by Reese Ryan
I take my black leather gloves out of my bag and put them on. “Alright, Jaxson,” I say. “I’d love to hear more about your executive search. I need to get Leslie. Excuse me for a moment.”
I wind my way through the crowd and find Leslie. She’s making the rounds to anyone she missed. I catch her before she moves to the next circle.
“What’s wrong?” Panic crimps her lovely face. “It’s about that guy, isn’t it? I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you knew him—”
“It’s not your fault,” I assure her, “and it’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it later.” She nods and relaxes. “Jaxson is considering J&G for a lucrative executive search contract. We’re going back to the office to discuss it.”
“With the Monarchs?” she squeals with excitement then pauses when she realizes I’m not as enthusiastic. “You guys have a history. Are you sure you can do this?”
“We need this contract and a lot more like it. Anyway, I’m heading out now and I didn’t want to abandon you.”
“I’m actually pretty good at this.” She beams proudly. “If you don’t need me, I’ll stay here and make a few more contacts.”
“Good idea. And when you’re done, why don’t you call it a day? Go home and spend time with the girls.”
She grins and hugs me. “Thanks! I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I turn and head back toward the table. Leslie taps me on the shoulder.
“I don’t know what the story is with you two, but watch out. That dude is slick,” she whispers in my ear. “He reminds me of my kids’ dad. That bastard could charm the panties off of Queen Elizabeth.” She shudders for a moment. Then she’s off in the crowd again.
Jaxson is waiting for me when I return to the table. I pick up my bag and slip it onto my shoulder.
“Ready,” I say.
He smiles a little too confidently for my taste and places his hand on my back. “After you.”
We make our way through the crowd, out into the crisp air. This contract could be a game-changer for me. Still, Leslie’s words replay in my head. I’ve always underestimated the power Jax has over me.
Something deep down tells me it’s a huge mistake to be alone with Jaxson Payne. But with my job and the Great Lakes branch hanging in the balance, it’s a risk I must take.
Chapter Fourteen
Jaxson Payne is the real reason I couldn’t escape Ohio fast enough five years ago.
He was my personal addiction. I fell for him the moment he sauntered into biology class my first year of high school. He was tall and handsome, with gorgeous chocolate-brown skin. The brush waves of his low-cut Caesar rippled like Lake Erie on a windy day. His eyes were dark and stormy and his wide mouth and luscious lips were fixed in a permanent smirk—like he knew something no one else did. I fell in love with him instantly.
He was a wide receiver on our high school football team, a veritable god among the halls of Heights High. I was a geeky, awkward fourteen-year-old girl in oversized eyeglasses. I adored him. He didn’t even notice me.
Our relationship began eight years later, when we met again in South Beach at the wedding rehearsal dinner of mutual high school friends. Jax didn’t remember me. At the bottom of my third margarita, I found the courage to tell him I sat behind him in Mrs. Johansson’s biology class.
“I can’t believe it’s you. You’re so hot now,” he said.
Undeterred by this comment (the first of many instances of my poor judgment when it came to Jaxson), I confessed I had a serious crush on him in high school.
I still remember the glint in his eye and the way the corner of his mouth turned up. We were standing at a café table near the back of the room, music blaring, drunken laughter all around us. He leaned close to me and whispered, “Is that past or present tense?”
His lips brushed my earlobe as he spoke. An intense heat filled my body. Cheeks flushed, heart racing, my knees felt like they were giving way underneath me. I bit my lip and tried to think of something clever to say. The schoolgirl giggle that escaped my lips was the only response Jax needed. He leaned in to kiss me.
It wasn’t a friendly kiss on the cheek. It was the kind of kiss that would melt a slab of rock into molten lava. I pushed him away. He flashed me an utterly adorable grin and went in for more. As much as I hate to admit it, I let him. Then I remembered we were surrounded by our friends. I extricated myself from his grip just as Arly Kiplinger started hooting and telling us to get a room already.
I wanted to let him take me up to his room and fulfill every one of my silly schoolgirl fantasies, but I found the strength to say no.
We walked on the beach, talked about our lives and remembered funny stories about high school. We were inseparable for the rest of the weekend. He even got some poor schmuck to trade seats with him so we could sit together on the plane home.
My sister was less than enthusiastic about me dating Jaxson. She thought he was a pompous ass. My mother and Jamie weren’t big fans either, but I was completely addicted to him by then. Their pleas fell on deaf ears.
Jaxson and I had a four-year on-again-off-again relationship that left me in tears more often than I care to remember.
The first time we broke up was when I discovered he’d never bothered to break up with his “ex-girlfriend,” who was spending the summer in an arts program in France. The second time was because I got tired of playing second fiddle to everyone and everything else in his life.
Two years after he moved into my place, our relationship came to an end. Jax came home one day and declared it was over. He said there wasn’t anyone else. He just wasn’t in love with me anymore.
I fell apart. I’d spent the previous months dreamily cutting out the pages of Brides, bookmarking celebrity wedding looks, noting possible reception locations and watching wedding shows on TLC. Suddenly it was over because he decided it was? After all the bullshit we’d been through?
