I scrolled through my computer’s dock and pulled up the web browser before I had enough time to dwell. As I studied the latest news headlines, I felt Jon’s gaze still upon me. I glanced up and our eyes met again.
He cleared his throat awkwardly. “So, uh, how are you?”
“Fine,” I blinked. “You?”
“Great.” He grabbed the photos. Holding them up, he replied, “Just, uh, took some pics of that vet’s husband and his lady friend yesterday.”
“And?”
He offered a mischievous grin and winked as he sifted through the shots. “They must be really, really good friends.”
I nodded absently, turning back to the laptop. I had unintentionally clicked on an advertisement which led to a ski resort in Utah’s website. Coughing once, I muttered, “I may be going to Colorado next week.”
“Huh?” Jon’s green eyes filled with confusion. “Isn’t next week Thanksgiving?”
I nodded. “Yeah, but I don’t really feel like going home right now.”
He dropped the pictures on his desk and crossed the room. He leaned against the wall beside me. “Why are you going to Colorado? A case? If it is—”
“Not work.” I searched rates for flights to Durango. “I just . . . I need a break.” I clicked on the link to an insanely-low round-trip ticket only to discover it led me to another site offering that rate if I signed up for a credit card. Of course. Sighing, I started my search again. Less than a few moments into my second search, I realized Jon was still hovering near my desk. “Yeah?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I, um, I don’t know. You wanna come with me to my dad’s for Thanksgiving?” I stared at him, surprised. I could tell from his expression that his offer was genuine. I knew how I responded to this could possibly lead to another one of his famous meltdowns. Jon must have sensed my reservation as he quickly added, “Just think about it, okay?”
I pursed my lips, trying to decide how to reply. Realizing he had caught me off-guard, he laid on the guilt by offering me his best imitation of a puppy pouting. I laughed, shaking my head. “Jon—”
“Think about it,” he repeated with a wink.
I turned back to the computer screen to check my email. I was surprised to find Rick’s cousin, Arthur, had included me in a forwarded email to about fifty close friends. There was a series of photos from his last trip to London. According to his brief message, he helped Rick get settled in a flat near Leicester Square and while there, attended a political ball at his father, Ambassador Gatlin Cross’s request.
As I scrolled through the pictures, I noticed several shots of Arthur and Rick hanging out in a loft-type apartment filled with cardboard boxes. Must be Rick’s new place, I thought, a knot tightening in my stomach. There were a few pictures of the two of them around London followed by a group of candid photos taken at an event I took to be the ball.
As I perused the shots, I noticed Rick offered the same, closed-mouth smile he displayed whenever he was not in a good mood. As childish as it was, I felt better seeing that he was not living it up in the wake of our break-up. My comfort was short-lived. The last photograph showed Ambassador Gatlin Cross sporting a big smile with Arthur on his left and his wife on his right.
Behind them at a distance was Rick. He was kissing a red-haired woman in a stunning red, strapless dress. I felt the knot in my stomach double in size. I turned away from the screen as tears began to well in the corners of my eyes. Before I had a chance to close the tab, I saw Jon glare down at the picture. He stood there in silence for several moments before touching my right shoulder gently.
“Let’s go.”
I followed Jon in a daze, numb to everything around me. I was briefly aware that we climbed on the subway. I also knew Jon was talking to me, but my mind couldn’t focus. I kept seeing that image of Rick and the beautiful woman. I knew that it would be forever burned in my memory. My heart ached at the thought. Barely a week had passed since our break-up and he had already moved on.
“Jordan!”
I blinked. Somehow, we had gone from my office near Fenway Park to Cheers restaurant in Quincy Market. Jon and I were seated at a small, wooden table near a window and there was a glass of water and half-eaten hamburger in front of me.
“What?” was all I managed to utter as I stared at the burger.
“You’ve been in zombie mode for almost an hour.”
I felt my face flush. “Sorry.”
He took a sip of soda and shrugged. “Feeling better?” My phone buzzed and I pulled it out of my jacket pocket. A text message from Alicia inquired if I had purchased my plane ticket home yet. Groaning, I shoved it back in my pocket. Now was not the time for sisterly nagging. “Something wrong?”
“How much time you got?” When I noticed his worried expression, I shook my head. “I’m fine, really.”
Although he nodded, the concern in his eyes didn’t falter. He scratched his jaw and averting eye contact, asked quietly, “So, uh, what have you been up to?”
I chewed on a fry. It tasted cold and wet. After I turned down Rick’s proposal at his cousin’s senatorial victory party, I went home, hoping ice cream and sappy chick flicks would help ease my pain. When that didn’t work, I tried to sleep it away. Unfortunately, that didn’t help either. Even if Heather hadn’t called, I would have ended up going back to work because keeping busy is the best way I know to deal with a break up. I took a sip of water to wash away the slimy fry taste. “Just hung around.”
Jon cleared his throat awkwardly glanced around the restaurant. According to my watch, it was ten-past eleven which would explain the lull in a usually vibrant restaurant. “Well, we haven’t gotten any new cases this week . . . I mean, unless someone called your cell,” he rambled. “I figured that vet’s case was it.”
