by Penny Reid
The reason for termination should not be stated explicitly to Ms. Morris nor inferred/alluded to in any documentation in order to mitigate risk for future recompense. Furthermore, we advise that Mr. Sullivan not be charged with conducting the dismissal interview. I’ve taken the liberty of cc-ing Mr. Davies and his administrator to this email as it is our recommendation that he handle the matter as Mr. Sullivan’s designee.
The other option is for Ms. Morris to resign her position. In either case, we’ve drafted a release form that Ms. Morris should sign, and which, regardless of future outcomes, should, as much as is feasible or possible and to the extent allowable by law, absolve Cypher Systems from any related future litigation. I recommend that she sign the release as a condition for receiving the severance.
Please let us know if Mr. Sullivan decides to proceed so that we may move to nullify the non-compete agreement. Likely, Ms. Morris will have great difficulty finding new employment until it is expunged.
Henry LeDuc, JD
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Have you shown this to him? Have you asked him about it?”
I shook my head and chewed on my thumbnail, staring over Elizabeth’s shoulder at nothing in particular.
We were in the Starbucks four blocks away from my building. As soon as I found the email, I used the dratted cell phone to call her and beg her to meet me for lunch. As it turned out, I woke her up at home, and she immediately left to meet me for coffee. Thus, she was dressed in pajamas and boots.
“I have to be honest, Janie. I don’t speak lawyer gibberish, so I’m not really sure what this says. But,” Elizabeth reached for and held my hand, drawing my attention to her. “I think you should ask him about it before you jump to any conclusions.”
I swallowed. “I know. I will.”
Elizabeth’s frown deepened. “How did you get a copy of this? Did they accidentally email it to you?”
“No, it was with my memos on my desk. Someone must’ve…” I blinked, my eyes losing focus again, and then I shuttered my lids.
Of course.
“What? What is it?”
“Olivia.” Blood drained from my face even as heat spread up my neck. “I found Olivia, Carlos’s assistant, in my office yesterday morning. She must have left it there.”
“The one who gives you dirty looks at work? Any chance it’s fake, then?”
“I don’t think so.” I debated the theory for a moment but dismissed the possibility. “It’s real. She wanted me to find it.”
Elizabeth rolled her lips into her mouth and between her teeth, surveying me. Finally, she said, “After everything you’ve told me about him, about Quinn, I seriously doubt he wants to fire you.”
I nodded and was surprised to find that I agreed with Elizabeth’s assessment. “I don’t believe it either.”
She smiled a wry hopeful smile. “So, does that mean, despite this strange email and its indecipherable but damning contents, you trust Quinn?”
I nodded again without thinking and spoke my thoughts aloud. “It does. I do.” I met her clear blue eyes. “I do trust him. I think there has to be a perfectly reasonable explanation.”
“Yay!” Elizabeth’s smile was full and immediate; she squeezed my hand. “Although I don’t advocate love as a rule, I can honestly say yay for you and Quinn!”
My head tilted to the side in a very Quinn-like gesture before I could stop the movement. “What are you talking about?”
“You and Quinn.” Elizabeth sipped at her black coffee. “You are in love, Janie.”
“I’m not in love! I’m in lust, I’m in deep infatuation, I’m in—in—in definite a lot of like with Quinn, but I’m not…”
Was I in love?
Though I loathed to admit it, that was a distinct possibility.
I loved being around Quinn. I loved talking to him. I loved his laugh and, at times, his bossiness. I loved his self-doubt and I loved his determination. I loved that he seemed to be changing, wanted to change, even as I was changing. I loved that we were growing into something new, together. I loved trusting him. I loved making love to him—really loved making love to him.
If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck and loves like a duck…
Well, Thor!
My ears were suddenly ringing.
Elizabeth wiggled in her seat and wagged her eyebrows. “You l-o-o-o-o-o-ve him.”
