Costars (New York City Bad Boy Romance) (67 page)

“Yeah,”
she says. “I can do this.”

“All
right,” I tell her. “We’re going to start you on the flat floor this time just
so you can get used to it and this time—”

“Keep
my arms folded,” she says. “I got it. Sorry about that.”

“It’s
okay,” I tell her, swallowing all of the many parts of myself that want to stay
angry at her for inflicting such a massive dose of pain.

She
gets into position and I start the count, “One, two,
three
.”

Jessica
falls backward and, managing to keep her hands at least next to her body this
time, I catch her easily.

“Whoa,
that was cool,” she says. “Can we do that again?”

I
snicker, “Sure. Do you want to try it from the step or do you want to do
another one from the floor?”

“The
floor,” she says. “I’m still kind of nervous.”

We
do it again and this time she even manages to keep her hands crossed over her
chest. One more time and Jessica’s actually starting to get comfortable doing
it. And I’m getting comfortable feeling her body.

Finally,
she says she’s ready to try it from the bottom stair.

“All
right,” I tell her. “Now, what’s the point of this exercise?”

“To
trust you,” she says.

Technically,
it’s to show her the benefits of being able to trust, period, but it’s kind of
nice to hear the words “trust” and “you” coming from her after having the
opposite be the rule for most of the time we’ve known each other.

I
think I had a game plan at some point before we started this, but that went out
the window when my boys got the pinch of doom. Since then, my brain’s gotten a
little hazy.

I
do know that I was going to try to work the fact that I’m the one that she’s
been sending messages to into the conversation at some point today, but given
the fact that she’s only now learning to trust me at all, I’d say it’s worth
saving for another lesson.

“Are
you ready back there?” she asks.

“Yep,”
I tell her. “Just keep your arms to your sides, and I’m pretty sure the four of
us are going to be just fine.”

“The
four of—” and she gets the joke. Laughing, she says, “Okay,” and crosses her
arms over her chest.

I
stand with my pelvis a bit farther back than usual, but I’m ready, so I start
counting, “One, two,
three
.”

She
falls backward and, thankfully, her arms stay where they are.

I
catch her and just hold her there for a minute. “See? You can do this.”

“Uh,
Eric?” she says, her voice devoid of the celebratory mirth I’d been expecting.

“Yeah?”
I ask.

“You’re
grabbing my boobs,” she says.

Not
even thinking, I let go of her entirely and she falls to the floor.

Shit.

Chapter Eleven

Steel Wool

Jessica

After
I picked myself up off the floor, I couldn’t get my mind off Eric’s hands on my
boobs. It was the first time in a long while a guy has touched me like that and
it was…nice.

I
made sure to clear my head as Eric and I went over some specifics regarding how
I should approach and train the person or people I’m ready to promote. He
seemed to think that I should get at least two managers right away, but I think
I’ll be more comfortable if I only do one at a time.

That
said, I’m not sure why I’m so nervous.

I’ve
decided to promote Cheryl, mostly based off of Eric’s recommendation that she
seemed to have the best overall knowledge and savvy of anyone, other than
myself, of course, in the store.

She
just walked in the door so I stroll out to meet her.

Cheryl
has been with me for a long time, but I think I know her less than pretty much
anyone else in the store. It’s not that I’ve specifically avoided her or
anything; she just seems to be less chatty than everyone else.

“Cheryl,
could I talk to you for a minute?” I ask as she’s making her way to the break
room to drop off her purse.

“Sure,”
she answers and changes course to come into my office.

“Would
you mind closing the door?” I ask.

“Sure,”
she says nervously.

“There’s
something that I wanted to talk to you about, and I’m not quite sure how to
start. This is kind of new to me,” I begin.

“Okay,”
she says.

“You’ve
been here at this store for a while, and I think it’s time we make a change,” I
tell her.

“What
do you mean?” she asks.

“Well,
it’s become apparent to me that things around here need to change,” I tell her.
“I don’t think the way I’ve been going about running this business has been—”

“I
can work weekends,” she says.

“I’m
sorry, what?”

“Holidays,”
she says. “I don’t mind working overtime. You don’t even have to pay me an
overtime wage. I just really need this job.”

“That’s
not where I’m going with this,” I tell her. “I’m talking about fundamentally
changing the way that I do business—the way
we
do business. You see, for such a long time, I’ve felt the need to lord over
every decision, be here at every moment, and that’s not a sustainable business
model.”

“I
really need this job,” she says.

“What
are you talking about?” I ask.

“I’ve
been here since you opened up, and I think it’s pretty screwed up that you’re
talking about firing me when I have given so much of my life to help this place
off the ground,” she says.

Now
it makes sense.

“I’m
not talking about firing you, Cheryl,” I smile.

“Oh,”
she says. “Well, if you’re going to cut my hours, I really wish you would have
told me before now so I could look for another job to supplement my income, I—”

“I
asked you in here so I could offer you a promotion,” I tell her.

“Well,
you’d better just think about what you’re—I’m sorry, what?” she asks.

“I’m
offering you a position as assistant store manager,” I tell her. “It’ll be an
increase in responsibility across the board, but you’ll also get a pretty
handsome raise. Does that sound like something you’d be interested in, Cheryl?”

She
doesn’t answer.

