by C. C. Brown
"Well, I needed to get it all out of my system, but I'm fine now." My pursed lips and the nod of my head made my dad sit back in his chair. At least someone at the table was buying it.
"Well, we saw the news report on Jason and his long-time girlfriend." Sarcasm that thick coming from my dad was out of the norm, and I turned, my eyes fixed on him in an angry scowl, but I didn't care.
"That's not his girlfriend. And anyways, Stacey Miller is a whore." I took two deep breaths and then looked around the room. I never used that type of language with my parents, but the sheer mention of that snake's name sent anger coursing so quickly through my veins that I spoke before I had a chance to think.
"Cars, your relationship moved so quickly… you can't really say you knew him." My dad looked to my mom who softly nodded her head. I figured this was a talking point of theirs, and my dad was appointed official spokesperson.
"I did know him, Dad. Just not all of him."
"Yeah, Dad!" Ryan interjected, "And truthfully, I highly doubt Jason got Stacey pregnant. I just don't see him doing that. Not once he was with you, Cara." He turned to me and looked me straight in the eye while making that statement. He was reverent in his belief that Jason hadn't impregnated Stacey, yet he wasn't there in Heath to see what I saw.
"How can you be so sure, Ryan?" I pouted my lips and silently wondered what it was about Jason that Ryan liked so much.
"I just know. The way he talked about you, the way he looked at you--yes, he could be a crazy ass at times," he stopped and looked over at my dad, "but the times I spoke to him, he was head over heels for you, Cara, and according to Mila, he still is."
I rolled my eyes and ran my fingers through my hair. I knew feelings didn't turn on and off like a faucet, but I didn't want to hear about Jason and his feelings for me. To me, those feelings were linked to Heather and Stacey, and that sent my insides into tight, painful contractions.
The orange juice on the table called my name, so I poured a large glass before diving back into our tortuous conversation.
"He had ample time to tell me all of his secrets, Ryan, and he didn't. I'm done," Of all of the times we were alone--before heading off to Heath--Jason could have filled me in on all of his misdeeds, yet he chose to remain silent. It made no sense the more and more I thought about it.
"Cars, I'll be honest with you, he was scared."
Laughter erupted from my body, but quickly subsided. Was Ryan aware of Jason's secrets, but kept them from me? "How do you know that? What all did you know?" I asked, pinning him with a look that could have nailed Bigfoot to the chair.
"I didn't know his secrets, so calm down. He just kept saying you were the best thing that had ever happened to him and he was scared of fucking it up." My parents sitting at the table taking all of this in had no effect on Ryan and his loose mouth. "He said he had so much to tell you, but didn't know how."
"Well that's when you should have told him to just say it," I mumbled through clenched teeth. If Ryan thought he was helping, he was sadly mistaken. This conversation was doing nothing but further pissing me off. I couldn't believe this much conversation had been happening without my knowledge. Knowing what I now know, Jason had every right to be scared, but he should have also been smart enough to know that I would eventually find out.
"I did tell him that. Christ, Cars, give me a break." Ryan's voice was low and gruff, full of irritation at being accused, but I didn't care. I was growing tired of this conversation and talking in circles.
My dad authoritatively put an end to our bickering. "Alright you two that's enough. Cars is done and it's time to move on."
I remained stoic in my seat, staring at Ryan with so much ferocity that I thought I would lunge across the table at him. I knew deep down that he wasn't my source of contention, but since the culprit wasn't around, and Ryan was acting in his defense, he was the next best thing.
"What else is new?" my mom asked, trying to clear the stale air that had smothered us at the table.
I loosened the now rock hard muscles in my face enough to return my mom's smile. "Oh, Chelsea and Hunter got engaged last night." The thought of my best friend marrying her soul mate brought an authentic happiness over me, and I turned in my seat to see welcome nods and smiles from everyone at the table.
"Congratulations to them," my dad happily stated.
"Did they set a date?" my mom chirped, her eyes gleaming as if I had told her that I was getting married.
"No," I laughed. "They just got engaged last night, Mom," I shook my head at her, still laughing.
