Apparently today they’re two for one, because a male and a female cop climb out of the cruiser.
My stomach does flip-flops when they approach me. They don’t look that much older than I am, but they’re extremely intimidating with their uniforms, holstered guns and scowls on their faces.
I guess protect and serve doesn’t include service with a smile in their department.
“I’m Officer Maya Navarro,” the female officer says. “And this is Officer Cody Jackson.”
Officer Jackson glares at his partner. “I’m capable of introducing myself.”
She glares right back at him. “You’ll do what I say when I say it.”
“I’m Officer Jackson,” he says, seemingly just to spite her.
Now she’s shooting daggers at him. If looks really could kill he’d be long gone.
“You called about a cat in a tree,” Officer Navarro says.
I nod because my throat has tightened and I’m not sure any words will come out.
Even though Officer Navarro is shorter than me, and much smaller in stature, I have no doubt she could whip my ass in a fight. And she’s got a gun. Probably more than one.
She scares the crap out of me.
Her partner, Officer Jackson, on the other hand, doesn’t look quite as intimidating. He actually looks like a frat boy in a police costume for Halloween. Or like one of those strippers who dresses up like a cop for their show.
Officer Navarro removes a small notepad and pencil from her breast pocket. “Is this your home?”
When I shake my head, she frowns.
I try to clear my throat, but it still feels like I’ve got something stuck in it. “I live here, but it’s not my house.” I somehow manage to squeak the words out, but they don’t actually sound like my voice. I sound like one of those singing chipmunks.
Officer Navarro glances up from her notepad. “Who owns this home?”
“Jackson Drake. I work for him. Maddie Malone. I’m his assistant. He’s a writer…”
She cuts me off. “I know who he is.”
“It’s kind of a funny coincidence. His first name is Jackson.” I gesture towards Officer Jackson. “Your last name is Jackson.”
“What’s funny about it?” Officer Navarro scowls.
She’s an extremely attractive Latina, or she would be if she wasn’t in a perpetual state of glowering.
“Who’s Jackson Drake?” Officer Jackson asks.
His question is met with another dirty look from Officer Navarro. “If you read anything other than nudie magazines maybe you’d recognize his name.”
Officer Jackson actually looks a bit struck by her mean comment, but he masks it just as quickly. “For your information nudie magazines have articles, and they’re not the only things I read.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and stares at him. “You’ve read a Jackson Drake novel?”
“Maybe…” Officer Jackson doesn’t sound very convincing.
“Then what’s his most popular main character? If you’ve read even just a few of his novels you should know who’s featured in nearly all of his books.”
Officer Jackson gulps, but doesn’t reply.
“That’s what I thought. The correct answer is Blake Knox.”
As I watch the two officers bicker with each other like an old married couple, it occurs to me that there may be more going on between them under the surface.
Did they have sex with each other? If they did, it’s definitely a love affair gone wrong. There’s a lot of animosity between them, but also sexual tension.
“Speaking of Blake Knox,” I say, hopefully loud enough to get their attention. “The name of the cat that’s in the tree is Knox.”
“Right.” Officer Navarro looks down at her notepad.
She hasn’t actually written anything in it. She seems to be using it like a security blanket.
Turning her attention to me she says, “Cats in trees really isn’t our jurisdiction. It’s usually the fire department that takes care of that.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure what else to say.
“Or you may want to consider phoning animal control. They may be able to assist you.”
I definitely don’t want to phone animal control. What if Knox doesn’t have all of the proper registration and papers? They could take the cat away. I remember that happening to one of my friends in elementary school when her cat ran away.
“Does Mr. Drake have a gardener?” Officer Jackson offers. “Maybe he could help. He probably has to trim the trees.”
His remark earns him another scowl from Officer Navarro. “Is he supposed to trim the cat out of the tree?”
“It was just a suggestion,” he fires at her.
“A poor one,” she shoots back.
The two officers glare at each other again.
Yup, they have definitely fucked each other.
Officer Navarro seems to notice something out of the corner of her eye. She quickly turns away from her partner.
“Is Knox gray in color?” she asks.
“Yes,” I reply hopefully.
She marches past me and within a few seconds she has Knox in her arms.
“She’s beautiful.” Officer Navarro says as she scratches behind Knox’s ears.
The cat purrs with enjoyment.
Officer Navarro looks like a completely different person with Knox in her arms. She’s actually grinning.
After a few moments, Officer Jackson says, “You could give the cat back to Ms. Malone, any day now.”
The smile disappears from her face, and Officer Navarro is back to business. She hands Knox to me.
“Try not to let her out again,” she advises.
“I learned my lesson,” I assure her.
Once the officers drive away I breathe a sigh of relief. I just hope Jackson didn’t wake up.
Luckily when I reenter the house with Knox there’s no sign of my boss anywhere. Before I let Knox out of my arms I make sure the back slider is closed securely.
Then I make my way to the office.
