Jane Eyre Austen

by Doyle MacBrayne

  If she wasn’t so damned attractive and witty it would be easy to ignore her. She had changed him, in just a week he was a different man. The scowl that Fairfax felt was permanently affixed to his aspect had slowly relaxed off his face and Jane was responsible. Perhaps she would allow a friendship. He could wish for more, but it wasn’t fair to her. She needed to enjoy her youth.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Jane looked up from her computer, accepted a folder smiling at the young man on the other side of her desk. The post it note addressed the folder to Mr. Poole.

  “You’re not Michelle,” he observed amiably.

  “No, I’m Jane.”

  “I’m Kevin Perkins, accounting.” He offered his hand and she shook it. “How is it going?”

  She nodded, “Very well, I like it.”

  His eyes widened in disbelief, “Uh huh. Well Mrs. Fairfax is very nice.” Jane nodded amused that he failed to mention Mr. Poole. He relaxed against her desk, “You know a bunch of us go out on Friday night to Bimbos for drinks. You should join us.”

  She smiled gratefully, “Thanks, I appreciate the offer. Unfortunately I’m busy most Friday nights.”

  He smiled and leaned in, “Well, then maybe just the two of us could get dinner on Saturday?”

  She shook her head, “I’m sorry. I work on Saturday, I really don’t go out. Thank you though, I appreciate the offer.”

  He was about to say something when Mr. Poole interrupted him, “Ms. Eyre, I wish to speak with you.”

  “See you later Kevin,” she whispered, his face now frozen as he watched Mr. Poole carefully. She stood; picked up the folder Kevin had brought, and walked over to the doorway. “At your service Mr. Poole,” she said politely.

  “In my office, Ms. Eyre,” his eyes still watching the frozen Perkins, not allowing him to thaw. She walked into his office and waited while he closed the door.

  “Have a seat.” It was a command; his voice was not at all playful. She sat and tried to remain impassive.

  “Who was that?” he asked.

  “Mr. Perkins from accounting.”

  “Why was he here?”

  She handed him the folder, “He dropped this off.”

  He took the file, opened it and thumbed through the pages. As he was reading he said, “Why don’t you go out?” He was still thinking of the invitation from Mrs. Austen and he suddenly remembered James suggestion.

  She shifted slightly in her chair. That was a very personal question she mused; and yet, he’s not being playful. She decided to deliberately misinterpret his question and rose from the chair and headed toward the door.

  “Where are you going Ms. Eyre?”

  “I understood that you asked me to leave,” she answered calmly holding his gaze.

  “That was not my intent.” His eyes seemed to pierce her; she could feel his anger and didn’t like it. “Tell me, what you think of Mr. Perkins?” He closed the folder and leaned back in his chair.

  She stood, feet close together, hands clasped in front of her, “I find him amiable.”

  “Ha,” he snorted, “found your Bingley, Jane?” She raised an eyebrow in warning, but he continued. “And his physiognomy?” His eyes were boring into her, she could tell he was trying to intimidate her, but she couldn’t figure out what she had done to upset him.

  “He has the appeal of youth, sir.” She answered quietly, but honestly.

  “You are young as well, Ms. Eyre. Why didn’t his invitation tempt you?”

  Jane raised an eyebrow, “I have family obligations sir.”

  “I am curious. If you had no familial duties, would you have found his invitation appealing?”

  Jane sighed, “I have never found a public house diverting, though I would have enjoyed the company of others.”

  “But not Mr. Perkins in particular?”

  The corner of her mouth rose, “I am certain once Mr. Perkins has the opportunity to know me better, he should find me less agreeable.”

  His eyes smiled, “I doubt that, Ms. Eyre.”

  “I do not believe Mr. Perkins would enjoy my cutting tongue sir. He would find it too sharp for his intentions.”

  “You would not temper it for him?” His mind wandered to what things her cutting tongue could do to him and he quickly reproached himself.

  “I neither possess that quality, nor the desire to change my character to impress a man,” she said drily.

  He chuckled, “That’s a serious warning. Poor Mr. Perkins does not stand a chance then.”

