Chapter Three

 

Julie

Two weeks later…

 

"That is a fantastic bag," Bindi exclaims as I rush into the coffee shop. "It's huge."

"Thanks," I say, sounding as out-of-breath and exasperated as I feel.

"I have to admit, I'm surprised," she says. "I didn't peg you for someone who would be so on-trend. No offense."

"I don’t understand what you said well enough to be offended," I say. I brush a loose strand of hair off my face.

That's what I get for trying to put it up.

"Oversized bags are all the rage right now,” she says. “Hobo bags, carpet bag, weekend bags. They're the hottest thing.”

Are they?

"Well, to be honest with you, I couldn't care less if it’s fashionable or not. I found this bag shoved in the back of my mother's closet when I was sixteen. It was the only one I could find to fit all the shit I needed to bring with me today." I look at Bindi's somewhat vacuous but sweet face, instantly feeling guilty. "I'm sorry," I say as I shove my bag under the counter. It's not where I should store it, but it's where I will be able to access it most easily. "I'm just stressed."

"I can see that. What are you doing here this morning? I thought you had your big fancy grown-up job upstairs."

"I do. That would be the source of the stress. Andy was supposed to be in this morning, but he apparently got sick, or his aunt got sick, or his dog...I'm not entirely clear on the story. The voicemail sounded a little hysterical. What I did catch, though, was that I needed to open this morning and could leave 15 minutes before I'm due upstairs. Considering I worked late last night rather than taking a break between the office and the late shift here, then had to deal with the pipes in my apartment suddenly deciding to sing me the song of their people in the middle of the night, I didn't get much rest."

I keep telling the managers it doesn't make any sense for us to stay open as late as we do. The building owner is always bugging them about the extra security needed for keeping the lobby open so late, and we don't get a huge amount of business. It would make more sense to close a couple hours after the offices do. Or at least hire a couple more people.

“If you are so stressed and tired from working both jobs, why don’t you quit this one?”

I shake my head.

"I can’t," I say. "Frankly, I need the money. I'm trying to build up enough of a cushion to replenish my savings. Eventually, I can stop working here and concentrate on getting a life upgrade."

"Wow. Hurtful."

I sigh at Bindi as I tie my apron around my waist.

"Look, you are young. Really young. It might not seem like there is a huge age difference between us, but those are some really important years. You're still in that cozy time when you're an adult, but it's still OK to not have really settled down yet, and not be on your permanent career path. You're still finding your independence and making decisions about your future. I'm definitely on the downward slope of those years. A lot of people think I am well beyond the age when I should have gotten it together. I just really need to buckle down and find a more secure career where I can work toward a future I can be proud of."

Oh, dear lord. I sound like a walking public service announcement. Worse than that, I'm an after-school special. A poorly-written and confusing after-school special. It seems to have resonated with Bindi, though.

“Thank you,” she says with a smile. I feel validated.

Fantastic.

"I'm glad you understand," I say.

Bindi looks at me for a few more seconds.

"Julie," she says, "don't take this wrong."

Has anyone ever said anything that started with that phrase that wasn’t offensive?

"I just... Have you ever thought about changing up your look a little?"

Well then. That’s definitely not what I was expecting.

"My look?" I ask.

"Yeah," she says. "I mean, the nerdy look is in right now, but I feel like you might have taken it a few steps too far. You've got to do something to vamp it up a bit for it to be effective.

"I think for it to be effective, it would have to be a conscious decision. This is just what I look like. I'm an actual, genuine nerd."

I never thought I was going to have to explain that to someone. I have stick-straight, mousy brown hair, a complete lack of makeup skills, and brown eyes. Not to mention, my proclivity for layers of clothes and neutral colors push my bland look right over the edge.

The glint in Bindi's round blue eyes tells me I'm seconds away from becoming the unwilling subject of a makeover montage, but before she can say anything else, the door to the shop opens. We get to work pouring coffee and making drinks, and it's nearly an hour before I feel like I can take a breath again. The slight lull in the rush of customers gives me the opportunity to look around the shop. I don't know what is piquing my curiosity until my eyes fall on the man I noticed during my first week on the job. His big, powerful body fills out a surprising gray suit this morning, but his perfectly tousled hair and cocky expression are the same.

