Left Behind (Lost & Found #1)

by C. L. Stacey

  I kick my leg up to rest my ankle over my knee just as Lexi re-enters, playing casual.

  “Want something to drink?” she asks.

  I turn my head to see her already heading into the kitchen. “I’ll take a water, thank you,” I answer her before shifting my gaze back toward the shelf.

  I was just there a second ago, standing right in front of the TV, but I didn’t notice that it was turned on and paused on a movie she must’ve been watching before I intruded.

  It’s a strange choice for an adult, and I can’t help but comment on it. “You watch cartoons when you’re alone?”

  Lexi turns on her heels, regarding me with an unashamed look. “Zootopia is an animated movie,” she corrects me. “But yes, if you must know, I love to watch cartoons, and animated movies. So what?”

  “Zoo-what?”

  “Zoo-to-pi-a,” she repeats the title slower for me this time, like I was a child, or a moron. It doesn’t offend me in the slightest, and I chuckle at the fact that this grown woman still appreciates children’s movies. “It’s a beautiful story, I’ll have you know.”

  “Really?” I turn my gaze to the flat screen again. It’s paused on a scene of a cute little bunny in the middle of the forest. “What’s it about? Is this one about to get eaten?” I point toward the screen.

  “It’s about proving yourself to the world by becoming whatever it is you want to be, however impossible it may seem to others.” She hands me a bottle of Smart Water and plops down on the chaise connected to the section I’m seated on, stretching her long legs out in front of her. “Oh, and the two main characters hate each other at first, but they end up becoming best friends. Sound familiar?” She winks at me, and I feel my heart do something weird.

  “No,” I lie.

  She flashes me a grin. “Wanna watch it?”

  I can’t remember the last time I watched a children’s movie.

  Actually, now that I think of it—after seeing young Lexi in her Woody costume—Toy Story was the last animated film I saw, and I remember loving it.

  When that was and how good it was is irrelevant. It doesn’t really matter if this movie is going to suck for me, because right now, I find it extremely hard to tell her no.

  Plus, I owe her one.

  “Sure,” I agree, and her eyes light up when she clearly wasn’t expecting to hear that answer.

  “Really?”

  I laugh. “Yea.” I nod toward the screen. “How far into it are you?”

  “I was just starting it when you called. I’ll restart the chapter for you.” She aims the remote toward the screen, but I hold my hand over it.

  “Wait.” I stop her, and she turns to look at me. “Dinner,” I remind her. She frowns at me, like the idea of feeding herself is the absolute worst. “You need to eat something, don’t you?”

  “I’m not hungry—” She runs a hand over her stomach.

  “You need to eat something.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and begin to dial Daniel.

  “Wait, what are you doing?” she asks me.

  “I’m about to call Daniel,” I say, my thumb hovering over the call button.

  “No!” She snatches the phone from my hand. “Must you call Alfred for every single thing?” she scolds.

  She’s lost me completely.

  “Who the hell is Alfred?” Then it registers in my head, and I knock my head back on a laugh, and she joins me.

  We probably look like idiots, but I don’t care. It feels nice to laugh about something silly.

  “Lexi, I have to ask…”

  “Hmm?” She turns her attention to me.

  “What is with this weird obsession in tying me to some comic book hero?”

  Lexi giggles from behind her bottle, nearly spitting up. When she successfully swallows her mouthful of water, she screws the cap back on and shrugs. “I have this weird thing, I don’t know.”

  “What weird thing?”

  “Well, I’m a huge movie buff… seriously, I’m obsessed. So when I meet someone for the first time, my brain automatically links them to the closest character I know.” She grins. “You’re freaking Batman! Am I crazy? Do you not see the similarities?”

  When I check her with a disagreeing expression, she goes on to explain the connection. “You’re this mysterious billionaire no one really knows about. I bet you lead a secret double life where you go off to do sketchy, vigilante-like things in your spare time.” My stomach flips at the sound of that one. “Both of you are obsessed with black. You have an Alfred, for crying out loud! And a Joker! And a Harley Quinn!”

