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Now that my unexpected move is almost over and I'm good from surgery, I'm going to get back on a regular posting schedule. Thanks for your patience!
I still can't believe she really meant it. I push my glass aside and grab the entire bottle of whiskey and take a long drink. A red circle on the calendar catches my eye as I set the bottle back down. The back crosses through each preceding date remind me I'm going to be forced to get through Valentine's Day. How can I forget? Pink and red heart everywhere. It's today.
What sadistic asshole decided to make a holiday dedicated to love named after a saint who needs quotes around the word? Oh yeah, Hallmark. Show her you love her with a goddamned card covered in flowers and the same prose thousand of other schmucks will pick up too. Really personal.
Sophie's card for Liz- no, Gail...Mrs. Jones...none of them feel right. A little card in a pink envelop for...her...waits on a shelf. I still can't tell my daughter the truth. What a shitty dad I am. She deserves better. God, just a few more days and there'll be another custody hearing. Marissa thinks she should get more child support. The attorney is ready to rake her across the coals for not even trying to get a job.
I don't want to think. This alcohol isn't helping anything. Careful, I stand up and stumble to the kitchen and reach up above the fridge to grab a paper bag. The boss would kill me if he knew, but fuck him and the horse he thinks he rode in on.
Somehow I get back to the couch and pull a piece of white paper to me and shake some green leaves out of the bag and grab the packet of rolling papers. I slightly crumble the herb, lay it in a row on the paper, and roll it up. I slick the joint between my lips, light it, and take a deep hit.
Almost immediately the tension in my head eases up. For the first time in 46 days I can breathe without my chest aching. Sooner or later this stuff will be legal. I lay money on Washington being the first state. Slowly I lean back and stare at the ceiling, looking for patterns in the popcorny stuff. Lazy, I reach out to the coffee table to find the stereo remote and hit the play button. I swear, "Dark Side of the Moon" is the best album to listen to while smoking. It's not listening to music. It's an experience.
Pure relaxation takes hold of me. As long as I don't think about Liz and what she might be doing tonight, I can make it until morning. An icy hand grabs my heart, but the heat of another drag melts it away. And another hit. And another. My head's swirling and finally I think I can sleep. I think my hand's moving in slow motion, but I don't know. It gets to the ash tray and smashes the last bit out.
I don't even care that I'm still dressed. My eye close, and I see how far forward I can count. I get to one, two, three, four, five, sex, no, six...
February passes in a haze. March. April. It's easier to call her Mrs. Jones. Every encounter with her has been nothing but cold professionalism. I think I'm more likely to get a hug from the boss than I am from her.
Grey's been occupied with some new piddly stuff at his dad's company. A goose chase is what he's on, but he's too self-important to realize that. At least it's keeping him busy. Some college kid has been pestering him for an interview, and he's pissed that the company gave her university a donation for some farm program.
His secretary's going to be sacked for scheduling the interview to happen. I realize how routine my life's become, how day in, day out, it is, when I realize I'm feeling a little excitement over this. I'll be the one giving her her walking papers today. Grey decided to wait until the interview was over. Hell if I know why.
Grey's office door's closed. I'm watching the bastard at his desk leaning over a book. I'm mildly curious what he's reading. But my phone vibrates and distracts me. I pull it out of my pocket, shocked that it's from Mrs. Jones. She hadn't sent me a message in a while.
Watch out for the girl today. Mr. Grey's got wandering hands.
Oh shit. I glance up at him, and he's staring at me.
"What's that?" he snaps?
I quickly double click and hit the first icon I see. "Angry Birds."
"That wasn't a text?" He raises an eyebrow, seemingly suspicious.
I shake my head. "Push notification, a heads up about a daily power-up."
His head cocks to the side. I don't think he believes me, so I shrug and look down, hoping to look innocent. With my left finger I fling the red birds. How appropriate. I need a bomb bird to get through the stones, but life gives me useless red birds.
"My interview's in fifteen," he says with a sigh and shucks his book. "Head down and keep an eye out for who she might be. College age, that's all I know. Send me a text when you see her. Let me know what she looks like and how she rates."