"Did they actually get my drink right?" He asks as a man I recognize as Conrad, one of the younger reps from the firm, approaches the table.

Conrad looks down at the cups in his hand, and then back at the man.

"I'm assuming so," he says.

"I've noticed a lot of people make that mistake on a stunningly frequent basis," Gray Suit says. "The last time I was in here, they weren't even capable of getting my coffee to me hot."

I feel a surge of outrage at this, and realize I feel protective of the coffee Bindi and I make. The implications of that are something I'm going to have to unpack later. For right now, I'm too drawn into the familiar details I still see in his face. I can't avoid noticing the sexy emerald color of his eyes, or how kissable his lips look. His arrogance, though, is more than enough to kill any physical appeal he has to offer.

"Well," Conrad says. "I'm not really sure. You're just going to have to try it."

The man rolls his eyes like he thinks he's entitled to a professional coffee taster to protect him from the horrors of inappropriately dispensed coffee. Accepting the cup Conrad holds out to him, he pops the top off before peering down into it.

Bindi steps up beside me, and I gesture with my head toward him.

"Who's that?" I ask.

She follows my gaze before gasping softly.

"I can't believe he's here again," she says. "I saw him here a few weeks ago, but I couldn't get up my nerve to talk to him."

"Why would you want to talk to him?" I ask.

"Well," she says, rolling her eyes theatrically. "Other than the obvious, he's sexy as hell."

"And has about a decade on you."

"Who cares? When a man looks like that, I don't care how old he is."

"What did you mean by other than the obvious?"

She looks at me as though everything I've told her this morning is causing her to question if I do, in fact, spend my nights under a large rock.

"How do you not know who that is?" she asks.

"I don’t know," I say. "That's why I asked you. He looks familiar, though."

"He should," she says. "He's only the pride of the city. The Crown Jewel of Philly."

She looks at me expectantly. I shake my head with a shrug.

"None of that means anything to me," I say.

She sidles up closer to me, leaning her head so she can drop her voice almost to a whisper.

"That's Shane Lawson," she says. She lets out a lingering sigh. "Couldn't you just get lost in those dreamy eyes?"

At the moment, all I can think about is how satisfying it would be if I grabbed a chocolate-dipped biscotti from the pastry display and jabbed it into one of his admittedly beautiful eyes.

Just hearing that name brings a spark of anger to my chest. Now I know why he looks so familiar. He's changed a lot in the last twelve years. I've only been in the same room with him once. Until he walked into the coffee shop, that is. What I remember is a teenager just on the edge of adulthood. His face was thinner then, and softer with youth. His body was narrower, without the massive muscles he has now. He made my heart flutter the day he walked into my house, laughing with my brother, his golden skin slick with sweat after their run. His eyes barely grazed across me then. I don't know if he even fully processed I existed, even after Joe introduced us. He was the college sophomore training for the football season, and I was the high school freshman curled up in an ugly 1970s recliner reading a tattered paperback in my thick-rimmed glasses.

I don't know why that was the first time he came to our house, but I'm glad it was the only time. Shane Lawson was Joe's best friend. He had been since their freshman year of high school. Now I remember him as the jackass who left my brother behind because he thinks his career and fame make him far too important for the hometown friend whose life was bashed off track when a drunk driver put the responsibility of raising his sister at his feet.

"It's a shame about him, don't you think?"

Bindi's voice snaps me back into reality.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

She looks at me in shock.

"Haven't you heard?" she asks. "Haven't you seen the news?"

"I don't really watch TV," I say. "Except for with Mrs. Livingston, but that's not exactly hard-hitting."

"You don't read it online?"

"I do my best to avoid the news lately," I admit. "There's far too much potential for depressing stories, and I really don't need that in my life. Not right now. And I'm not a football person, so I wouldn't follow him anyway."

Wait...did she even mention he's a football player?

Her eyes slide to me, and I feel like I've been caught. I choose to ignore it, and she finally looks back toward him.

"Apparently his ex-girlfriend came forward and says he physically abused her."

"Seriously?" I ask.

Bindi nods, her expression saying she is at once scandalized and delighted by the gossip.

