Chapter 13
April
I thought about those things he told me all the way home. I thought about them as I logged onto Dragon Epoch, and I thought about them the entire time I played. I thought about them as I lay in bed at two in the morning, unable to sleep, in spite of the fact that I had to be up at 4:30.
I couldn’t stop thinking about them. Somewhere along the line you learned that you aren’t worth standing up for. I struggled against those words, resisted them. Told myself, what the hell does he know? He hardly knew anything about me. But the more I thought about them, the more I decided they were true.
About me. About how I dealt with my friends, my parents. Especially my parents. When I was upset with them, I avoided them until it was impossible to no longer do that. But I never told them what I was thinking. Other people’s feelings and opinions are more valuable than your own. Because I didn’t want to hurt their feelings or make them feel bad, I allowed myself to continue feeling bad instead.
But how…how had he done that? How on earth had he seen what I couldn’t see myself? You keep those feelings inside and show the world a brave face.
I tossed and turned all night, haunted by his words. And because of my freakin’ insane notion that I needed to be at work earlier than expected, I was actually wandering the halls of Draco Multimedia before six in the morning on less than two hours’ sleep.
The light filtering in from outside was watery and dim—as dim as I felt, actually. I went to the cafeteria for some much-needed coffee, which was about all they served at this hour. I was surprised to see other early risers there, too, sitting at some of the dozen or so round tables in the breakroom.
As I grabbed my coffee and fixed it up with some cream and sweetener, I noticed a couple of people seated nearby, laughing and talking and sounding far too perky for this early in the morning. On a second glance, I noticed it was Mia and Adam’s cousin, William, whom I’d met in the alley behind Le Chat Noir a few nights before. He looked over my way and Mia followed his gaze. When she saw me, the smile melted off her face and she turned her gaze away, stirring her coffee. I waved at William and smiled. He smiled back briefly.
Seeing Mia again reminded me of the blown chance at an apology. I’d perfected that thing in my mind since then, running it through different variations. I’d been waiting for another chance, but too afraid to force the issue.
But Jordan’s words yesterday…I hadn’t stopped thinking about them. The more they’d sunk in, the more they’d marinated my thoughts.
I’d let Cari railroad my one chance at talking to Mia and apologizing for my past rude behavior. I could make up for that now—if I didn’t chicken out. I could at least make this right even if I could never right the wrong I had done to Falco.
So with a deep breath, I screwed up my courage and walked over to the table.
“Morning, Mia, William…”
They both looked up at me, surprised. “Good morning,” William said.
“Why is anyone in their right mind here this early?” I asked.
“This is our morning to have breakfast together,” William explained. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t look at Mia, either.
Mia cleared her throat and spoke up. “It was a little bit of a tradition for us to have lunch together when I worked here. But I’m starting school soon, so I won’t be able to do it much longer unless we meet really early before class. We’re trying it out to get used to it.”
“Good to know somebody’s here voluntarily. I’m just being dragged along on a meeting with the Beast.”
Mia almost spit out her coffee and William glanced at me out of the corner of his eyes, smiling. I sank down in the seat across from him. “Mind if I sit for a minute before he gets here?”
“Sure. William was telling me about the incident at the bar.”
My face flushed hot. “Uh, what incident?”
“About how Jordan thought it would be a great idea to ‘educate’ William in how to meet women at a bar.”
I cracked a smile. “Oh, is that what he was doing?” I turned to William. “Did he give you any good pointers?”
William scowled. “I should have known better than to ask Jordan to take anything seriously.”
Mia laughed. “Yeah, what were you even thinking by asking him? Especially when it comes to women. He’s never had a serious relationship. He just wants hookups with hot models.”
I blinked, thinking about what happened at his house and at the bar the other night. Was that all it had been with me, too? Had he just been bored or horny or both? I tried not to think about that. Plus, I wasn’t here about Jordan anyway.
“I hate to intrude on your time together,” I said quietly. “But, I was wondering if…I was wondering if…”
They both looked at me as if I were having some kind of seizure. It felt like I was.
I cleared my throat. “Mia, could I talk to you for a minute?”
Mia’s features registered slight surprise and she glanced at William. He frowned and looked at his watch. “We have five more minutes of our breakfast…” he began.
“Oh, I don’t want to cut things short.” I tried to disguise my disappointment.
