Haze

chapter 20

Buzz!

I shot awake, my eyes staring in every possible direction until I found the source of the sound. There was an incoming call—and I couldn't read the full number. I didn't recognize it anyway, so I guess the cracked screen didn't really matter.

"Hello?" I cleared my throat after my voice cracked, trying sound as if that I hadn't woken up seconds ago.

"Hi, is this Miss Jacobs?"

"Yes." What was this about? The voice sounded professional; then again, so did most telemarketers these days.

"Miss Jacobs, my name is Ryan Hiller and I work in the HR department at MCI Records. Currently, we're investigating a number of allegations against Sam Beckermann. We'd received word that you had been dismissed in the midst of our investigation, and we wanted to invite you in to ask you some questions about your experience."

"What?" I blurted out. "Is Sam there right now?"

"He's been suspended without pay for the time being. You won't need to interact with him at all. Would you be willing to stop by our offices this afternoon? At one?"

"Y-yes," I said. "Okay."

"All right, Miss Jacobs. We're on the fourth floor, conference room forty-five. We'll see you then."

By the time I set down my phone, Jack's head popped in the room, tie wrapped loosely around his unbuttoned collar. "Who was that?" he asked curiously.

"None of your business!" I said. I felt bad immediately since his face appeared to suggest that I had offended him. "I'm just kidding. It was MCI."

"MCI?" He looked initially worried, but it faded fast. "What the hell do they want? If it's Sam, you just tell him—"

"They are investigating charges against him." I shifted in the bed and sat up proudly against the pillow.

"What kind of charges?"

"I don't really know. They are just building a case against him. Or maybe it's more."

"Well, go do your thing," he said. "It'll help you gain some closure. Hit him where it hurts."

I liked that idea. I imagined myself in a boxing ring with Sam, the flashbulbs going off as I stood above him, his body crumpled up on the ground. A real knockout by Jacobs!

"I will."

"I made some more eggs and coffee if you want some. It's all waiting in the kitchen."

"Okay." I said. After the performance last night, eggs made by Jack sounded just fine.

"Are you gonna stay in Manhattan until the meeting? I have to go meet with an international distributor. Lexy's album is getting close to finished and so we've got to, uh, put it in people's hands."

I nodded and smiled. "I get it, Jack. Y'know, how selling a product works."

"You're such a smartass—and I love that." He walked toward me on the bed, leaning down and kissing me, his kiss harmonizing with the slow crawl of his fingers through my hair until they were gently massaging the nape of my neck.

Once again, I was feeling invincible.

"I've gotta go though," he said into my mouth, mid-kiss. "We can get something to eat after the meeting. Call me—well, if you can. We'll get your phone taken care of after we eat."

I smiled again. "Okay, Jack. See you later, then."

His tie tied, his shirt crisp and unwrinkled, his posture impeccable, his looks beyond sexy, Jack headed toward the door. "I left you an extra key in the kitchen," he called. "It's by the coffee. I thought you'd actually notice it if it was there."

"Thank you!" I shouted back.

The door opened and closed and then he was gone.

I took a deep breath and relaxed; I wasn't going to get moving just yet. This afternoon was going to be interesting, so I needed to prepare myself mentally.

***

The fourth floor seemed so scary for some reason. I walked up the stairs quickly, sprinting past my usual floor as quickly as I could and then resuming my previous slower pace. I didn't want to see it or even remember how it looked at that moment. Too many memories. I was resolute about the decision and I didn't want anything to affect that.

I got to the long hallway, the fourth floor very different from the one I was used to. There were more individual offices, administrative sort of stuff. There were some boardrooms, but mostly just offices belonging to people with exclusive titles.

Room 45 popped into view, a boardroom with glass on both sides of the door. There were opened blinds that could be closed to quickly provide privacy if needed. Given my interactions with Sam, I hoped they would close them while I was here.

I knocked on the door and waited. It swung open slowly. There was an older gentleman there, his full head of black hair dotted with patches of grey. "Miss Jacobs?" he asked.

"Yes." I extended my hand and shook his. "Mr. Hiller?"

"Right," he said. "Do come in."

He introduced me to the other members of the HR department, a man younger than him named Michael and a woman around his age named Deb.

"We heard from some of the interns that you had somewhat of an unfortunate encounter with Mr. Beckermann earlier this week.

"Yes," I said, my confirmation just the tip of the iceberg.

From that point, the conversation went in a number of unexpected directions—there were apparently sexual harassment charges from other girls in the office, along with charges from female artists on top of that. Nothing too serious, but things that had been investigated and the results deemed "inconclusive."