"Seriously. Everyone’s been trying to figure out what happened to them since they broke up. I mean, Shane and Vanessa were a power couple. They were goals. Two ridiculously gorgeous people who have been together since college. With his career exploding like it did, everyone assumed he'd be popping the question soon. Make her his football queen, you know? A couple of tabloids even ran pictures of him in a jeweler. Then, suddenly, it was just over. No explanation. No stories. Nothing. Just one random statement from his agent – well, agent at the time – explaining that they had decided to go their separate ways and that the ex-couple was asking for privacy. Utmost respect. Loving separation. Fond memories. Blah blah blah. Anyway, no one's heard anything about it since."

"What do you mean agent at the time?"

Bindi looks at me with a devilish sparkle in her eyes.

"He fired him," she says.

"Fired him? His agent?"

"Yes. Remember I said Lawson's career was exploding? Well, after the breakup, there's been more of an implosion situation going on. Only a few weeks after the split, Vanessa started showing up at games and events with Bobby Kilmer."

"Who's Bobby Kilmer?"

"You really are disconnected from the world, aren't you?"

"Again, just not a football person."

"You're going to have to work on that if you actually want to do PR at some point."

"Not if I refuse to rep players."

"I guess that's true. Anyway, Bobby Kilmer is one of Shane's teammates. They used to be friends, but over the last couple of seasons, it seems like Kilmer is angling for his position."

"They can do that? I thought everybody had their own position and didn't really shift around."

"You'd think. Seems Kilmer doesn't agree, though. He's been heard talking about his glory days in high school and college, and how he only changed his position on the advice of his coach when he was younger. It got him drafted to the team, but he's been wanting to jump to the front of the line again, so to speak."

"And he's been dating Shane's ex?"

"Yep. Now she's making all this noise about Shane abusing her. It seems that's why the relationship ended so fast. She knew he was getting ready to propose to her, and just couldn't imagine a life being married to someone like him, so she bolted."

I'm horrified by what I'm hearing. I always knew Shane was conceited, arrogant, and full of himself, but I never would have thought he was capable of violence towards a woman. The reality of it sits heavy in my stomach, and I'm more disgusted by him than before.

I try to ignore Shane for the rest of the time he's in the coffee shop and am relieved when he leaves. The relief lasts only a few moments, though, before Bindi holds up her phone toward me.

"Don't you need to go?"

"Shit," I mutter, fumbling with the knot at the back of my apron.

I grab my bag out from under the counter, so I can change into my clothes for the office, when realization sinks in. Shane Lawson was sitting with my coworker. And when I first saw him, he was sitting with my boss. That means he's looking for a PR rep in the firm where I work.

Cringing, I rush to the restroom where I stuff myself into my office clothes. The mirror shows a flushed face and hair that has become somehow even more lifeless from the steam of the coffeemakers. I swipe a touch of powder across my slightly shiny nose, attempt to put my hair back into its bun, give up, and head toward the elevator. As it lifts me up toward the third floor, I try to convince myself it's not a big deal. I'm Mr. Slidell's secretary, after all. If he's working with Conrad, Shane won't have any reason to interact with me at the office. Hopefully, we'll just drift by one another, and not ever have to make actual contact.

That fragile little hope is blown all to hell as soon as the elevator doors open. I can already hear Conrad's voice coming down the hall toward me.

"I don't care who he is. I'm not working with him. You heard the way he talks to people. I'm not dealing with that. Find someone else."

"Conrad, this is your job."

"It was Millie's job, too, and she wouldn't take it. And he refused to work with Carlos. Your secretary quit because of him."

Well, this sounds like the morning is going fantastically already.

I skim past Conrad as he stalks down the hallway and slip behind my desk. Like every morning, a folder sits in the middle of the desk containing my work for the day. I open it, flipping through the documents inside. It looks like a fairly light day. I can't help but wonder if that has something to do with the drama seeming to surround Shane's appearance at the firm.

I've been working my way through the forms in my folder for about ten minutes when I sense someone stepping up to my desk. The hairs standing up on the back of my neck tell me who it is, and I don't want to look. I can't exactly stay hunched over my folder, pretending he's not there forever, though, so I look up, confirming my suspicions.

