Trust Me

by Isabel Jolie

  “You’re new here, aren’t you?” Damien asks, pulling out the chair and sitting down at the gray six-top circular table. I’m sitting with my supervisor and two women from the media department. My food sits on an orange tray. Damien doesn’t notice the other women at the table, but out of the corner of my eye, my boss frowns.

  I hold out my hand and say, “Yes. I’m an assistant account executive. This is my first week. I’m Olivia.”

  When he shakes my hand, he holds it firmly and rubs his thumb across the back. The movement sends tingles down my spine, and my cheeks warm. Damien’s suit fits him well, and I have no idea if he’s my level or falls much higher in the organization.

  “I’m a designer in the studio. I’m Damien. I’ll keep an eye out for you.” He stares at me like a hungry predator, and I can’t look away. Before he leaves, I giggle. In front of my new boss, I giggle and bat my eyelashes.

  The memory floods me with mortification. Back then, I was fresh out of college and had no idea how to handle a handsome man flirting with me. I had no idea what other women would think of me or how the gossip mill within a business worked. Now, I’m older and more experienced.

  I tap my phone and call my contact at Esprit HR, a lovely woman named Ms. Merryman. “Oh, I understand. No problem. Can you tell me your name again? Thank you for letting us know.” Then, nothing. I hold my phone out to view the screen and double-check that the call disconnected. Who knew turning down an internship is easier than canceling a credit card?

  Almost instantaneously, I feel better. Lighter. Stress-free. After classes, I take the subway down to Chambers Street to get to Jackson’s offices. Goldwater, Brooke, and Associates occupies four floors in a building on 195 Broadway. The building once housed the headquarters for American Telephone and Telegraph. I learned that tidbit when searching for the location.

  I’m not sure what to expect when I open the door, but I definitely didn’t expect the modern lobby that greets me. An elaborate structure of thin brass pipes covers the ceiling. Edison lightbulbs adorn the ends of the pipes. The polished concrete floor and iron stairwell are industrial. Light pours in through the windows. I could definitely get used to working here.

  The elevator opens on the fifteenth floor. As I greet the curly redhead behind the reception desk, Jackson steps around the corner. “Hey, there, great timing.”

  I give Jackson a polite hug, the kind of restrained courtesy hug common in the workplace. He’s looking at me like we’re friends, but I’d prefer everyone here not know we are. Although, it’s an internship. I need to remember that too. It doesn’t really matter. I’m here for the experience, not to climb a ladder. I’m not even a lawyer.

  I follow Jackson into a conference room. The walls are glass, so the only privacy offered in the room is sound.

  Jackson sits down and looks at his watch. “We have about thirty minutes before a client is coming in. What do you say I take you through an overview of the kinds of reports I need help with? If you feel ready, then I’ll introduce you to the client.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Jackson’s entire career has centered on mergers and acquisitions. He’s not the kind of lawyer you call when you get a speeding ticket or a DUI. Acquisitions are his specialty, and he’s kind of made a name for himself. He dives deeper than most lawyers by thinking through all the business angles. Sometimes he arrives at a completely different solution for the client or a novel and unexpected way to acquire a company.

  Jackson walks me through the folders on the table. In a nutshell, he wants me to do the legwork for a client. Collect and analyze extensive data on the GPS market and industry. Complete an analysis of financial performance.

  One of his clients is considering either investing in or acquiring the company. The client’s interested in emerging tracking technologies, but he’s not so enamored with the hardware business. The first step is understanding the company’s strategic position in the marketplace. More or less an MBA student’s wet dream.

  If the client wants to move forward, I’d start working on valuations and financial forecasts. It’s the business angle Jackson loves. It’s no surprise he’s campaigned to create this M&A consultancy within his firm.

  He’s impassioned as he takes me through everything. He’s animated, and there’s an understated excitement to his words. I can see why he puts in long hours. He loves what he does. I want that.

  A knock sounds at the door. “Ah, Olivia, meet our client.”

  My mouth drops open. No way. Sam Duke. Mr. Coffee Shop Man.

