Braxton

I am a hands-on supervisor. That’s how my father ran this company, and that’s how I’ve always ran it, too, since I took over as Chief Executive Officer five years ago. At twenty-seven, I was the youngest CEO in the history of our company, which my great-great-grandfather started over a hundred years ago, but my degrees in finance and business from major universities, as well as my tutelage under my father, had more than prepared me to take over. And I’ve done an outstanding job, increasing our revenue and taking on new clients at a quick rate.

That’s why I hate failure.

As I gaze out through my glass windows at the crowd of employees moving quickly between offices and cubicles, my eyes fall on one face. Jeff Thompson, Vice-President of Finance for our largest branch. How he came to be a VP, I am not sure. In the two years that he has worked here, he has done nothing to impress me. In fact, he fails at almost every task I assign him. I should probably fire him.

The only reason I haven’t is because I have a memory from the Christmas party I cannot shake. Jeff Thompson, standing off to the side of the crowd, next to a stunning woman in a long red gown. She was probably the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and ever since that night, five months ago, I haven’t been able to get her out of my head.

I can only assume she was his wife. He never introduced me to her. She looked… uncomfortable. Out of place. Like she didn’t want to be there. Maybe she didn’t want to be with him. I wanted to go to her then, to see if there was a way I could make her more comfortable, as the host, of course. But I was constantly bombarded with other people needing my attention, and I never did make it over to her. I never got a chance to introduce myself or meet her.

Over the weeks and months that followed, I assured myself it was just as well. She was likely his wife, after all. Jeff does wear a wedding ring. He has no pictures in his office that would clue me in as to whether or not the gorgeous woman with the caramel colored hair and the olive skin, with bright green eyes and full red lips was his wife. Since I have been doing my damndest to put her out of my mind, I saw no point in bringing it up to him either.

And then… there was the Earst and Hanks account. It had been assigned to Thompson to try and acquire it. How such an important acquisition came to be assigned to him is unbeknownst to me. I’ve been wanting to get my hands on this huge account for many years. I checked in on it yesterday to find it was about to slip through Thompson’s fingers. Luckily, I was able to rearrange my schedule to work on the account myself, and through some miracle, I was able to salvage it. In looking over the work Thompson put into it, I was appalled at what he’d done, or really, what he hadn’t done. It was absolutely grounds for firing him.

But I had something else in mind instead. I know how much this job means to him, and I want to know how far he’ll go to keep it.

I’ve already announced to the company earlier that morning that we will be having a party at Merriweather Towers this evening to celebrate the acquisition. I’ll be sure to have my assistant, Cindy Garza, tell Thompson to bring his wife along. She has reported he’d arched an eyebrow when she’d delivered the message, but he’d nodded and reached for his phone. Cindy didn’t question what I was up to. One of the reasons she’s been my assistant all of these years is because she never questions me. My guess would be she already knows, though, why I am handling the situation the way that I am. She is usually a step ahead of even me.

I try to go about my work, but it’s difficult. I have one eye on Thompson as he slacks off, watching something on his phone. I have heard from others that he is a porn addict. I’m guessing if I did a search on his work computer, I’d have enough proof to fire him over just that. But I don’t ask for the search. Not yet. He does very little work throughout the day while I am constantly answering my phone working with clients and helping my assistants handle their accounts. It irritates me to see a man do next to nothing and earn what I know he is earning.

He deserves to be fired, and I am all about handing out people’s just deserts.

Unless, of course, he’s willing to bargain with me. Then, he might get one more chance.

His wife has to be willing, too, though, because I don’t view her as his property. If she is also willing, he might have a chance to save his job. Otherwise, Jeff Thompson will be packing up his items from his office tomorrow, and my dreams of a beautiful woman dressed in red will remain only dreams.

It is getting late in the afternoon, and I need to get heading to the towers to make sure everything is in order for the celebration. I have watched Thompson do next to nothing all day, and I am seething as I grab my jacket and my attaché case to leave for the evening. It’s almost five o’clock, and I have been in the office since before 8:00.

“Cindy, send for my car,” I say as I head out of my office.

“Yes, sir.”

“You are coming tonight?” I ask her.

“Of course, sir,” she says. “I’ll need to head home and get changed. I can hardly wear this.” Cindy laughs. It is a running joke between us that it isn’t fair that I expect women to wear nice gowns to my get-togethers while most of the men can get by in their office attire.

