The General

by Gadziala, Jessica

  "My head is spinning," she admitted over dinner after the staff had left.

  "You don't have to make any decisions right now," I reminded her. The bills came out of their accounts automatically, including the staff.

  They get paid well to betray me, she had mumbled at seeing Maritza's and Lydia's salaries.

  "I want to fire them," she told me after a long moment of consideration.

  "The staff?"

  "Yes," she said, turning her empty cup of tea around in a circle on the tabletop. "Unless you think it is too soon," she added.

  "I definitely think you can get rid of Lydia. You never eat what she makes anyway. It would be reasonable. You aren't having events anymore that you need a cook for."

  "You don't think I can get rid of Maritza?" she asked, not meeting my eyes.

  I knew why she wanted to get rid of her.

  It turned out her hunch was right.

  Maritza did clean the apartment. On Sundays when she wasn't at the house. Cleaning up drugs and panties and who-knew what else.

  "I think, maybe, with her... cut her down first. Once a week. Again, a reasonable move since there isn't much to clean up after anymore. Maybe in another couple months, you could get rid of her entirely."

  "Alright," she said, clearly not happy, but understanding, knowing her moves were still important, that appearances still needed to be kept up.

  The next day, I stood by with pride swelling inside at seeing this woman - so beaten down, meek, scared when I first met her - lift her chin, strengthen her voice, and inform the staff of the changes, not bending when they tried to change her mind, then turning on her heel and moving away.

  Taking back her house.

  That was what she was doing.

  And it was a sight to be seen.

  It wasn't long.

  Just the next day actually.

  I knew it was coming, even if maybe Jenny didn't.

  The senator came barging in.

  "Jennifer!" his voice called, raised a bit with his agitation as she came out of the kitchen, her hands cradling a hot cup of tea, likely burning her palms.

  "Did you unlock the door?" she asked, brow creeping up. Maybe he didn't know the move for what it was. But I did. That was anger. And, judging by her ability to generally keep tight reins on that, I had a feeling the fact that it was surfacing did not bode well for him.

  "Did you fire the staff?" he asked, avoiding her question.

  "I relieved Lydia, yes. And reduced Maritza's schedule."

  I'd never once liked that tone. You know the one. The rich-bitch tone. Condescending, carefully cadenced to have the most impact. But right then, watching her spew it at the senator, yeah, I fucking loved it.

  "Without consulting with me?" he asked, neck getting red.

  "On the running of my household?" she asked, cocking her head to the side a bit.

  "Now, Jennifer," Bertram started, voice dripping with condescension. "I don't think now is the time for you to be making any big decisions. You are clearly still in mourning."

  "Big decisions," she mused, taking a slow breath. "Like selling Teddy's drug and sex den?" she asked, chin lifting as the words landed, making Bertram open and close his mouth twice. "Because I'm afraid it is already too late for that. I had a realtor there taking pictures today. Don't worry, I already got rid of the drugs. There won't be any new scandals when the realtor goes through the house finding the illegal stash put there by the senator's son."

  And then, right then, I got to watch a seemingly unflappable man go from red to purple as he stood there, speechless for a long moment.

  "Jennifer, obviously, you are in shock. You should..."

  Oh, that was a bad idea.

  Should was not the word she wanted to hear from the likes of him.

  "In shock? In shock? Yes, yes I guess you could say that. I am shocked that you had my staff spying on me, lying to me. That you allowed your son to sully your good family name with drugs and whores."

  "Jennifer, some men have shortcomings and it is up to his wife to understand them, help them through them..."

  "Help them through them. Help him through them. And, how, pray tell, Bertram, was I expected to help him through anything while my jaw was broken? My ribs bruised so badly that I could barely move..."

  "Jennifer, airing family business in front of outsiders is unbecom..."

  "Unbecoming," she scoffed, an odd, almost hysterical laugh. "You know what is also unbecoming? The fact that at your last election party, my ass had been whipped so raw that I was wearing an adult diaper under my dress so I didn't bleed through it. That was sure unbecoming too, wouldn't you say? How much more was I supposed to understand? How many more times did he need to beat me to help him through his anger issues?"

  To that, Bertram paled. Not because this was news to him, I was sure, but because she was speaking of it.

  "I am going to put you in touch with a good therapist," Bertram said, reaching into his jacket to find his wallet, digging through it. "Clearly, your grief has given you some sort of break. You know very well that Teddy never raised a hand to you. He was always a loving husband."

  "Oh, thanks. I can't wait to not call this," she said, crumbling the card he produced up in her hand. "Don't worry, Bertram," she said, voice low and lethal. "I know what I married into. I know how this works. I keep my mouth shut about my abuse, about your knowledge of it. About the drugs and whores. You get to go on keeping up appearances, keep your office. But understand this, I am not under your thumb anymore. You leave me alone to live out my life in peace. And I won't need to have a sit down with some news station about the dark secrets of the Ericsson family."

  To that, Bertram's jaw ticked, but he was thinking about it, considering all the possible outcomes. "How can I be sure that you won't change your mind?"

