by Lee, Nadia
I run a hand across my forehead. “Great,” I mutter. “Just what I need right before I’m about to start my first job. A viral fight video.” And with someone like Elizabeth as my boss. She seemed so elegant and saintly in our interview. I bet she doesn’t have a scandalous video.
“Don’t worry. Your boss won’t blame you for it. Did you forget her brother is Ryder Reed?”
“I don’t know if that’s going to make it better. There’s a difference between your brother and your brand-new employee starring in a fight video.”
Julie rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. It wasn’t like you threw that wine. But seriously, what the hell was Audrey Duff thinking?”
“She just…lost it when she saw me with Tony.” I tell Julie what happened, blow by blow, since she won’t shut up about it until I do.
“Hey, karma’s a bitch.” Julie lifts her arm straight up in the air in a victory pose. “So Audrey was trying to push you two apart, and it only made you screw like minks over the weekend.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say minks…”
She leans forward. “Was he good?”
My cheeks heat. “Very.”
“Are you going to do it again?”
“Uh-huh.” I sigh. “I really like him, Julie. I’ve never felt this way about a guy before.”
“Hey, if he makes you happy, I’m totally on your side here. But it’s probably better if you don’t let Byron know.”
“I wasn’t planning on advertising how I feel about Tony, but I’m not going to hide it either.” And frankly, I don’t see why Byron would care, even if Tony is convinced Byron wants to sleep with me. There’s never been any spark between us.
“I’m not saying you should hide it. I’m saying you shouldn’t let Byron know. See the difference?”
“Uh…not really.”
She squints at me long and hard. “I swear to God! For a woman who plays the piano with such sensitivity, you can be so obtuse. Byron hates Tony, and he’s going to be resentful you’re doing him. Get it?”
“Noooooo… I can see him getting upset if you slept with Tony. I mean, you’re his sister. But me? Why would he care?”
Julie sighs, giving me a look that’s a cross between pity and exasperation. “Fine, have it your way. But don’t say I didn’t warn you if Byron gets pissy.”
“Yeah, yeah, Miss Overactive Imagination! I’m going to go get ready for work tomorrow.” Shaking my head and laughing, I go to my room and plug my phone into the charger. It starts up and begins notifying me of a bunch of texts and missed calls. I cringe at the ones from Sam. He’s pissed off about the videos Julie mentioned, although his texts are so typo-laden that it’s impossible to figure out exactly what the problem is.
There are also some from Byron. He’s more coherent than Sam, but most of his texts are about how vile Tony is and how I need to be careful and stay away from him.
My phone rings, and…speak of the devil.
I debate briefly, then answer it. “Byron! Hey, how are—”
“My God, that video! What were you thinking, Rizzy?”
Sigh. “That the wine was colder than expected?”
It only seems to upset him more. “No! Anthony Blackwood. He uses people, and the only thing he cares about is money. Don’t think it’ll be different with you.”
I need to cut this off, because the more he says, the less I like him. “Okay, stop. You don’t know anything about—”
“Oh come on, Rizzy, you have no idea—”
“Yes, I do. He isn’t using me for anything. I don’t have money or fame. In fact, I have so little that I’m crashing at your place at the moment. If what you’re saying is right, then he’s made a pretty big mistake. But he doesn’t strike me as the type to screw up like that.”
“Rizzy, I’m trying to protect you. He isn’t someone you can rely on.”
“I don’t need your protection, Byron. And since you didn’t know, he’s the one who helped me write a résumé and land a job.”
“He did that to fool you.”
“Look, the only thing I want to hear from you right now is congratulations. If you can’t bring yourself to say that, then just hang up.”
I can hear him breathing, but that’s all. It hurts that he can’t bring himself to say congrats. He sat in that café and heard me talk about wanting a job. Or is he just upset that he wasn’t the one to help me with the résumé, emotionally stuck in some weird competition with Tony?
“Goodbye, Byron.” I hang up.
I resist the urge to throw the phone down. Byron’s never reacted this way to anyone I’ve associated with, and I don’t understand what his deal is. Julie said he and Tony don’t get along due to their business rivalry, but does he have to be so condescending about it, pulling that “I’m doing this to protect you” crap? He sounded exactly like Sam at his worst!
He’s just trying to look out for you, my mind whispers.
Well, I don’t need him to do that. I’m almost twenty-eight, not eighteen, and I don’t need him hovering and trying to tell me who to get involved with.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Iris
The morning is bright and sunny, the temperature perfect. The second I walk into the marbled vestibule of the Pryce Family Foundation, I spot a very large man with eyes like a Siberian winter. He’s in a suit with no tie, and he looks at me like some bug he’s trying to decide is harmless enough to let in.
“Hi. I’m Iris Smith. I’m new.” I extend a hand with a smile.
He engulfs it in a huge paw and pumps once before letting go. “Tolyan.” His voice is rusty and harsh, but somehow not unpleasant. “Lizochka told me about you.”
Lizoch—? Oh… Elizabeth.
“Your employee badge,” he says, handing me a lanyard that has a laminated photo ID with my name and the foundation’s logo. “She’s waiting for you.”
