The Executive

by Winter Renshaw

  Before him.

  My job is my future.

  Reed York isn’t.

  8

  Reed

  “Pam said you were looking for me?” Joa stands at the threshold of the conference room, favoring the hall side, her hands braced against the door jamb. Everything about her says she’s trying like hell to physically resist me.

  I take my time checking my watch. “Do you always take three-hour lunches?”

  Her arms tighten across her chest. “I was with a client.”

  “Do you always let your clients kiss you?”

  Her jaw hangs loose. “You were watching me?”

  “Not watching. I looked outside and happened to see. Joa, why don’t you come in and shut the door.”

  She hesitates, nostrils slightly flared, and then her arms drop to her sides and she exhales before stepping inside and shutting the door.

  “You don’t have to stand all the way over there.” I chuff, finding amusement in the fact that she’s still digging her heels in. “I’m not going to bite. Only did that once. You didn’t like it, remember?”

  “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation right now.”

  “I can’t believe we’re having a conversation, period.” I rise, buttoning my suit coat as I make my way to her. “And I also can’t believe I had to fly two thousand miles across the country to get you to even look at me.”

  “Really? Reed? You can’t believe that?” Her tone is mocking, her angled brows a stark contrast on her sweet face. She’s never been good at looking angry. It doesn’t suit her.

  “All I wanted to do that day was tell you how sorry I was—”

  “—sorry?!” She laughs, refusing to let me explain that my hands were tied. I was tapped that morning and told I had no choice but to take a job for which I never applied—a job that I didn’t even want—and that was before I knew the half of what was going on. “You were sorry? You wished me luck that morning, Reed. And then you took the job right out from under me. You knew how much I wanted that job and you just … took it. And then you stand here a year later with the audacity to act like I owe you a chance to apologize.”

  “You don’t owe me anything, Joa.”

  Her lips part, as if she already had a response prepared, but she stops herself, apparently at a loss for words. And I could be imagining this, but I swear her expression softened just a hair.

  “Look—” I begin to say until she waves her hand through the air to silence me.

  “Please. Let’s not waste our time talking about something that happened a lifetime ago,” she says. Funny how a year ago feels like a lifetime to her. It feels like only yesterday to me. “And by the way, you told Coffey you wanted me to be your ‘right hand gal’ while you’re in town. Unfortunately, you’re going to have to find someone else. If you think for one second I’m going to help you do anything, you’re delusional.”

  “Fair enough.” It was nothing more than a test anyway. I don’t need her help. I simply needed to see how she’d react at the idea of having to work with me again.

  I got my answer.

  “So what was it you needed from me?” she asks, her words rushed and laced in impatience. “Why did you tell Pam to send me in here? If it’s not work-related, I’d really like to get back to my desk and finish up some emails before I leave for the day.”

  She won’t look at me now, she’ll only stare through me, doing that thing where she chews on the inside of her lip while looking lost in thought.

  What I wouldn’t give to know what she’s thinking about.

  “I just had a few questions for my audit,” I say. “But seeing how you’ve been gone most of the afternoon, I’ll let you get back to work. We’ll reconvene in the morning.”

  Without saying a word, she turns and leaves, closing the door behind her, which almost feels like a metaphor.

  I watch through the glass walls of the conference room until she disappears down the hall.

  Unbuttoning my jacket, I take a seat, finish up a few emails, and pack up for the day. Stopping by the front desk, I ask Pam for the address of the bar they’re meeting at, and then I head back to the AirBnB to get ready for tonight.

  God, it felt good to hear her voice again.

  Now if I could just taste that cinnamon pout, it’ll be a Christmas miracle.

  Past

  Reed

  “Do you believe in aliens?” Joa rests her cheek against my bare chest as we lay in bed at some rental house in Sedona.

  “That’s random.”

  “I’ve always associated Arizona with weird stuff. UFOs and Area 51. My dad is secretly obsessed with that kind of stuff. Guess it rubbed off on me a bit.”

  “I don’t believe in things I can’t experience with at least one of my five senses.”

  She traces the tip of her fingernail down the center of my abs, following the ridges and indentations.

  “My sister once claimed she saw a ghost. We were staying over at my grandparents’ house. This old farmhouse built in the eighteen hundreds. And she saw this lady in a white dress walk out of the forest beside the house and then she just … disappeared.”

  “I’m sure she was imagining it.”

  “If you knew Neve, you'd know she’s not the type to make this kind of thing up. In fact, it took her three years to tell anyone about it because she was so sure no one would believe her.”

  I sit up, gently moving her off of my naked body. “I’m going to hit the shower.”

  "You really don’t believe in anything?” she asks as I slide out from the covers.

  “Guess not.”

  “That’s kind of sad, Reed.”

  Turning, I say, “Please, save your tears for some other asshole.”

  “Hasn’t anything wonderful ever happened to you? Unexplained or otherwise?” She gathers the covers around her. “Sometimes I think about the size of the universe and I get overwhelmed.” Glancing down, she shrugs her shoulders. “I’ve never told anyone that before.”

  “Lucky me.”

  Her pale blues lift onto mine. “Ass.”