“You don’t even believe in love.” I leveled her with a severe glare, hoping to quell the unexpected dawn of realization. If I could just think about it a little more without Elizabeth’s wagging eyebrows, I might be able to analyze the situation with the pragmatism it deserved.
She shook her head and averted her gaze from mine. “You know that’s not true. I believe in one love, first love.”
I knew not to press her on this point or to dissuade her from this belief, especially in relation to herself. I knew Elizabeth’s history, and I didn’t want to make her hash through a topic that was so painful for her.
I tried to make my argument relevant only to the present situation. “What about Jon? I loved Jon.”
“No, you didn’t. You tolerated Jon in much the same way that tolerance is taught in the workplace or at school.” Her mouth curved downward as though she tasted something unpleasant. “I think you loved him as a fellow human being, but you never felt more than tolerance for him.”
“But Quinn wants—he’s my boss, and now he’s my boyfriend. And then there is that apartment in his building. I promised him I would take you to see it.”
She shrugged. “We’ll go tomorrow afternoon before you meet Quinn for your date.” She was wagging her eyebrows again.
I held my breath for a moment then sighed. My forehead landed in my palm and I directed my question to the table. “What am I going to do?”
Elizabeth cleared her throat then brushed her fingertips against my wrist. “Well, you are going to go back to work and not let Ms. Olivia Von Evilpants think she made any impact on your relationship with Quinn. Tonight, you’ll tutor down on the South Side. Tomorrow, we’ll go look at the swanky apartment. Then, afterward, when you go on a date with the man you love—aka Quinn Sullivan, aka Sir McHotpants—you’ll ask him about the email.”
She made it sound so simple, so reasonable, and so possible.
I could only nod, agree, and hope she was right.
It all went according to plan, until it didn’t.
I did go back to work. I did ignore Olivia even though she seemed overly eager to throw herself in my path and speak to me for the rest of the day. I did go to tutoring that night, and I successfully avoided thinking about being in love with Quinn until he messaged me his nightly text, which had turned somewhat math-mushy recently:
If I were a function, you would be my asymptote. I always tend toward you.
He followed it with I miss you.
I allowed myself to enjoy it and wonder that I may have fallen into the pit of love with this man. For it was, truly, a pit. It was dark and unknown. It was scary, and I was surrounded on all sides by it.
Therefore, in an effort to avoid dark and definitely frightening pits, I made up my mind to make up my mind about the in-love question when I saw him next.
The next morning I was feeling better about the lawyer-speak email. I was feeling calmer and more certain. By mid-afternoon, I was actually looking forward to taking Elizabeth to see the apartment, and by the time I met her at the building, I was trying to contain my pre-Quinn-date excitement.
It all went wrong when I inserted the key into the apartment door. Before I could turn it, the door adjacent to it opened, and Quinn bolted out of it, his expression thunderous, and his chest bare.
That’s right. He wasn’t wearing a shirt.
Elizabeth and I took a startled step backward as he, also startled, rocked backward on his feet, his expression instantly mirroring ours.
“Janie.” He said my name in a breathless whoosh as his hand reached behind him and he grabbed for the
door he’d just exited.
My eyes moved to his naked chest, then lower to his jeans. I lifted my gaze to his again, and I could sense Elizabeth shifting sideways behind me as she tried to peer into the apartment behind him.
“What are you doing here?” Quinn asked the question without malice or accusation; he sounded genuinely astonished.
“I’m…you made me promise to show Elizabeth the apartment.”
His attention shifted from me and flickered to where Elizabeth was standing. He blinked at her.
“So, Quinn…” Elizabeth’s voice sounded at my shoulder, and didn’t lack malice or accusation. “Who is in there with you, why the hell don’t you have a shirt on, and what the hell is that on your neck?”
Quinn visibly flinched, either surprised by Elizabeth’s words or the harsh tenor of her tone.
Before he could respond, Elizabeth stepped forward and pointed to a mark on his neck. “Is that a bite mark?”
His hand automatically lifted to his neck.