Already? I made sure to arrive ten minutes early. I overheard Sam say once that workers who show up after their boss were worthless leeches. But clearly, I need to do better tomorrow.
I walk to her office. The door is open and Elizabeth is at her desk. Her unbound hair hangs loose in golden curls around her stunning face, and a classy blue dress fits her model-like body like it was made just for her. I’m in awe of her beauty and poise…again.
She looks up and smiles. “Great. You’re here.” She beckons me closer. “I was just going over these numbers and thought you could help.” She turns a huge external monitor my way. “It looks complicated, but isn’t, really. It’s for our main projects for the rest of the year.”
She explains what she wants me to do, the reports I need to generate for her on a regular basis and where to find all the people I should contact to organize funding and sourcing of the material we need. “Let me know if you need any help.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“And Tolyan should have a laptop for you.”
For the rest of the morning, I sit at a desk outside her office and work on the numbers she gave me. The projects I’m dealing with are all domestic. Most are for Thanksgiving and Christmas. The foundation is partnering with religious and secular organizations in various communities to supply meals and gifts for people who have no place to go and children whose parents can’t afford anything. Only three projects are about delivering school supplies to needy families for back-to-school activities, although those are in some of the poorest and most underserved districts in the country. When I see the total amount the foundation’s raised, I have to double-check the report. Holy mother of God, that’s a lot of zeros!
During lunch, Elizabeth leaves, saying she has an appointment. “We should have lunch this week, though,” she says. “To welcome you to the foundation.”
“I’d love that. Thanks.”
I grab a sandwich from a deli, then bring it back to my desk and fiddle with my phone. There’s a text from Tony.
Hope your day’s going well.
I smile. Fabulously. Elizabeth is amazing.
Yes. A sandwich. You?
I miss sharing lunch with you and holding you while you nap.
Maybe this weekend?
Too far away.
If you can’t wait until the weekend, I’m probably going to practice after work. Although I’m not working in the music field, I want to keep it up. Maybe more memories will come. Some clue about who Tatiana is…or the name of the girl who threw popcorn at that ridiculously proportioned porn star. I already looked through my high school yearbook, but didn’t see her photo.
My place?
That works, but I need to pick up a few things first.
Deal.
My phone rings. “Hi, Sam,” I say.
“What the hell is the meaning of this, Iris! The first one was bad enough, but now videos with you and Anthony?”
“It was just dinner,” I say, swallowing a sigh. What is up with everyone around me reacting so weirdly? It’s not like I asked to have wine thrown in my face.
“But with Anthony! In videos!”
“It’s not a crime to have dinner with Tony. He was a perfect gentleman at the restaurant.” In bed was another matter, but Sam doesn’t need to know that.
“But the videos…! Everywhere…!” He’s so furious, he can’t even finish.
“If you’re that upset, talk to whoever uploaded them,” I say, deliberately misunderstanding him. I don’t want to fight about Tony over the phone with Sam on my first day at work. “There’s not really anything I can do.”
“You need to stay away from him. I’m getting you a ticket to Tokyo right now.”
My jaw slackens. “What? You can’t do that!”
“You need to leave the country. Immediately.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so. Don’t forget about your brain damage, Iris. I can have you declared incompetent or worse!”
I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it, incredulous. Just who the hell does he think he is? Just because he helped me when I was in a bad spot doesn’t mean he gets to bully me like this.
I put the phone back to my ear. “Are you out of your mind? Do you think anybody’s going to believe I’m incapable of making my own decisions because I had brain injuries nine years ago?”
“Don’t think I can’t. I will find a judge who agrees with me.”
Sudden panic flutters in my belly. He’s entirely too serious. And I have a feeling he might be able to find somebody who’ll do just that. “Sam—”
“Tonight. That’s the earliest one out. So pack your fucking bags.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I just started a job.”
“What? You never said anything about a job.”
Because every time I told him about my plans, he ignored me. It isn’t my fault he didn’t know. But bringing that up is going to be like pouring gasoline on a fire. “I told you I wanted to settle down.”
“Settle down in Tokyo, then.”
What the hell is wrong with him? There’s nothing for me in Tokyo. I don’t even speak Japanese! “Look, I’m not quitting.”
“Whoever you’re working for can’t be paying you enough to give you the lifestyle you’ve accustomed to.”
“It’s meaningful work.”
“Cubicle slavery is the same whether you do it in L.A. or Tokyo. Tell me where you are. I’m sending a car.”
“You can’t make me go, Sam. I mean it.”
“You will go. I’ll make sure of it.” He hangs up.
I stare at the phone. What’s this really about? Why is he so freaked about the videos and my date with Tony? So what if they went viral? Byron’s video did the same, and Sam didn’t flip out and try to ship me off to another continent.
Five minutes later, my email pings. I check it and see a one-way ticket to Tokyo in business class, departing from LAX around midnight. Guess he didn’t hear a word I said. So typical, I think bitterly. Well, good luck trying to drag me to the airport, kicking and screaming. No airline is going to board me against my will.
But from the urgency and panic in his voice, I can’t help but wonder if he might try to do just that.