"We discovered that Mr. Beckermann has faced a number of restraining orders from women related to our industry. He seems to get fixated and then a little carried away." He never clarified that bit, but I wasn't sure I needed to know the full definition. "Nothing too serious, however. Nothing to worry about."

Ryan dominated the conversation the whole time, the other two just taking notes and occasionally providing a small rehash of HR jargon.

Much of this was surprising to me, especially given the background info that Sam had provided me about himself. None of this fit.

On top of all of that, Sam had used his influence to appoint an HR person who would turn his back on Sam's misconduct, one that had been fired a few weeks ago for unrelated insubordination. The incident with me had provoked so many complaints that they had to do a full-scale investigation, one that involved Sam being suspended until a judgment was made.

"We had numerous reports of him drinking on the job and using, shall we say, demeaning verbiage with you."

I didn't hold anything back, even admitting to the stuff with Jack after they inquired. I wanted to be totally honest, even if it negatively affected the outcome of this meeting. Jack was right—this was actually helping.

At the end, the three seemed to compare notes briefly before Ryan took the lead again. "Ms. Jacobs, based on what you've told us, we'd like to offer you an apology and inform you that, if you wish, your position at MCI will resume effective this coming Monday. It is our opinion that you didn't violate any portion of MCI's non-compete clause, and therefore, your termination was unjustified. And although our decision regarding Sam is incomplete, at the very least he'll be transferred to another office, no longer your superior. Well, if we keep him at MCI at all."

Whoa. I certainly wasn't expecting this at all.

"Uh, I—" I trailed off, not sure what to say. "Well, t-t-thank you," I said, my voice full of confused gratitude. Now that options were hitting me left and right, it was getting even tougher to make decisions. "This means a lot to me."

Ryan slid a business card toward me, his card with his name across the top in fancy typeface. "Miss Jacobs, if you have any questions or concerns here at MCI, don't hesitate to contact me directly at anytime. We're here to create a positive environment for both our workforce and clients. We greatly appreciate you coming in."

"It was no problem." I nodded to punctuate the sentence.

"We want to know that Sam Beckermann is not representative of the policies were believe in here at MCI, we are dedicated to—"

My mind started to wander as he gently assaulted me with his corporate schlock. God, this development really made things more interesting.

"... so we're glad to have you back."

"Yes, thank you." I meant it, even though I again felt like I was wandering aimlessly through life—and it had become a barren desert.

After a series of brief, professional goodbyes, I got out of the building and headed to my preferred coffee joint, sitting down with a friendly Americano, a treat for myself. I didn't usually use that much cream, but today the espresso seemed extra strong and so I went a little crazy.

Although I wanted to talk to Jack, I didn't really feel like struggling with my phone if it decided to be stubborn. I sat with the coffee, my mind cooling down in tandem with the hot drink. I thought about the fact that I suddenly had a job again after several days of misery and lost direction.

I had entered a clearing, an empty space where everything seemed all right. Questions still seeped into the fibers of my mind, but now they weren't so obtrusive. Did I want to take back my job, or did I want to go with Jack? Could I do both somehow?

Each had its pluses and minuses, or so I thought. When I remembered how Jack's arms had felt around me, how malleable he'd made me with his comforting words, it felt like something else. A tiny spark lit a fire in my mind.

I remembered my conversation with Stacy and how she and Jack had strayed apart due to their conflicting schedules and relentless work ethic. The answer hadn't been present then, when I had worried for just a moment that with Jack, a relationship would be tough. Maybe even impossible. How could I stay close to a guy who always needed to be gone for work? Most people didn't want that sort of relationship, though for many, it was a harsh reality.

But here was the answer, the answer Jack had given the previous night without ever knowing about my conversation with Stacy. He said it was just a spur-of-the-moment thing, but what if he had considered something like it since the inception of his own label? His job offer didn't sting so much anymore, didn't feel so much like a dumb way to avoid responsibility, a one-way ticket to fantasyland, millions of miles from the real world.

This was the real world. It was a world that Jack wanted to create for us, a world that allowed us to thrive—together. He wanted to take me on trips, wanted to treat me to the best that the world had to offer.

Why should I fight the one who loved me, maintaining tension and hard-headedness for no real reason at all? Having a career of my own and being with Jack weren't mutually exclusive, and finally I saw it.

