Before I Ever Met You

“Bunch of stoners?”


I grin at her. “You’ve got that right. But that’s on par with animation.”

“And you used to do animation?” She pauses, a devilish look coming over her. “I called them cartoons earlier and I thought Alyssa was going to have my head.”

Now I’m laughing. “Oh god. Yeah. Cartoons. They won’t let you forget that one. But honestly, it’s sometimes what I think of them. I quit drawing back in my early twenties. Went to Vancouver Film School, but just didn’t have what it took. So I stuck to being a production assistant and it’s eventually where I met your father, on set.”

She watches me carefully, like she’s inspecting every line on my face. It’s almost unnerving. “How old are you?”

“How old are you?” I fire back. Can’t help myself.

“I’m twenty-five.”

“I am not twenty-five.”

She stares at me expectantly.

“Forty-one,” I tell her, and I immediately hate how old I sound. Honestly, I know forty-one isn’t old and I have to say I’ve never felt old, except when I’m playing ice hockey these days on the pick-up team.

“That’s a good age,” she says. “Gregory Peck was forty-one when he made On the Beach.”

I cock my brow. This one is full of surprises. “Kid, I’m not sure if I should be flattered that you’ve compared me to Mr. Peck, or concerned considering that’s one of the most depressing and scary films you’ll ever see.”

“How about you don’t call me kid. It’s just Jackie.”

“All right, Just Jackie.”

If she was annoyed at all about the kid comment, it’s melted away into something softer. “I’ll keep calling you Mr. McAlister . . .”

I shrug, pretending not to care. “Fine with me kid, it gives me an air of authority that’s sorely needed around here.”

She sighs and starts walking off with Sprocket. I pull on Joanie’s leash and hurry up alongside her, waiting at the light to cross the street.

It’s then that I notice the top button on her blouse has popped open, showcasing some gorgeous cleavage. Fuck. Her skin looks like cream.

She looks up at me and I avert my eyes just in the nick of time.

“I guess I shouldn’t complain,” she says.

“About what?” Don’t look down her shirt, Will. Don’t be that boss.

“I’ll take whatever name I can get. I’ve been just mom for so long. Not that I’m complaining at all, but it just feels like I’m two people. There’s mom. Or Ty’s mother. And then there’s Jackie. Or Just Jackie, or kid, or whatever else people want to call me. It’s just weird to be split like that sometimes.” She pauses giving me a quick smile. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be unloading this on you.”

Are you kidding me? I think. I want nothing more than for her to keep talking about herself. Unload all of it.

“Don’t worry about it,” I tell her as we start crossing the busy street, navigating around the pedestrians. “The more I know about you, the better we’ll work together. We’re a team, you got that? You’re a fish out of water, so am I. That’s probably why your father put us together. We’ll both figure it out at the same time.”

She starts laughing, so fucking adorable.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing. It’s just I was reminded of the first day of school, you know, or camp, where you get assigned a buddy.”

“That can work,” I tell her, coming to a stop by a bush that I know Joanie and Sprocket love to spend hours sniffing. It’s the dog equivalent of the water cooler.

I hold out my hand. “Buddies?”

She chews on her pink lower lip for a second, almost shyly, before sticking her hand out. “Buddies.”

I grasp her hand, giving it a good shake, knowing I should let go sooner rather than later. But, no, of course I’m holding on a bit longer than I should.

“Just don’t forget I can fire you,” I quickly add, letting go of her hand.

“I’ll try not to,” she says, flashing those dimples my way again.

I wait until she’s turned and walking away with Sprocket before I breathe in deep through my nose and try to compose myself.

Having an assistant might be a lot harder than I thought.





3





Jackie





“Well, well, well,” Tiffany says to me as I shrug on my jacket, about to leave the office.

“What?” I ask, looking myself over. It’s been a long-ass, busy day. I wouldn’t be surprised if I had coffee all over me or put my jacket on inside out.

“You survived your first week at work,” she says. “That’s no small feat.”

“Do I get a medal?”

“You get a pat on the back. That’s the best I can do.”

“Hell, I’ll take it.”

Somehow the week flew by. Maybe it’s because Mr. McAlister—I mean Will—is still reluctant to hand work off to me so I’ve got a pretty easy gig so far, or maybe it’s because everyone here has been really nice and welcoming, but Friday got here before I knew it.

Of course, it doesn’t really feel like a Friday to me.

Probably because Mr. . . . Will, is coming over for dinner tonight.

I’m waiting for Tiffany to say something about it. Maybe she doesn’t know. It’s better that way. Obviously there’s nothing abnormal about Will having dinner at his business partner’s house—from what mom said, it used to be quite the regular thing—but it just feels weird now that I’m his executive assistant. I mean normally your boss doesn’t come over for dinner after the first week of work.

Naturally, I’m nervous. My interactions with Will this week have been sporadic, usually him emailing me about something, though sometimes he’ll hover around my desk uncertainly, like he wants to ask me to do something but isn’t sure what. But with my dad being away all week, I have no idea what our dynamic is going to be like when we’re all together in the same room.

I’m about to tell Tiffany to have a good weekend and head out the door to catch my bus, when Alyssa comes scurrying into the reception area.

“Jackie,” she says in a hush, her eyes dancing, her low-cut shirt showing off ample amounts of boob. “You didn’t tell me that Mr. Hung was coming over to your house for dinner.”

“What?” Tiffany exclaims, staring at me accusingly.

“Mr. Hung?” I repeat.

They exchange a knowing look. “Yes,” Alyssa says. “One of our many nicknames for him. Along with Mr. Right.”

I blink at her.

“The two are related,” Tiffany says matter-of-factly, flashing a fake smile at Bob Cantu, the head accountant, as he walks past and out the door.