Mia pushed an opened box toward Adam’s cousin. It had fruit and yogurt and a pastry in it. “William, could you do me a favor and spend those last five minutes putting this on Adam’s desk? He’s going to be in soon. I left before him so he wouldn’t think I was following him on that damn motorcycle, even though I wanted to.”
William shook his head. “I still don’t understand why he bought it.”
“Neither do I.” She sighed. “If he’s already made it here in one piece, tell him I’ll be over in a few.”
William rose, picked up his trash and disposed of it. Then he took the box of food and said goodbye to Mia.
Mia sent me a curious glance as I watched William go and then straightened in her seat. I bit my lip and turned to her. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to lift out of my chest and fly away.
I briefly relived that moment three months ago. We were at a charity event at Adam’s house, and Cari and I had stood on the porch scoping out Adam—her favorite activity—remarking how he was chatting up a swimsuit model when his girlfriend was nowhere to be seen.
Come to find out, Mia had been inside, probably trying to find the courage to make an appearance. At that point, no one had seen much of her since she’d gotten sick and she was probably self-conscious about her looks. Our thoughtless remarks had only made the situation worse, I imagined.
“Uh...”
“I know what you’re going to say,” Mia said.
“You—you do?”
She nodded. “You don’t need to.”
“I do need to. I’ve felt like crap since the day of that party…”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Because I overheard you?”
I blinked. “Yes. That was part of it. But also because it made me feel really crappy to say those things.”
Her mouth quirked. “Makes sense. I assume people who talk like that are doing so because of their own issues.” She held up a hand. “I’m not perfect, either. I’ve done my fair share of hating.”
“Mia, I’m really sorry. You were so sick, and—it just wasn’t right for us to be talking like that.”
Her mouth thinned. “Apology accepted. You don’t have to feel bad anymore.”
I took a deep breath and let it go, somewhat but not fully relieved.
“I want you to know… well, sometimes it’s really hard to stand up to that crowd, you know?”
She nodded knowingly. “Cari is a bit of a force of nature.”
“She honestly scares the crap out of me.”
Mia laughed. “I think she scares the crap out of everyone.”
I smiled and then sobered. “It’s always been hard for me to stand up to people. When I was younger, I was the one people picked on. I know how that feels. I’m—I’m sorry. I’m sorry that it felt easier for me to go along with them instead of going with what felt good in my gut.”
Mia tilted her head, looking at me as if noticing something new and different. “Huh, and all this time I thought you were just like her.”
My face heated and I shrugged a shoulder, looking away. “You had a right to. That’s how I was acting.”
Mia frowned. “Don’t be down on yourself. Chalk it up as a lesson learned. Yeah, it was a shitty thing to say, and yeah, you girls ogling Adam twenty-four-seven was annoying, but I know you can’t help yourselves. He is damn hot.” She ended with a smirk.
I laughed. “He is hot. But he’s yours. So no more ogling from me. I can’t speak for the others though.”
“Yeah, you shouldn’t speak for them.” She grinned. “And you shouldn’t let them speak for you anymore.”
I remembered Jordan’s words and was emboldened. This warm feeling burned in the middle of my chest. I felt strong. “I know.”
“Women are stronger when we stand together rather than constantly trying to tear each other down.”
I took a breath and let it out. Boy, did I know that well. Mia didn’t know the mother I had. If she did, she’d probably understand me better.
Every time I’d shop with her, I was either too short or too fat or my coloring was wrong because I wasn’t the tall, willowy blonde that she was. Your father’s looks and my brains—talk about getting the short end of the stick in the gene pool.
“I hope we’re good now…” I said, raising my eyebrows in question.
Mia nodded. “Yeah, we’re good. Just be careful of Cari, okay?”
I was amazed at how accurate her warning was, despite it coming too late for me. “Thanks. I’ve been trying to steer clear.”
“That’s probably the wisest thing to do.”
I shifted and smiled again. “Can I ask you a favor?”
She raised her brows, nodding.
“Jordan has assigned me a project and I’m hoping he approves it. I want to document what it’s like for a non-gamer to get into a game like Dragon Epoch—like what gets them interested initially and what keeps them playing. I’m the test subject, obviously… And I know you’re a gamer so I’d like your perspective.”
She smiled. “Sure.” She whipped out a piece of paper from her bag and wrote on it. “Send me an email and ask away.”
I took the paper. “Thank you. Just—thanks for everything.”