Elizabeth turned to me, her voice rising. “Did you give that to him?”
I shook my head. Everything was happening so fast; there were too many data points, and I couldn’t absorb any of them. They were scattered on the floor and running away from me like legless teeth. I could only look mutely between Quinn and Elizabeth, and the door he was trying to close.
Elizabeth turned back to him and pointed to another mark in the middle of his chest. “And that is a cigarette burn; what the hell?” She was shrieking. “I know Janie didn’t give you that.”
His eyes found mine and I saw fear. “Listen—listen for a minute; you both need to leave. You shouldn’t even be here; where the hell are your guards?” Quinn seemed to be trying to collect his wits, and his voice was laced with firm yet panicked urgency.
The door behind him swung all the way open and, in that moment, my brain and heart stopped.
Jem was behind him dressed in her bra and jeans, smoking a cigarette, a hard smile curving her lips.
“Hey, big sister.”
Quinn glanced over his shoulder distractedly then almost jumped into the hall. “What the hell?”
My mouth opened and I heard something break, a small snapping noise, in the back of my mind followed by an intense rush of physical pain starting behind my eyes and in my chest. I couldn’t breathe. Quinn, Elizabeth, and Jem were all talking at once, but I heard nothing.
I heard nothing.
In retrospect, when I dwelled on the next several minutes in hindsight, all I remembered was blurriness. Somehow, Elizabeth pulled me out of the hallway and out of the building. She shoved me into a taxi. At some point, I recognized that my face was wet, and I thought that I must be crying. We made it to the apartment and I followed behind her; she held my hand. Once inside she steered me to the couch and left me there for a moment, coming back almost immediately with the last of our tequila.
After setting it on the table, Elizabeth shook my shoulders. “Janie! Janie, listen to me.” Her voice sounded very far away.
I turned to her, meeting her eyes. They were large, and I registered concern. She pulled me into a full body hug and held me tightly. I heard her mutter, “That son of a bitch; I will kill him… everyone is going to want to… we’ll all take turns giving him cigarette burns… they’re coming over…”
I blinked, pulling away. “Who is coming over?”
She pushed my hair away from my face in a way that, heartbreakingly, reminded me of Quinn. “While you were sitting catatonic in the cab, I texted all the ladies. We’re having an emergency meeting tonight.”
I shook my head and was surprised when a sob vacated my chest. “No. I don’t want to see anyone.”
“Yes, they are coming over. Yes, you will see people tonight, people who love you and want to support you. You can wallow over the weekend. Tonight you’re going to get drunk and eat too much ice cream.”
I only partly heard her and barely comprehended the words. I was crying again, and everything went blurry. She pushed the bottle of tequila into my hand and encouraged me to drink.
It burned in my mouth and down my esophagus, and I held the discomfort close to me. It was a relief to feel pain from some source other than my heart. Elizabeth pulled the bottle from my hand and took a long, answering swig before slamming it on the table with a loud thunk.
“I am so sorry, Janie.” She put an arm around my shoulders and brought my head to her chest. “I am so sorry.”
The door buzzed and Elizabeth stood to check the receiver. I heard Marie’s voice over the speaker. I mechanically reached for the tequila bottle, feeling a little disappointed when it burned with less intensity on my second swallow.
Nevertheless, as I took my third pull from the bottle, I welcomed the numbness.
Moments later Marie’s arms surrounded me and buried my head on her shoulder. I noted vaguely that her shampoo-commercial-ready hair smelled like lemon and lavender. Next, Kat’s arms encircled me from behind. I heard Sandra’s voice some time later, and she took Marie’s place on the couch.
“Come to Mama, baby girl.” Sandra kissed my forehead and held me in a tight embrace; lest I forget her profession as a psychiatrist, she soothed me with a coaxing voice. “Now, you don’t need to talk about it until you’re ready. We are here to support you and love you.” She took a deep breath and then, lest I forget she was Sandra the Texan, she continued. “And when you’re ready to cut his balls off, I will provide the knife.”