Is it possible that the room got messier in the last few hours? Or maybe it’s because I’m taking a better look at the utter disarray. Whatever the case, it seems a lot worse that it did previously.
Just as I start to pick up the first pile of papers blocking my path to the desk I hear Jackson’s voice.
“Wow, the office is really starting to shape up nicely. Great work so far.”
I have literally just picked up my first stack of papers, and they’re in my hands. I haven’t done anything yet. I take the compliment anyway because I need to do whatever it takes to keep this job. Even if it means buying into his unique form of crazy, I need to do it.
“Thanks.” I give him a broad smile. “What should I do if I need office supplies?”
Like file folders and a file cabinet for all of this crap.
He blinks a few times then says, “I think there’s a credit card somewhere in the desk. Sadie used it once. Or maybe that was Hilde.” He shakes his head. “I can’t remember.”
Jackson’s hair is completely askew. Like he tossed and turned a lot, then didn’t bother to comb it once he rolled out of bed.
“I’ll see if I can find it,” I tell him. I hate myself for it, but I can’t stop staring at the wild mess on top of his head.
“Hey, if you want lunch, help yourself to whatever is in the fridge. Earl always buys too much. She ends up taking most of it home to her kids and grandkids.”
Did it ever occur to him that she might be doing that intentionally and that’s the way she feeds her family? Is that something I should even say? I haven’t even been here a day yet. He said Earl’s been working for him for years.
He points a finger at me. “I know what you’re thinking.”
My eyebrows lift to my hairline. “You do?”
He nods. “She buys too much food intentionally.”
“You’re right,” I admit. “That was what I was thinking.”
“I don’t mind. She never takes extra pay for overtime. She won’t even accept bonuses. So she buys a little too much food and takes it home. It all works out in the end.”
“Maybe I’ll get some lunch a little later,” I tell him. “I’d like to get some more work done first.”
“I’m serious.” He gives me another finger point. “Eat whatever you want.”
It takes me thirty minutes to dig my way to the desk, and luckily I’m able to find the credit card in the top drawer. I also find a keyring with several keys on it. Maybe one of them is the key to the front door? Or if I’m really lucky I now have a key to the guesthouse.
It’s time to take a drive to the office supply store for all of my filing needs.
Jackson doesn’t seem to be anywhere in sight. I wonder if I should tell him I’m running an errand in case he wonders where I am.
The problem is solved when I nearly run into him as I turn the corner into the foyer.
“I’m going to the office supply store,” I say quickly.
He still hasn’t changed clothes, or combed his hair, or washed apparently because he still smells like stale booze. I wonder when, or even if, any personal grooming happens.
“Take the Benz,” he tells me. “You shouldn’t put mileage on your car.”
“Okay…” I’m not sure how I feel about driving his Mercedes. I’m not the world’s best driver.
“Someone may as well use it,” he tells me. “It’s not like I go anywhere.”
I’m not sure why he doesn’t, and I really don’t feel like it’s my place to ask. He’s not as vibrant as my mom, who’s the same age as he is, but he still seems to have some life left in him.
“I don’t have the key to your car,” I tell him.
He laughs. “I keep the key inside the car so I don’t lose it.”
Why do I get the feeling that he probably doesn’t lock the garage either? I realize he lives in a very upscale area, but I’m sure they have thieves here like everywhere else.
Maybe he just doesn’t care if it gets stolen.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I tell him.
He waves a hand in the air. “No rush.”
As laid back as he seems to be I have a feeling I know why he has such a hard time keeping assistants. If someone isn’t mature enough or enough of a self-starter, his hands-off management approach would be difficult to handle. An employee who needed direction wouldn’t get any and probably wouldn’t know what to do. And someone who needed to be more closely supervised might take the opportunity to goof off or play around and not get any work done.
Luckily I learned discipline in graduate school. And I wouldn’t have been able to complete two Master’s theses if I wasn’t highly self-motivated.
Once I’m outside I check the keys on the keyring I found. One of them is a fit for the front door.
Not that he seems to ever lock it, but it’s nice to know that I have it just in case I ever do find the door locked.
Jackson has a large garage on the other side of the driveway that is separate from the house. Just as I suspected that door isn’t locked either. I open it and find what looks like a shiny new car. The gray Mercedes looks like it was purchased from the car lot, driven into the garage and then never touched again.
He said I could use it. Who am I to argue? My mom has had a lot of wealthy husbands, with expensive cars like this one, but not one of them ever offered to let me drive his car.
Of course that could be because they’ve actually seen me drive.
I hop into the vehicle and sure enough the keys are right on the floor. When I start the engine I notice that car has a full tank of gas and only a few hundred miles on it.
This is going to be a treat.
I turn up the stereo, and pull out of the garage as carefully as I can.
This is definitely the smoothest ride I’ve ever had. I could really get used to driving a car like this. It’s another perk of working for crazy Jackson Drake.
I have to drive a short distance from the beach to find a strip mall with an office supply store. When an older woman honks at me and gives me the finger I realize that maybe I’m driving a bit too slowly and carefully, but I really don’t want to do anything to damage Jackson’s car.