She shifted in her seat to gather her stuff. “You’re on your way out of here, I think,” she nodded toward the entrance of the cafeteria where Jordan loomed like a thundercloud—tall and sinfully handsome in a charcoal gray suit with an amber tie the only splash of color. Three-piece, no less, with a vest that hugged his trim, solid build.
I actually found myself catching my breath as my heart skipped a beat. He raised his brows at me expectantly. I stood, threw out the rest of my coffee—that stuff from the cafeteria really was crap—and thanked Mia. We walked toward the exit together.
“There you are,” he said when I made it to him.
Mia flashed him a thumbs-up, and he waved to her as she passed by on her way out of the cafeteria.
“What was that all about?” he asked while we walked out to the parking lot together.
I shrugged. “Just some unfinished business I had.”
He said nothing and I studied his handsome profile out of the corner of my eyes, that same warm feeling coming over me. I was proud of myself, but also grateful for his words that had given me the courage to apologize. I felt relieved and light as air. And if I didn’t think he’d give me some kind of snide reaction, I might have thanked him.
But I swallowed that notion. Not yet. We had a long drive ahead of us and it wouldn’t do to start it out with awkwardness. It was two and a half hours from here to Santa Barbara, good traffic willing.
We made our way to his parking space at the front of the lot, where—sure enough—there was a vintage-looking motorcycle in the CEO’s spot right next to his. Jordan’s car was a shiny new silver Range Rover with every extra feature known to mankind. It was a wonder it didn’t drive itself.
We stopped at a drive-thru Starbucks near the freeway on-ramp to fuel up on caffeine. I sipped at my double latte with an extra shot, no sugar. The strong, bitter taste, along with the mega dose of caffeine, helped to keep me awake.
We discussed my project for a few minutes, and he approved of me documenting my journey from “muggle” to full-blown geek, suggesting I give it a marketing angle by providing information on how to attract new players to the game. I took a few notes and then we fell into silence, so I pulled out my phone.
I read the rest of Pride and Prejudice as we stopped and started through LA traffic. There was quiet between us as he listened to the business report on the morning news radio show.
But somewhere around Thousand Oaks, as the traffic started to thin, Jordan’s phone buzzed with a text.
“Check that, will you? I want to make sure it’s not the asshole banker backing out on our meeting.”
Gingerly, I picked up his phone and saw the text that popped up on the notification screen. My brows climbed sky high as I read it.
“It’s not the banker,” I said.
“Oh? Who is it?”
“Uh…well, you have her in your contacts as Sexilicious Sondra.”
He snorted, but didn’t seem to want to know the contents of the text message. I provided them anyway. Because they were too juicy not to share.
“She wants to know if she left her pink fuzzy handcuffs at your place last time she was there.”
I enjoyed the slow creep of color up his neck from the collar of his dress shirt. Without looking at me, he reached up and held out his hand for the phone. I slipped it into his palm.
“You shouldn’t read it while you’re driving.”
“I’m not going to.” He set it down in its own little cubby specially designed to hold it.
“Sure you don’t want me to reply? You can just unlock it with your thumbprint, and I’ll let her know whether you still have her handcuffs or not. And I can tell her where she left her vibrator while I’m at it.” My cheeks started to hurt from the grin I was wearing.
“That’s okay,” he said between clenched teeth.
“It also showed that you had five other unread texts, but they had scrolled off—”
“All right, Weiss. I get it. You’re amused. Can we move on?”
“Well, you don’t want to keep your lady friends waiting. I’m very concerned that they might feel neglected.”
In truth, the idea of him with another woman made more than a little heat rise under my own collar. I clenched my jaw at that thought. Was I…was I jealous? I promptly told myself I was being silly and forced myself to ignore it.
“And in what way does that concern you?”
I shrugged, trying not to feel the sting those words caused. “It is in my best interests. If you have a lack of regular…companionship, you might get even grumpier than you already are.”
His jaw worked, but he kept his eyes on the road. “I liked it better when you were reading your book.”
I shrugged. “Okay. I’ll go back to reading, then.”
“You read a lot.” It was a statement, not a question. He glanced at me before returning his eyes to the road.
“Was that an observation or an insult?”
“What all do you read? Novels?”
“Sometimes novels. Sometimes non-fiction. I’ve been on an economics theory kick lately.”
“Freakonomics?”
“I love that one.”
“It figures.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Econ theory lovers are head games people.”
I shrugged because I had no real reply to that. Hell, I had no idea what he even meant by it. Did he mean playing head games on others? Or maybe I fooled myself with my own head games?