  I arch a brow at her. “What?”

  “Caleb and Stephanie.”

  I knock my head back, nearly keeling over from laughing so hard.

  “You see? It makes sense, right?” she laughs.

  “Have you told them about this, too?”

  “No! I work for them, I can’t have them thinking I’m crazier than they are.” She giggles, handing my phone back to me. “Anyways, Alfred’s off duty. We can order in ourselves. How does pizza sound?”

  I make a face at the suggestion. “Pizza?” I repeat with disgust.

  She’s perplexed by my reaction, at first, and then her expression quickly morphs into shock. “Are you serious? You don’t like pizza?”

  “No, I hate it.”

  “Who the hell doesn’t like pizza?”

  “The grease makes me sick,” I say.

  The girl sitting in front of me can’t be the same girl who was crying in my closet earlier today. You would never have guessed it with the way she’s interacting with me now.

  When I decided to show up here, I was sure I was going to have to work like hell to get her to crack a smile. But I must be doing something right, because I’m on some kind of roll.

  To hear Lexi laughing is strangely satisfying. She finds my aversion to pizza hilarious, and I try to think of what else I hate that’s loved by most others, just to hear her laugh again. And to think I almost didn’t come.

  This is unlike anything I would ever do. The only reason I ever have to pop over to anyone’s home unannounced relates strictly to business. The last time I made unexpected social calls was when I first started dating Ellie.

  It’s a good thing I followed through with what I was sure would be a bad idea. Lexi and I could both use the company—even if we are each other’s worst possible choice.

  “How about Chinese?” she offers a second suggestion, reminding me that we still haven’t reached a decision. “Or do you hate that, too?”

  I try to remember the last time I ordered Chinese takeout for dinner instead of sitting at a hundred dollar a plate restaurant. Too long. It’s been way too long I can’t recall.

  Chinese doesn’t sound bad, actually.

  She’s waiting on me for an answer, and I shrug. “I can do Chinese.”

  My answer prompts Lexi to stand, and she heads back into the kitchen. She returns a few seconds later with a takeout menu and hands it to me.

  “I always get the same thing, so I don’t need to look. Pick what you want and I’ll order it.”

  “What do you usually get?”

  “Orange Chicken,” she tells me before reclaiming her spot on the chaise, lying back against the cushions.

  There’s so much on this menu, I have no idea what to choose. “What’s good here?” I ask. “Obviously, Orange Chicken is your favorite, but what else would you recommend?”

  I listen carefully as Lexi lists some of the entrees she prefers over others, and as soon as she finishes, I start dialing the number of the restaurant into my phone before bringing it to my ear.

  “What are you doing?” Lexi whispers to me.

  I hold a finger over my mouth when someone picks up on the fourth ring. I order everything Lexi just told me she liked, and she watches me like I’ve just lost my mind.

  The person on the other side asks for an address, and I recite it back to them. Lexi blinks.

  They ask how many settings I’d l
ike, I tell them two.

  They warn me that it’s a lot of food for two, to which I tell them I already know, and then I thank the kind employee before hanging up.

  Lexi’s still staring after me, but I ignore her and kick my feet up onto the coffee table. “Okay, I’m ready,” I say, settling into the soft cushions of the couch. “Press play.”

  So I got a little carried away, so what?

  It’s been a while since I’ve felt this comfortable around someone else. I tend to overdo things when I’m happy.

  “You’re crazy,” she mumbles before pushing play on her remote.

  Yes, I am, I silently agree.

  The man is certifiably insane. Bonkers.

  I go over the past month in my head, taking it all the way back to the moment I met Jackson Anderson. So much has changed since then.

  He’s become this crazy friend I’m growing quite fond of having around. Considering how strongly I disliked him before, this is definitely progress.

  We’re thirty minutes into Zootopia now, which, by the way, I can’t believe he agreed to watch. It’s weird to see Jackson, Mr. Serious, watching an animated film.

  I give him a sidelong glance, trying to be stealthy about it, and I swear I just saw him turn the other way.

