“I understand that.”
“Then give me the credit I deserve.”
“Alex knows what you did for him.”
“Does he? Really? He certainly didn’t show it.”
“He does.”
“Then it came too late. He physically hurt me and he tried to humiliate me. I will not be treated like that—ever. He can screw himself.”
“What happened between you two last night? I’ve only heard one side of the story.”
So, she’d even consider hearing my side of it? That set me back. But I wasn’t going to answer, because I was finished with this.
“Look,” she said. “Alex wanted to come himself. I told him not to. We talked for an hour last night. I told you, I’ve known him since he was a boy. He thinks of me as an aunt. I asked him to let me speak to you first. In person. No phone calls. Just you and me with no promises between us. Just a talk. What do you say?”
“I’ve resigned from the position, Ms. Blackwell. There’s nothing to say.”
“I think there is. I think there’s been a misunderstanding. So does Alex.”
How many times in my life had I heard from my father that whatever he’d done to me the day or night before was just the result of a misunderstanding? That it was just a mistake? That things had gotten out of hand, and that he was sorry for hitting me? Too many times. And it never got better. In fact, it only got worse. The same would be true with Alex, who obviously had issues.
“There was no misunderstanding. Alex was rude to me last night in ways that I never will accept. Well, that’s not true. Actually, Alex was beyond rude. He turned into a bastard. He hurt my arm, he publicly tried to make me look like a fool, and I won’t have that in my life. At least not if I can help it. I may have no money, Ms. Blackwell, but what I do have is priceless. I have self-respect; I know how people should be treated, and I won’t let anyone treat me like that. I’m sure others would put up with Alex’s behavior because of his money, but I’m not one of them.”
“So I’ve noted. I know you gave back the jewels.”
“I did.”
“And I respect that, Jennifer. More than you know.”
“Great. What I do expect is a check for my time yesterday.”
“You’ll be paid—I’ll see to it.” She motioned behind her, where a black limousine was waiting along the curbside. “Just give me an hour. We’ll drive around the city and talk. I have Starbucks and donuts waiting in the car for us. How can you go wrong?” Her face softened. “You know, if I didn’t think there was a very good reason for me to be here, I wouldn’t be here. I could have told Alex to just drop it. I could have let him come on his own, and things probably would have gotten worse. But I didn’t. There’s a reason for that. Please, come with me so we can talk about it.”
I nodded at the box in her hands.
“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing to say.” I started to close the door. “You’ll be fine, Ms. Blackwell. You won’t have any trouble finding someone else to hold on to your boss’ arm, and she’ll likely give you a far easier time than I have. You know—like Immaculata. You should contact her. She’d jump at the chance.”
“Alex said he’d never find anyone else like you.”
“Alex was right. Have a good day.”
CHAPTER TWE
NTY-THREE
When I returned to the apartment, I went immediately for my cell and canceled the courier. At this point, I needed to save whatever money I could. I was in luck. I was able to cancel the service and keep my sixty dollars, which, at that point in my life, was a blessing.
Lisa was having her coffee, but she wasn’t in bed, which was folded back into a sofa. Instead, she was seated in the chair next to the open window that overlooked the street. As I came into the room, I knew she’d heard everything.
“So?” I asked.
“He obviously doesn’t want to let you go.”
“Why should he? I got him Stavros Shipping.”
She blew on her coffee and nodded at me before she sipped.
“What’s on your mind?” I asked as I sat on the sofa and curled my legs beneath me.
“Like I said last night, this is just the start. I write about people for a living. Specifically, people running from zombies. But that could be a metaphor for anything. I think I know human behavior and motivation fairly well. Alex is a billionaire, which gives him a leg up on other men. I bet he hasn’t heard the word ‘no’ that often in his life, and he doesn’t know how to process it. He probably can’t believe that you actually denied him the privilege of being with you. And I mean that. It is a privilege. That is one man who is going to be back in your life before you know it, Jennifer.”