We rode on in silence for a few more miles, passing the city of Ventura. The highway turned and paralleled the ocean on our left. I found myself gazing out his side of the windshield at the sunlight reflecting on the water. The early morning coastal fog had begun to burn off, and it was going to be another glorious, sunny Southern California day.
And here I was, stuck in a car with the Grumpiest Boss on Earth. The hot, grumpy boss with hands more magical than anything JK Rowling could dream up in any of her Harry Potter books. Orgasmo Patronum. He hadn’t even needed a chant…just those hands. The thought of his hands brought back that fluttery feeling in the pit of my stomach.
My eyes dropped from gazing at the ocean to watching his hands on the steering wheel. They were big, with a light dusting of hair and prominent veins. I remembered what those hands felt like, threading through my hair, holding my head in place while he kissed me.
I flushed hot, and almost as if he could read my thoughts, his head turned. “Are you warm? Do you need the air on?”
He reached out and cut the heater on my seat.
I shook my head, shot him a glance and then turned toward my window, away from him, watching the scrubby coastal hills out the right side of the car.
“So, uh, should we talk about what happened the other night in the alley?” I finally heard myself ask. It was a question that had been nagging at me ever since it had happened. But I hadn’t overtly planned on uttering it out loud.
He was silent for another stretch of time while the Range Rover ate up the miles with its smooth glide along the highway. I didn’t dare look at him, nor did I even move. I was too afraid he’d snap my head off.
Finally, he let out a sigh. “It shouldn’t have happened and it won’t happen again. I apologize.”
I frowned. That wasn’t what I’d wanted him to say. Maybe something like, “You’re so hot and sexy I couldn’t keep my hands off you.” Or, “I hate you because you are beautiful.” Or, “In vain I have struggled, it will not do. My feelings will not be repressed…You must allow me to tell you how ardently I want to fuck you.” My mouth quirked at my modern take on Mr. Darcy’s classic words. Yes, those would do nicely.
Instead, I’d gotten a curt apology. Like he had belched in my presence instead of hand delivering an amazing orgasm. That thought made me laugh. And when the laugh bubbled up, it could not be repressed—much like Mr. Darcy’s feelings. The laugh gurgled up and over like lava spilling from a volcano.
Soon, I was laughing so hard I was crying, and the more my hilarity increased, the grumpier he got. It started with a frown, then he squeezed the steering wheel, shifting in his seat. Meanwhile, I was wiping tears from my eyes with the back of my hand. By the time I managed to calm down, he’d affected a full-blown scowl.
“So that’s what I get for my apology?”
“Oh, that was an apology? ‘Sorry, ma’am, for the orgasm. It won’t happen again.’ Is that your usual MO? Did Sexilicious Sondra get an apology from you after you cuffed her to the bed and made her scream your name?”
Now he was red-faced and shooting me a glare out of the corner of his eyes. “That is not what I meant. I meant that it wasn’t appropriate given our professional relationship.”
“Yes, Mr. Fawkes, you are very inappropriate. And now, thanks to Essie’s training, I know how to tell you that.”
“We’re here. Thank God.”
I glanced up and saw the sign for the Santa Barbara exits, then bit my lip before I started laughing again.
“What now?” he said as he flipped on the signal to change lanes.
“You still have to sit in the car with me all the way home. Maybe you’ll get some more text messages that I can read to you.”
I stared out the window again, attempting to control my laughter. Santa Barbara was a picturesque little city curved around a sparkling blue bay. Houses climbed toward the back hills, called “morrows” here. It was cultured, sophisticated and a great place for the city-bound to get away for the weekend. But we weren’t here for a romantic getaway, as much as the idea of doing something like that with the car’s other occupant might have had me feeling warm and fuzzy inside.
No, we were here for a stuffy business meeting.
Minutes later, we were in the parking lot of the investment banker’s office. Jordan got out and procured his suit jacket from where it hung on a hook in the back seat so it wouldn’t wrinkle. He proceeded to slip it on his broad shoulders and button it up, straightening his tie.
“Should I wait in the car or…?”
He made a face like I’d suggested I go dance around on the curb like one of those human billboards. “No. You’re coming inside as my assistant. Do you want to learn this shit, or are you just some trust fund brat going through the motions ‘til Daddy delivers you a fat wad of cash to live on?”