  His head angles sideways, like maybe he’s surprised too. He rubs his palm over his mouth. He’s definitely caught off guard, because he doesn’t speak.

  I can’t stop staring at him. The tips of my fingers chill. I rub my hands together to warm them and notice they feel clammy.

  Jackson breaks the awkward moment. “Hey, Sam. Are you such a regular now they don’t even have us greet you at reception?”

  Jackson’s grinning. He walks around the table to shake Sam’s hand. Sam glances at Jackson but keeps his focus on me. He unabashedly inspects me, seemingly oblivious to Jackson’s presence. “I’m sorry to interrupt. Should I wait outside?”

  Jackson raps Sam’s shoulder the way a quarterback would pat the back of a teammate. “Yeah, man, if you’d give me a minute. I’ve got to finish things up. It will only take a minute.”

  Sam backs into the hall, Jackson closes the conference room door, and I catch his eye. “I’m in. If that’s what you want to ask me, I’m in.”

  Jackson stretches his shoulders back, a huge grin on his face. “That’s great. We’ll talk details later.” Then he opens the door for Sam, standing in the hall, watching us through the glass, and welcomes him back into the conference room. “Sam, meet the newest addition to our team, Olivia Grayson.”

  Sam rubs his chin. He smirks. Is he aware I resigned from his company today? After last week, he could be wondering if I’m an ultra-sophisticated stalker. Like I somehow knew he had a meeting here today and wormed my way in. As if.

  He holds out his hand to shake mine. A self-conscious wave floats over me as he holds on a tad longer than necessary and tilts his head to the side. “Ms. Grayson, we meet again.”

  Jackson asks, “Do you guys know each other?”

  I want to tell Jackson that this is Mr. Coffee Shop, but I don’t think he’d get the reference. He won’t get it because I never told him and Anna the whole story. Did I? I can’t remember. I try to avoid oversharing.

  As I’m standing there trying to figure out the best way to explain to Jackson, Sam speaks up. “Well, yes. I thought she was going to be interning with us, but I found out from HR she resigned.” He turns to question me. “Is this why you resigned? To come and work here?”

  Sam has taken a seat at the head of the conference table. He looks amused. Not angry.

  Sam’s wearing jeans and the same cowboy boots. He doesn’t sound like he’s from Texas, but he speaks slower than New Yorkers. He’s a business guy, but he looks like he’d be at home on a baseball field, or on a horse, or anywhere outside. It’s that sunbaked skin and dimples and care-free, wavy hair.

  Jackson squints and pointedly looks down at me. A little too late, I realize they were both expecting me to answer. “Olivia, did I steal you from Esprit Corp?” He’s grinning, so he doesn’t seem annoyed. Bastard looks entertained.

  I lift my chin and attempt a courteous answer. “Yes, my original internship was with Esprit Transactions. Mr. Duke, I do apologize. When this internship came through, it felt like an ideal opportunity. I couldn’t turn it down. Since I hadn’t yet been assigned to a group in your company, I felt I could resign without any—”

  Sam raises his arm and interrupts. “Wait, now. You hadn’t been assigned to a group yet?” I stare back, uncertainty rising with his ire. As I brace myself for the worst, he throws his hands in the air. “Look, never mind. I’m not angry. This guy probably offered you better pay. I haven’t checked on w
hat we’re paying out interns, but I’m sure it’s chicken feed. You’re still gonna be working for me.” He looks between Jackson and me. “Didn’t mean to put you guys on the defensive. I’m good. This may be even better, actually.” He studies me, and one dimple appears with a slight smile.

  My cheeks are on fire. For once, I am grateful for my olive skin. Otherwise, I’m sure my cheeks would be flaming red.

  Jackson sits at the table and pulls up a folder. It’s one of the folders he hasn’t yet shared with me. He directs Sam’s attention to a piece of paper that lists several items on it as I pull out a chair to join them at the table. “These are some of the first steps I’m proposing. Olivia’s going to be point person on research, and if we get to it, the evaluation.”