I cried until my body could no longer produce tears. Then I pulled out a map and circled five places I wanted to live: New York City, Los Angeles, Miami, Phoenix and San Francisco. I became obsessed with finding a job in one of those five cities. I didn’t tell my mother, Mimi or Jamie. They would’ve tried to talk me out of it. I needed space, and lots of it.
Six months after Jax and I broke up, I landed a job with Jasper & Graevel and moved to California. My family was shocked. They had no idea I’d been considering a move. It was something I needed to do.
I was in San Francisco for barely a year when my sister called to say Jaxson was marrying the mother of his eleven-month-old daughter. Their fairy-tale wedding (in which I’m told the man-stealing bitch had the audacity to float down the aisle in lily white chiffon) took place at the very church where I’d hoped ours would. I spent the entire weekend crying, drinking (Debbie and Dawn were only too happy to oblige) and watching movies about romance gone wrong.
My personal life was a complete wreck for the year following that awful weekend. Work was the only motivation I had for getting out of bed every day. If I couldn’t succeed in romance, at least I’d succeed in my career. So in a way, I have Jaxson Payne to thank for my promotion.
Still, I’m not feeling very thankful right now. I rummage in the back of our tiny office refrigerator for the bottle of Perrier I promised Jax. A wicked grin spreads across my face as I imagine how delicious it would feel to smash this bottle upside his smug head. After the contract had been signed, of course.
I hand Jaxson the chilled bottle of lemon Perrier and smooth my skirt before sitting in my high-back leather chair. I’m glad my chair sits several inches higher than his.
“Thank you for considering Jasper & Gravel for your executive search.” I force a smile through clenched teeth. “As you know, I’m a long-time basketball fan. I’m thrilled that the WNBA has decided to bring another team to Cleveland, and about t
he prospect of working with your organization.”
Jax takes a sip from the bottle. “Basketball fan is an understatement.” He chuckles. “You still got that tattered old Mark Price jersey your dad gave you?”
My spine tightens. I place my feet firmly on the floor. The last thing I need is a stroll down memory lane. The memories are far too painful. For me, at least. I take a long sip of my tea then place my mug on a coaster. “So you were saying you need a new senior vice president of marketing and a vice president of sales and service.” I refer to the notes I scribbled on a napkin.
Jaxson gives me a conciliatory smile. My maneuver isn’t lost on him. “The candidates I hoped to go with were offered more lucrative positions with NBA teams.” He crosses his legs and scoots back in the chair. He looks comfortable, like he’s settling in for the winter. “I realize this may take some time, but it’s more important to me that we get the best possible candidates in these positions.”
“Of course.” I nod. “Our mission is to find candidates who are well-qualified and fit seamlessly into your organization. It appears Brett Hanson runs his organization like a tight-knit family and that he’s determined to make the Monarchs a title-winning franchise as quickly as possible. How would you describe the company culture?”
“I couldn’t have stated it better.” Jaxson steeples his long, slender fingertips. “Speaking of family...how about you? Are you married? Do you have kids?”
My patience is wearing thin just five minutes into our meeting. “Can we stay on topic here? That’s the only way this will work.”
“I’m sorry.” He straightens his purple and green Ermenegildo Zegna necktie. “It’s just that...the homemade coasters...it’s the kind of thing only a parent would bring to the office.”
“They were a gift from my assistant’s seven-year-old daughter.” I take a deep breath and try to pull it together. This is harder than I imagined, and believe me, I imagined it would be pretty damned hard. “Do you have job descriptions and job requirements for each position?”
“They’re back at the office, along with an entire file of information I should have brought for this meeting. Sorry I’m not better prepared. I didn’t expect to run into you today. It was quite a surprise to see you.” He leans forward in his chair again. “I honestly didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
“Neither did I.” There are a few choice statements I refrain from adding. “But here we are. Perhaps we should reschedule for a time when you have all the necessary documents. I can come to your office next week. I’ll have Leslie call you tomorrow with some options.” I rise to my feet and extend my hand to him, signaling the end of our meeting.
Jaxson casually climbs to his feet and takes my hand. He doesn’t shake it. He holds it in his.
My legs are unsteady and my head feels light. How can the simple touch of his hand still take me back to those intimate moments between us, despite everything we’ve been through? I yank my hand away and take a step back. My cheeks burn and my eyes sting with the tears I refuse to let fall.
Jaxson comes around the desk and sits on the edge of it, leaving a safe distance between us. “I’m sorry,” he says, his head down, hands folded between his legs. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s just...seeing you today brought back a lot of memories. It felt so natural, holding your hand like that. It wasn’t something I intended to do. Muscle memory, I guess.” He runs his hand over his hair.
I want to scream to the top of my lungs and tell him I don’t give a fuck about his unresolved feelings or muscle memory. But I’m a goddamned professional. I know what’s at stake here. I have to make this work.
I widen my stance, arms folded across my chest, jaw tight. “If we’re going to work together, we have to establish a few boundaries.”
He nods and goes back to his chair. “I know. That was stupid of me. It won’t happen again.”
