Chapter 9
Jonathan
My secretary called my line. “Mr. Statham?”
“Yes?”
“Your mother is here for lunch sir.”
“Send her in please.”
Seconds later, my mother came into my office wearing a pale gray suit. Her make-up was done to perfection, and it looked like she’d been taking care of herself—for all of one month. Her light blue eyes still looked as clear and optimistic as they did on her graduation day, but I wasn’t getting my hopes up. She’d relapsed way too many times for me to actually believe she’d change.
She sat down at the desk and my eyes veered towards the small box that was protruding from her jacket.
“I thought you said you quit smoking.” I sighed.
“Yeah, crystal meth, not cigarettes. They’re practically harmless.” I shook my head and grabbed the cigarettes out of her pocket. “Dropping one bad habit for another isn’t the best idea. Do you want me to buy you some nicotine patches?”
“Why would I want that, Jonathan?”
“So you can stop killing yourself and live to see sixty.”
“Oh, you’re a health expert now? I guess being a billionaire makes you think you know everything, huh?”
“Everyone knows smoking is bad for you. It’s on the damn box.” I should’ve never agreed to this...
“But it’s even worse for a former meth head right? I bet me being here embarrasses the hell out you. Doesn’t it? I bet you don’t want any of your rich little friends to see that your drugged out mommy is once again fresh out of rehab and—”
“Okay, just stop. Stop right now.” I shook my head. “I agreed to meet with you once a week for your benefit. Not mine. So, if you plan on coming up here to make me feel guilty about being successful, you’re wasting your time...We should just try this again next week.”
“What?” She looked hurt. “You want me to leave?”
“Yes. Now.”
“I’m...I’m sorry...I didn’t mean to say any of that. It’s just that sometimes I’m so out of it because I don’t have a real outlet anymore and...I’m so sorry, Jonathan. I—”
“It’s okay. We’ll just try again next week.” I walked over and hugged her. “We need to do this right if we’re going to do it at all. I don’t want to be frustrated with you, and I don’t want you frustrated with me. Just leave the cigarettes in your car next time.” She gave me a half smile. “Okay...I’ll see you next week.” I walked her out of my office and hit the elevator button for her. As soon as she was gone, I crashed behind my desk and held my head in my hands.
My mother was the only person who could get under my skin in a matter of seconds. No matter how hard I tried to be polite, how hard I tried to be helpful, she always had something negative to say
—as if I was the one who ruined her life.
She’d done that to herself and I was still extremely angry with her for not realizing that.
I often wondered why she couldn’t have been a normal mother who actually gave a shit about her kids, one who helped with homework and actually made dinner from time to time. Instead, my mother
— and my father, were passed out high most of the time, leaving me and my little sister starving; forcing me to go dumpster diving late at night for my neighbors’ leftovers.
I’d wasted way too many years worrying about my parents and I refused to let them get to me anymore. I had other things on my plate, like Claire Gracen.
She was the most difficult woman I’d ever come across, and usually when a woman frustrated me, I moved on to another one. But Claire was different.
On the one hand, she exuded this air of confidence that made everyone else in the room disappear, that made it impossible for me to focus on anything else that was going on. She also seemed to become more gorgeous each and every time I saw her—something I didn’t even know was possible.
And the sex was absolutely phenomenal—I didn’t think I would ever get enough.
Yet, that was the only time in which she was somewhat open with me. She was extremely guarded in regular conversation, as if she were carefully measuring each of her words. Anytime she was on the verge of saying something remotely personal, she cut herself off and completely shut down. Of course, I hadn’t been that open with her either, but I’d always thought that women were more eager to share parts of themselves.
I opened the drawer at the bottom of my desk and pulled out the basic background file I’d asked Corey to make for me: Divorced four years ago. Marital tax records for fourteen years. Two daughters—Ashley Gracen and Caroline Gracen. Over one hundred thousand dollars in debt.
Independent voting record. Parking ticket from last Saturday.
Normally, I would ask him to run a complete background check—to run her name through every single database he could hack into, but I decided against it. For the first time, I wanted to see if I could find out everything about a woman on my own for a change.
“Ohhh goddd...Ohhh goddd...I’m....I’m going to cum...I—I’m...” Claire rocked against me a few more times and collapsed into my arms, breathing heavily.
Both of our chests rose and fell together, and we lay intertwined on the floor of my office for several minutes.
She’s definitely the best I’ve ever had...
She rolled off me and I slowly sat up.