  Jackson sits back in his chair, waiting to see what Sam says to that.

  Sam reads the list and looks up. “Sounds good to me. I’ll have some of my interns doing similar work, so we can compare. If you hadn’t stolen this one, she’d be the one doing the work on my end.”

  His smile is big. Those dimples might be the end of me. Sitting here, so close to him, bathed in natural light, for the first time I see the color of his eyes. A smoky blue. Insane. I’ve never seen that color blue before. He runs his hand through his hair and gives me a knowing look, as if he knows my thoughts aren’t professional. Women probably fawn over this man everywhere he goes, and that thought has me sitting straighter and reaching for a pen to take notes.

  After the two men further discuss all items to be uncovered during the research phase, Jackson taps his fist twice on the table. “Sounds like a plan. Olivia, let me introduce you to Joel, one of our paralegals. He can get you acquainted with Westlaw and LexisNexis.” Then he directs his attention to Sam. “Do you mind waiting for a minute in my office?”

  Sam stands and says, “No problem. I have a call I need to make. Nice to see you again, Olivia. Good to have you on the team, even if it is on my legal team.”

  I stand and look him in the eye and give a professional, curt nod. “Thank you, Mr. Duke.”

  He raises his arm with a stop motion. “No, call me Sam.” He visibly peruses my body, and almost to himself, he mutters, “You should definitely call me Sam.”

  My skin tingles as if he physically touched me. I turn my attention to the table and the folders. He takes three steps toward the door, and I find it easier to breathe.

  Sam reaches the door and turns, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ahm, Jackson, do you mind if I take a minute to speak to Olivia?”

  Jackson looks between us. The request catches him off guard, and I can tell from the look he’s giving me, he’s trying to decide if I’m okay with it.

  I speak up to put Jackson at ease. “It’s fine.” I’m uncertain what Sam will say, but I expect further questions about why I quit his company.

  “Okay. I’ll be down the hall in my office.” Jackson exits, but I notice he leaves the conference room door open. Maybe he’s listening to see if he needs to come save me.

  Sam takes a couple of steps in my direction. His right dimple pops as he kind of chews on his lower lip. I brace myself. He puts both palms down flat on the table and leans toward me.

  “So, you were gonna be on my team. Just so you know. I requested you. But I wasn’t bullshitting when I said I think I like this better.”

  I shift my shoulders back to display perfect posture and hold my breath.

  “I like this better, because it’ll make asking you out on a date a whole lot easier.”

  Fuck me. Not at all what I thought he was going to say.

  He tilts his head, and his dimple disappears. “I know we didn’t get off to a great start. I would have talked to you back at that coffee shop, but you looked too young. Now I know your age. And I’d really like to take you to dinner.”

  I swallow. I breathe. Sure, he’s a good-looking guy. But is this okay? I bite my thumbnail as I consider the potential ramifications of saying yes. We might have some great dates. But then I’d come out of a restroom while the waitress is giving him her number. Or I’d turn the corner at a dance club, and he’d be in the hall receiving a blow job.

  He steps back from the table and stands tall. “You can let me know later if you want. I don’t want to pressure you.”

  I focus on my breathing to rebound from his direct question. “Does this mean you no longer believe I’m a threat?”

  He smiles in a way that disarms. “No threat. At least, not in a way that’s gonna require security.”

  I return his smile as I lean down to grip the edge of the table. “Dinner sounds…” I pause, searching for the right word, “nice. Let me check with Jackson. I’ve no idea what the company policy would be, if they have stipulations regarding dating clients.” I exhale. There. That sounds like a solid response. I’ll tell Jackson to say he doesn’t think it’s a good idea. Working together won’t be an issue. It’s not me turning him down.

  A grin spreads across his face, and both dimples are back. I forget to breathe for a moment. He’s so freaking gorgeous. “Let me handle Jackson. He’ll be fine with it. How’s this Friday?”