“For the sake of this deal, our relationship begins today. Forget our history. None of that matters now. You’re married with kids, and I’m...” I sigh and take a seat again. “I’m here to help you find the best possible candidates for the Monarchs organization.”
Jax looks at me with what I’m sure is pity. He nods again. “I can do that,” he says, as if he’s trying to convince himself. “There’s one thing I have to say before we go to this whole ‘no history’ thing.”
I fold my hands on my desk and look him squarely in the eye. Then I draw in a deep breath and release. “If you insist.”
“I do. I can’t leave here without telling you how sorry I am things worked out the way they did between us. Aside from my kids, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me and I blew it.”
My heart thumps in my chest and I can barely breathe. I divert my gaze from his, my eyes on the doorway behind him.
“You loved me more than I deserved. I was too cocky and arrogant back then to appreciate what I had. I know none of this matters to you now and there’s nothing I can do to fix it. I just needed you to know I’m truly sorry for what I did to you. You didn’t deserve it.” Jaxson stands, picks up his coat and folds it over his arm. “I’ll expect to hear from Leslie tomorrow.”
He lets himself out. I hold my breath, waiting to hear the door click softly shut before I collapse into tears.
* * *
I stand in the bathroom mirror of the restroom just down the hall from our office. My mascara is running. I’ve rubbed off most of my eye shadow. My lipstick is smudged. My eyes and nose are red and swollen. My nasal passages are so clogged that I’m breathing through my mouth, gasping for air. Small bits of tissue dot my face and eyelids.
It’s good I sent Leslie home. I wouldn’t want her to see me like this. Now I pray no one comes rushing through the bathroom door to unload a Big Gulp or an IV drip of coffee. I don’t want to offer explanations to women I barely know or endure their looks of sympathy.
I just want to go home, put on my PJs, sink into my couch with the fireplace blazing and ingest a mini chocolate ganache cheesecake with raspberry swirls and a cosmopolitan (or two).
I splash cold water on my swollen, red eyes and face, washing off the rest of my makeup. Our fancy new eco-friendly bathroom has no paper towels, so I’m forced to turn on a hand dryer and squat slightly. I turn my face toward the dryer vent and try to dry it without searing off my eyebrows.
The bathroom door slowly creaks open. I realize how insane I must look, bent over, butt in the air, trying to French kiss a hand dryer. I stand quickly, hitting my head on the dryer. A large bump begins to rise on my forehead and I feel a little dizzy. Apparently I’m seeing things, because my sister is approaching me with outstretched arms.
“Melanie, honey, are you alright?”
I stumble back against the wall and feel my forehead, expecting blood. I peer at her intently, not trusting my judgment after taking a bump on the head. “Mimi?”
“Jesus, what happened to your forehead? Come on, let me get you back to your office.” Mimi (I think it’s Mimi) takes me by the arm and guides me through the door and down the hallway to my office. She demands the key. Whoever she is, she’s bossy and, quite frankly, a bit scary. I slide the corded key chain off my wrist and hand it to her.
Maybe-Mimi opens the door, gets me inside and helps me to the couch. “I’m going to get a cold cloth for your head.” She rummages in her purse and pulls out a small facecloth.
It must be her. She keeps everything a mother might need in that purse of hers.
She goes to the mini kitchen in our office, wets the cloth, squeezes it out and then adds a few ice cubes from the freezer. “Lean your head back.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier if I lie down?” I protest.
“It would be—if you never want to wake up again. What if you’ve got a concussion? Do you know how serious those can be? Look at what happened to poor Natasha
Richardson! Just lean your head back against the couch.”
Mimi gently places the ice-cold cloth on the tender knot on my forehead. Then she sits on the couch next to me, holding the cloth in place. We sit silently for several minutes. Finally she speaks. “I’m sorry, Melanie. I would never have sent you to that event had I known Jaxson would be there. He was supposed to be on vacation with his family in Hawaii. I didn’t realize he was in town this week until he stopped by my desk to say we’d likely be working with you on our executive search. I got over here as soon as I realized you’d seen him.”
I steady the makeshift icepack with my hand and turn to look at her. She places her hands in her lap, eyes on the floor.
“I can understand that, Mimi,” I say calmly. “What I can’t understand is why you didn’t tell me you’ve been working with my ex for the past nine months. How could you not mention a thing like that?”
Mimi turns to me. Her big brown eyes plead for forgiveness like a puppy that’s just whizzed on the brand-new carpet. “I should’ve told you, I know. But you were so devastated when I told you about him getting married. I couldn’t put you through that again.”
Okay, so she meant well. She still should’ve told me. I don’t look at her or say anything. I sink into the couch, my eyes toward the ceiling. The ice cubes are beginning to melt. Cold water trickles down my forehead and into my eyes. I remove the towel from my head.
Mimi reaches out to squeeze my free hand. “Sorry I didn’t tell you I work with Jaxson.” She takes the rag from my hand. Then she goes to the kitchen, squeezes out the excess water and returns. She repositions it on my head.
“How’d you end up working with him?”
Mimi sighs. “My friend Miranda—”
“Jaxson’s cousin?”