  Was he watching me? A question I don’t have long to consider when a knock comes from my door.

  I stand, but so does Jackson, and I hold my hand out, motioning for him to sit back down. “My treat,” I say, which he ignores, because he’s still walking toward the door. “Jackson, you’re not paying for anything delivered to my home!” I run to get in front of him, but I’m blocked when he holds out his arm before answering my own door for me.

  It’s Jesse, my usual delivery boy, on the other side. In his arms, he has a box full of food enough to feed six. Good Lord.

  Taken completely by surprise when someone he doesn’t recognize answers the door, Jesse stands without action before offering Jackson the most awkward smile. When Jesse looks past him and finds me, still struggling to be seen from behind Jackson, he offers a more genuine smile.

  “Oh, hey, Lex. Hungry today, huh?” Jesse jokes with a laugh. This is normal. He likes to make small talk to make the exchange more pleasant, which I appreciate. “I usually make do with a single bag when packing your food.”

  Jackson takes the box from Jesse without contributing any humorous remarks, but he does shoot Jesse a heedful look before taking the food to the kitchen.

  “My friend is hungry. He just escaped from a mental institution and it’s a long walk from there to here,” I say, still annoyed with Jackson for doing what he does best… assuming control in someone else’s territory.

  Thankfully, Jesse’s got a good sense of humor, and he reacts exactly the way I count on him to. He laughs. “Boss is happy. We’ve just never had to go scavenging for a box that size, but you’re lucky they received shipment for takeout containers today, otherwise we would’ve been shit out of luck.”

  I laugh as I open up my wallet to pay him. “How much do I owe you?” I ask.

  Jackson’s already back at my side, and Jesse barely gets through saying sixty-two before Jackson hands him a hundred. “Thank you. Keep the change.”

  Okay, now, I’m just mad.

  Jesse’s eyes go so wide they almost pop right out of his skull. “Hey, thanks, dude!”

  What the hell am I supposed to do, or say? No, just kidding, give that back? The mere thought of saying that to Jesse makes me cringe. He would start spitting in my future orders if I did that.

  “No problem, goodbye.” Jackson closes the door before any more pleasantries can be exchanged between the three of us. I glare at him, and I know he notices because I’m not that subtle. “Let’s eat, I’m hungry.” He heads into the living room without me.

  “I told you I wanted to pay for this one!” I say to his back.

  “I never let a lady pay. Never have, never will.”

  “What kind of crap is that?” I spit. “I don’t play the gender card when it comes to fairness, Jackson. I owe you a lot.” I plop down in my seat the same time he takes his.

  Jackson finally looks my way, mouth set in a small, confused frown. “Owe me for what?”

  “Oh, um, I don’t know—my job, maybe?”

  He starts spreading the white cartons across the coffee table before setting the bigger box they came in on the floor. “You got that job on your own.”

  As much as I’d love to take credit, that just isn’t true. “No, I didn’t,” I confess. “My good friend, Kellan, got me that job.”

  “Oh, did he sit for your interview, too?”

  And now he’s being sarcastic.

  “No,” I sneer.

  “As I said,” he hands me a pair of chopsticks, “you got the job on your own.”

  I snatch them from his hand. “Okay, but keeping the job is a way different story though, isn’t it?”

  I’ve managed to grasp Jackson’s attention with that question. He runs a hand over his mouth—an involuntary tic I noticed he has when growing impatient—then it comes to rest over his knee. “What does that mean?”

  “After every appointment I’ve kept with you, you called to report that I was ‘outstanding’ to Stephanie—”

  “So?”

  I make a fist around my sticks and imitate a stabbing motion at Jackson when I grow more frustrated with him. He doesn’t even flinch. “I was a colossal bitch to you the first few weeks. I’ve given you plenty reason to have me fired. I wasn’t outstanding. I wasn’t even good. I was too busy being unprofessional. What I want to know is why. Why did you let me be a bitch to you for something you didn’t do?”