“Let him try. I’ll shut him down just as I shut Blackwell down. When I was standing down there listening to her talk about misunderstandings, all I could think of were all the times my father came to me for forgiveness. Whatever he did to me was a ‘misunderstanding.’ Give me fucking break.”
“Sometimes, misunderstandings are genuine.”
“Sometimes, they are. And sometimes I think you’re taking Alex’s side on this.”
“That’s not the case, but as your best friend who has been through a lot with you, I will say this—what happened between you and your father happened between you and your father, not between you and Alexander Wenn. Not everyone is your father, Jennifer. I understand why you have trust issues—why the hell wouldn’t you at this point in your life? But what I’d hate to see is you defining every aspect of your life now by what happened to you in the past and the actions of a different person. Yes, of course, use your past to inform your present. Just don’t use it as an excuse to close every door because it’s easier that way. People are going to fail you repeatedly in life. Sometimes, it will be intentional. If it is, get rid of them as quickly as possible. But if it isn’t intentional, or if they just did something stupid in the heat of the moment and acted up? Then hopefully you will remember that none of us is perfect, and sometimes you need to think about giving people a second chance.”
“That’s how you feel about Alex?”
“I don’t know Alex. I only know what you told me. I couldn’t sleep last night. I thought a lot about the situation, and I think what he did was childish. Do I think it was done out of malice? That’s for you to answer.”
“I have answered it.”
“Then you’ve moved on, so it doesn’t matter. Jennifer, I’m trying to give you some good advice. I’m talking about your future, not necessarily your present. People will hurt you—even good, imperfect people. It’s unavoidable, and it’s not always malicious. The good ones will genuinely regret what they did. Should you just throw them away if they screw up? It depends on what they did. But if they were good to you in the past or if you have a solid history together, I at least hope that you’d hear them out. Maybe your relationship will deepen because of it. But if you do give them that chance and they blow it again? That’s when you consider closing the door and moving on for good.”
“I couldn’t sleep last night either.”
“I heard you tossing and turning. I imagine last night was difficult for you. I laid out here wishing you could fall asleep, but I knew better. What you went through yesterday was a lot for anyone to handle—and I’m talking about the whole day. But you’re still hot right now. As you begin to cool off, expect to feel conflicted about your decision. Don’t say it won’t happen, because it will. I believe you told me that you’ve never been as attracted to anyone as you were to Alex.”
“That’s true.”
“Then be prepared for it.”
In the kitchen, my cell rang. I looked at Jennifer, and said, “That didn’t take long.” I went over to check the screen. “Wenn Enterprises.”
“That’s him, not Blackwell. Blackwell had her chance.”
“I’m not answering it.”
“At some point, you’re going to have to because this is only going to escalate. You’ll see. I’m telling yo
u, he’s not going to go away.”
“Then I’ll deal with it later.”
The phone stopped ringing, a minute passed, and the phone dinged alerting me that the caller had left a voicemail.
“Do I really want to hear this?”
She shrugged at me.
I picked up the phone, looked at the voicemail and considered playing it, but then I deleted it. I put the phone back on the counter, and without looking at Lisa, who probably thought I was insane right then, walked into the bedroom to press my suit and to get ready for the day. I needed a job to pay for that suit, not to mention the shoes. Or my rent. Or the food I needed to buy so I could eat. I had to pick myself up and get back to it, only with a different plan. I’d become a server by night, and I’d look for better jobs during the day. That would be my focus.
Only, it wasn’t. As I was about to find out, Alexander Wenn planned to make certain of that.
BO
OK TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Over the next several days—and ironically with the help of my MBA—luck finally struck. My mood soared, even though Alex was relentless in his phone calls, none of which I answered. Eventually, he’d lay off. I just needed to wait him out and forget him, no matter how strong my initial attraction to him was.
After interviewing for a dozen server positions at top restaurants—none of which I got—I interviewed to be the assistant manager at db Bistro Moderne, an exclusive restaurant owned by the renowned chef, Daniel Boulud.