  "I don't want this life, Bertram," she said, waving a hand around at the house. "Let me go. Let me start over. Tell your team to claim that the grief has made it too hard to be in this house, or around our old friends, that I wanted some time away from the spotlight. In a year, everyone will forget I existed. So just let me do that. Move on. Without interference. The first time you show up at my door without an invitation, and I will be shopping around for the reporter who could blow this whole thing up."

  Bertram looked away for a long minute, brain racing around, before he turned back, lips almost twitching, like he was holding back a smile.

  "I guess I underestimated you, Jennifer," he said. "You could have been quite an asset."

  "Too bad I was some low-brow trailer trash, huh?" she asked, venom slipping from her lips. "If we have an agreement, Smith will see you out."

  When I came back in, she was sitting on the steps, body shaking.

  "I'm sorry," she said, voice small. "I know I shouldn't have said... any of that."

  "I think you needed to say all of that," I countered, kneeling down in front of her.

  "Yes, but... the timing. What if he thinks..."

  "I think he thinks that you found out - for the first time - about the drugs and women. That it, understandably, pushed you over the edge, made you lash out. Bertram is the kind of man who stood by and let his son be a wife-beating piece of shit. He doesn't think much of women, clearly. He likely found your actions bitter. Just a typical, resentful, jealous woman making a scene. I highly doubt he suspects you at all."

  But as soon as I was alone, I was going to make sure the team was on it to make sure. Quin would be back in Jersey in a few hours. I had a feeling his first stop would be the office. He could handle this. Maybe he wouldn't love the turn, but he knew as well as anyone that it was hard - if not impossible - at times to control how the client might act.

  "Everything is going to be fine," I assured her.

  And I was going to do everything within my power to make good on that promise.

  ELEVEN

  Jenny

  The days following having my say to Bertram were - dare I even think it - happy.<
br />
  There was no other way to describe them

  It had taken me an almost embarrassingly long time to realize what the light, warm, buzzing feeling inside was.

  At first, I had attributed it to the sex, the deep contentedness my well-used body felt from Noah's hands, mouth, and, well, other parts as well.

  I always found the term 'sexual awakening' corny and embarrassing. That is, of course, until I had my own. Better late than never. I felt insatiable. I would just find my breath after one session in which he brought me to orgasm half a dozen times, and my body was ready for another round. I found power in bed with Noah, this man who wanted nothing but to make me feel good. I could take the lead, make demands, show him what I liked. Those were things I had never had the privilege to know before.

  They were a drug.

  And I was shamelessly addicted.

  Staff no longer an issue, we devoured each other in every room of the house. And, oddly, it felt like we were reclaiming them, painting over the bad memories of Teddy's cruel hands on me with the delicious new ones of Noah's hands driving me up, over, and through orgasm after orgasm.

  I was sure nothing could dim the light I felt bathed in.

  Until Noah pulled me aside and told me that Quin wanted to have a meeting.

  I don't know why I found him so intimidating since Noah was nicknamed The General, he was the one they called in for the butt-whoopings, the intimidation, the strong-handing whereas Quin was just the mastermind of the whole organization.

  But there was a pit of worry in my belly the whole morning as I tried to psych myself up for it, finding myself climbing into my old clothes, feeling like they acted as some kind of shield.

  "Relax," Noah demanded, giving my thigh a squeeze as he parked his truck.

  I looked down, swearing that the thigh in question looked a bit wider than it had the last time I saw his hand settled there like that. And that was only maybe a week before. Maybe it was time to start joining him in his grueling before-sunrise workouts he was religious about once I had invited him to use the gym in the basement.

  If for no other reason than to watch that muscular back of his contort and contract while he worked it out.

  Yeah, that was some motivation.

  "He sounds intimidating."

  "Alright. I'll give you that," he said, giving me a small smile.

  "Gee, you're not even going to try to tell me he isn't intimidating?"

  "Wouldn't want me to lie to you, would you?" he asked, hopping out of the truck to jog around the hood to open my door. "Don't worry. It won't be bad. He just wants to go over your file, square things up."

  Square things up.

  Like the bill.

  Which I now had the power to pay since I changed all the passwords and cards to all the accounts so that even if Bertram wanted to spy on my spending, he would have no way to do so.

  My belly wobbled a bit at signing over that check, a large part of me worried that that might be it for Noah and me.

  I mean, not it.

  He'd been pretty clear about his intentions, talking about things like futures, about how we'd spend the summer which was still many months off.

  But it would be the end to having him solely to myself. Maybe it was selfish of me to keep wanting that, to drag out this fantasy world where we were the only two people that existed.

  It would have to end sooner or later.

  He had a job, friends, a life.

  Outside of me.

  And while I was hoping that someday he would include me in his friend group, in his whole world, I knew that things like that took time, that I couldn't expect to be his everything. Ever. He had to have a life outside of me. And I would have to have a life outside of him as well.

  I made a mental note to text Maren back, meet her for coffee or something, make normal, healthy connections for myself as well, give myself a social network for the times when he couldn't be around. Because, from the sound of things, his work didn't just take him away for long days. No. At times, he would be gone for days on end. Maybe even weeks if the job was international.

  I couldn't latch on and follow him around the world.

