“Is she okay?” a lovely thickly-accented Arabian voice asked.
I held a hand up to the beautiful Yasmine and nodded as I eventually stopped coughing. Yeesh. “I—I’m fine,” I declared.
“You must be Birdie,” she guessed, smiling and offering her hand. When I took it, she stated in her alluring voice, “So very nice to meet you, jamila.”
“Thank you. It’s nice meeting you too,” I replied, in awe of her stunning looks. Her perfect eyebrows, amazingly big brown eyes and radiant golden skin made her easily the most dazzling human being I’d ever seen.
She gave me a striking smile before turning to Joel. “Ya amar, I’ve missed you.” Tiptoeing up, she kissed him sweetly.
Joel looked lovingly down into her eyes and crooned, “I missed you too, ya hayati,” before kissing her again.
Biting my lips and looking away from the private moment between the two of them, my eyes inadvertently landed on Beck’s which I quickly flitted away from his intense gaze. Ack!
“Any luck with the apartment?” I heard Joel ask and turned back to see him looking at Beck.
“Still working on it,” Beck admitted and nosy me wondered what was going on with his apartment. I’d make sure to ask him when we walked out together in a bit.
“Let me know if you need anything,” Joel extended.
“Will do. Thanks,” Beck answered. He directed a glimpse my way then back at Joel and his wife. “Well, Mr. Hartford messaged me to come by, so I’ve gotta get up to the tenth floor. Yasmine, it was great seeing you again.” Looking at Joel and me, he added, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He nodded at us as we exchanged goodnights then he left the boardroom.
The stab of disappointment that pricked me at the fact that we wouldn’t be walking out together had me wanting to smack myself in the head. Good grief. We’d been around each other for not even two whole days and, what, I was already forming an attachment to him? All because of a Reuben sandwich and a piece of cheesecake he’d brought me? Good to know I could be bought for scandalously delicious food.
“Again, it was very nice meeting you,” Yasmine interrupted what I realized was me watching after Beck as he left.
Embarrassed, I turned to her. “Yes, so nice meeting you too.”
“We must talk shoes next time.”
“Of course.” I smiled as I pulled on my coat. Grabbing my purse, I told them goodnight then retrieved my leftovers from the lounge and headed out.
Alone.
Chapter 12—Beck
I wasn’t sure what the COO wanted with me, but I was about to find out.
At Mr. Hartford’s door, he hollered, “Come in, Griffin!” when he saw me approaching because, you know, glass.
“Good evening, Mr. Harford,” I said as I went in.
“Close the door and have a seat.”
Well, fuck. This sounded serious. I hadn’t been able to come up with a reason why he’d want to see me, so after having a seat, I waited to hear why I was being demoted/written up/fired.
It seemed these days optimism wasn’t my strong suit.
“How’s everything going?” he inquired.
“Pretty well,” I confirmed. “I signed Maxwell today.”
“Good, good. John’s your man when it comes to getting proper service.”
I nodded in approval, not really knowing who John was, but I trusted Mr. Hartford’s judgment.
He leaned back in his chair, elbows resting on the arms as he steepled his hands in front of him, and glanced around his massive office. “I’ve been with Fleishman for thirty-one years.” He looked at me, eyebrows raised letting that sink in, I guessed. I knew he was in his early sixties, but he looked younger, his hair more salt and pepper than gray and his tanned face more smooth than wrinkled. “Kurt and I were at Columbia together, you know. He was a year ahead of me, both of us getting our MBAs and we became good friends. After graduating, we attempted to keep in contact but, as it happens, we got busy and lost track of each other. I was working at Scimitar and doing well for myself, making my way up the ladder as a marketing and promotions manager, two kids with another on the way, when I got the call from Kurt wanting me to come be his COO here. Of course, I jumped at the chance, not only because it was a promotion, but I’d get to work with an old buddy.”
That was cool and all, but I wondered why he was telling me this.