Boulud himself was in town so he interviewed me along with the general manager, Stephen Row. Each was warm and charming. We got along famously, and I got the job on the strength of my interview, particularly on the part when Boulud asked me how I saw the position.
“The first priority is customer satisfaction,” I said. “It always is, as is ensuring professional service. The second is assisting Mr. Row. I imagine that I would help to oversee the front of the house floor staff, float during service time, and make certain that the staff is abiding by the restaurant’s policies and procedures. This is why I received my MBA—to manage effectively and efficiently. I’m ready for that.”
I heard back from them a few days later, and I got the job. The salary was more than generous, as was the benefits package. It was a far cry from the money Alex had offered me—not to mention the perks—but I couldn’t have been happier. I could more than live off my wages. I could pay my bills—including those for my anxiety-inducing Prada suit and shoes—which was huge for me. And with this sort of high-profile management experience under my belt, better jobs would follow and all of those closed doors I met for months might finally be open to me one day.
The restaurant was located at Fifty-Five West Forty-Fourth Street, which was hardly within walking distance to our apartment, but given that I now had a bit of disposable money, taking a cab wasn’t an issue. During our first few days working together, Stephen was helpful, but thankfully, he wasn’t a micromanager. He was a handsome man in his mid-thirties with a shock of blond hair and hazel eyes framed with green flecks along the circumference. He was a true professional, and what he expected from me was simple: manage the staff, assist him when he needed to lean on me, and also—what I found really thrilling about the job—use my eye to help keep the restaurant on trend.
“Obviously, we’ll leave the food to Mr. Boulud,” Stephen said. “But you have style, Jennifer, and you’re very bright. At this point, that’s clear to all of us. You look and dress impeccably. You’re also young and, if I might say, all of the staff agrees that you are stunning, which is a bonus. You’re exactly who we need to spot where the city is going next, not where the city is stuck now. One night each week—a work night—I want you to take a friend and go to the city’s newest hot spots. Eat a variety of foods. Put it on your corporate card.”
“I have a corporate card?”
He handed me a Visa Signature Card, which I knew was one of the most difficult cards to get from Visa because the credit limit was so high. The card was in my name. I felt a thrill.
“You do now,” he said. “And don’t go cheap.”
“How could I with this card?”
“We don’t expect you to buy diamonds with it, Jennifer.”
“A girl can dream.”
He smiled at me. “Try as many dishes as you can stomach. Just taste them, savor them, and then move on to the next dish. I can get you into any restaurant you want, so let me know what you’re hearing and where you want to go. I might make my own suggestions. We’ll see. Either way, I’ll make sure you get a good table. Then I need you to report back to me the next day on what the experience was like. That’s how we keep ahead of the competition. That’s how we trump it.”
It was a dream job. And finally, I could treat Lisa, which was important to me. She’d listened to my tragic romantic woes for far too long at this point and put up with my lack of cash for months. Now, I could shower her with a night out with drinks and good food once every week, which was perfect because she was a total foodie and would appreciate it. She also would likely offer her own take on the quality. When I went home with the card and told her of my new perks, she hugged me. “I’m so subscribing to the Times online right now, so I can check out the food columns. We are going to get fat!”
“Oh, no, we aren’t. Unless your zombies can chew the fat off us.”
“I can make that happen.”
After a good week on the job, I had the rhythm down. Stephen and I worked intuitively together, and we enjoyed each other, which was key. The servers were polite and professional—watching them work so seamlessly within such a narrow space only built my respect and admiration for what they did. Good service was not easy. But when it seemed easy and when the food was great, as it was here, the guests generally had a superb experience.
After so long in New York, I finally felt as if I belonged somewhere, and not just any somewhere because I knew that my job was coveted. I felt blessed and happy. And in two days, Lisa and I would go out to dinner at one of the city’s hot new restaurants that was drawing raves from the press. I told Stephen that I’d like to begin at a new restaurant called Blue. He’d read about in the Times, and he made it happen.