“No calls,” I mumbled. “I’m glad you got those pics. I’ll go through them and figure out which ones we’ll give to the client,” I sighed, shaking my head. “I hate these cases. I mean . . . relationships are hard enough, you know? And when people get married, well, you’re saying I’m ready to spend my life with you, for better or worse.” I frowned. “Divorce sucks.”
“Uh huh,” Jon trailed off. “Why Colorado? Why not come with me for Thanksgiving?”
“Huh?” His transition caught me off guard. “Oh, well, my friend invited me.”
“Friend?” he repeated, his back tensing up. “What friend?”
“Seriously?” I rolled my eyes. “If you must know, Heather.”
I saw him relax and he took another sip of soda. “Oh. Why are you two going to Colorado? You both live in Louisiana.”
“We’re both from Louisiana,” I corrected him. “She’s the head writer for a sitcom and they’re filming the Christmas episode at some resort outside Durango. She thought it’d be fun if I went, too.”
“Sitcom?” He grimaced. “Oh, wait. She’s the one that writes for Schooling Dad?” I nodded and he groaned, “That show sucks! Why would you want to watch that crap being made?”
“Why not?” I crossed my arms defensively. A twinge of pain forced me to uncross them. “She’s my best friend and she writes for the highest-rated sitcom on television. Who wouldn’t want to watch that? Considering you’re an actor, I figured you of all people could appreciate my interest.”
Jon scoffed, looking away. I realized instantly that I hit a nerve by mentioning his career of choice. It would come as a surprise to no one that my egotistical associate, with a tendency to overreact, was an out-of-work actor. When I first met him, he was on his way to an audition. That was the day he accidentally broke my arm and a deal was made that led to our partnership and my first case. That’s another story.
“I prefer acting as an art, not the immature idiocy that passes as humor nowadays,” he snapped. I considered bringing up the small role he had
in a recent Seth McFarlane film, but decided against it. “Besides, any show that puts a tool like Alson Andrews on the map isn’t worth crap.”
For the first time that day, Jon and I agreed. Alson Andrews was an eighteen-year-old actor who made it big when he won a small role on the pilot episode of Schooling Dad three years earlier. His character, Zack Davis, was supposed to last four episodes, however, when the preteen to teen audience quadrupled network expectancy, they decided to keep the troubled, millionaire beach bum with a heart of gold.
Flash forward three years. Alson earns the most money of a television actor under twenty-one, has a budding movie career, and just signed a record deal. He was the number one marketable teen of the year who was praised by critics as kind a humanitarian as his television character. Apparently, the kid has an amazing publicist. Sitting there, I found myself recalling a recent conversation with Heather about America’s favorite heartthrob.
“Working late again?”
“Yeah,” Heather groaned. “Alson decided to take yesterday off and didn’t bother to tell anybody, which cost the studio some serious bank. Now, the rest of us have to work late to make the deadline for the show to get edited on time. I swear that brat is taking years off my life.”
“Why don’t the producers drop him?” I asked her for the eight hundredth time.
“You know why they can’t drop him,” she sighed, exhaustion evident in her voice. “He makes the show. Somehow that little creepazoid turned a show about two daughters reuniting with their estranged dad after their mom’s death about him. Go figure that one out.”
Jon took one last bite of his burger and coughed, pulling me from my daydream. “That kid’s a joke. I mean, he’s not even attractive.”
I shrugged. “Apparently several million teenaged girls disagree with you.”
“They’re idiots.”
“I guess,” I shrugged again. “But he’s still a hot commodity right now.”
Jon offered a curious smile. “Is that why you want to go to Colorado? To meet the famous Alson Andrews?”
“What? No! I told you, I’m going to see my friend, my best friend. Why are we even having this discussion? I don’t have to justify my actions to you.”
I instantly regretted my attitude. With all that was going on, I did not feel like arguing today. Surprisingly, Jon just grinned. “You know, I’m a pretty fair snowboarder.”
“What?” I stared at him, confused.
“I can ski, but I prefer snowboarding. I’ve only been around here, though. You know, Vermont.”
“Huh?” I glanced around the restaurant. Several other patrons were filling empty tables and as the wait staff brought out their meals, causing new and delicious smells to invade my senses, I knew the lunch hour had begun. “I’m missing something. I thought we were talking about Alson Andrews. What are you talking about?”
“Seriously?”
I frowned, considering his last few statements. Suddenly, it dawned on me and I cringed at the awkward situation Jon was placing me in. “You, uh, you want to go to Colorado, too?”
His grin returned. “What a nice offer. I don’t mind if I do.”
3
Heather was gracious about Jon inviting himself. “Yeah, whatever,” she replied when I called her with the news. “I mean, I don’t care, but . . . do you want him there?”
“Well,” I clung to the bar above my head as the subway made a sudden turn. “I don’t know. I guess.”
“Are you sure? You don’t have to invite him. I mean, he can come, but only if you want him there.”