As if he’d read my mind, he elucidated, “The point is, it pays to know people in the business industry. Don’t ever burn bridges as it could result in missed opportunities.”
My mind swam as I wondered if I’d burned any bridges I didn’t know about.
He moved forward and put his forearms on his desk, clasping his hands in front of him. “That all being said, you’re a good kid, Griffin.” He stared at me for what seemed like an hour and I felt sweat run down my sides. Fuck. He finally cleared his throat and went on. “There’s going to be an opening for a COO in one of the branches in the next year and I’m recommending you for the position.”
I sat up in surprise, having gone from thinking I was losing my job—which would’ve been par for the fucking course only adding to the misery in my life just then—to being promoted, all in a matter of minutes.
“Thank you, sir,” I responded, thrilled that he had confidence in me.
He nodded. “We won’t know which branch since they’ll ultimately do some shifting around, but in ten months or so, you’ll have a new title.” He stood and held his hand out to me. “Congratulations, son.”
As I shook his hand, I declared, “Thank you again. You won’t be sorry.”
“I know that, which is why I immediately thought of you. I’ll be here to answer any questions you may have and to walk you through some things along the way.”
After taking the elevator down to the seventh floor to get my coat from my office, I swear I was walking on air because, Hell yes! I was going to be a chief operating officer and making a shit ton of money!
In the cab on the way to the hotel I was now staying at, I pulled out my phone to call Sonya to tell her the good news and ended up staring at it.
We were over. We were really getting a divorce. She wasn’t my person anymore. I knew I hadn’t dealt with everything until right then. And it hurt. I swallowed trying to make the lump in my throat smaller as I regarded the cell in my hand.
Then I made a call.
“Hey, Dad? Guess what?”
Paul was the other person I called to tell the good news of my impending promotion and we’d made plans to meet for a drink Friday night.
I’d also thought about calling Birdie but had tossed that idea almost immediately because I guessed we really didn’t know each other anymore. However, I knew her well enough to know she’d act happy for me since she was a nice person and all but that was about it. Although I’d brought her lunch, I still hadn’t gotten through to her. And because she clearly hated me now, it wasn’t like she was getting over that any time soon, so what was the use of hoping she’d come around.
That knowledge in the forefront, for the next two days, I deliberately avoided her and focused on my workload which felt great doing what I knew best.
Thursday after lunch, I sat at my desk looking over several reports when I heard Dana asking someone if they needed help before a man appeared in my doorway holding a manila envelope with Dana standing right behind him.
“Sir, what is this pertaining to?” my annoyed secretary asked, angry that they guy had gotten past her, I could tell.
“Beck Griffin?” he asked.
“Yes,” I confirmed, getting up from my desk and walking toward him.
He handed me the envelope and promptly left.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Griffin,” Dana offered. “He just kept going!” she huffed.
“It’s okay. Thanks,” I told her and closed my door, for all the fucking privacy it offered.
Sitting at my desk, I opened the envelope and upon pulling out the papers inside, it was revealed that I’d been served
a summons for a divorce.
Awesome.
Chapter 13—Birdie
Beck hadn’t spoken to me, looked at me or even acknowledged my presence since Tuesday.
It was now Friday.
Three whole days of ignoring me.
And it had kind of started bugging me.
I didn’t know what was going on, but I had my theories:
Theory #1—He was avoiding me because his meeting Tuesday with Mr. Hartford, I think that’s the name he’d said, hadn’t gone well and put him in a bad mood.
Theory #2—He was in the middle of remodeling his apartment—Joel had asked about his apartment—and he was preoccupied with it and didn’t feel like talking.
Theory #3—He still wasn’t wearing his wedding ring, so maybe he’d lost it and he and his wife were arguing over it and he didn’t feel like talking to me.
Theory #4—Mr. Hartford had given him a huge promotion, he was getting a new apartment or remodeling his old one for the baby he and his wife were expecting, and they’d gotten new rings to celebrate and were waiting for them to be sized hence the missing ring.