My eyes narrowed at him and my cheeks flamed. That was below the belt. His lips curved in a slight smile, as if he were satisfied with himself that he’d baited me. I’d let my feelings show that time. I was usually better at hiding them, but he seemed to bring out the worst in me—and what’s worse, he did it almost effortlessly.
I swallowed the irritation and glared heat-seeking missiles—daggers would not suffice—into his back as I followed him through the glass doors.
Within minutes, Jordan was introducing me to the banker, Wallace Holden, one of the team of bankers who would fund the initial set of shares for Draco’s IPO. As I took my seat, I watched Jordan smoothly sit down and unbutton his coat in one fluid motion. I pulled out my notebook and poised my pen over a blank page, ready to take notes or create a bulleted action list or do something that might make me appear more like an official assistant.
Despite his formal dress, Jordan affected a casual posture, sitting back and resting an ankle across his opposite knee. With a grin, he began to chat up Wallace—whom he called Wally.
“So I saw that your boy’s baseball team made State. He must be over the moon. Are the scouts coming around for a possible scholarship? Heard he’s got an amazing arm.”
Jordan knew stuff about Wally’s kids, his wife—even his last golf game. I watched him under my lashes. He was a smooth operator. They spent twenty minutes talking about Wally and his life, and Jordan seemed intensely interested in all of it. In the end, they only spent ten minutes on business.
“So what’s the status on your initial public offering?” Wally finally asked.
“We’re a go,” Jordan beamed. “My CEO couldn’t be more excited.”
Wally’s brows twitched in surprise. “I’ve heard your CEO is a little…tight on the reins. Is he going to give us anything more than a tiny slice of the shares to list with?”
Jordan waved his hands. “Adam is thrilled about the IPO and can’t wait. He’s got big plans. Amazing plans. The kid is a genius, and not just because he lets me take care of the business side of things,” he said with a wink. “He’s a visionary and, let me tell you, he’s light-years ahead of the rest of us.”
As I watched him ease the banker’s ruffled feathers, I couldn’t help but wonder if his smooth reputation with women wasn’t based on the same principles with which he conducted business. Telling people what they wanted to hear could be as much an art as anything else.
In the end, Wally’s fears seemed allayed and we walked out after shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries. In the parking lot, Jordan took off his coat, rehung it and pulled off his tie, unbuttoning his collar.
I watched him with a frown. He stopped and quirked a brow at me. “What?”
“How’d you know all that stuff about him? His kids—family?”
He shrugged. “Social media. And I have some people...” He glanced away. “Collecting info in this day and age is not difficult. But I’m no cyberstalker.”
“You have people, do you?” He sounded like my dad, and I was a little uneasy about that comparison. The less I thought about my dad these days, the better.
He gave me a canny smile and opened the door, sliding into his seat. I slid in beside him, turned and folded my arms across my chest. “Did you collect information on me?”
That glib smile froze and his eyes looked a little panicked for a split second before he turned back toward the wheel, laughing it off.
“You did, didn’t you?”
“You are the creator of a PR situation for my company, Weiss. Does that surprise you?”
Biting my bottom lip, I shrugged. “I’m sure you didn’t find out much, considering I’m rather boring. I’m one hundred percent positive it wasn’t worth the effort it took.”
A brief frown crossed his features before he glanced at the time and sighed. “Well, that was a huge pain in the ass drive to shoot the shit with a skittish banker for thirty minutes. Sometimes I hate this job.”
“You could have taken the train up and had a driver bring you over from the train station. Then you could have gotten some work done.”
He scowled at me. “Last I checked, this is California. We drive everywhere ourselves. Even when we are rich enough to have drivers. It’s part of our culture. Plus, I needed to get my ass out of the office. And I needed to get your ass out of the office, too.”
“My ass? Why would you—?” I cut myself off as understanding dawned. “Oh…you were afraid I was going to confess to Adam while you were gone.”
He touched his nose and winked at me.
“We have another stop to make before heading back down south. I’d planned on this before I knew I was bringing you. So you are just going to have to humor me because if I back out, there will be hell to pay.”
I raised my brow. Was he checking in with one of his ladyloves? Because if so, I wanted no part of that.
My stomach growled. He laughed. “And lunch is included.”
We headed into the city and through the quaint downtown before driving to a middle-class residential area on the outskirts. Soon, we’d pulled into the driveway of a modest-looking bungalow-style house. I puzzled this one out as I slipped out of my seat and followed him to the front door.