“I’ll be changing, too,” I assure her.

“I know you will be, sir,” she says. No matter how many times I tell her she doesn’t need to call me sir, she does it anyway.

“See you there, Cindy. Thank you for your hard work today.”

“It’s my pleasure,” she says with a smile that tells me she means it. I believe in treating my employees well so they work hard. That’s how Cindy sees it. She works hard so that she can be rewarded and help the company. My eyes travel to Thompson. He has done next to nothing and is making a lot more money than a lot of the people that work here. That has to change.

He looks up from his phone and is startled to see me staring at him. He fumbles with the device and sets it down then begins to type on his computer, looking at me from time to time. I continue to stare at him, hoping he understands that I see him. I see everything he is doing, and everything he is not doing, and it’s time to answer for his actions.

Julia

Taking a cab to Merriweather Towers is expensive, but in my silver dress, I am afraid to take the subway. I’m afraid I might get harassed. So I splurge on the taxicab ride. On the way home, Jeff will be with me, so I won’t have to worry about anyone bothering me.

I am wearing a silver wrap around my shoulders. Not because I am cold, but because Jeff doesn’t like it when I show too much skin. As I get out of the cab, paying the driver, and tucking my handbag under my arm, I am reminded of the Christmas party I attended here last December. I had worn a red dress I’d bought just for the occasion. I remembered thinking I looked pretty nice, but Jeff was out of sorts all night because he did not like the amount of cleavage I was showing. It didn’t seem like a lot to me. In comparison to some of the other women at the party, it was practically nothing, but we did not have a very good time at the party because he was so angry all night long.

I hope he doesn’t mind this dress. He asked me to wear it, after all. The bodice has thin straps, and it shows the tops of my breasts, almost as much as the red dress, but I brought the shawl, just in case.

I am nervous walking into the building. I have sent Jeff a few texts to keep him apprised of my location, but he has not answered any of them. I send him another one, letting him know I’ve arrived. I don’t know where to go once I walk inside. I look around and listen for the sounds of a party, but it’s a large building, and I don’t hear anything.

I see a man behind the counter. He’s on the phone, so I walk over and wait for him to finish. He glances at me and then does a double-take, hanging up the phone quickly. “Yes, miss?” he says, looking below my neck and not in my eyes. I pull the shawl around me a little better. “How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for the party for Merriweather and Associates,” I explain. “My husband is waiting for me there, but I can’t get him to answer my texts.”

“What’s the name?” he asks me.

I am already nervous, and the question confuses me. Does he want to know my name or my husbands? I say, “Thompson,” and he nods, checking a list.

“Julia?” he asks me.

“Yes, that’s me,” I tell him with a smile.

“Sure, sure. Go on up to the thirty-fifth floor,” he says. “That’s where the party is happening.”

“Thank you.” I smile warmly at him and then head to the elevator, pushing the correct button and waiting for the doors to close.

I wonder why I am the only one arriving right now. Jeff said to be here at 7:00, and it’s only five past. Since most people don’t want to be early or exactly on time, I was assuming a lot of people would be getting here at the same time as me, but that isn’t the case, so I am puzzled.

When the doors open at the thirty-fifth floor, it is clear to me that the party has started before 7:00. I am confused and step out into the full swing of people drinking, talking, even some dancing. Trays of drinks and snacks are coming by on the hands of waiters and waitresses dressed in matching uniforms. I look around for Jeff but don’t see him anywhere. I don’t know many other people who work in his office because he hasn’t introduced me to any of them. I look at faces, trying to determine if I recognize any of them, but I don’t.

Until my eyes land on the striking face of a man just a few years older than me, with piercing blue eyes and dark hair. I recognize him immediately and have to look away. Braxton Merriweather, the Chief Executive Officer of Jeff’s company, one of the richest men in the world and the most eligible bachelor in our city, which is saying something. My face turns red just looking at him, he’s so handsome. To think, he had been looking at me! Of course, that’s probably because I am lost and look it.

I spin around a few more times, praying I can find Jeff soon. I am about to give up and pull my phone out one more time when I see my husband leaning against a wall with a drink in his hand, talking to a couple of other guys. They are laughing and carrying on, and it’s clear he’s had lots of drinks. I am wondering what time the party actually started and why he didn’t want me to be there on time.

Since I will not be able to ask him any of those questions without making him angry, and I definitely don’t want to make him angry, I swallow my agitation down and make my way across the room to him, hoping he is in a good mood. I don’t like it when Jeff is upset. It never ends well for me.