Theory #5—Theory #4 was all correct, Beck felt he’d made amends with me, and that was that.
Well, that last theory sucked.
The good news was, over the past two days, I’d found ten—TEN!—ghost employees on the payroll who had all been paid three grand a week for the past forty-two weeks, which accounted for just over one-point-two of the one-point-three million dollars I’d found missing earlier. When I’d informed Joel, he’d thrown a fit, immediately calling a meeting with Mr. Fleishman, the CEO, which I attended up on the tenth floor and explained what I’d found. Because this office did payroll for itself and three other branches, I told them that if the embezzling was internal, meaning someone here, I was confident I could weed them out. But I warned that with the other offices sending in their own information, it would take a little longer to find where the misappropriation of funds was coming from. Mr. Fleishman and Joel had both encouraged me to do whatever it took to find out who was behind it, which I absolutely intended to do.
And although I’d been on a high about everything I’d found, the fact that Beck was avoiding me kept me from being wholly excited. I hated that we weren’t at least friends. I mean, we could still be friends, right? Exactly. Therefore, I intended to do something about his shutting me out.
It was time for lunch, so I donned my coat then grabbed my purse and headed for Beck’s office. I smiled at his watchful secretary who gave me a wary twist of her lips back, then seeing that his door was propped open as usual and he was on the phone, I knocked on the frame to get his attention. Without looking to see who it was, he held a finger up for me to wait a moment and continued talking on the phone, writing down information as he did. I didn’t mean to listen, but I was standing right there, so whatever.
“Two bedrooms would be better. Yes. Yes. Uh huh. Okay. Yes,” I overheard what was more apartment talk, I assumed, watching as he peered down at his desk calendar and wrote something. “Tomorrow would be great. Ten o’clock? Yes, that works just fine. Okay. I’ll see you then. Thank you.”
He hung up and blew out what seemed like a stressed breath, and when he finally turned and saw it was me at his door, I thought he was going to fall out of his chair.
“Oh, hey, I’m, um, going to lunch and thought you might, uh, wanna come too?” I offered then bit my lip waiting to see what he’d say, preparing myself for the worst. The worst being anything from his cussing me out and telling me to get the hell out of his office to his adopting that subtle change guys take on when they’ve gone from caring about you in that way—read as: they want to have sex with you and maybe even fall in love with you someday—to only wanting to be your buddy for whatever idiotic reason they've come up with, but they’d still sleep with you because they’re assholes.
Okay, I still had to work on not being bitter.
Anyway, Beck sat looking at me for so long without saying anything, I turned to go, murmuring, “Just thought I’d ask if you wanted to…”
“Birdie, wait,” he called.
I stopped, my back to him, and it was then I realized I was crying. Shit! Why was I crying? Because my Theory #5 had been correct and he was done with me. I quickly wiped the tears away, seeing that his secretary was purposely ignoring me, thank God, before turning to face him. His face went soft and he stood to put his coat on, then we went to lunch together.
So, yeah, I was on a pity lunch with my former kind of lover. Good times. But our small talk had been good so far until we’d hit a little bump. “It was blue because he used a different formula,” I pointed out, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. “And it was ninety-nine percent pure!” I added.
Beck chuckled. “Birdie, it’s supposed to be clear. They just did the blue as a kind of trademark for his stuff in the show.”
“But the real police have found blue meth before!” I protested.
“Honey, if they did it was probably just from food coloring.”
Oh, God. Why did I like it so much that he’d called me honey?
Stop it! He’s got a wife, a baby on the way and a new job! You just heard him talking on the phone about a two-bedroom apartment! Ugh.
I took a bite of my hamburger while acting as if I were mulling over what he’d said when actually I was wondering if there was a way to erase him completely from my mind so that when he achieved all these fabulous things in his life I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass.