“I’ve
come to realize that, despite how much I feel the need to control every portion
of this store’s operation, every day, I’m not infallible, and I sure as hell
don’t know everything. What I need to do,” I explain, “is start trusting my
staff. You and the others have put so much time and so much energy into this
place, and I know it wouldn’t be as successful as it is without any one of you.
Cheryl, you stand out from the crowd. You have a degree of insight into this
place that gets people to stand up and take notice, and I want you to know that
you are valued here. So, do you think you’d be interested in being my assistant
store manager?”

She
looks down at the ground, then back up at me.

“Yes,”
she says in a quiet, shaky voice.

“Great,”
I tell her. “Now, we’re going to have to help each other out here. This is new
territory for me, and so I ask for your patience. That said, I’d like to go
ahead and make your new position official today.”

“I’m
ready,” she says.

“Great,”
I tell her. “First off, I’m going to need to ask you something.”

“What’s
that?” she asks.

“What
does an assistant store manager do?”

*
                   
*
                   
*

“You
actually asked her what an assistant store manager does?” my text friend
writes.

“I’m
new to this,” I write back. “I’m sure there are keys involved, but how much of
my daily workload do I delegate? I’m not sure what’s appropriate here.”

I’m
sitting at dinner with Kristin and Jed.

I
do not like Jed.

“Who
are you talking to?” Kristin asks.

“Just
a friend,” I tell her.

“
Oh
,” she says. “You mean
that
friend.”

“How
long have we been sitting here?” Jed asks. “I feel like we’ve been waiting for
our meals for a really long time. What’s taking them so long? The place isn’t
that busy. I don’t see how hard it is to make three simple meals and bring it
out to a table.”

“We
just ordered,” I inform Jed. “It usually takes more than two minutes for a
restaurant to cook something.”

“It
feels like it’s been longer than that, though,” he says. “I don’t know. I’ve
been so stressed lately. I think I’m getting an ulcer.”

“If
anything’s going to give you an ulcer,” Kristin tells him, “it’s going to be
how much you constantly worry about getting an ulcer.”

My
phone beeps and I read the message, “It sounds like you might want to have that
guy come back and show you the ropes. Was he helpful before?”

I
write back, “He was helpful, but it kind of got a little weird last time.”

“Jay,
there’s something we’d like to tell you,” Kristin says. “Actually, it’s the
reason that we asked you out to dinner.”

“I
know,” I tell her. “You’re still waiting for me to give you that discount you
decided you were entitled to as my sister, but we’re just barely starting to
recover from the months of construction in the store, and with this new deal—if
you can even call it that—I’ve got with one of my main suppliers, I really
don’t think I can start offering you designer products for seventy-five percent
off. I could maybe do ten or something, but even that would be—”

“It’s
not that,” she says, “although I do think it’s pretty sad that you can’t even
give your own sister, a woman that you shared the same womb with, a silly
little major discount on some clothes.”

“We’re
not twins,” I tell her. “We didn’t share a womb.”

“We
came out of the same
vag
,” she says. “Whatever.
Anyway—”

My
sister is something special.

My
phone beeps and I shift my attention from Kristin to the screen.

“It
got weird?” he writes. “What do you mean?”

I
write back, “Well, it came to light that I might have a little difficulty
trusting others, so we did a little trust exercise. There were injuries.”

“You’re
not even listening to me, are you?” she asks.

“How
long does it take?” Jed asks nobody. “My stomach’s going to start eating itself
if it hasn’t already. Oh, this is why I hate going out to eat. Nobody ever—”

“Honey,”
Kristin says, “shut up. I’m trying to talk here.”

“Did
you bring any antacids?” he asks. “I don’t know how I could have forgotten to
bring some from home. This stress is going to kill me, I just know it.”

“Jed,”
Kristin says, “shut the fuck up.”

His
mouth is closed, but he’s still looking around in every direction, assumedly
trying to spot the waiter who took our order less than five minutes ago.

“Jay-Jay—”
Kristin starts.

“I
hate that name,” I tell her. “I don’t know why you still call me that. I’ve
been telling you for years that I hate it when you call me that.”

“I’m
pregnant,” she says. “Jed and I are having a baby.”

After
a minute of staring blankly, it occurs to me that she’s waiting for some kind
of reaction.

“Wow,”
I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. It’s not much.

I
look over at Jed, who’s wiping his nose on one of the restaurant’s cloth
napkins.

Yeah,
that kid is going to get the shit beaten out of it.

“I
know, right?” Kristin says. “I mean, we’re not like a hundred percent sure, but
I haven’t had a period in like two months, and I’ve been getting really sick in
the mornings, and I’m not even drinking anymore.”

“That’s
fantastic,” I tell her and it’s all I can do to not jump with joy as my phone
beeps.

I
look down, reading, “Trust fall?”

“Yeah,”
I write back. “I got it eventually, but it was a bit of a process.”

“What
are you doing?” Kristin asks.

“What
do you mean?” I ask back.

“I
just told you that I’m pregnant—me, your one and only sister, the most
important person in your world. Are you going to come over here and give me a
hug or not?” she asks.

“Right,”
I murmur and get out of my seat.

“Excuse
me,” Jed says, hailing a passing waiter. “We’re still waiting for our entrees.”

“I’m
very sorry, sir,” the waiter says. “I’ll go see what’s going on.”

“You
know,
it’s
best not to end sentences in prepositions,”
Jed says.