  “No, sir, you have not to worry. Your toy will not be shared, or spoilt, by another.” she muttered.

  His manner changed completely. He looked at her warily, confused by her statement and unable to reply. She wondered if he would stop with this game and just speak plainly to her.

  Apparently not, for he finally found his tongue, “I hope you shall find a man worthy of your character and appreciative of your many exceptional qualities.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She curtsied, and excused herself. Her heart stung from the wound he carelessly inflicted with kindness. She sighed and her head told her to calm down; he’s just not that into you. Damn it.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  He spent the next two days away at meetings or working in his office and didn’t speak to her. He promised himself he would stay away. When he walked by her desk, he would nod and smile. But he made sure to always be in a conversation with someone else, faking one on his phone if necessary. In a week or two he would be back to himself. He watched her as he walked by. Her eyes would light up as he approached, a sweet smile on her lips, and then her gaze would drop suddenly and his heart would clench. God, what the hell was wrong with him, he wondered.

  It began to eat at Jane. She missed their play. She felt miserable developing feelings for a man who was her boss and didn’t reciprocate them. He made it clear each time he walked by-- simply dismissing her with a quick nod.

  She had agreed to take her mother to the annual symphony charity event Friday night. She had donated a collection of water color paintings in her mother’s name for the silent auction having chosen to do portraits of Dizzy Gillespie, Duke Ellington, and Glenn Miller which she felt had come out quite nicely. She managed to get a deal on the framing and hoped that someone would be generous for her mom’s sake. Her dad used to purchase an elegant piece of jewelry or a weekend getaway. His name alone used to bring a good price for whatever he donated, and it made her mother proud.

  Even better, today her mother was quite normal, probably due to the fact that she and her husband had started the charity auction some twenty years ago. She dressed in a black cocktail dress. Jane wore a beautiful red cocktail dress she had found in Barcelona and had fallen in love with the way it clung to her curves. She wore matching four inch heels and a beaded purse she had purchased in Ireland. When they walked into the reception her mother was immediately enveloped by hugs and swept away. Jane followed a few steps behind until she was pulled into a bear hug by Patrick, her first boyfriend.

  “Janie, when the hell did you get home?” He set her back on her feet.

  She looked up into his still impossibly blue eyes, sandy hair, and easy surfer dude good looks. Her heart fluttered. Even after all these years she still reacted to him. It was a Pavlovian response, memories of sweeter moments and his incredible gentleness.

  “I’ve been home for about two months.” She stepped back, out of his embrace.

  “Working yet?”

  She nodded, “Poole Enterprises, for none other than Mr. Poole.”

  “That’s great. I saw your paintings, they are amazing! I want to see what you did last year, ok?”

  “Sure. Come to brunch on Sunday. I think I might even bring some to a gallery. You can help me pick.”

  Patrick’s partner, Ben, came up and joined them, pulling her into an embrace and whispering, “Janie, you look like a Christmas present that needs unwrapping.” She laughed as he released her, and he raised his eyebrows, “Honestly Jane,
you look delicious.”

  Patrick grinned ignoring Ben’s flirting, “Janie’s going to bring some paintings to a gallery.”

  Ben nodded, looking impressed until something caught his eye over her shoulder, “There’s a dude that’s seriously checking you out.”

  She rolled her eyes, “Right.” She looked down at her feet, “Are you sure there isn’t TP on my shoe?”

  Ben looked her up and down, “Baby, I’ve got a hard on for you and I’m gay.”

  She grinned and teased him, “Ben, that’s so sweet in a totally inappropriate sexual way. But I gotta admit, you look really good tonight too. It could happen…” She teased her friend. Ben was dark Italian, built like a defense football player, and drop dead gorgeous, and so in love with Patrick. She sighed.

  He winked, “I like inappropriate sex.” He looked up surprised, “Hello.” He held out his hand, “I’m Ben Spruce; this is Jane Austen, and Patrick Whitfield.”

  She recognized the hand that brushed past her and her stomach flipped. She turned slightly and looked up into dark and dangerous chocolate eyes. “Good evening, Mr. Poole,” she breathed.

