THREE
Wednesday morning did not find Carla in a good mood.
It all started with her hair. Well, to be honest it started the day before. She had been busy in the office all day but as soon as it was closing hour, she called Brad. He hadn’t answered her calls. She left him several text and voice messages, but he replied to none of them. She called him long into the night, but he still ignored her. As a result, she had a restless night and woke up feeling very grouchy. Her first thought was that it was Jackson’s fault. If he hadn’t hoodwinked his way into having her work for him, she would be at Heights Publishing, admiring him from a distance and Brad would still be crashing at her house.
Carla knew it could have been worse if Jackson had been in the office on Tuesday. By some stroke of luck, he had an all-day engagement and she was saved the embarrassment of having to suffer his presence all day after what she had done the night before.
Of course, they were still going to Seattle together and Carla could only pray that she could behave naturally with him. So, she had no choice but to get up and pack for the trip.
She was getting ready in good time and then it was time to style her hair. Really, all she wanted to do was a simple style, something that would stay in place all day. It took the longest time for her to tame her long wild curls. She had the kind of hair that gave hairdressers nightmares as soon as she stepped into a salon. Unruly, tight curls and reaching past her shoulders at the back, her hair was the bane of her existence growing up. At twenty-eight, she had learned the art of putting the bright red curls under some semblance of control but today of all days, they just wouldn’t stay put. Hair flew everywhere and twenty minutes later, she knew that she was going to be late if she didn’t leave her room soon. Groaning in exhaustion and holding the tail of her hair with one hand, she searched in her drawers for a rubber band and finding one, she rolled her hair into it. The curls still looked horrible but at least, they weren’t in her face anymore.
She was fully dressed and ready to leave the apartment she shared with her best friend in another ten minutes. Unlike her friend, Sharon, she wasn’t really into makeup and only a dash of nude colored lipstick adorned her face as she grabbed her traveling bag to leave the apartment on a run. Pulling the door shut behind her Carla searched for her keys before coming up empty and rushing back inside. Ten minutes later, she found them sitting in the handbag she had wanted to carry with her on the trip before she changed her mind and chose another one. Knowing she had a tendency to lock herself out, it was the first thing she put in the bag last night after she got home. It was really stupid of her not to have remembered to put it back in when she chose another bag.
Mentally slapping herself, she quickly grabbed the keys and ran out of the apartment again. Now she was a good five minutes late – and it still took another eight minutes to drive to the office where they had agreed to meet so they could go to the airport together. Carla was never late. Working for Adrian, she couldn’t remember a time when she was late for work, for a meeting or for a trip.
Thinking of the apology she needed to make, she put the car key in and started the engine and… nothing. She turned the key again and the engine gave a small, pitiful sputter and died.
“Oh no!” she moaned.
It was a good thing her friend slash housemate was not around to witness this car failure. Sharon was a tour guide and had gone for a job that was taking the entire month; she would have had a good laugh at Carla if she was home. Her friend always teased her about her old Benz, but she loved the car – it was a gift from her father before he died – and she hadn’t wanted to give it up yet even though it had recently broken down twice. But she had had it fixed and Oslo, her mechanic had promised that it was as good as new.
“I’ll just kill Oslo the next time I see him,” Carla gritted her teeth.
Quickly, she got out of the car and fetched her mobile phone to call Jackson even as she dragged her bag behind her and began walking down the street. He picked on the first ring.
“Carla, where are you?” he said. His voice was quite cool compared to hers.
“My car developed a small fault,” she said hurriedly. “I’m rushing to take the 10 0’clock bus. I should be there in another fifteen.”
“That’s not going to cut it,” she heard Jackson say over the phone. “I’ll come get you.”
Before she could say anything, the call was disconnected, and she was left staring at it in bewilderment. Slowly, it occurred to her that perhaps, it would be for the best if he did come for her in his car – they could go together to the airport from here. It was already two minutes shy of ten and she was certain that she could not make it to the bus stop in that time. The bus would leave without her and she would have to wait again for another one. It was too terrible to imagine. Obviously, Jackson was thinking along the same lines.
Carla’s heart clenched in dread when she realized that Jackson had failed to ask for her address. However, she quickly remembered that a few seconds was all Jackson needed to check the company database for it. Sighing, she walked back the way she came and sat on her bag in the shade of a maple tree.
The street was quiet as she stared around. Her street was strictly residential and named for the maple trees that lined the edges. Residents on the street were middle class like her and they were always out at work in the early hours of the morning while the kids were in school. She should be at work too but because they were traveling, Jackson had allowed her to come in later. She hoped he wasn’t angry with her. If they didn’t arrive in time for the conference kick-off, it was going to be all her fault.
Soon, she saw his silver Cadillac turn into the street. The car glinted in the rays of the sun, announcing its presence already. Carla sat up and before the car had stopped fully, she had her bag in the trunk and she didn’t wait to be asked to get in before she did.
“I’m sorry,” she began as soon as she was beside Jackson in the back seat. The driver also wasted no time in turning the car around and moving on in the direction of the airport. “I had a really bad start this morning and…”
It took all of ten seconds to notice that Jackson was not listening to her. Instead, he was staring at her hair.
“What happened to your hair?” he asked.
She frowned at the question. “My hair?” her hand went up to touch a strand and she groaned in dismay to realize that some strands had escaped the rubber band.
“Bad hair day,” she explained grimly. “I’ll only take a minute.”
Ears burning in embarrassment at the unprofessionalism of her situation, she took off the rubber band, letting down her hair so she could have it re-bundled within the confines of the band. Her large mane covered her face completely and she was glad that she couldn’t see the expression on Jackson’s face. No doubt, he must already regret fighting his brother so hard to have her as his assistant.
Quickly, she worked the curls around to the back of her head and fought to have them held in place. She doubled up the band, so it would hold on well. When she was done, she was slightly out of breath and took a second to recoup before turning to face him again.
“Like I was saying, I am sorry…”
Jackson waved off her apology with an amused look on his face.
“I am more interested in knowing how you tame those curls whenever you come to the office, they usually look so prim and proper,” he said. “Or do you wear a wig? That seems to be the norm for ladies these days,” he added in a slow, deliberate knowing voice.
And he would know, wouldn’t he? Carla thought quite uncharitably. She was sure that he had taken one too many wigs off different ladies. He was eyeing her hair dubiously as if considering if what he was seeing at the moment was, in fact, a wig. Well, she wasn’t one of those ladies and she was quick to set the record straight
“No, I don’t wear a wig,” she told him smugly. “My hair normally cooperates with me. It simply chose not to today.”
“And that is a relief!” Jackson sighed dramatically. “I really hate wigs.”
The last was said on such a shudder that Carla laughed, immediately forgetting about her tardiness and rancor with him.
“And why is that?” she asked him.
“And you needed to ask,” he groaned. “Well, the thing is I have this really weird memory of my older sister having a lizard in her wig on her sweet sixteen. But of course, I had put it in there to torment her for asking me to stay out of her birthday party – I was only eleven, you see. But I only ended up disrupting the party and she took a long time forgiving me. I ended up hating wigs altogether.”
Carla couldn’t stop laughing. Somehow, she could imagine the eleven-year-old Jackson who was up to nothing but mischief.
“You must have been quite the mischievous kid,” she said smiling.
“Oh, you have no idea,” he said.
As they drove on to the airport, Jackson regaled her with tales of all the mischief he had been up to as a kid, and Carla marveled at this new side to him.