Chapter Sixty
Iris
Other than the call from Sam, my day goes well. After lunch, Elizabeth reviews the reports I created. “These are great. But I also need a breakdown by community and the number of households that require assistance. The goal is to help every child in need, so we have to understand exactly how much additional money we need to raise to make that happen.”
“Got it.”
“And can you go through the feedback and letters over there and organize them by our past projects? Make notes about anything that stands out as being an area of improvement or something inspiring that we can feature in our next campaign. We always need fresh stories to get donors to open their wallets.” She smiles ruefully.
It takes an hour to modify the reports like Elizabeth suggested and email them to her. That done, I go over the huge bundle of letters and surveys. Most are glowing with happy anecdotes, only a few pointing out minor things that could’ve been done better. I jot them down as I go for easy reference.
Then I get to the last envelope. The brown paper feels cheap and rough, like it was cut from a grocery bag. I open it. A couple of photos and a letter in loopy handwriting fall out. It’s from a mother, thanking the foundation and Elizabeth. Without a medical intervention the foundation arranged, her daughter would’ve lost an arm. The photos feature the little girl—before and after the procedure. In the before shot, her eyes are downcast with her shoulders drooping. After, she’s smiling shyly at the camera, a cute little dimple in her cheek.
Thank you for all that you do and God bless you. You’re an angel the Good Lord sent to answer my prayers, the mother wrote at the end of the letter. The sincerity and gratitude in every line stagger me.
I start sniffling. The world needs more happy endings for everyone. I’m so lucky to be working at a place that’s making a real difference and impact. Rhonda looks up from her desk and silently hands me a Kleenex, and I dab at my eyes.
“Sorry. I don’t normally cry,” I say.
“It’s okay. You never get used to reading those letters.”
“I don’t see how you could. Look at them. Look at what Elizabeth has done.”
“She helps everyone she can. Like a lot of us here. Like me.”
How? In her mid- or late thirties, Rhonda is incredibly capable and smart. I don’t know how someone so competent and intelligent could ever need help.
Apparently, my thoughts are transparent.
Rhonda adds, “Everyone needs help, Iris. Even me, because I wasn’t this together three years ago. I was living in shelters with my kid when I heard about the opening here. I was desperate but felt like it was hopeless. I had experience, but I’d been struggling to find work after I was let go. It was terrifying to realize I was competing with candidates who were younger—and not homeless—and could afford nice interview clothes. I had to borrow some from a local charity. When Elizabeth asked me why I wanted to work here, I told her I wanted to help give people a future because everyone needs a helping hand at least once in their life. I bawled like a baby when she said I was hired.” Her eyes grow misty, and she reaches for a Kleenex. “I couldn’t have been the best candidate based on what I saw of other people interviewing for the same position, and if it had been anyone but Elizabeth, I wouldn’t have gotten the job. But she decided to give me a chance, knowing I was a homeless single mom with a young kid. It wasn’t just a job she gave me. She gave me my dignity back…and a future for my daughter. Now I can raise her in a stable home, give her the growing-up experience all kids should have.” Rhonda dabs at her eyes, then sniffs. “She always says it’s all of us who make the foundation work, but she’s the heart.”
I’m speechless, experiencing the same sort of reverent awe as when I first saw the Sistine Chapel. I crane my neck and look at Elizabeth at her desk through the open door. What
would it be like to make a difference in people’s lives? To be so certain of her place, to be loved and admired for the amazing work she does?
One step at a time, Iris. You can do it too. You’re doing it right now, helping her make a difference.
Five o’clock comes and Elizabeth bids us all farewell, even though she’s staying behind. “Are you sure?” I ask. “I can stay and help.”
“I’m fine. One of my brothers is coming to pick me up in half an hour for dinner.” She smiles. “You did very well today, Iris. I’m thrilled you’re here.”
“Thank you. I’m thrilled I’m here.” I can feel myself grinning.
“See you tomorrow.”
“Bright and early.”
I drive home, nearly vibrating with happiness. It’s so empowering to be acknowledged for good work. And the fact that I’m helping people. Even if I don’t find all my memories or meet the significant people from my past like the monk in Austria said, this job confirms that my decision to come home was the right one. I need to anchor myself and discover a purpose in life. I lived aimlessly for too long.
When I’m about to step inside the elevator in the penthouse building, Julie texts me. Your uncle is here to pack your bags. I let him in, but… You’re going to Tokyo?
My teeth grind together. Is Sam kidding? I put the phone back in my purse as the elevator doors close. Impatience and anger simmer in my gut as the car moves upward. Who the hell gave Sam the right to disrupt my life this way?
I march inside the penthouse, my spine stiff and shoulders pulled back. Biting her lip, Julie points at the stairs. “He’s up there. I’ve never seen him so upset,” she whispers. “If I’d known he was going to be so weird, I wouldn’t have let him in.”
“This is bullshit,” I say between my teeth.
She stares at me. She’s probably never heard me talk this way about Sam. “Are you all right?”
“I’m going to murder someone.”
“As long as there’s no blood to clean up,” Julie says weakly.
“Don’t worry. You stay here. I’ll handle this myself.”