He knocked loudly and then turned the knob, calling into the house, “Pop? It’s Jordan.”
There was a call from the back of the house, and Jordan opened the door for me to precede him. The house was decorated in an understated style that was a little outdated and had a feminine, homey touch to it. I glanced around, taking in the large, pastel lampshades, an art deco-style mirror, a few antique pieces, and a big, overstuffed suede couch.
A tall, thin man appeared. He looked like a sixty or seventy-year-old version of Jordan, wearing a sweater and corduroy pants. He immediately clasped Jordan in a bear hug.
“Well, it’s about time you got up here to see me,” he said. The older man caught sight of me over Jordan’s shoulder and his eyes widened. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing a lovely lady with you.”
Jordan stepped back and turned toward me, appearing embarrassed. “She’s my assistant, Pop. April, this is my grandpa, Reverend Gerald Fawkes.”
Reverend? Jordan’s grandpa was a minister? How…strange and ironic that was. I wondered if he had any idea what a tomcat his grandson was. I stepped forward and gave him my biggest smile as I shook his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, sir. I’m April Weiss.”
“Are you hungry, Miss April? Because I made lunch and it’s a lot of food, even for Jordan.”
“I’m not sixteen anymore. I don’t eat like I used to.”
“Not even my homemade shepherd’s pie?”
Jordan grinned. “Okay, you might have me there. I think I’m drooling.”
“Give me a few minutes. Sit down at the table. And be a gentleman, please, and pull out the chair for Miss April.”
Jordan rolled his eyes and his grandfather scoffed. The older man was adorable, and I giggled as Jordan did exactly as his grandfather asked with a long-suffering sigh. “So your grandpa lives here? Susan said you grew up in San Luis Obispo.”
“I did. My parents are still in SLO. My grandpa had his ministry here until he retired.” He pronounced SLO like “slow”—as many from the area referred to it.
“What a pretty place to live and work. What denomination did he minister for?”
“Methodist. And I swear if you crack any jokes about it, Weiss—” He had a playful smile on his sexy lips.
I kept my face as straight as I could manage. “Does that mean I can’t ask about his beliefs regarding fornication involving pink fuzzy handcuffs? My spiritual education is at stake.”
He only narrowed his eyes, but I could tell that he was trying to keep from laughing.
“It’s all right. You can laugh. You won’t spoil your reputation as Grumpiest Boss on Earth. But don’t think I’m not going to try and get some dirt on you from your grandpa.”
He shook his head. “You won’t get anywhere.”
“Ah, but I am half Jewish. We have our ways of wheedling the truth out of the most unlikely places.” Not that I was in tune with my Jewish half at all. It was pretty much the entirety of what I had in common with that part of my family.
I couldn’t deny the slight twinge I felt when I’d watched him hug his grandpa. Or when I watched other people connect with their family members. I had no real idea how that felt. So I joked about Jewish stereotypes instead and laughed it off, because putting the other person at ease was more important than my own feelings.
I stole a glance at him. Now that his words were in my head, they seemed to color my perception of all my interactions. I took a deep breath and met his gaze. Get out of my head, would you?
Jordan hopped up to help his grandpa bring in the plates and food. He soon reappeared carrying a fragrant casserole dish and placed it on the waiting trivet.
The shepherd’s pie—a casserole of meat, potatoes and cheese—was delicious, and the company, given that his grandpa’s presence had a mellowing effect on Jordan, was pleasant. Reverend Fawkes mentioned that it was an old family recipe, passed down from England. Legend had it that they were descendants of the infamous Guy Fawkes of the Gunpowder Plot. The man who’d tried to blow up Parliament hundreds of years ago.
Jordan rolled his eyes to the sky when his grandfather brought it up.
The Reverend turned to me. “Don’t pay any attention to him. He doesn’t like being reminded that he’s named after him.”
“What?”
Jordan grimaced. “My middle name is Guy. My father’s idea of a sick joke.”
“Don’t they burn Guy Fawkes in effigy in the UK?” I asked, thankful I’d been paying attention during my European studies class.
“Every November fifth,” Reverend Fawkes said. Then he leaned toward me conspiratorially. “It happens to be his birthday.”
I leaned back, laughing, and Jordan’s face clouded. “Okay, you have to admit, having the name Fawkes and being born on November fifth…I can totally see why your dad thought that was a sign.”
