“Congratulations.” I walk over and open my room door. “You just killed my mother. Now… leave.”
4
JORDAN
I smile as I reread the message Xia sent last night before putting my phone away and taking a deep breath. Feels like the first good breath I’ve taken all day, and I know it’s because of her.
Xia: Dig in. It’s yours. Talk soon. <3
My mother always used to tell me to “dig in” to my challenges. It was her way of saying I should own them, control them, and not let them control me. I love that Xia remembers that. She always knows just what to say to get me out of my head. It is one of the reasons I cherish our bond so much. We know each other. Our relationship has always run deep. Better than friends, almost like lovers, except with zero benefits. I won't lie, I've thought about those "benefits" more times than I can count.
You know what? Forget Felicia. Forget Felicia, forget Murphy’s Law, and forget all the fucking things that have been ruining my mood. My good day is starting now. I step out of my car in the school’s parking lot, which is not as crowded as usual, and make my way through the winding pathways to get to the science building. I'm already ten minutes late and praying like hell that the professor is too busy to notice, but I can't shake the sense of dread sitting in my gut.
"Clear your head and focus on the ball." My coach’s voice plays in my mind. It’s the one saying that he constantly drilled into our heads. "Don't get distracted by all the shit floating around you. Laser target on your goal. Clear your head and focus on the ball."
Well, the ball is a forty-five-year-old man who holds all of my dreams in his pocket. The air is alive as people move through the lobby toward the various halls that branch from it. I’m deep in thought as I make my way to the elevator, pressing the button for the fifth floor. The ride is quick, or at least it seems to be as I step off the elevator and head down the long hall. I’m trying so hard to quiet my mind but all I keep thinking about is everything that can go wrong. At the top of the list is him being pissed I’m late.
Before I know it, I’m standing in front of his office, taking one last deep breath before I knock. I stare at the brown door, wondering what's going to meet me on the other side. If he's going to look annoyed, if he's going to look indifferent. Fuck, I haven’t been this nervous since… ever. Maybe I should go have a drink tonight after all? I shake out my nerves as if I'm gearing myself up to run on the field, then I ball up my fist and knock on his door.
"Come in,” he calls from the other side. My stomach lurches, and I immediately wish I had given myself another minute outside the door. Tiny droplets of sweat grow on my brow, my clammy hands not providing much help as I wipe them away. I take a step back, draw the largest breath possible, and give myself a mental bitch slap with one more pep talk. Okay, fuck this inadequate-feeling bullshit. Either I'll get the thing or I won't. Stepping forward, I knock again, hoping it makes him assume I just didn't hear him the first time and not that I've been in the hall bitching out.
"Come in." His voice is now laced with an ounce more annoyance.
Regardless of the fact that I could actually throw up right now, I adjust my collar and push the door open. I'm going to face whatever this is and allow it to be my truth. I won't tell him how I've been playing patty cake with horrible luck all day. I'll just be real and accepting of my fate. What the fuck do I have to lose at this point?
“Have a seat,” he says, not looking up from his desk. His gaze moves quickly back and forth from his laptop to the notepad he’s writing on.
I try to remain cool as I walk to the chair placed in front of his desk. Okay. Maybe he has been too busy to notice. I’ve often wondered what Satchi’s office looked like. I imagined all sorts of gadgets displayed along the shelves, but I’m surprised to see how average it is. His executive-style desk sits near a window across from a smaller desk. My hand sinks into the soft leather and I pull the chair out and sit down. Satchi still doesn’t look up and my eyes drift over to the window where he has an oscillating fan and a blue and gold windchime hanging. There’s also a camera sitting on a tripod facing into the room. It’s odd, not a setup you’d typically see in a school environment. I watch the sun reflecting off the windchime’s small pieces as they slowly sway every time the fan blows it. There’s something peaceful about it.
"Our meeting was supposed to start ten minutes ago. Right, Mr. Black?" His voice seems to come out of nowhere and I almost jump as I snatch my eyes away from the chime to look at him.
"Yes." Damn it. "Sorry, sir. There was a traffic jam and it was unavoidable." He stares at me for a second and I’m not really sure how to read his expression. Is he annoyed? Is he waiting for me to blink? I can't tell. I just sit in my seat, keep my back straight, and stare at him head on. Eye on the ball.
"Well, let's get this over with. You've got five minutes," Satchi says with huff.
For that five minutes, Satchi grills me. The questions range from my career goals to my first job changing tires at the old garage in the center of town. I answer everything quickly and don't miss the chance to tell him my hope to work with him at Crill Enterprises. He seems shocked at how much I know about his company. Hopefully that's a good thing.
"How many of my classes have you taken?"
"Three, sir. Two my freshman year and the one I'm in now."
"You do realize that this job will require you to grade papers and give exams? Do you have any trouble speaking in front of a crowd?"
"Not at all."
The questions keep coming and I have no idea if I'm doing well or not. He isn't smiling or giving me any indication he likes my answers. Shit, I hope I'm not fucking this up.
"What about football, parties, and other distractions? I don't enjoy having upperclassmen as my assistants. It usually comes with a bunch of bullshit. How do I know you won't waste my time?"
"Because I've wanted the opportunity to learn from you since my freshman year of high school and I just quit the football team. I wouldn't get this far and fuck it up—um, sir."
He watches me as he fiddles with his pen, wagging it between his fingers, every now and then causing the end of it to tap the side of his computer. The sun burns hot on my face through the window, the only relief coming from the fan which blows in our direction sporadically. After a few tense moments, a smile slides across his face and he nods slowly.
"You know what, Jordan? I wasn't sure about you. You have all the smarts. You do amazing in class, but you have this brooding football player jackass attitude sometimes and I can never tell if it's just for show or if it's really you. But I commend you for coming in here. Clearly late, which I hate by the way. You gave an excuse but weren’t overly apologetic about it. I got facts, it is what it is. It was unavoidable and you made amends. I respect that in a person. I respect that in an assistant. Someone who will look at the facts. Someone who will be logical and that's exactly what I'm looking for."
My entire body relaxes as I exhale, still trying to hold it together, but goddamn if I'm not relieved.