  “If you’re done picking my brain with your random, woo-woo philosophical questions, then I’d like to take a shower.”

  She waves me on and I head into the en-suite, shutting the door behind me. A minute later, when I’m standing under a spray of hot water, I contemplate her question and the reason I never gave her a straight answer.

  Even with all the luxuries and advantages I’ve been afforded in my thirty years, my life has been remarkably unwonderful.

  I’ve never told anyone that before, and I don’t intend to start now.

  9

  Joa

  Friar Parson’s on 8th street is a madhouse at happy hour, but they’ve reserved their private party room for the eleven of us tonight.

  “How are we doing tonight?” Our personal cocktail waitress, who happens to be dressed like a nun, greets our group.

  Pam raises a hand in the air like she’s waiting to be called on. “Um, yes, Sister. Ma’am. Can we get one more chair please? We’ve added another guest.”

  “Of course.” The nun leaves our private room and I lean into Lucy.

  “Please, please, please tell me Reed’s not …” I don’t get to finish my sentence.

  The man of the hour has arrived.

  His ocean eyes scan the small room, stopping when they find me. The seats on either side of me are occupied, but the spot across from me is vacant because Richard got up to use the restroom and didn’t think to leave any kind of indication that the spot was taken.

  “So glad you could make it,” Pam tells him.

  God, she’s really been up his ass today, but that’s her. Always so … extra.

  “Thanks for the invite,” he says to her, though he’s looking at me.

  The nun returns with an extra chair, sticking it between Kennedy and Piper.

  “All right. Let’s get these orders going,” she says. “What are we drinking?”


  She starts with Piper and by the time she gets to Harold, another nun arrives with a tray of communion-shaped shot glasses filled to the brim with what appears to be some kind of white liqueur garnished with chocolate sauce.

  “Twelve candy canes,” the second nun says, placing the tray in the center of the table.

  “I don’t think we ordered that, did we?” Pam asks.

  “No. I did.” Everyone looks to Reed. “First drinks are on me. I wanted to thank you all for such a warm welcome today.” He looks to me. “And for including me tonight.”

  Yeah. Thanks, Pam.

  Shots are passed down, everyone shooting theirs back the instant they get them, and I follow suit. The zip of peppermint Schnapps and the sweetness of the chocolate mix with the burn of the alcohol, but it goes down easily enough.

  I came back to the office earlier today with a pretty intense buzz, and I crossed my fingers that Reed wouldn’t notice.

  And he didn’t.

  I think he was too focused on … other things. At least that’s all I can surmise by the fact that every time he thought I wasn’t looking, his gaze would find all the parts of me he used to worship like a deity.

  My thighs clench until they quiver.

  I don’t want to think about his tongue … his hands … his generous endowment.

  “And how about you, my dear?” The nun makes her way to me. “What will we be having tonight?”

  “I’ll have a French 75, please. Thank you,” I say, feeling the heaviness of Reed’s attention.

  “Some things never change,” he says, tapping the cardboard coaster against the table as he wears a smirk.

  “Exactly. Some things never change.”

  “Shall we exchange gifts now or later?” Harold asks. A couple of people shout “now” and the shuffling of gift wrap and tissue paper and paper bags fills the room.

  I hand Jodi her wrapped charm.

  Kennedy hands me a black-and-white striped bag with hot pink tissue paper. Digging in, I retrieve a three-wick Cucumber Melon candle from Bath and Body Works.

  “Thanks, Ken!” I say, uncapping the jar and pretending to give it a good whiff. “I love it.”

  She gives me a thumbs’ up from the other end of the table.

  Reed wrinkles his nose. “You hate cucumber.”

  My eyes snap to his. He better hope Kennedy didn’t hear him.

  “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s the thought that counts?” I ask.

  “Anyone ever tell you lying is rude?”

  “Oh, you’re one to talk.” I cover my face with my hands for a second, gathering myself before I go off the deep end. The candy cane shot runs warm through my veins, and I feel my filter dissipating by the second.

  Finally.

  Drinks.

  Three tray-carrying nuns pass out drinks, and it’s only then that I notice Reed ordered a Manhattan. He always used to drink those when we’d travel, and I always used to make fun of him for being so stodgy and old-fashioned. When we were back in LA he’d order whiskey, Scotch, or the occasional beer, but his Manhattans were always reserved for getaways.

  I never did ask him why.

  Makes me think there’s a lot I don’t know about him.

  But it’s a moot point. And it’s too late to care.

  Reed takes a sip of his drink, peering over the top of his glass.

  “You doing okay?” Lucy nudges me with her elbow.

  Turning to her, I flash a smile. “I’m doing great.”

  Never better.

  Her eyes narrow from behind her thick frames. She doesn’t buy it for two seconds, but she knows better than to say a damn thing in front of our guest.

  “Going to hit up the little nun’s room,” she says. “Want to come?”

  I offer a polite ‘no’ and scoot my chair over so she can squeeze out. It’s only then that I realize I’ve already downed over half of my cocktail and I don’t even remember doing it. Shoving the glass away, I make a silent promise to pace myself.