Nothing with Jack had been even remotely short of breathtaking—the food, the sex, the talent, the looks, the personality, the care and concern. I would be an idiot to let him to go, because he was the f*cking man of my dreams.

It didn't f*cking matter if I felt unworthy, or if I felt inferior to the women he had dated in the past. None of that mattered anymore. I believed what he said, believed every word that came out of his lips like it was the most brilliant thing ever spoken. I had treated him to unjustified ups and downs, rushes of emotion that I had allowed to overtake me, to confuse and weaken me.

If I went back and analyzed his reassurances, his promises that everything would wind up okay, he had been right every single time after the dust settled. I was okay. I would survive. I was being overdramatic, immature and stupid. After so many years of thinking that men like Jack just didn't actually exist, I could understand my opposition, my brain's desire to move to slowly while my body wanted to travel at light speed.

Jack was real. This wasn't a dream. Everything would be okay. His offer was both pragmatic and dreamy, a situation in which infatuation concurred with reality. Things didn't usually happen this way—but if they could, why should I avoid them?

As if he had been listening to my mind all along, Jack called my phone, currently the only frustration-free way I could communicate with him. "Hi, Jack," I said, my voice masking the visible satisfaction on my face.

"I can tell you're smiling. What's up?"

"Drinking coffee at my usual spot. They offered me my job back." I wasn't sure how he would take the news.

"Great, just great. What'd you tell them?"

"Nothing yet. I thanked them for being reasonable. Sam's been suspended thanks to people defending me in the office."

Jack started laughing so hard I had to pull my phone away from my ear. "Those guys are like sharks. They terrorize everyone else until a bigger group of pricks come along and hunts them down." There was some commotion in the background. "F*ck it, I'll be there in a couple of minutes. I don't know why we're talking on the phone when I'm two blocks away." The call ended and I sat quietly, my coffee nearing completion.

Less than two minutes later, Jack popped up in the doorway. He glanced at the cup in front of me and then locked with my eyes. "Do you want anything else?" he called.

"Only if I don't have to decide what it is."

He nodded and started talking with the barista. I saw her eyes ogling him—I absolutely couldn't blame her—and it only made me prouder. Jack Teller was mine. They would look, but they couldn't touch.

After his order came up, he tossed a ten-dollar bill in the tip jar and walked to me with two mugs. "Here," he said, handing me a drink.

"What is it?"

"Just coffee. Black. They have a really nice French roast here. This batch was roasted today. Fresh as it gets."

"I'm not really a black coffee sort of person," I pleaded.

"Yeah, because shitty coffee isn't any good. Try it. I made her make a new pot."

As usual, he was right. It was a lush variety of fruity chocolately flavors that all came together in this one glass of hot liquid. I almost spit it out because of how surprised I was. "What the f*ck am I drinking, Jack?"

His wry smile was as delicious as the drink. "People never drink any good coffee. Believe me. Some people live their whole lives drinking garbage. But this, this is bliss."

He was right in every possible way. I was sitting here in New York City, relaxing with Jack, sipping fresh coffee in the middle of the day—and everything was going to be all right.

Jack suddenly switched gears, his face becoming serious. "Effie, I just wanna say something."

"I do too," I interrupted.

A quizzical look emerged on his face. "Who goes first then?"

"Flip a coin?" I suggested.

He reached in his pocket and pulled out a gold dollar coin. "My lucky coin. A very famous person gave me this."

"Does that mean I'm gonna lose then?"

"There's a fifty-percent chance you'll lose. Heads or tails?"

"Heads."

He flipped it. I won.

"I want to work for you," I blurted out, my voice cutting off abruptly.

"You do?" he asked, cocking up one eyebrow.

"Yes. That's my decision."

"Well, shit," he said, resting his head on his hand.

Oh great, what now? Had he given away the job or something? Was this all just a fluke? "Well, shit what?" I asked.

"I was going to tell you that MCI is most likely just giving you your job back so you won't sue them. And I was going to once again recommend that you walk away and, well, work for me." He righted his posture, and grinned. "I'm selfish. I want you all to myself."

I leaned across the table and grabbed his neck, pulling his face—and lips of course—against mine. I dominated his mouth, dominated his tongue with my own. Both of us tasted like coffee, and that was fine by me.

"I feel the same way," I said after lowering back into my seat.

"You want you all to yourself? And I thought I was the narcissist."

I giggled. "Shut up, Jack. Also, I love you too."

He wrapped his fingers through mine and closed them tightly. "Good."

This was a brand-new start, and it really didn't seem that anything could go wrong.