I asked her to sit and didn't gesture to the red couch as it was full of too many memories and could usher in surprises.
"So, I read your article and you could have left Elena out of it, but you didn't," I said about the woman whom she had informed me of the night of the Mandy awards dinner. As I spoke, I realized I hadn't worn power red this time. Was I feeling more comfortable around Jane again? I remained standing which probably suggested I still needed to feel some semblance of control.
Jane told me that she hadn't meant to cause pain but that the story came first. She was empathetic while maintaining professionalism.
"I know it's not my fault what happened to Elena, but I never considered that there would be others after me. I managed to convince myself that it would never happen again. Your article pushed me to face the fact that it did."
She looked at me with kind eyes and genuine concern. I told her that I reached out to Elena and that we were going to work together. Did Jane believe me? She was surprised or so my history of playing poker told me.
"When you came here asking for your job back, you were in a place of fear. And when I said you weren't ready to return to Scarlet, I meant that. But this article and the Jane that I've seen in the last few days is not fearful at all."
I leaned forward with my hands on the desk and looked deep into her eyes.
"I want you back at Scarlet, Jane. If you're interested."
You could have knocked her over with a feather.
"We've missed you," I tilted my head and committed to my words, "I have missed you."
It took some time for my offer to set in. Understandably, Jane didn't seem to grasp why I had said no to her only to turn around and offer her the job. Her overall countenance told me she was relieved. I, too, was relieved. Not only would she be back and actively improving the magazine, I wouldn't have to worry about how she was faring in the cutthroat freelance world. My need to have her close was still eating at me.
When Jane left my office, I heard her exchange words with Andrew who seemed very annoyed afterward and then she made her way across the bullpen in the direction of the fashion closet. I couldn't help but chuckle. No doubt Kat and Sutton would be there waiting.
At least the trips to the fashion closet by Kat and Sutton to take calls from Jane would be cut down.
###
I hired Jane back without us having a conversation about my response to her follow-up article. Perhaps my teaming up with Elena said all that there was to say. We fell right back into our professional relationship with pitch meetings, spontaneous discussions about edits and seeing one another every day in the office.
It felt right having Jane back. It had been two weeks with her there and everything felt as it had before she left. It was one of the few things in my life that currently felt right. And perhaps that is why I texted her from a quiet bar in Harlem.
Are you busy? I typed, hesitating before hitting send.
Not at all. What's up? she responded in a matter of milliseconds.
If I send you an address, could you… Never mind. Forget I texted you.
My bravery had its limits, apparently.
Send me the address. I'm leaving now, she responded with the bravery I lacked.
I sent her the address and continued nursing my drink. Thankfully I had been numbing my feelings for long enough that any anxiety about Jane's arrival didn't surface. I was able to enjoy my drink while lost in thought. I remained that way for twenty minutes.
"Hey," Jane said quietly behind me as she moved to sit down on the stool next to where she found me sitting. There was no mistaking her looking me up and down and then taking stock of the drink sitting on the bar next to my phone.
"What can I get you, love?" The bartender's gravelly voice barely got Jane's attention.
"Oh, um, a 7up," she said.
"As you wish," the butch bartender said as she winked at Jane.
Once the drink was sitting before her and my own glass had been refilled, I caught the blush on Jane's cheeks. She was either embarrassed or flattered by the woman's attention, perhaps both.
"I have been here for nearly two hours and not a single person has hit on me," I joked, attempting to break the ice. I had no idea if it would work given that my head was muddled by alcohol.
Jane smirked before leaning in and speaking flirtatiously: "do you come here often?"
I laughed right out loud. Howled, really.
"Now you can't say you haven't been hit on," she smiled before fiddling with her straw and taking a drink.
"Sincerely or not," I hummed as I swirled the liquid around in my glass. She looked at me and I could have sworn there was something there that was trying to tell me that it had been sincere, albeit for a laugh.
"Macallan?" she asked as she nodded toward my glass.
"18 year," I answered with the understanding that she wasn't going to elaborate.
"Hmm…" she didn't look at me and I knew that meant she was thinking. "How did you get here? And where exactly is here? This can't be your usual watering hole."