"Well I'm sure Mr. and Mrs. Peters are thrilled. And I'm certain the wedding of the century is headed our way."
My mom loved the Peters, but often times felt that they were a bit ostentatious.
We finished breakfast and went back to making cordial small talk. I was anxious to get back to San Diego and prep for my first day of work.
Saying quick goodbyes and passing around hugs and kisses was always customary for my family. The conversation went much better than I had thought it would. Now that the large elephant in the room had been acknowledged, I felt leaner and lighter and--no longer focused on the forever hovering black cloud known as Jason.
<>
When I got into my car, I took out my phone that was illuminating a bright blue light, indicating a missed call. Pressing the buttons to open the welcome screen, I noticed a text message as well.
From Chase
Hmmm… strange interview. Can I come by?
His message was cryptic. I immediately texted him back, letting him know that I was just leaving my parents' house and to come by in about forty-five minutes. Backing out of the driveway, a barrage of thoughts flooded my brain--most of them negative. I knew that Jason could be calculating and cruel, but anger was slowly starting to fill every inch of my mind at the thought of him purposely humiliating Chase.
I drove fast, much too fast for what would be considered safe. Chase wanted to talk in person, and my curiosity pushed me to make it home in record time. I pulled into the parking garage and bounded up the stairs to our condo. Somehow I made it home in thirty minutes, and I internally cursed and scolded myself for driving so recklessly.
Chase deserved the same lashing because five minutes later my doorbell rang. I opened the door to him leaning in the door frame, his face impassive and looking a bit worn out. I paused for a second before letting him in, trying hard to figure out what his expression and posture meant. Nothing came to mind so I pulled him in and before even laying out a proper greeting I blurted out, "Well, how did it go?"
He walked in, running his hands through his hair. He looked nervous. His disposition had me anxiously intrigued, so I hurriedly closed the door and, scurried to the living room where Chase had sat down. He looked up and nervously began speaking.
"It was interesting. I was nervous as hell walking into that room and seeing him." I didn't say a word, just remained fixated on Chase and the words spilling out of his mouth. "He had the same icy glare that he always has with me, but there was a woman in there helping him interview."
"Cut to the chase, Chase. Did you do well? Did you get it?" My patience was wearing thin.
He looked down at his hands that were intertwining with one another, obviously a nervous habit.
"As a matter of fact, I did well. Very well. They offered me the internship right there on the spot."
"Oh--My--Gosh, Chase! That's so awesome!" I wrapped him in a hug, then suddenly felt a twinge in the pit of my stomach that made me lurch back quickly. "Is this a good thing? This means you're going to be working with Jason… every day."
"I know," he said, quickly blowing out the deep breath that he had been holding for a while. "I thought about that, and I considered turning it down, but I couldn't bring myself to do it." He looked up into my eyes, guilt piercing through. I didn't want him to think that he had to give up on a career making opportunity because I had a sordid love life that was loosely attached to it.
&nb
sp; "Screw that, Chase. You've earned it. Go into Bradley and kick ass."
He lightly smiled, but then looked back down to his hands.
"He asked about you."
My mouth went dry. I thought I might come up in his interview, but I was stupidly hoping that Jason would refrain. I guess I knew him too well in that respect.
"What did he say?"
"He just asked how you were doing. I told him you were okay, and he left it at that." Chase blew out another deep breath and it hit me, he was feeling like a pawn in Jason's game. If Jason could use Chase to get information or somehow wriggle his way back into my life, he would do it.
"Don't worry about him, Chase. I think you're phenomenal and you deserve this internship. If Jason is trying to play games, you need to play him. Keep silent where I'm concerned and learn all you can at Bradley. Double win for you, double loss for Jason."
His face brightened, which indicated that he was worried about being used as a tool in my fucked up love life.
"Thanks, Cara. Sounds like a wicked awesome plan." And for the first time since Chase had entered my condo, he smiled.
A real genuine smile.
<>
The screeching sound of my alarm clock ravishing my ears at 6:30 a.m. brought me out of a very pleasant and much needed sleep. The amount of nightmares I'd had recently, were draining the life out of me and the restless feeling was starting to take its toll on me. Trying to take in every ounce of rest, I took my frustrations out on the clock and lay in my bed a few minutes more.
