look at that.”

  I took Ford’s hand, and we walked over to watch the airplane take off from the miniature airport. “Wouldn’t it be fascinating if we could shrink down?”

  “I wouldn’t shrink down. I’d prefer to be Godzilla,” Ford said and poked my side, and I giggled.

  “You want to smash everything? You’re an engineer. I thought you’d appreciate the skill that went into making these miniature masterpieces.”

  “I do,” Ford said, and a child came over and tugged on his sleeve with sticky cotton-candy fingers.

  “Oh, sorry.” A man came over and scooped him up. “Slippery little devil. I turned my back—”

  “And I have cotton-candy sleeve on my date,” Ford said and rolled up his sticky sleeve.

  The man stiffened. “Well, if you’re behaving like this, I’d say, lady, head for the hills.” He carried his son away, and I laughed again.

  “You think this is funny?” he said and laughed. I took a photo of him. He was breathtaking when he laughed.

  “Now you’re the photographer,” he said, placing his arm around my waist. “That’s my job.”

  “Well, you’re rubbing off on me.”

  “I’ll rub all over you,” he teased and kissed my neck.

  “Ford, come on. This is a family even
t.”

  “And that’s why I don’t enjoy them.”

  “Did you ever go to any of these places?”

  “The closest I came was trying to get my mom out of the bar around the corner. I know just about every bar in this city,” he quipped, and I squeezed his hand.

  “How is she doing?”

  He pulled out his phone and showed me check-in at an AA meeting from his mom.

  “She seems better, but I never could count on it. I know you said you didn’t get the time to be a kid. I didn’t either. I had to parent my mom, sister, and brother.”

  “That sounds awful,” she said. “But they turned out amazing, right? Your brother is a doctor, and your sister is in college.”

  He beamed with pride. “Yes, I’m proud of them. Despite everything, they made it.”

  “I know you said you’re afraid of not having a family, but did all that parenting make you not as interested in having kids of your own?”

  “No, I want children,” he said. “We can start practicing now.”

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  “I’m happy with you, petal,” Ford whispered in my ear. I put my arms around him, and he hugged me tightly before we set off for the Taj Mahal. Walking around and looking at the miniatures were great, but it also made me think there was so much more of the world to see that I hadn’t yet.

  We walked back to the car, and I drifted as I looked out the window, glancing out at the passing retail shops and office buildings until I noticed Ford missed the turn for Soraya and Graham’s home.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “The Brooklyn Superhero Supply shop,” he said, and I cheered.

  I’d been talking about going since I arrived seven weeks ago. A place where you can turn into your favorite superhero or create your own. They had bodysuits, masks, wigs, and best of all, capes.

  “So what superhero would you want to be, Ford?” I asked and turned on the music.

  “Fix You” by Coldplay came on, and we both groaned.

  “This song always makes me sad.” I turned the music down.