Jordan scowled and I remembered Susan’s words. Except the dad. There’s something up with his dad.
That joking reference had brought him some sort of unwanted feeling or memory. I wanted to reach out and touch his arm, but I stopped myself, my hand twitching atop the table.
The Reverend seemed to sense the sudden change in mood. “Let me get the pitcher of iced tea for refills.” He stood and went into the kitchen.
I smiled, trying to cheer him up. “You should have thought twice before bringing me to visit your grandpa. I’ll have all your secrets out of him soon.”
He opened his mouth to reply when the doorbell rang. Jordan’s grandpa called out to ask Jordan to get the door. He slid out of his seat, but before he could get there, the door opened. “Pop, we’re here!” a young lady called.
Jordan froze and they met each other’s gaze. She was about eighteen, tall and willowy with long, light brown hair and a pretty face. Upon seeing Jordan, she shrieked and leapt at him. “What are you doing here? I was wondering whose shiny new car that was!”
Jordan stiffened, gazing at the doorway she had left open. He wrapped an arm around her while she kissed his cheek. “Who’s we? Who are you here with?” he snapped.
She took a breath and stepped back, frowning. “Well, hello to you too, big bro. I’m with Mom and Dad, but no one said you were going to be here.” She flicked a curious glance my way before Jordan turned on his heel and stormed off to the kitchen.
We were stuck staring at each other for a long, awkward moment before I stood and walked around the table. “Hi, I’m April Weiss. I’m Jordan’s assistant.”
She and I both turned and gazed at the closed kitchen door where Jordan’s raised voice could be easily heard. Poor grandpa.
“I’m Hannah Fawkes. Little sister to the moody man. And I’m betting that my grandpa didn’t know you were coming or he would never have tried to pull this off.”
I opened my mouth to ask the question when two more people came through the open front door. I recognized them from the family photo on his desk as Jordan’s parents. His mom was slim, of medium height, with red hair that was cut short. Jordan’s dad looked like him—or vice versa, as I reminded myself. He had that distinguished thing going for him, and I was caught by the strong family resemblance of the three generations of Fawkes men. It was like looking at Jordan twenty-five years into the future and beyond.
Hannah waved toward them. “These are my parents,” she said. Then she turned to her dad. “Jordan’s here.”
The man scowled. “That explains the gas-guzzling, global-warming machine in the driveway,” he muttered.
Jordan had reentered on the tail end of that and tossed a glance at his dad before snapping up his keys. “Nice to see you, too.” Then he turned to me. “We’re going.”
I stood rooted to my spot, uncomfortable at being caught in the middle of the family drama. Jordan strode to the door without further acknowledging his father. His mom spun and went after him, catching his arm just inside the still open door. Reverend Fawkes reemerged from the kitchen with a ginormous chocolate cake on a glass cake stand and set it in the middle of the table.
“You want to explain this little stunt to me?” Jordan’s dad asked his grandfather.
“Simmer down and have a seat,” the Reverend replied affably. “All of you sit down. Maybe Carol can coax Jordan back to the table.”
My eyes flew to where Jordan and his mother were conversing in tense voices near the front door. Jordan’s body language was rigid, his hands in his pockets. His mother still had a hand on his arm, the other one gesturing to emphasize her point. I half wondered whether she and the grandfather had colluded to get father and son together in the same room. Maybe this was like a drug intervention or something.
And here I was, smack dab in the middle of a dysfunctional family reunion. Like I didn’t have enough family dysfunction in my own life.
I hurriedly gathered up the dirty lunch dishes and utensils from the table and took them to the kitchen. I paused for a moment before spotting a stack of dessert plates and forks. I grabbed them and carried them to the table.
The sooner the cake was cut and served, the sooner we could excuse ourselves, if necessary. Or maybe Jordan and his dad would be able to talk to each other. Maybe.
Most of the people were seated and now Jordan was slowly, reluctantly coming back to the table with a dark look on his face. The Reverend cut the cake as if nothing unusual had happened. Likely he was going through the motions to establish some semblance of normalcy. A family rift like this was painful for more than merely the two involved. It tore apart an entire family. Given the glares Jordan was now aiming at his grandfather, the man had risked a lot—and had likely lost.
We ate our cake in strained silence for a few minutes. Then, when people could no longer tolerate the tension, they started on a safe subject—me, apparently.
“So April, how long have you been working at Draco?” the Reverend began.