  “Good evening. I see you have had an occasion to leave your house.” He looked her up and down, assessing her carefully.

  Their previous conversation of appropriate mates and advertising clothing came to mind. She groaned inwardly, “I’m escorting my mother.” She turned to look where her mother was, happily finding her with Patrick’s parents, seated and sipping wine. She bit her lip, hoping it was just one glass.

  He shook Patrick’s hand and introduced himself, “Gray Poole, and how do you know Ms. Austen?”

  Ben smirked, “Oh, they’re old friends…”

  She flashed her eyes at Ben, “Benjamin, Mr. Poole is my employer.” She stressed the word employer and begged him with her eyes to stop.

  Patrick looked relaxed, but he always looked relaxed, she thought. “Janie and I were high school sweethearts.”

  She felt the blush begin to creep up her neck to her face. She squirmed as Patrick gave her his deadly, combust your panties look. She swallowed, “Yes. That was a long time ago.”

  “Jane!” A voice called out behind her. She turned to see her old art teacher waving. In high school, she had always thought of him as being old. He was probably only in his late forties now, and her definition of old had changed dramatically after travelling through Europe this summer and meeting so many people.

  He walked over and hugged her. “My God Jane, you look breathtaking! And your paintings are stunning!” He stood back, holding her arms and looking at her appreciatively.

  “Thank you Professor, that’s very kind.”

  “Your photography is wonderful too, Jane. You have such an eye. I followed your blog, and use some of your pictures in my class.”

  “Thank you, that’s a wonderful compliment,” she returned warmly. She barely noticed Gray’s hand, now resting on the small of her back. The professor had and turned to look at him, nodding, and then held out his hand to shake Patrick’s.

  “You still drawing?”

  Patrick raised an eyebrow, “Architecture.” He introduced Ben and Gray but continued to give the professor a not so friendly glare.

  The professor ignored him and turned back to Jane. “Will you come in and talk with my class, Jane? They’d love to hear from someone close to their age about your travels in Europe.”

  Jane’s smile stiffened, “No, I don’t think so.”

  “You must, Jane. I won’t take no for an answer.” He was turning on the charm.

  Patrick’s mouth opened and she flicked her eyes to him. She answered the professor firmly, “Nyet, nine, nunca. Take your pick professor; it’s not going to happen. Good seeing you. Patrick, I’m ready for my dance.”

  She held out her hand and Patrick led her away, whispering in her ear conspiratorially. Gray watched her walk away and watched the professor’s mouth flop like a fish before he called out someone else’s name and left.

  Ben leaned toward him and spoke very quietly, “If you hurt my Janie, I’ll fuck you up so bad you’ll wish you were dead.” Gray stood stunned watching Ben saunter toward the bar, his words swimming and making his ears buzz. His Janie?

  He watched as she danced with Patrick, moving together like lovers and he wondered what kind of relationship Jane, Ben and Patrick had. He returned his gaze to the bar, finding Clayton and joined him. He could feel Ben watching him carefully at the other end.

  Clayton handed him a glass, “Isn’t that your receptionist?” Gray nodded, jealousy knotting his stomach as Patrick’s hands rested on her hips and pulled her closer. Clayton handed him another glass, “Come, Gray, your date awaits.”

  Gray rolled his eyes and followed Clayton towards his date, Julia. He felt like an idiot. He should have never let Clayton’s wife talk him into bringing a date. If he had known Jane was going to be here, he would have cancelled it. He doubted that he would have asked her, though. He handed Julia a glass of wine and tried to ignore her simpering looks. Clayton’s wife, Karen, was telling him which items she wanted to bid on as Gray searched the auction for Jane’s paintings.

  He found them easily enough, and would have bid, but reconsidered. It seemed too awkward, too personal. He heard Julia scoff, “Jane Austen? Poor kid! She’s not a half bad artist though.”

  Clayton shot a look at Gray who returned it with a warning look. Karen spoke up, “She’s quite talented, Julia. She’s James and Margaret’s daughter; they started this auction over twenty years ago.”