Had I said I was bitter?
Anyway, the mulling became real when I thought of another point, so mouth full I exclaimed, “But Walter White was a genius! He could’ve made it rainbow colored if he wanted to and it still would’ve been the best!”
Beck nodded. “With food coloring,” he reiterated and added, “Plus, he’s a fictional character, Birdie.” He snorted at the look I gave him.
“He’s Walter White,” I snapped vehemently.
He looked at me as if confused at my impassioned response.
I took a drink of soda then decided to spill. “Look, this is gonna sound crazy, I know, but Netflix was my saving grace after Mason died. After…after everything. And these fictional characters helped me get through a lot during that time.” I was tearing up again.
He reached out and took my hand, his eyes full of sorrow. “I’m sorry, Birdie. Really, I am. I know you went through a lot and I get it. I was just teasing you.”
I pulled my hand from his because I was getting angry now. He had his wife. She hadn’t died. She was living because of Mason and now they had their perfect life! Beck had no idea what I’d gone through having to deal with everything by myself. Yes, I’d had my parents and Jaden there for me, but when the lights went out, I was still alone and my life had pretty much been hell there for a while.
“I’m getting a divorce,” he suddenly revealed.
What? What!
“But what about the baby?” I blurted. “And getting a bigger apartment? And your promotion?” I continued rambling.
He pulled his head back in surprise. “What baby?” At my silence, he clarified, “There’s no baby, Birdie. And I’m getting my own apartment because I moved out. And how’d you know about my promotion?”
“I guessed because I assumed your life was perfect,” I whispered.
He shook his head. “I know you think my life’s been great the past two years but that’s far from the truth.” At my dubious look, he kept going. “We, well, I tried, but we just couldn’t work it out.” He let out a sigh. “I’ve been fucking miserable.”
The French fry that was heading toward my mouth got stopped midway as I stared at him in disbelief. What the hell was he talking about? Again, his life hadn’t changed. He had everything he’d started with when we met while I, on the other hand, had lost everything. And now he was throwing it all away because he thought his life was miserable? I wanted to reach across the table and smack him.
“I know this�
��ll sound melodramatic and clichéd as hell,” he continued, “but the worst part about it all? When your heart is somewhere else, every moment away from that person feels like a living death.”
“Then you shouldn’t let her go,” I shared, irritated that he was still talking about his wife and the perfect life he was tossing aside. Grabbing my napkin, I looked around at the other patrons as I wiped my mouth in annoyance.
I heard him laugh low and whipped my head back to glare at him, irked at his sob story. “I didn’t want to let her go,” he admitted.
“Then don’t.” I threw my napkin on my plate. “I’m finished,” I bit out, digging through my purse for my wallet.
“Birdie?” he called.
I let out a breath and gave him my most apathetic look. “Yeah?”
“This is about you.”
Narrowing my eyes, I tried figuring out where I fit into all this until it dawned on me what he was saying. He was blaming me for their break up! “Fuck you, Beck.” I tossed a twenty on the table then stood and pulled on my coat.
He stood too and grabbed me by the shoulders, looking confused as he shook his head. “What?”
I tried moving away but he held me where I was. “Let me go,” I whisper-hissed, trying not to make a spectacle in front of everyone.
He leaned down and got in my face. “I said I’m talking about you.”
Okay. I’d had enough. Screw not making a scene. Throwing his hands off of me, I yelled, “And I said, fuck you!”
I was at the curb hailing a cab when he caught up with me. “Why’re you being like this?” he asked.
Turning to face him, fists clenched, I told him, “If you want to blame me for your divorce, that’s fine. You and I had a thing. It’s over. If your wife can’t get past it, I’m sorry.” I jumped in the cab that had stopped, slamming the door behind me without giving him a chance to respond. Then giving the cabbie the address, I was relieved when we took off.
I didn’t bother looking back.
Mondays (The Wait Book 2) Page 5