“Oh, well I spent six months in marketing and now I’ve been working as Jordan’s assistant for a month.”
Hannah frowned. “That’s a long internship. Are you there for the work experience or are you trying to get a job with the company?”
I smiled. “I’m headed to business school, I hope. Barring that, I’m really interested in theoretic economics.”
Jordan’s father—who I learned was named Grant Fawkes—snorted. “The world doesn’t need more corporate drones. You’d be better off studying theory and writing papers about it that no one will read.”
Jordan looked up from his cake long enough to glower at his father. Wow, these two really could not stand each other. What was the story there?
“So what do you do, Mr. Fawkes?” I asked to veer clear of whatever collision course those two were on.
“It’s Dr. Fawkes. I’m an associate professor of environmental engineering at Cal Poly, and I run a consulting firm on the side.”
That explained the ‘global-warming machine’ comment he’d made. I took a breath and released it.
“Where did you attend school, April?” Jordan’s mother asked.
“I just graduated from UCI last June. I want to go to UCLA for graduate school.” We fell into silence again and I picked at my chocolate cake. It was delicious but overly rich, and I’d had my fill of it after the first few bites. “So, uh…you must all be really proud of Jordan, that he’s speaking at the TED conference.”
All of their heads shot up, faces turned to the man in question. His fork froze in the process of bringing the next bite of cake to his mouth.
“You’re speaking at TED?” his mother asked first. “When?”
He took a deep breath, let it out and then shot me a look that could kill.
“In a few weeks,” I said when Jordan did not supply the answer. I was shocked that they didn’t know.
Hannah cleared her throat. “That’s awesome, bro. You’ll be like, famous and all that. What are you speaking on?”
“How to be a shallow, materialistic mega-consumer, I’d imagine,” said his dad.
“Actually, how to live your life singularly to spite your own parent,” Jordan inserted without pause.
Awkward.
“Will we be able to watch the speech?” his mom asked as if neither had spoken.
When Jordan didn’t answer, I did. “It live streams on the Internet with a slight delay, I think. You’ll be able to see it the day he delivers it. I’m sure the schedule is on the website.”
“And here I thought you were all wrapped up in your Wall Street money-grab,” said his dad with a sardonic smile.
“Grant,” the Reverend began. “Enough.”
Jordan’s father’s face flushed as he turned to the Reverend. “What did you expect from this little maneuver of yours, Dad? Happy unicorns dancing in the woods farting rainbows and butterflies?”
“Yeah,” Jordan snorted. “There’s no reasoning with fanatics.”
Grant’s head whipped around and he gave his son a dirty look. “The fanatic label is just a fence-sitter’s way of justifying his own cowardice.”
“There’s no fence-sitting over here. You and I are clearly on opposite sides of a very tall fence,” Jordan growled in return.
Oh, dear. I tried to think of an excuse that would get me out of this room as quickly as possible. The full frontal confrontation was making my nerves dance with flashbacks of my parents screaming at each other during practically every exchange I’d ever heard between them.
With a shaky breath, I stood and grabbed my plate, heading once again for the kitchen. I’d hide in there until it was over. A minute later, Jordan’s mother was standing beside me at the sink with her plate.
“I’m sorry about that. Neither of us figured that Jordan would bring someone with him.” Ah, so she was in on it too. “It wasn’t fair to catch you in the crossfire like that.”
I cleared my throat. “That must get really old during family gatherings for the holidays.”
She nodded. “They’re too much alike and both very stubborn. They’ve always butted heads, but it’s been particularly bad since—well, you probably don’t care about all the family dynamics.”
“I’ve got a lot of dynamics of my own to deal with.”
“You’re just up here doing your job and stepped into family drama, completely unaware.” She put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m really sorry. I hope that he’s being a good boss to you?”
“Uh. Yeah. He’s teaching me a lot. There’s—”
I was cut off when the door to the kitchen opened. With that same perpetual scowl, Jordan stalked into the kitchen straight toward me. “We’re going now.”
“Jordan,” his mom began.
“Not now, okay? We can talk later.”
“You’re upset.”
Jordan rubbed at his jaw. “I’m pretty pissed, yeah.”
“I’m, uh, gonna give you two a minute. I’ll be out in the car,” I said.
I left the room, then said my goodbyes to Jordan’s other family members. The Reverend walked me to the door and I promptly fled to the safety of Jordan’s shiny new SUV, not giving a shit about the fact that it guzzled gas and caused global warming.