After lying in bed for another ten minutes, I gathered myself and rolled out of bed. I yawned all the way to the shower and started it up, making sure the water was next to scalding hot, then removed my pajamas and hopped in. Thoughts of my first day ripped through my brain, and a sudden pang of apprehension filled me.
The shower was like a tomb that I didn't want to leave, but unfortunately, I had to. I finished up and got out, making sure to dress to some very peppy, early Britney Spears to make the feeling of jumbled nerves go away.
Staring at myself in the full length mirror forty-five minutes later, a satisfied smile spread across my soft pink, lightly shimmered lips. Chelsea had helped me shop for a new wardrobe. I chose a black pencil skirt, and light pink shirt with ruffles, and a pair of strappy heels. The blowout was my best transformation--it saved me a good twenty minutes that I used to spend trying to tame my hair.
I grabbed my small briefcase and my purse, then made my way to the stairs. The doorbell rang, puzzling me as to who would be at the condo so early in the morning. The ringing continued feverishly, so I picked up the pace and nearly missed a step and almost fell flat on my face. I regained my composure and made my way to the door, finding an annoyed flower delivery guy standing on the other side.
"Delivery for Cara Pinkston," he said, looking tired and pissed off at the world for having to deliver flowers at 8 a.m. He handed me the clipboard to sign, then the vase of flowers and turned away without another word. His demeanor made me briefly hope that I would love my job. I didn't want to look like him.
I walked the oversized vase, filled with twenty-four long stemmed red roses, over to the kitchen island and found the card.
Have a wonderful first day of work.
I love you, Gorgeous!
Jason
I no longer wanted the roses.
I had hoped that they were from anyone but Jason, but unfortunately, they weren't. Questions bombarded my head and I wondered how he knew I started work today, and how he knew where to send the flowers. Had Chase told him the day before and conveniently left that part out of our chat? After staring at the roses and inhaling their sweet scent, rationality poured back into me. I remembered that I had mentioned to Jason about my first day of work and the location of the condo back when I thought we were on the train to our happily ever after.
I continued to look at the roses, and re-read the accompanying card. Jason had remembered, but I couldn't feel the excitement that normally followed one of his sweet gestures.
Chapter 5
The drive to work was short and pleasant. I pulled into the parking lot of the San Diego Sports Management complex and sat in my car, staring at the monstrous building from the driver's seat. I took a deep breath, trying to prepare myself for the next chapter in my life. I was brimming with excitement, but I was also feeling the effects of my stomach twisting with unbridled emotion.
Walking in, I tugged at my pencil skirt that was hugging at the hip. It was a nervous reaction, but the porcelain skinned, Asian receptionist took note of it as I walked to her desk to check in.
"Hello. How may I help you?" She eyed me up and down, checking out the fresh meat that had walked into this gloriously vibrant office space.
"I'm Cara Pinkston. I'm the new Marketing Manager." I smiled, but she did not. She just looked at me through the top of her oval shaped glasses, and then checked her computer screen. I wondered why she worked there if she hated her job so much. She finally looked up, and, pursing her cranberry stained lips, she grabbed a badge and handed it to me.
"You are to report up to Mr. William Rolston's office on the fifth floor." She still didn't crack a smile, so rather than play into her outlandish behavior, I simply took my badge and turned for the elevators.
Walking on the dark marble floor, my heels clanked along loudly. I was immersed in a sea of people, all moving to and fro, but it seemed that the noise from my heels was magnified tenfold. The walls were decorated in all sorts of sports memorabilia, with some Padres, Chargers, and amateur sports figures gracing the walls in what one would consider to be personal shrines. The athletes chosen to serve as representatives for their respective teams were placed on pedestals. That was evident just from the remarkable amount of wall space they took up.
I made my way to the elevators and hit the up button. A small group of impeccably dressed men and women were waiting, making small talk about different sports teams and figures. I scurried into the elevator and made my way to the back right corner. I hit the button for the fifth floor before I settled in. The higher the elevator climbed, the higher my stomach rose. The earlier anxiety felt in my car had crept back in with a vengeance. I was afraid of stepping out to meet Mr. Rolston.