I moved her skirt back over her hips and snapped the clasps back together. I slid her shirt back over her arms and started re-fastening the buttons.
Once I reached the last button, I ran my fingers across her silver necklace. I was starting to keep count; she had at least ten different ones that all featured the same white and red flags.
“You sure you don’t want to eat with me?” I zipped my pants. “I don’t think it’s considered lunch if everyone has gone home for the day.”
She smiled. “It definitely is, so no. Thank you for the offer though.”
“Okay. I’ll go pay for the Chinese food, and when I get back I’ll walk you down to the garage.” As soon as I stepped outside my office, I saw Mr. Barnes and ten other staff members lying face up on the floor.
“What the...”
“Oh! Mr. Statham!” Mr. Barnes stood up and shook my hand. “I didn’t realize you would be here so late today.”
“What are you all doing?”
“We’re following the advice of chapter seven in our Zen book. It says that sometimes it’s good to get energy from those who have been successful. So, we’re doing our Zen exercises right in front of your office. We’re trying to get some of your aura to rub off on us.” I am never hiring another motivational speaker... “That sounds... really interesting. Do you need anything from me?”
“No, not unless you want to join us. It might work even better if the source of inspiration is in our circle.”
“Maybe next time.” I tried not to laugh. “I have some work to finish.”
“Understandable.” He lay back down on the floor and shut his eyes.
I walked out into the hallway and paid for the Chinese food, trying not to step on any of the crazed associates on my way back to the office.
“Okay. I’m ready.” Claire walked past me and I grabbed her by the waist.
“We can’t leave right now.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because your coworkers are out there doing Zen rituals. They’re trying to soak up my aura or something. Would you like to go out there and join them?”
“Are you kidding me?” She walked over to the door and peered through the blinds. “Idiots...Wait, does that mean that they could hear us?” She paled.
“Doubt it. The office is soundproof... I guess you have no choice but to eat with me today. I ordered for two.”
“Of course you did.” She took a brown bag from me.
As usual, we slipped into a state of silence, a familiar comforting silence. Even though it was enjoyable, I felt like we needed to break that routine today. We needed to be able to talk in person.
I cleared my throat. “Why aren’t you taking the Zen book as seriously as they are?”
“I only read books with substance.”
“I had to put it down after five pages myself.” I laughed. “I have no idea what that guy was talking about.”
“Then why did you pay him two million dollars?”
“Politics. Plus it’s a good tax write off.”
“Oh. Here I was thinking that you actually cared about boosting employee morale. How inspiring.”
“Careful, Claire. I’m easily aroused by sarcasm.” I watched her face turn bright red. “Are you currently reading any books with substance?”
“In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. My daughters are reading it for English class so I decided to read it with them.”
I felt a pang in my chest. “Family book club? Do you all have family meetings and things like that too?”
“Yeah.” She sliced her eggroll. “We have family meetings every other Tuesday and I try to take them on a trip every summer.”
“Why?”
“It’s just something my mom used to do for me when I was growing up and I want them to experience it too. I mean, the trips aren’t extravagant or anything—mostly road-trips, but they’re usually really fun. Did your family do trips?”
My “family” didn’t do anything...
I shook my head. “No, not really. Where are you taking them this summer?”
“I want to take them on a cruise in June, but it’ll probably have to wait until August.”
“Because of your job?”
“No, because I’m not rich and I actually have to save money to do the things I want.” She smiled.
“Plus, I’m trying to put a plan together to pay off my student loans, my mortgage, and—Sorry. I know you don’t care about this stuff. I should—”
“How much do you have left to pay off?”
“I can’t go there...I’m embarrassed to say it aloud.”
“Don’t be. Tell me.”
She sighed. “I owe fifty four thousand dollars in student loans and one hundred thousand dollars on my house...I was being optimistic when I said I’d be able to pay it off. I’ll probably be sixty by then.”
“Will you still be working here with me?”
“Ha! Please!” She laughed and walked over to the door.
I followed her and saw that her team was now doing meditative yoga on top of yellow mats. Mr.
Barnes appeared to be reading off a list of exercises.
“How long do you think they’ll be out there?” She sighed.
“Probably another hour or so.” I walked over to my desk and grabbed my jacket. “Come on, I’ll walk you down to the garage.”
“What! Are you crazy? We’re just going to walk out there and pray that they won’t see us? That they won’t think us being together after-hours is suspicious?” I laughed. “Of course not. I have a private elevator.”
“Are you serious?! You knew that the entire time?”