"Believe it or not, I don't have a usual place. I do most of my imbibing at home, the office or galas and parties. I can't remember the last time I sat at a bar and drank," I grasped the edge of the bar and twisted slightly on the stool. "I drove myself."
"You drive?" she asked, mouth hanging open.
I laughed and turned my head to look at the wide-eyed brunette.
"Of course I drive. I haven't always had a car service," I nudged her shoulder and the second we touched I felt a spark that I knew it best I do everything in my power to ignore.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
I swallowed the rest of my drink in one go and let out a shaky breath, looking straight ahead.
"You certainly don't have to," she continued. "I thought you might need to. But I can sit here and keep you company and when you are ready to go, I'll see that you get home safely."
"What did I ever do to deserve you, Jane Sloan?" I said a bit louder than I had meant to.
Jane blushed once again; I knew the volume of my voice was not the cause.
"Jacqueline, what's going on?" she looked at her drink, at her fingers and everywhere but my face. That made it hard to determine exactly what she was asking me to reveal. That and the now six pours I had consumed.
"Ian moved out," I blurted and then closed my eyes in instant regret. Why was I telling her this? To explain why I was sitting at a bar getting closer and closer to drunk? It didn't actually explain why I was there. It was a fact. Not the only fact, but a fact.
"Oh, Jacqueline. I'm so sorry," she grabbed my hand and held it. "I assume this is why you were alone at the awards dinner?"
I nodded and looked down at our hands. She let go as if she had suddenly realized she had overstepped.
"He is still upset you told your story?" she shook her head and clenched her teeth.
I nodded again. She continued to shake her head without saying anything.
"What?" I tried to hide the reticence in my voice.
"It's not my place."
She looked into her drink as she stirred the ice with her straw.
"Jane, I sent you a text asking you to come pick me up from a random bar on a work night with absolutely no explanation. I have shared my trauma with you, allowed you to share my story with countless readers and you are the only person I have told that my husband has left me. Let's not bother with what is or isn't your place, okay?" I realized my voice was sharper than I intended when she nodded quietly. "I'm sorry."
"You don't have to be sorry, Jac. You certainly don't owe me an apology. I want you to be able to say whatever you need to."
This time I nodded quietly. I didn't look at her because I feared what she might see in my eyes. Emotions were swirling within me and a lot of them had to do with this young woman who meant so much to me. When I told Kat I cared for Jane, I could easily have said I cared deeply. How she might have interpreted that is what stopped me. If I don't know how to interpret that degree of care, she certainly wouldn't have been able to.
"How are the boys doing with everything?" she asked gently.
I sighed before looking over to find her eyes on me. Tears welled in my eyes. Her hand softly grasped my forearm.
"They are confused. James understands more than Connor. He recognizes what caused the recent fighting. He's a very perceptive kid. He knows that my deciding to let go of my past so publicly is only one in a series of flashpoints."
I felt the hand on my forearm tracing comforting patterns there and I relaxed. The tears fell and I quickly wiped them away.
"And aside from the whole sitting in a random bar drinking them out of scotch, how are you holding up?" she had a wry smile.
I placed my hand over hers where it stilled on my forearm.
"There are moments when I am angry enough that I want to scream. There are others, particularly when I'm at work and focused, that I forget about my marriage entirely. And now, well, I'm grateful to have someone I trust to make sure I get home safely," I said the last bit as I turned my hand over and linked our fingers.
Jane looked at our hands before looking up at me. What she may have seen in my eyes was out of my control. I felt the heat; there was no denying it.
"Another 7Up?" the bartender's timing was terrible and unexpected. Jane jumped. She shook her head, never once looking up at the stranger. The doting bartender looked at me with a sheepish and apologetic smile. She was misreading our position as her smile appeared to be apologizing to me for having hit on Jane. In the few seconds this interaction occurred, Jane never let go of my hand and never looked at the bartender.
"It is getting late," I said. "Let's get out of here."
If Jane was thrown by my sudden desire to go home, she didn't let on. She allowed me to pay for her drink and never once looked back at the bartender who watched us closely as we left. Perhaps she was too focused on directing me to the exit with her hand at the small of my back. She may have been focused, but I was swimming in mind-muddling scotch and the warmth of her hand on me.
There was also the minor matter of what exactly would happen when she got me to my destination.
To be continued…