  What's more, I refused to be that woman. The clinging sort. The kind who made a man her entire universe.

  Teddy had been my universe for far too long already. And while the situations were wholly different, the unhealthiness of them was the same.

  "There she is," Lincoln's voice called, warm, welcoming, and - more importantly in the moment - familiar after we stepped in the front door to the very gray and black reception area where a red-headed woman who I knew as Jules - fiancée to Kai, collector of snow globes, and the glue that held the office together was behind a high desk, typing furiously on her keyboard. "How you doing, gorgeous?" he asked, coming up to press a kiss into my cheek as though we were the oldest of friends instead of distant acquaintances. "You look nervous."

  "Nervous?" another voice asked. "About meeting m..." the voice trailed off as the owner moved into the opening in the hallway, looking over at us. "Well now," he said, giving me a smile, the kind that lit his blue eyes."I guess meeting me is not the right phrase, is it, Jennifer?"

  "Bellamy?" I asked, turning a confused look at Noah. I mean, he'd said they had a team member named Bellamy who was known for getting in all sorts of interesting situations. But I guess I had never put two and two together.

  This Bellamy, he was someone who jumped in and out of my social circle, who had the kind of money that these people I once associated with respected, but had no interest in the world per se. One night he was there, dragging someone's wife off to someplace, then dropping her back off saucer-eyed and happy for the first time in her life. Then was gone, not to be heard from again for a year or so.

  "I would say I'm surprised," Noah said, shaking his head. "But you can't walk down any street in any country of the world without someone knowing this fuck," he said, shaking his head.

  "He steals away the wives of the people from the club," I told him, a smile pulling at my lips.

  "And return them happier than when I took them."

  "Yeah yeah yeah," another voice said, deep, serious, but there was lightness underneath it too. "We get it. Everyone loves your ass. Go do some work or something."

  "Hey, I was under the impression that I was brought in here to be wooed into working for you," Bellamy declared with a smirk. "All I get is abuse."

  "And a nice paycheck," the man who had to be Quin declared. "Regardless of the fact that you have yet to do any work."

  "Hey... I helped Jules file. Now, didn't I, Jules?"

  "Actually," Jules said, lips twitching, "you kept trying to pull the files from my hands, telling me we'd have more fun if you taught me to tango instead."

  "I still stand by that," Bellamy said, shrugging. "And I also brought Kai coffee like a good little office worker."

  "It had three fingers of whiskey," the man who was clearly Kai said as he moved into the reception area.

  "See what I have to put up with?" Bellamy asked, looking at me. "I bet you would let me teach you how to tango," he added.

  "I already know how," I told him, remembering the dance lessons that had been insisted on early on in my marriage. As though anyone needed to know how to foxtrot anymore.

  "Ah, yeah, that schmuck of a father-in-law would have insisted on that. For appearances. Was happy to hear about your husband's timely death," he added with an inappropriately large smile.

  "Bellamy," Jules hissed.

  "What?" he shot back, shaking his head.

  "She's a client," Jules added in a whisper even though I could clearly hear her.

  "Client. As in client," Bellamy repeated, looking at me with knowing eyes. "Good for fucking you. I hoped it hurt him half as much as that time he busted your rib before the Inner City Rehabilitation dinner did."

  Christ.

  Did everyone know Teddy beat me?

  "Thought about doing it myself then," he added, mak
ing my gaze snap up. "Oops. Guess Smith didn't tell you about me, huh?"

  "He said I would likely rather not know."

  "He's The Executioner," Quin declared. "And if we're done bullshitting, I have a meeting with Mrs. Ericsson."

  I tried not to stiffen at the name, wondering how soon I could change it, how complicated it would be. Paperwork. It would be a lot of paperwork. A day at the DMV.

  It would be worth it.

  I never wanted to be called by his last name again.

  "Jenny," Noah corrected as his hand met my lower back, steering me through his group of co-workers. "Call her Jenny."

  "So, Jenny," Quin said from behind his large dark desk. "I heard you told off the senator."

  "I, ah, yeah..."

  To that, his lips tipped up. "Wish I could have been there for that. Voted against that fuck three elections in a row. If only average citizens knew how corrupt that fuck really is, his career would be over. Anyway, you can wipe that scared puppy look off your face. I'm not giving you the third degree. I like to meet the high-profile clients. But I know Smith has been keeping an eye on you." His gaze lowered to where Noah's hand was on my knee. "Among other things. Are any of us going to end up not dating a client?" he asked, looking at Noah with a head shake.

  "Well, what do you expect of workaholics?" Noah shot back. "Besides, Kai didn't end up with a client."

  "Don't remind me. You know Jules forgot to restock the printer paper? Jules. Jules forgot," he added as though it was the most preposterous thing in the world. And, well, from what I heard about Jules being a micromanager, I guess that was a fair enough response.

  "Give her some slack. Her wedding is coming up."

  "Guess you found your date for it too," Quin said with a smile. "Anyway," he added, pushing a file toward me. "I just need your signature on the papers here. Then you guys can head out."

  "What?" I asked when Noah led me back out twenty minutes later, his brows furrowed.

  "I checked in yesterday. Lincoln said the paperwork pile was still almost toppling."