Shane's expression is the same cocky half-smile as in the coffee shop. My stomach turns just looking at him, but I also feel that same flutter in my heart from when I peered at him over the frames of my glasses. I've upgraded my glasses to a more fashionable pair, at Bindi’s request, and I chastise my heart for not keeping up with the times as well. I shouldn't have even a hint of attraction to this man. I chalk it up to stupid involuntary biological urges and continue to glare at him.

"Hey," he said. "It's you."

Does he know who I am? How could he recognize me that fast?

"Thank you for clarifying that for me?"

"This is pretty convenient. The coffee girl right in the office."

Nope. Just a cocky jerk. Like always.

"Excuse me?"

"Can you go ahead and grab me my regular when you get a chance?"

I'm seething. But I won’t give him the satisfaction of losing my cool, and possibly my new job, in front of him.

Shane scoffs, and I see Mr. Slidell come toward us.

"There you are, Mr. Lawson. If you'll come with me, we can talk in my office." Mr. Slidell turns his attention to me. "Julie, could you run and fetch Mr. Lawson some coffee?"

Son of a bitch.

Getting coffee is part of my job here, too. Shit.

"That's alright, Jason. I'm fine for now. I'll just stop by the coffee shop in the lobby on the way out."

I won't look at Shane. Seeing any more arrogance on his face will push me right over the edge. Finally, he walks away with Mr. Slidell. The door to the office closes, and a few seconds later, I hear tense voices coming from inside. I wouldn't necessarily say they are angry. Unpleasant, perhaps. A few seconds later it progresses straight to pissed off. Suddenly, the door opens, and Shane stomps out. His jaw is set, and he storms past my desk without even looking at me. I hope that's the last I'll see of him, but I know it's not. He'll be back. At least if he actually does stop for coffee in the lobby, I'm not the one who has to make it for him.

Seeing Shane still has me in a funk when I finally make it home at the end of the day. I walk into the apartment, planning on going straight into the bathroom for a long talk with Rubber Duckie. I hit the light switch next to the door. Nothing. I hit it again. Nothing. Flick, flick, flick… fuck.

Tossing my bag in the general vicinity of the couch, I close and lock my door again. I walk the few steps over to Mrs. Livingston's door, leaning against the doorframe as I knock. Her footsteps approach, and by the sound, I can tell she's switched into her fluffy slippers for the evening. That means she’s already settled in for her nightly TV marathon. Probably with snacks. I could so use a snack right now.

"Who is it?" she calls through the door.

"It's me, Mrs. Livingston. It's Julie."

"Oh, Julie! Just give me a quick second."

I can hear her going through the series of locks that stretch down a large portion of the door. I was disturbed by the locks when I first saw them and asked why she thought she needed so many in what I thought was a safe neighborhood. The elderly widow looked at me seriously. You never know, she said, you never know.

The door finally opens, and I walk into the light of the lamps she has scattered around the living room. There's an overhead fixture I've never seen on, even though it's fully equipped with light bulbs. They are the old incandescent kind, however, and I have to wonder if they are original to the apartment.

"My power's out again," I say.

I sound more defeated than I intended, and she notices.

"Well, that's no reason to just give up," she says in the lilting, soothing accent I can't quite place. "You haven't lived here long enough to have not paid your electric bill. Have you called the landlord again?"

"I just found out," I say. "I didn't do anything but come over here."

"Oh." I drop down onto her couch, and she settles into the rocking chair beside me. "It's good to see you, either way."

Leaning my head against the back of the couch, I rotate it toward her with as much of a smile as I can muster.

"Thanks," I say. "It's good to see you, too. Thanks for letting me come over."

I omit 'even though I didn't really give you a choice.'

"Any time. You know I love the company. Marathon's just getting ready to start. 'Matlock' tonight." I nod in acknowledgment. She looks at me questioningly. "Now, that was just not enough enthusiasm for Ben. These are the good episodes, too. Before Alex Winthrop turned into Cliff."

"I'm sorry. I just had kind of a rough day at work."

"Did you do the coffee shop or the office today?"

"Both."

"I would have guessed that. You're wearing your grown-up clothes, but you smell like espresso."

I groan. "Great."

"So, what happened today? You tell me your story before the cookie company woman gets murdered. Spoilers."

I don't have the heart to tell her that's not how spoiler alerts work, so I spill out the story of the entire day, backtracking to explain my family's history with Shane Lawson. When I'm finished, I look over at her.