Once I’m parked in the lot I just sit in the vehicle for several moments and enjoy the new car smell that’s still lingering inside.
I really need to do whatever it takes to hold onto this job, I tell myself. I vow to work extra hard so Jackson sees my value and doesn’t add me to the apparently long list of assistants he’s canned.
As I hop out of the car I mentally go through the list of items I want to get while I’m here.
I’m one of those people who love office supplies. When I was a kid I used to look forward to back-to-school shopping when I’d get to pick out new notebooks, pens and folders. It felt exciting and hopeful. What could be better than starting a new year with a fresh notebook and brand new writing instruments? It always felt like starting over with a clean slate.
That’s sort of what this new job feels like as well. It’s a chance to start over and rebuild my life. And I can do it with all new office supplies.
I pick out several large filing cabinets and a few shorter ones that match. I also select a printer because I didn’t see one in the office. I thought it would be nice to send actual postal replies to Jackson’s fans who took the time to write him letters.
I get everything else that I think I might need: paper, envelopes, notepads, stapler and staples, and a selection of moderately expensive pens, just because I can. I even add a corkboard and pins that I can hang over the desk.
I’m a little nervous when I hand the clerk Jackson’s credit card. I’ve never used a credit card that wasn’t mine before. She doesn’t seem fazed at all.
“Delivery is extra,” she mutters.
“That’s fine,” I tell her.
“Tomorrow morning between ten and twelve,” she says.
“That’s great.” It’s getting late in the afternoon anyway. I’ll probably have just enough time to make room for the file cabinets when they are delivered.
The bill comes to almost 800 dollars. That’s more than I expected to spend. I hope Jackson is okay with it.
He and I never discussed how much he would be paying me. I know it’s something I probably should have asked, but I guess I was afraid. It’s not like I wasn’t going to take the job anyway, no matter what the wage was.
And I no longer have to pay for rent or utilities, or even food apparently, so my expenses will be minimal.
I guess I’ll find out when I get my first pay check.
I ask for most of the items to be delivered, and take a few pads of paper and pens home with me in a shopping bag.
As I pull out of the parking lot I know I should probably speed up a bit, but I can’t bring myself to really push down on the accelerator.
It’s possible I may be a little bit of a speed freak when I drive. After getting a very expensive speeding ticket that I had to borrow money from my mom to pay I’ve toned the speeding down a lot, but the urge is still there.
Of course I may be at the opposite extreme with Jackson’s car. A few drivers behind me are honking.
The last thing I want is to get pulled over in his car.
But that may be exactly what is happening! There are police lights flashing behind me.
My heart starts to race as I pull over to the side of the road and the police cruiser pulls up behind me.
Two officers approach the car. It takes me a moment to realize it’s Officers Navarro and Jackson again.
Are they the only two cops who work in Laguna Beach?
“License, registration and proof of insurance,” Officer Navarro recites as I roll down the window.
I’m so nervous my motor coordination seems to be completely failing me. My limbs aren’t working properly enough to actually remove my wallet from my purse and the registration and insura
nce cards from the glovebox.
“You’re the girl with the cat,” Officer Jackson observes.
His comment is met with a cold stare from Officer Navarro. “Did you just call her a girl?”
No nods.
“Woman is preferred, or you could just refer to her as the person with the cat. Why even make reference to her gender at all?”
“Why do you have to be like that?” Officer Jackson fires back.
She crosses her arms over her chest and glares at him. “Be like what?”
“So politically correct all the time.”
“Politically correct,” she spits. “Try being a female in a male dominated profession. You wouldn’t last one day.”
He rolls his eyes at her. “Don’t be so melodramatic.”
“It’s not melodrama. It’s the truth.”
It’s so odd to see two police officers bickering so much with each other. I clear my throat to get their attention.
They give each other the stink eye before they turn back to me.
“I am the person with the cat,” I admit. “I work for Jackson Drake. His personal assistant. This is his car. I was running an errand for him. I lift up the plastic bag with the office supplies in it.”
“Do you know why we pulled you over?” Officer Navarro asks.
I shrug.
“You were driving too slowly.”
My eyes go wide. “I didn’t know that was possible.”
“Hazardous driving,” she explains.
I gulp. “I’m sorry.”
“We can let you go with a warning this time. Just make sure you keep up with the flow of traffic.”
“I will,” I assure her. “Thank you.”
As Officer Jackson opens his mouth Officer Navarro points a finger right at him. “Don’t say another word. We’re done here.”
“Fine,” he spits. He looks anything but. He’s shooting daggers at her.
I decide it’s time for me to make my exit. I roll my window back up and start the car.
The officers are still glaring at each other as I pull away.
Wouldn’t it be interesting to be a fly on the wall inside of that police cruiser?
Three
When I get back to Jackson’s house I notice there’s a white Mercedes parked right out front. That couldn’t be Earl’s car, could it?
So Far Away (California Dreamers #2) Page 4