  Gray looked up, “James Austen’s daughter?” he asked, emphasizing the word daughter.

  Karen nodded, “Yes, Margaret was his second wife.” Gray looked incredulous, Mrs. Austen was at most in her early sixties, and James had died six years ago at the age of eighty four.

  Julia sneered, “What’s that look for Gray?”

  He shook his head, “I’m just surprised at the age difference between Mr. and Mrs. Austen.”

  “You think she married him for his money?” Julia asked.

  Karen answered, “I don’t. They always seemed so happy together. His first wife was the gold digger.”

  Gray flicked his eyes over to Julia; gold digger was an apt description for her too. He finished his drink and excused himself, returning to the bar, hoping to glimpse Jane once again. This time she was dancing with Ben and laughing. He didn’t like it. He remembered her flip comment about not sharing his toy, not being spoilt by another. This was what she meant, it dawned on him. She saw his jealousy before he even realized it was there.

  As the dance ended he found himself standing beside her, gently touching her arm. “Ms. Eyre, might I have the next dance?”

  She looked up shyly, “Thank you, Mr. Poole.”

  Ben kissed her cheek, whispering something to her that made her blush before he left.

  Gray took her into his arms, and thankfully a slow song began. With her heels they were closer to the same height, and fit together beautifully. He pulled her in close, a hand on her hip, keeping her there. She didn’t resist, she seemed to melt into him. He laid his head against the top of hers, breathing in a spicy and fruity aroma. Her hands were lightly touching him, one carefully against the small of his back, the other barely there in his hand as if she were afraid to touch him.

  He felt her chuckle and pulled back to look in her eyes. They were shining and took his breath away. “What amuses you, Ms. Eyre?”

  “The song seems fitting.” Tilting her head slightly she began to sing softly, her voice sweet, breathy, “Still I wonder why it is, I don’t argue like this, with anyone but you.” She grinned sardonically.

  He raised an eyebrow, “Very fitting,” and he smiled as she laid her head on his shoulder.

  The song was over too soon, and Patrick was there, asking to dance.

  “Ms. Eyre, that was enchanting. I hope that you enjoy your evening,” Gray said warmly.

  He thought he saw a flicker of disappointment in her e
yes, “Thank you, sir.”

  Gray strode off, toward the disapproving looks of Clayton and his wife.

  Karen spoke softly, “She’s very pretty, Gray.” Gray said nothing, not wanting to discuss this. She continued, “Julia is dancing with Tim Mathers, the optometrist. Do you know him?”

  “No.”

  “They’re a good match for each other, I think. Tim will screw anything with a hole, and Julia will spend every penny he earns.” Karen looked at him closely.

  Gray chuckled, “I see you don’t approve of my date.”

  “No, Gray, I don’t. Clayton says Jane works for you.” Gray nodded as Karen continued, “I worked with her dad. He was really a great guy, down to earth for a millionaire, you know?” Karen took a sip of wine, “Jane could easily have her mom committed, but she refuses. Really pisses off her stepbrother. Jane’s got a good head on her shoulders; she controls their investments, making sure there’s enough for her mom, in case.”

  “How do you know all this?” Gray asked amused.

  “Susannah, her cousin, does yoga with me on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Karen answered grinning.

  Gray raised an eyebrow, “Ok, tell me this, my nosy friend. What’s the deal with Patrick and Ben?”

  Karen shrugged, “Well, she dated Patrick in high school. They broke up before going to college. She went somewhere south, and Patrick went to Notre Dame. He met Ben in college. Susannah says they’re best friends, but I wonder…” She watched Patrick danced with Jane.

  Karen flicked her eyes back to Gray, “Clayton says you’re smitten.” He rolled his eyes and scoffed. She grinned, “It’s pretty damned obvious. Why do you think Julia’s humping plan B over there?”

  Gray looked over and Julia was indeed wrapped around Tim, the two of them gyrating in a sexual frenzy. He looked back to Patrick and Jane, dancing well together, but not like that. Definitely not, he reassured himself.