The waitress sets the drink next to the shot glass. “Did you need a few minutes?”
“I think I lost my appetite.” Pete hands her the menu.
“Come on. If you’re going to drink that much.” I eye his filled glass. “Then you’re going to eat food. You brought me here, tell me what’s good.”
Okay, I admit it. I’m playing him. You don’t go through a marriage like ours, one where you practically grew up together and not know what can turn a night around. Pete suggested this restaurant to show off. He loves to order for people, watch them eat something he was certain they’d like. I tell him I’m moving his daughter over two-thousand miles away and I’m letting him do what he loves. It’s a win-win situation for both of us.
He studies me for a second and I’m double guessing my tactic before he finally speaks.
“We want all tacos.” He smiles and then orders what’s clearly more food than we’ll consume.
“How long are we going to be here?” I ask once the waitress has left to tell the kitchen table seventeen will need barf bags included with their meals.
“Deal is if you want my daughter, you eat all the tacos.” There’s not one wrinkle of amusement on his face. Although, I’ve never really gotten the lawyer side of Pete the entire time I’ve known him, I can’t help but think this is what he looks like when he’s negotiating at work.
“Deal.”
A smile cracks his composure and he shakes his head. “I always did hate your tenacity.”
“I hate the way you turn everything into a negotiation.” I smile back at him.
He nods understanding our own secret language. Usually I’d leave it at that, but the fact that he’s allowing me to take Jade away says what kind of a man Pete really is and as much as I hate having to say the words, he deserves to hear them. “Thank you, Pete.”
He nods again. “You just better make me up a room because we’re going to have some sleepovers.”
“Done.”
Chapter Three
The next day at the office, my stomach isn’t sinking to depths I didn’t know it had. I’m leisurely going through emails, flipping through some resumes that Heather from HR sent over that she kept on file. Not that I have the final say, but Jagger being Jagger has told Heather that everyone will be cleared by me before he sees them.
I swear, that man.
It’s ten o’clock and Jagger hasn’t called to tell me he’s not coming in or going to be late. I have to remember that the schedule the man used to keep has been knocked off its axis by a pretty brunette.
The elevator dings and I wait to see who rounds the corner. There’s my boss in his usual three-piece suit. I’m not going to lie, Jagger is a good-looking guy, but he reminds me way too much of Pete.
“Good morning.” He inserts his key into the lock on his office door.
“You’re being awfully polite.” I stand to follow him in, our normal routine.
“I see you didn’t bring me coffee.” He eyes my hands as he pushes the door open and flicks on the lights.
“I don’t have bad news today.” I laugh, and his nostrils flare a little as he inhales.
Not at the joking stage yet. Got it.
“Lucky for you, the love of my life says I’m being an asshole. Oh, before I forget,” he points at me, “You and Jade, my house in Malibu on Saturday. Quinn wants to have you over.”
“Um.”
He puts his hand up in the air, looking over the messages I had for him. “No excuses. Cancel whatever plans you have. We know the deal, what Quinn wants—”
“Quinn gets.” I finish his sentence and he looks up.
“I knew you were a quick learner.” He sits down at his desk, booting up his laptop. “You should be happy that’s my motto because she also insisted I reach out to someone I know in Chicago.” He nods at me to sit in the chair across from him.
“Reach out?”
“Have you found a job yet?” he asks, his forearms resting on his desk, his hands clasped together. The sunshine through the window glints off his silver wedding ring, which is still so strange to see.
“No.” I clench my hands in my lap.
He shakes his head. “Victoria, Victoria, Victoria.” He pretends to be reprimanding me. “Have I taught you nothing? Secure the job and then give your notice.” His gaze flickers to my pad of paper. “You should jot that down for future reference.”
My pen stays planted in my hand and I wait for whatever he’s going to tell me.
“Before I tell you what Quinn suggested I do—I say suggested because I want you to remember I did it.”
“Noted.”
“I want you to say thank you, Jagger.”
I stare blankly at him. “Let me know what it is and then I’ll thank you.”
The smile falls from his lips. “Disappointing. Maybe I should be happy you’re leaving. I can have an assistant who will actually treat me with respect.”
“Oh, we both know you don’t want that.”
He pretends to narrow his eyes and then faces his computer and starts typing.
“Remember Hannah Crowley?” he asks.
“The investor for Vance’s film?”
Vance is Jagger’s best friend whose script is being made into a movie.
“Yeah. Well, I had been talking with her a few months ago and she decided to start a foundation for…” He eyeballs the ceiling. “Women empowerment or for girls or something I don’t fully remember. Anyway, guess what she needs?”
He asks me like he’s the host of a game show.
“Who is an assistant?” I answer like I’m on Jeopardy, my tone thick with sarcasm. Though I can’t deny the fact that he’s found this out and might be able to get my foot in the door, is what makes him great.
“Ding, ding, ding. Give the woman a prize.”
He spins the laptop around and on the screen is a woman on a couch holding a German Shepherd puppy while she stares down at some paperwork.
“I think you missed your calling in theater, Jag,” she says, her smile warm and welcoming. I see the Skype symbol at the bottom of the screen.
“I’m good at everything, Hannah.” He stands from his desk. “Now excuse me you two, my assistant forgot to bring me in a coffee this morning.” He rounds his desk and I’m speechless. Number one because I wasn’t expecting nor prepared to be interviewed by a potential employer today. Number two because I spilled an apple Danish on my blouse this morning and after spending ten minutes in the woman’s washroom, I have a huge wet spot just over my breast.
Jagger closes the door behind him.
“Hi, Victoria. I’m Hannah.” She waves like we’re long-time pen pals who just got the opportunity to talk online.
“Hi. I’m sorry. I’m not prepared.”
She smiles. “I know. No worries. I told Jagger I didn’t want you prepared. I don’t like all the nervousness and formalities of interviews, not to mention all the prepared answers. I’m kind of an odd duck.” She shrugs while her hand keeps petting the dog who’s now rolled up beside her on the sleek white couch.