  A dizzy sensation hits me. I blurt, “I’m busy this weekend.” Where did that come from? It’s only Monday, and I haven’t given the weekend any thought whatsoever. But Sam’s too gorgeous. He’s probably right; Jackson will likely be fine with us going out on a date. But after my past experience, next time around I plan to aim for men a little lower down the hotness scale. Find someone who isn’t a master on the playing field.

  Sam bites the corner of his lip and studies me, like he’s trying to decide if he’s going to let me get away with stalling. “Okay. Well, maybe one night next week.” He winks at me as he exits.

  Chapter 5

  Sam

  Three soft taps on my office door break my attention from my laptop. My vision blurs as it adjusts from staring at code on my computer screen.

  “Jan, it’s okay. Come on in.” I know it’s my assistant because she’s the only one who knocks at my door. Anyone else would be announced by Janet via my desk telephone. Janet’s the only reason I still have a desk phone. I can push one button and speak to her, and she can respond via intercom.

  Janet walks up to my desk and stands, holding a file, notepad, and pen. She’s the most efficient executive assistant I’ve ever had. All business, she taps her pen against the notepad. I’d bet a hundred bucks that notebook has a list in it, and she’s tapping the first item on her list.

  “I made reservations for you and Jason at Pisticci. Six-thirty. Is that okay?” She’s asking because that’s earlier than I’d normally meet him. It will take at least thirty minutes to make it up to Harlem.

  “Yeah, that’s fine. Pisticci, though? I figured he’d just want to meet at Mel’s. And I’m surprised we need reservations, anyway. This was his idea? Did you speak to him?”

  She pulls her shoulders back and immediately looks like she’s about to face a firing squad.

  I stop her before she can answer by putting my hand up and saying, “Don’t get defensive, Jan. I don’t care where we eat. I want to know, though, did you speak to him? Or was this all via text?”

  “Yes, I spoke to him.” Wrinkles line up along her upper lip, her tell that she wants to bop me upside my head.

  “How did he sound?” I ask. Her lips instantly relax.

  “He didn’t sound good.”

  I rub the underlying tight muscles on my temples. This isn’t an easy situation. Jason finished post-remission therapy some time back, and we’ve been waiting to hear if he’s in full remission. I’m optimistic, but Jason is one pessimistic guy.

  “Okay. What else you got for me?”

  Janet’s pen moves a little farther down the page before she stops. In a voice that makes her sound like a concerned mother, she asks, “Is he doing okay?”

  Janet isn’t one to pry. I like her for that. But over the years she’s gotten to know my family. My mom sends her a Christmas gift each year. My brothers s
ometimes take her to lunch when they come to town. And Jason, well, he’s like a brother to me. He’s pretty fond of Janet too.

  My brothers and I met Jason during a ski trip one Christmas break. We were in Vail. My dad overheard an instructor telling Jason’s dad ski school had no openings. My dad must’ve seen that Jason was around the same age as his gaggle of boys, so he told him he could put his son in with us. The four of us skied together that day and then every day for the rest of the break. For years, Jason skied with us, even once we stopped skiing with instructors.

  Jason’s parents both passed away his sophomore year of high school. Skiing, of all things. Some people were skiing where they shouldn’t and caused an avalanche. He was a boarding school kid, so that part of his life didn’t change after his parents’ death. But my parents stepped in and made sure he spent every break with us. Summers too. During college, he came back to my house more than I did for breaks, because, well, my parents’ home is his home now too.

  Freshman year of college, Jason was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. He’s been through one crazy bull ride. He’s been in partial remission at times, then had to go through another whole round of chemo, radiation. I can see he’s in a down cycle. Even with all that crap, he has his PhD and is an assistant professor at Columbia University. Pretty fucking impressive, if you ask me.

  I look Janet in the eye. No need to sugar coat it. “I don’t know if he’s doing okay or not. That’s why I wanted to hear how he sounded. He’s seemed so…” I rub my hand through my hair, trying to come up with the right words. “It’s like he’s given up. If he gets bad results, I found a clinical trial for him, but he’s not so into it. It’s like he’s ready to throw in the towel, and we are nowhere near the end of the game.”