Dimly, I was aware that someone was laughing. I lifted my head and, with a little surprise, realized that I was in fact laughing. I met Sandra’s green eyes, sparkling but rimmed with concern, and I managed a soggy smile.
I glanced around the room. Elizabeth was hovering by the door with her hands clasped together against her cheek; Marie was sitting in a chair by the couch giving me a sympathetic smile; Kat was behind me rubbing small circles on my back; Sandra was holding my shoulders. Their wide stares all mirrored my vulnerability to me and to each other as though they wanted to and even expected to shoulder and share in my burden.
I really loved them.
Kat smoothed my hair to the side and laid her head on my shoulder. “Oh, Janie, we are all going to get so drunk.”
My eyes blurred over with new tears even as a small, involuntary laugh passed between my lips. The buzzer for the building door sounded again, and Elizabeth pressed the release button without checking who was calling up.
“It must be Fiona; she said she was getting a sitter until Greg could get home. Ashley has to finish her shift, but she said she’ll be here by seven o’clock.” Elizabeth moved to the apartment door and left it ajar for our friend.
Sandra took the bottle of tequila from my hand and held it to Marie. “We need to get some cups. I love you girls, but I have no desire to drink y’all’s backwash all night.”
“Let’s order takeout.” Kat hugged me from behind, lifting her head from my shoulder. I placed one of my hands on her arm and returned the squeeze.
“Chinese food or pizza?” Marie stood and crossed to the kitchen, pulling takeout menus from their place on the fridge, still holding the bottle of tequila in her hand.
I wiped at my eyes, sniffing, feeling the warm numbness one associates with good friends and three rapid-fire shots of tequila. Love really was a pit, and I was at rock bottom. I didn’t know how but I knew these women were going to help pull me out of the dark place I had plummeted into headlong. But first, I needed to order my thoughts and organize the data. I needed to process the last half hour and figure out what precisely I saw, felt, and believed.
However, before I could even begin to pick up the pieces of reality let alone study them with the careful attention they required, the sound of Quinn’s voice saying my name was a proverbial chainsaw to the fragile remnants of my heart.
“Janie!”
I glanced up confused and wide-eyed, and I saw Quinn hurrying toward me. He pushed the table out of the way and knelt in front of me, re
aching for and sliding his arms around my waist. It took me a moment to register that he was searching me, my body, for something, as though he expected part of me to be missing or damaged.
It took me several more seconds to understand that he was there, that he was touching me, and that he was speaking.
“Are you ok? Has anyone approached you? And why the hell was your door open?”
As soon as I overcame my shock, I pulled away from him and held my hands up between us. My mouth opened and closed as my brain struggled to understand his abrupt presence, the anger behind his words, and the relief in his eyes. I was clearly lagging behind real-time event comprehension.
I broke the stunned silence. “Quinn, what…what are you doing here?”
As though everyone else was equally dumbfounded by his presence and my words were the cure to their stunned silence, the room erupted in noisy feminine outrage.
“The hell!” I registered Elizabeth’s angry growl somewhere over his shoulder.
“Listen, Mister.” Sandra tried to insert herself between us.
“I think you should leave.” Marie walked into the living room from the kitchen holding the bottle of tequila as though it was a viable weapon.
Kat squeezed my hand.
Quinn tried to talk to me over the insistent gaggle of my friends and Sandra’s angry-body barricade. “Janie, please listen: You are not safe; your guards should have been with you today; we need to get out of here. They never would have let you come to the building.”
The buzzer sounded again and, amidst all the chaos, I discerned Fiona’s voice over the speaker. Elizabeth pressed the button while continuing to shoot daggers at Quinn. “Because you were there ‘hiding the salami’ with her sister?” Elizabeth accused, pulling out her cell phone. “I’m calling the police, Quinn. You need to leave. Now!”
Quinn didn’t move from his position in front of me and met her censure with all the flexibility of granite. “I wasn’t with Jem.”