"Sure." Why can't I punch the guy for sending me to judge the fuckability of an unsuspecting college kid? Oh, right, my balls are in a vice grip. I force my eyes to not roll and head out of his office and down the elevator. I wait in the lobby until I see a young lady. She can't be more than eighteen. But no one else looks around the right age rang.
Purple dress, long brown hair, cute, I think you'd find her an 8.
If I could kick myself, I would. She's a lamb heading to the slaughter and I can't warn her. I watch helplessly as she steps into an elevator, grateful that another set of doors open before hers close. I hop into the second one and punch the boss's floor and press my thumb impatiently onto the button for closing the doors without waiting. Overhead the numbers light up one by one until I hit the right floor, and I say a prayer to a god I don't even believe in that she's not going to be there. But the doors glide open revealing her walking to the secretary.
I let the doors close instead of getting out and don't care where the box takes me. It goes only a floor down, then back up. Ah, great, a second look. Maybe she only stopped for directions. The doors glide open and I spot her tripping over nothing as she heads through his door. Shit. Shit.
There's nothing I can do but wait. So I get off and grab a seat to wait, and Angry Birds it is. I don't keep track of how long I play. I just do it. Play and wait. Play and wait. At last the door swings open and the girl steps out. I don't think he fucked her, but she looks stunned by something. Her mouth hangs open and she doesn't really see anything. Behind her Grey crooks his finger at me and I silently hurry through the door behind her back and he closes it.
"I expected a woman named Katherine Kavanagh. I got an Anastasia Steele." Grey sneers an keeps his eyes cast down.
I know he is thinking about another conquest. All he still has to do is give a command I hope doesn't come. Please let me be wrong and let that Anastasia girl be safe.
He steeples his fingers and taps his nose without looking at me. "Taylor, run a full scan on her. I don't want a single secret. So include financials on this one."
"Sir?"
Grey's hands drop to the table and he presses his palms down. "I want to know where she stands financially. Ms. Kavanagh was well-off. She wouldn't have been as fun. Ms. Steele might be a good match for me. I want a few months with her. But i need the details. All of them."
The air conditioner kicks on, dousing me in an icy blast. It matches the chill spreading through my veins. "Sir, this one seems a bit innocent to me. I watched her walk in and she didn't look comfortable in her own sk-"
"Stop." The boss's tone is harsh. "Take that file and go."
I should have known he won't listen. I bow my head, grab the file he's staring at, and back out of his office without another word. Well, the systems to invade privacy are all at his home, and he wants the info, so I head to the car, hop in, and force myself to think about the other cars on the road, the road itself, anything to alleviate the guilt I feel already at helping the lion prepare the lamb.
Quick as I safely can, I drive the vehicle to the Escala and rush upstairs. Please don't let her be-
I don't get the chance to finish my though. Mrs. Jones opens the door. A couple lines between her brows betray her calm demeanor.
"Jas- I'm sorry, Mr. Taylor, did he..." She opens the door wider to let me through and then closes it after I walk through.
I nod curtly. "It's someone else. She can't be far out of high school. Little thing, looked embarrassed to be there. Whoever was supposed to show up didn't."
"Dammit. I know he wasn't interested in who he was supposed to meet because her family's rich. Does he want to know the same about this one?"
I turn around and gawk at her. "How did you know that?"
Mrs. Jones smooths the front of her skirt. "Do you really think you're the only one he has run background checks on people?"
She's right, and I know it. There's no chance he's trusting either of us with everything. I can't really care less about that, but I care very much about the task at hand. Angry, I slap the folder on the spotless counter.
"What can I do, Liz? Should I lie?"
"Mrs. Jones," she corrects softly.
"Mrs. Jones," I repeat, noting the edge in my own voice.
She sighs. "Please don't be mad. You know why we're using formalities."
Yeah, I know. Distance. I'm already feeling unease having to do this bad deed for the boss, and I don't need to feel the stab of her forcing space when I need someone to talk to. I snatch up the folder and storm down the hall to my office and slam the door behind me. Huffing and clenching my jaw, I move the mouse to wake up my computer, click on an icon to open a new file, and start flipping through the few pages in the folder.
Quieter than a whisper, I speak to air. "Miss Steele, if you know what's good for you, you'll run. Please forgive me for what I'm about to do to you, and please, please run."