  Heat creeps up my neck, blooming in my cheeks and setting my skin on fire. I have no idea what’s happening to me. All I know is I’m really freaking hot right now and I need some air. Springing up from the table, I leave my coat on the back of my chair, grab my phone, and head outside, bumping into Lucy on my way.

  “Hey, you sure you’re all right?” she asks, stopping me.

  “Yep. Just wanted some fresh air. I’ll be two seconds.” I wedge my way through the crowded bar until I get to the main entrance. Dashing toward the snow-covered sidewalk, I welcome the ice-cold breaths and the freeze in my lungs that follows the second I step foot outside.

  No clue what that was about and I’m sure I look like a crazy person standing out here in a skirt and heels and no jacket, but already I feel a million times better.

  Wrapping my arms around my sides, I drag in a few more breaths, watching the clouds that fill the night air with each exhale.

  “Joa.”

  Following a man’s voice, I spin on my heels to find Reed standing outside the pub door, my jacket in his hands.

  Oh, now he wants to be chivalrous? Now?

  “Thought you might need this.” He hands me my coat, which I promptly drape over my arm.

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  The side of his mouth lifts into that perfect little half-smile that used to get me every time, and I force myself to look away.

  “I know,” he says.

  “Okay … thanks …” I turn my back to him. I need five more minutes out here and then I’ll head back in. Standing in silence, I listen for the shuffle of his shoes on concrete to indicate he’s gone back inside, but I hear nothing. Dragging in another icicle of a breath, I turn to say something, only he’s somehow … gone.

  A quick chill nips at my nose, followed by a shiver that runs through my entire body. I expected a little more fight from him. A few more smart remarks. I was prepared for an emotional battle, armed with an arsenal of words.

  The strangest niggle rests in my stomach, but I don’t give it much more thought on the off chance it’s something insane like … disappointment.

  I have no business being disappointed that he didn’t stay out here. I should be pleased. Jumping up and down. Relieved if anything.

  With my jacket in tow, I head back in, returning to my spot next to Lucy, across from an empty chair which held Reed only moments ago.

  “Where’d he go?” I ask, letting my curiosity get the best of me.

  Lucy shrugs. “I thought he was outside with you. I saw him grab your coat.”

  “Yeah, but he came back in.”

  “Why do you care?” She laughs, reaching for her martini.

  “I don’t. I’m just asking.”

  Lucy brings the glass to her ruby red lips. “Right.”

  A group of patrons stand outside our private room, beers in their hands as they discuss the Bears, but when I inspect the space beyond them, I see no sign of Reed. The man stands out like a sore thumb here with his sun-kissed complexion and his thick head of shiny, sandy blond hair. He’s practically a human Ken doll complete with a Malibu pedigree.

  I toss back what remains of my drink and head to the bar for a glass of ice water, and on the way, I inadvertently make eye contact with no less than six men.

  I hate that I’m searching for Reed.

  And I hate that I don’t know why I’m searching for Reed.

  But more than any of that, I hate the way my heart hammers in my chest and my breath quickens the second I spot him at the bar.

  Squeezing between a couple of customers a spot down from him, I flag down the bartender, grab my water, and try to get back to my table without being seen because odds are he’s going to think I was looking for him, and we can’t have that.

  He’d get way too much satisfaction out of a notion as preposterous as that.

  “Joa.” A hand grips my arm, just above my elbow.

  “Reed.” I turn toward him.

  �
�Where are you going?”

  “ … back to the party …”

  “Stay. Have a drink with me. For old times’ sake.” He points toward his abandoned bar stool.

  I’m not sure what he’s smoking that makes him think I’d want to “have a drink for old times’ sake,” but I struggle to find the perfect response. It’s like my words get lost on the way up any time he’s around.

  He releases his hold on my arm.

  I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding.

  Without permission, my attention falls on his lips.

  God, he was a good kisser. The best actually. We could make out for hours at a time, our jaws always tight and sore the next morning.

  For the tiniest fraction of a second, I wonder how badly I’d hate myself if I were to let him kiss me tonight …

  But I won’t. It goes against everything I’ve stood for over the past year. And what kind of message would that be sending if I let him waltz back in here and hand myself to him on a silver platter?

  “I’m sorry, Reed,” I say before heading back. “I think it’s best that we not drink to old times.”

  Past

  Joa

  I grip the handset of my desk phone with an unsteady fist, swiveling my chair so I face the cityscape view outside my office window as I call HR.

  Palm trees.

  Teslas, Ferraris, and Maseratis.

  The joyful sun kissing a baby blue sky.

  Outside it’s an ordinary Los Angeles day in December, but inside, my traitorous colleague-with-benefits knocks on my locked office door.

  “Open the door.” The audacity of the desperation in his voice is only making it that much easier for me to hate him. “Please.”

  My fist tightens around the handset. How dare he pretend to care.

  “Hi, Joa, how can I help you today?” Sheila answers.

  “Is that division coordinator position still available? The one in Chicago?” I ask, unable to hide the breathlessness in my voice. My chest caves with each lungful of peppermint-and-poinsettia-tinged office air, and my stomach twists in the tightest of knots.