Braxton

She was late. She’d missed the dinner I’d provided for my work associates and their guests. I wonder why she hadn’t arrived on time like everyone else, but then, when I see her step through the door, frazzled, looking anxiously around for her husband, who is standing across the room, leaning against the wall, talking to some of the other people from our team who do not perform well, I understand that Thompson probably didn’t even invite her to the dinner.

She rushes over to him, and he stands up straight, looking annoyed, like she’s interrupted some important work discussion. I pretend to listen to the woman standing next to me, one of the presidents of the marketing department who is talking about an account I could care less about, but my eyes are on her, the beautiful woman who is unfortunately attached to that sleaze, Jeff Thompson.

I watch as they step away from the others, as Jeff grabs her elbow and pulls her close, a little too violently for my liking. I see her face and know that she wants to say something to him about how she’s being treated but is afraid to. I watch as they step outside onto the balcony. I watch--and then I excuse myself and walk closer to where they have disappeared, positioning myself close enough to the door that I can hear what they are saying, though they won’t be able to see me through the frosted glass barrier between the balcony and the room.

“I called you several times,” she says, her voice pleading, pained.

“Well, excuse the hell out of me for having a life!” Jeff shoots back, clearly letting his anger get the best of him. “What are you wearing, anyway?”

“The silver dress, like you said,” she replies. I can’t see her, but I can picture her looking down at her gown, inspecting it. She looked gorgeous to me from across the room earlier. What problem good this jackass possibly have with her gown.

“I don’t remember it being so low cut,” he says. “Half of your breasts are sticking out!”

She is silent for a moment and then offers, “I brought this wrap.”

“You look like an old woman!” he shouts back at her. “Look, I don’t have time for this, all right? I invited you because I was expressly asked to; some of the other wives wanted to meet you or some bullshit. I’ve done my duty. You’re here. I’m going back out to drink with my friends. Maybe you should just… go.”

“Go?” I hear the agony in her voice, the pain of his abrupt dismissal, as if she has been cast off by someone she loves deeply. How did such a beautiful woman ever develop feelings for this self-absorbed pig?

“Or stay out here if you want to. Just don’t embarrass me, all right? My job is hard enough as it is without you looking like a whore in front of all of my bosses and work associates.”

He stomps off, coming back toward the door. I am pretending to listen to the conversation happening around me and do not look at him, though I am tempted to put my foot out and trip him--then we’ll see who is embarrassed. Since my eyes are not on Thompson as he slinks by, I don’t know if he has noticed me standing there or not, but I doubt it. He is usually only aware of himself.

Once he is back with his buddies, I excuse myself from the conversation and step outside.

It is dark out now, the lights from the city and the stars providing some illumination that meets the figure near the railing who is far enough away from the light filtering through the door and window, as well as the weak light on the wall by the door, that she is mostly in shadow.

I can hear that she is weeping before I even get within a few feet of her. She does not seem to have noticed that she isn’t alone anymore. I don’t want to embarrass her or bother her, but I feel her pain stabbing me in my own heart. I cannot understand Jeff Thompson, how such a shallow, idiotic man could be married to such a beautiful creature and treat her the way that he does, but it makes me angry in a way I cannot describe.

I take another step closer and she hears me then, swiping at her cheeks and pulling her wrap around her shoulders before she even turns her head. I’m not sure if she’ll recognize me or even how well she can see me now that I am also away from the light, but when her eyes meet mine, I am fairly certain she knows who I am.

“Are you all right?” I ask her, my voice gentle.

She nods, clears her throat. “Yes. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to….” She stops talking, not sure what to say. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine,” I remind her as I step up closer to her. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Oh, no! Really, I’m fine. I just wanted to get some fresh air.”

I take a whiff of the fumes from the city, the cars below us doing nothing to make the air fresh and then look at her, arching an eyebrow.

She actually cracks a smile at me. “Well, maybe not fresh. But… not stuffy. Not that the people inside are stuffy--or that the party is stuffy. Only that….” She groans and looks away from me, shaking her head. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”

“That’s all right,” I assure her. Then, waiting for her to look at me again, I offer her my hand. “I’m Braxton.”

“I know,” she says, a small smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “I recognize you. I’m Julia Thompson.”

“I know,” I say back, getting her perfectly sculpted eyebrows to rise. “I’ve been waiting to meet you.”