"That Shane Lawson's a good-looking boy," she says.

"You watch football?" I ask.

Somehow, I can't envision her being into sports.

"Of course, I do. What do you think I do on Super Bowl Sunday? Knit?"

I glance over at the pile of afghans sitting on a steamer trunk against the wall.

"Yes."

"No! I put on a pot of chili, and I watch the game."

OK. Apparently, everybody knows about football but me.

"Well, he might be gorgeous, but he's also a total ass."

"I said good-looking. You just brought it to another level. Are you sure you're not all worked up for a different reason?"

I glare at her.

"I'm sure," I say resolutely. "You have no idea how much that man hurt my brother, and now people are saying he abused his girlfriend. I don't date. I don't see any real value in spending that much time with someone I barely know just to maybe get to know them and like them. I'm not going to entertain the idea of being attracted to a cocky, arrogant jackass who's already caused so much trouble in my life."

"Have you even asked him if the news reports are true?" she asks.

"No. The conversation about the coffee is the only interaction we've had."

"Then you don't know for sure. You shouldn't be so quick to judge or discount anything. People change. It's part of life."

I let out a long sigh. I’m too tired to talk about this right now.

"Let's just watch the show."

 

The next morning…

 

"This is completely absurd," Shane booms from Mr. Slidell's office.

I keep my head down, trying to focus on the documents in front of me, and not become aggravated by having him in the office again.

"Mr. Lawson, I am doing my best to follow the instructions given to me by Mr. Tinker. As of now, you've gone through every representative in my firm but one. This is the last opportunity."

"He's refusing to even meet with me. How can you say you're running a business when your employees are this incompetent?"

"I will schedule another meeting with him. Just wait outside."

I am in awe of how calm Mr. Slidell can stay in the face of Shane's behavior.

The door to the office flies open hard enough I hear it slam into the wall as Shane storms toward my desk.

"Coffee," he demands. I ignore him, continuing to go through the folder. He slams his hands down on the desk in front of me. "Coffee," he says, louder and more aggressively.

That's it.

I've had enough.

I look up into his face. It's reddened by his anger, the blue of his eyes deepened and flashing as he rages. Meeting his gaze, I stand up slowly.

"No," I say.

"No? What do you mean 'no'?"

"Is that a word you've never had someone say to your face before? It wouldn't surprise me. Let me desensitize you to it a bit so it's not so hard on you," I continue. "No. N – o. No."

"How dare you talk to me like that?"

"How dare I talk to you like that? Have you not heard yourself every single time you are in this office? How dare you talk to other people like they’re beneath you?"

"I can talk to people however the hell I want to. Who are you to tell me what to do?”

"You know, fame and wealth aren’t everything. In the end, it doesn't matter how much wealth you have, or how powerful you think you are. You're not better than anyone else here. You should be begging us to help save your shitty ass. It's not their fault you act like such a raging imbecile you've screwed your reputation and made the public turn against you."

There might have been some words in there I really shouldn't have used.

"I didn't do anything wrong," he growls.

"Get your head out of your own ass, Shane. You're sinking faster than a rowboat made out of a storm door, and you know it. Your only hope is to have someone come in and do damage control for you."

I'm leaning on the desk now, mirroring his position so our faces are only inches apart.

"You call me Mr. Lawson."

"No. I will never call you Mr. Lawson. You were just Shane to Joe, and you're always going to be just Shane to me."

Well shit. I really didn't mean to say that.

"Joe?" he asks, some of the tension releasing from his face as the name from his past strikes him.

"Yes," I say. I've already come this far. I don't really have anywhere to go but forward. "Joe Jacobs. You remember that name, don't you? Or maybe you don't. Maybe you're so wrapped up in yourself you forgot about the best friend who dragged you with him through practices, summer camps, and endless weekends out on the field just to get you on the freshman team. The one who spent no time at home because he was always with you. The one you threw away as soon as someone stroked your ego and made you feel like somebody. That Joe. I'm his sister."

"Julie?"

Mr. Slidell's voice, almost disturbingly even, calls out from his office.

Oh, shit.

"Yes?"

"Can you come in here for just a moment?" And this is where I get fired. Fantastic. "And bring Mr. Lawson with you, please."

Double shit.