“How did you do that?” I asked. “They must have been booked weeks in advance.”
“Actually, months. But don’t worry about it. Wherever you need to get into, just let me know. I can even get you and your girlfriend into the city’s best clubs on your nights off.”
“You can?”
“Mmm-hmm. It’s my pleasure. And I can’t wait to hear what Blue is doing. Try as much food as you can, even if it’s only a few bites, then order more and report back.”
Was I in heaven? Apparently I was. Blue focused on seafood, which Lisa and I both loved.
“Have fun,” Stephen said. “I want to hear about atmosphere, quality of service, quality of food and drink, what their best selections look like—all of it.”
“Thank you, Stephen.”
“Don’t thank me,” he said with a grin. “You’re the one who’s going to gain ten pounds this month. Better join a gym.”
“Can I put that on my card?”
“We’ll see how you look in a few weeks.”
When the night came, Lisa and I were beyond excited. In our apartment, which now had one mother of an air conditioner in the living room window thanks to an online shopping trip on Amazon, we raced about in the cool air in an effort to get ready.
“When was the last time you and I went anywhere?” she asked.
I was in the bathroom putting on makeup. “You mean beyond the laundromat?”
“Right! I mean a real girls’ night out.”
“Oh, that was about four months ago. I remember it well. Burger King. Just before we entered into Manhattan. We’d driven all night from Maine. We pulled over because we needed to use the restroom and because we were starving, and we each scarfed down a Whopper and fries at a particularly sticky table. Not that we really c
ared.”
“I think we even splurged on something that appeared to be frozen.”
“I believe we did. I also believe that tonight will be better.”
“No frozen fish sticks for us.”
“What are you wearing?”
“Something hot. You?”
“Something hotter.”
“Oh, please. I’m wearing zombie chic.”
“Well, then.”
“By the way, I finished the third draft of the book today—it should be ready for you to read in a couple of weeks. I need to let it sit for a bit, then do the final edits, then it’s yours.”
“We are so celebrating tonight. Congratulations. I can’t wait to read it.”
“Thanks! This book practically killed me, so naturally I bought myself a killer new dress to celebrate. I’m sure my zombie peeps love fish and want me to look good eating it. Or anything undercooked. Look at me. Behold my beauty. Stand down and drink it in.”
She stepped into the bathroom’s doorway. She was wearing the perfect little black dress that only she could wear because she was so tiny. Her blonde hair was pulled away from her face and hung straight down her back. “You look beautiful.”
“What about hot?”
“You look hot.”
“Right? I mean, this kind of hotness doesn’t come around just every day.”
“Truth.”
“Are you almost finished?”
“I just need to blow out my hair and change. Fifteen minutes.”
In the kitchen, my cell rang.
“Don’t answer it,” I said. I turned on the hairdryer and started to dry my hair. What I wouldn’t tell Lisa was that a part of me wanted to answer it. I was starting to second-guess leaving Alex that night. The further I removed myself from what happened, the more I wondered if I’d overreacted. There was no question that he went too far, but did his actions warrant shutting him out of my life and not communicating with him? I was conflicted about that, specifically because he had hurt me—physically and emotionally. I wondered what he had to say, but I still deleted every voicemail. That was reactionary on my part. That night, he had reminded me of my father and his treatment of me. But still I thought of Alex. Still, I fantasized about him. I’d been attracted to a couple of guys in college, but I never did anything about it for too many reasons I’d yet to fully face. But Alex? Alex’s looks cut me to the core. So did his initial kindness when he ran out onto the street and helped me to retrieve my resumes. That was impulsive on his part. He’d been a gentleman. Was that the real him? I wasn’t sure. I might have made a mistake with him, but so be it. For whatever reason, he became an ass that night. That I couldn’t ignore.
Annihilate Me (Vol. 1) (The Annihilate Me Series) Page 11