"Good luck to whoever he pulls in on his team," the young, leggy blond laughed to her equally leggy brunette friend. A quick thought had me believing that I was going to be that new person on his team and the thought petrified me. Tyrants were not the type of people that I wanted to be around, and working for one would prove to be extremely challenging.
Stopping on the fourth floor, the elevator emptied, and I was briefly left to my own narcissistic thoughts. I pictured Mr. Rolston as an older white gentleman with dark, greying hair, and a pudgy mid-section. I imagined a permanent scowl being spread across his face, with dark, calculating eyes. If I had to imagine a tyrant, this is what I envisioned one to be.
After I finished my imaginative thoughts, I dusted off my clothes as I ascended to the fifth floor. I gripped my briefcase just a little tighter as I awaited the arrival to my new work space. When the doors opened, I felt like I had somehow been teleported to the NYSE instead of the fifth floor of a marketing company. I stopped in the doorway of the elevator and took in the chaotic scene. There were bright lights and bustling people everywhere. A young woman bumped into me on the way into the elevator, breaking me from my reverie. I swallowed a hard lump that had lodged in my throat and proceeded to the fifth floor reception desk.
"Are you Cara Pinkston?" A short and curvaceous, pixie cut blonde asked me. I put my hand to my chest, gesturing to my myself as if I weren't aware of who the woman was referring to. "Yes, you," she added adamantly.
"Yes I am," I croaked out, obviously overwhelmed by the sudden shock in the change of environments. I felt like I had just left the lukewarm comforts of bed and was now grasping for life in the lion's den.
"Well, come with me. Mr. Rolston has been waiting for you." Her tone was rushe
d, but not full of agitation like Miss Receptionist from the first floor.
I checked the clock hanging on the wall, just above a picture of Qualcomm Stadium. I wasn't late. In fact, I was about five minutes early. Amanda's hurried treatment had me believing even more in my imaginative figure of Mr. Rolston, only this time, I imagined frequent scoldings and wage withholding into his repertoire.
"I'm Amanda, by the way. Executive Assistant to Mr. Rolston. You'll be seeing a whole lot of me. How was your meeting with Sunny?"
I looked at her in awe of her demeanor. She was so calm and collected for such a high volume environment, yet by the way she was ushering me over to two large double doors, she was under an enormous amount of stress from her boss. "Um, Sunny?" I asked, unsure of who she was referring to.
"Your first check-in down on the first floor," she chimed in, not missing a beat.
"Oh, she was okay." Amanda looked over to me and smiled. I became a bit uneasy.
"Sunny was Sunny, I presume." She shook her head. "Don't worry about her--she doesn't love too many people. You're not special." The sly curvature of her lips instantly made me warm to her, and for the first time since entering the building, I felt my chest relax and my heart beat to a steady and healthy rhythm.
Amanda knocked twice on the large, black double doors and then twisted the knob and led me inside. Mr. Rolston's office was a pleasant surprise. I thought he would have dark colors to match his presumed dark mood, but his office had an eclectic, ocean feel to it. It embodied San Diego to the fullest. The panoramic photos of the San Diego bay, waves crashing against the rocks, and the trees that line Balboa Park were on full display. His large, white desk had papers stacked in neat piles. As Amanda walked further in, she swiftly grabbed a large stack and placed them behind her back. I made a mental note to ask her about that later.
The biggest shock of the moment was not the office space, or the décor. Each of which were equally impressive, but nothing compared to Mr. Rolston himself. The sour faced old troll I had pictured was nowhere to be found. Shame splashed my face as I took in the tall, beautiful specimen standing before me. Mr. Rolston stood an impressive and intimidating six foot two and looked like he had stepped off both an athletic field and runway at the same time. His stocky frame made me want to run my fingers over his bulging pectorals that were clinging to his white linen button up shirt. I ran my eyes up and down his large, enticing body, and while I loved everything I saw, his face was a sight for sore eyes.