  The warm box of Orange Chicken ends up in my hands while I’m speaking to him, and I think he just commanded me to eat, but I’m too upset to be sure. He keeps lying to and for me, and I want to know why.

  When Jackson finally decides to acknowledge my stubborn attempts, I shut up and listen. “Okay, one, you weren’t being a bitch. Two, you were only treating me the way I deserved to be treated. Three. Eat.”

  That barely counts as acknowledgment. All he did right then was defend me for being a bitch, while avoiding my question entirely.

  I purposely misuse my sticks, wanting to feel the satisfaction of stabbing something, so I stick a piece of chicken with them and shove it into my mouth. It’s warm and sweet and delicious, but I have a lot more to say.

  I wait until my food is chewed halfway before I randomly shout, “Bernie!”

  More information should have been exchanged before I led us straight into the topic of Bernie, but I’m feeling way too impatient right now.

  “What?”

  “You didn’t have him fired.”

  Jackson purses his lips and starts popping open the lids on the rest of the boxes. “No,” he confesses the truth, “I did not.”

  “You said you would.”

  “I did.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Why?” I ask, refusing to let up.

  His chopsticks stop moving around in his container when he turns to meet my gaze. “What happened in the elevator that night was inexcusable, I still stand by that. I was ready to have him fired. I wanted him gone.” He drops his gaze, staring emptily into his container while his sticks continue to roam without actually picking anything out of it. “So when I got to Bernie’s office, I demanded he call Caleb down, and he did.”

  “Okay, and then?”

  “I changed my mind… I couldn’t do it.”

  “Why not?” I hold my hand out before he can answer. “Not that I’m complaining, but why not?”

  “During the wait, my eyes caught something on his desk.”

  “What was it?”

  “A picture of his daughter.”

  My heart warms marginally at the sound of that. This is proof that Jackson isn’t as cold and ruthless as everyone else assumes, proof that there’s more to the man behind the name, but he
keeps this part of him hidden. This is the side of him I want to get to know better.

  I’m relieved by his mercy, I am. But I can’t shake the guilt I’ve been feeling ever since I spoke to Caleb about Jackson. This new bit of information about the picture of Bernie’s daughter only adds to it.

  “You have a weak spot when it comes to kids. That’s sweet.”

  Jackson shakes his head. “She isn’t a child, she’s a young woman. I’m not positive how old she is, but she can’t be too far from getting into college, if she isn’t attending one already.”

  “So?” I shrug, prompting him to finish. Then I notice that he hasn’t eaten anything since we started arguing. “Wait. Eat,” I say, mimicking the bossy tone he took with me earlier.

  The corner of his mouth tilts into a half-smile, and he takes a bite of his shrimp. “You’re funny,” he says between bites.

  I chuckle. “I have my moments,” I say with a shrug. “So, you saw a picture of his daughter, and what? You thought she was pretty and didn’t want to get on Daddy’s bad side?” I tease.

  A deep crease forms between his brows when taking a second to consider what I just said. “Not one of your best moments.” His tone holds no humor.

  “Sorry,” I apologize. “What was it, then?”

  “College costs money. Life costs money,” he says, taking his napkin from the table to wipe his mouth. “Normally, I would never reconsider when I’ve already made the decision to cut someone off. I usually go with my gut instinct…”

  “Those are important.” I point to him with my sticks. “But never let your instincts be the one to decide for you, because they can sometimes be wrong.”

  Jackson nods, thoughtful. “Over the years, I’ve come to realize that knowing certain details of someone else’s life makes you second-guess what you think you know; it’s precisely why I don’t mix personal relationships with business ones. It only complicates things.”

  Truer words were never spoken. I struggled with just that when he asked to upgrade our business relationship to a more personal one. He even agrees that the two don’t mix, so why fight so hard for something you feel so strongly against?

  “But regardless of that fact,” Jackson chimes in again, and I blink myself out of it. “It was too late, I had already seen the picture on his desk, and it didn’t feel right to toss a father out onto the street. So I thought back to what you threw in my face before you stormed away…” He narrows his eyes at me, and I catch a playful glint shine through.