“I don’t know,” I adjusted my weight to avoid falling onto the large man to my left. Despite my stopping short of a collision, he shot me a dirty look. I pressed the cell phone against my ear to drown out the background noises. “It’d be nice to have someone to hang out with while you’re working, but this is supposed to be our trip. I feel conflicted, can you tell?”
“Never would’ve guessed,” she marveled sarcastically. “Whatever you decide is fine by me. Just make sure to let me know by Sunday so I can order you both clearance badges. Speaking of conflicted, how’d your folks take the news?”
“Well . . . “
“Jordan! Seriously? You need to call them. Now.”
“I will,” I insisted as the subway made another sharp turn, nearly throwing me across the car. “I was just gonna wait a little longer.”
“How much longer?”
“I was thinking I should wait ‘til Black Friday.”
“Two words, Jordan. Spring break.”
I cringed. Heather was referring to the dreaded spring break that began my summer from hell which only ended the moment I stepped off the plane at T.H. Green two days before freshman orientation at Brown. For our senior year spring break in high school, Heather, my then-boyfriend Greg Bell, a few other friends and I planned to drive to Pensacola, Florida for a week of fun.
Greg’s parents owned a timeshare in a beautiful condo right off the beach and we wanted to enjoy our last moments of high school together before everyone left for college. Unfortunately, my parents refused to allow me to go. I was both hurt and furious to discover they did not trust me. Because of their reaction, I did something I had never done before—I went anyway.
We left the Saturday before Easter. The four-hour drive was incredibly fun and I was looking forward to a memorable vacation; little did I know just how memorable it would be. My mother woke up unusually early that Saturday and discovered my room empty. She called Heather’s mother and learned we had already left for the beach. When she told my father what happened, I believe he nearly had a coronary.
He hopped the first flight to Pensacola and was waiting for me at the condo as soon as Greg pulled into the parking lot. Needless to say, I was humiliated. The one upside to the entire episode was my father was too livid to speak, let alone berate me in front of my friends and boyfriend. I was grounded until I left for college in August and banned from participating in anything except for prom, thanks to my mother, who insisted it was a rite of passage. The irony was not lost on me. Prom, however, turned out to be a bust since Greg dumped me right before the big day.
“I was kidding,” I muttered, sighing. “I’ll text Alicia. Maybe that’ll soften the blow.”
“Alicia?” Heather clicked her tongue. “I don’t know . . . she’s pregnant and . . . well . . . she’s never exactly been an ally against your parents.” She paused, waiting for my reply. When I didn’t, I could almost hear her roll her eyes. “Whatever. Just let someone know. Oh, and make sure to tell me for sure if what’s-his-face is coming. I’ve got to go now. They’re about to start filming Roch Turner’s scene and I need to pay attention since next week everything’s on me.”
We said our goodbyes just as I was climbing the stairs at Newton Centre. Jon and I had parted ways at Cheers, agreeing to meet at the office the next day to discuss the vet’s case. The blustering, frigid winds eagerly greeted me when I reached ground level and I hurriedly zipped my parka to combat its force. Heather’s insistence I call my family nagged. The more I considered it, the more I dreaded the conversation that would follow. As I pushed the elevator button and waited for the doors to open so I could get back to my apartment, I envisioned my father flying into Logan and, in livid silence, forcing me to come home.
I shook the thought from my mind and doing so brought back an even more painful imagine—Rick and the beautiful, mystery woman in London. Because that was a memory I knew I could not force from my mind, I did the only thing I could think of to distract myself—I texted Alicia. Less than a minute later, just as I was unlocking my apartment door, my phone began to ring.
“Hello?”
“What do you mean you’re not coming home for Thanksgiving?”
I closed the door and locked it. Walking swiftly down the lo
ng hallway, I passed the kitchen on my right and dropped my purse on the dining room table as I headed into the living room.
“Hi, Leesh, nice to hear from you,” I quipped dryly, throwing my parka on the chair beside my couch.
“Save it. I just got off work. I’m exhausted, hungry and achy.”
“Sorry,” I grumbled, falling onto the couch.
“You and Rick have been planning to come home for Thanksgiving for months. What happened? Did you break up?”
My face flushed. “I can’t come home because I’m meeting Heather in Colorado. She has to work,” I blurted, hoping she would not press me for more information on Rick.
I had no such luck. “What about Rick? Is he going to Colorado, too?”
I tried to swallow the lump in my throat unsuccessfully. “He’s in London. He has to open a new branch of his firm.”
I heard her sighing. “Sorry, I snapped. I’m six months pregnant and just worked a twelve-hour shift, which included an emergency surgery on a two month old. My nerves are shot.” After a few moments of silence, she asked, “Is there any point trying to change your mind?”
“Huh?” Her inquiry caught me off guard. “No, I think it would be best if I went to see Heather. I’d hate to think of her all alone on a holiday.”
“Then I see no point in arguing with you. Don’t get me wrong – I want to see you, but I’m too tired right now to fight. Have you told Mom and Dad yet?”
“No.” I stared through my glass balcony door at snowflakes falling.
Bitter Retribution (Jordan James, PI Series) Page 2