[Hello Lovers!
Ready for Chapter 27 of 29?...let's go then!
EG x]
The next morning, I wake up on my sofa, still dressed. I don't remember falling asleep -- the last thing I do remember was seeing the clock change to 4am and being relieved that I seemed to have stopped sobbing.
I grab my phone hopefully, but there's still nothing from Sam. For a moment I think I should just call him; at least to see if he got my package.
I scroll to his number and my finger hovers over the call button, but I stop myself before I hit it.
If he has received the package and still isn't calling then presumably it's too late? I've fucked it all up and I need to move on.
Besides, I'm going to be late for work if I don't get moving. At least I can bury myself in books and try to forget my troubles for a few hours.
* * * * *
'Jessica?' Mr Anderson's voice snaps me out of my own head and back to reality.
'Sorry Mr A, I didn't get much sleep last night. What did I miss?' I ask feigning a smile. He looks at me with concern,
'I was just saying, why don't you take an early lunch -- you look like you could do with some fresh air?' I'm pretty sure that's a kind way of saying I look like shit, but I'm grateful all the same, and fresh air does sound like a good idea.
As does a massive portion of Tina's patatas bravas, overloading on carbs is bound to make me feel better. I grab my coat and set off.
As I turn the corner and head for the entrance to Tina's; I look up and stop, frozen to the spot. I blink a few times, hoping that my over tired eyes are playing tricks on me but when I open them it's still true.
Sam is sitting in the restaurant and he's not alone.
He's sharing a table with a pretty blonde in a red dress. I catch a glimpse of the trademark Byron smile and my heart sinks before I finally find the ability to move again, turn on my heels and race back to the shop.
'That was quick!' Mr Anderson says as I get back.
'Not really hungry' I mutter vaguely.
'Jessica, you don't look well.' He continues, crossing to walk me over to the arm chair, putting his hand on my forehead to check my temperature. 'You feel okay,' he frowns, 'but you definitely don't look it. I'm going to call a taxi to take you home.' He continues, picking up the phone.
'I'm fine, really.' I protest. He looks at me in a way that reminds me of my dad
'You, Miss, are going home. And don't worry about Saturday either -- take a few days off and get yourself better.' His voice is firm but compassionate. I give him a half smile and a feeble nod.
'Okay, thank you. Don't worry about the taxi though, the walk might do me good.' Oh, how I wish a bit of fresh air and a few days off would fix the way I'm feeling.
* * * * *
I'm making my way home in a miserable daze when I hear a woman's voice call "Amber!" -- I scowl inwardly. Stupid Amber, cause of all my problems. "Amber!" it's louder this time, and closer too. I look up and see Crystal a few feet in front of me, elegant as ever in faux fur and oversized sunglasses, looking at me like I've grown an extra head.
'Darling, are you alright? you look absolutely dreadful.' She starts in her usual sensitive way. I try to come up with a sarky reply but instead burst into tears right there on the street. She rushes at me and holds me by the shoulders at arm's length 'Oh darling girl, let's get you to the office -- come along, Frank's parked on the corner.' Still sobbing, I let her lead me to the car.
Back at Crystal's desk she produces a box of tissues along with a bottle of Armagnac and two glasses. As she pours two generous measures, I can't help smirking at the irony --
'You know I still can't bear this stuff, right?' I tell her, taking a tiny sip.
'Yes, well -- it's an acquired taste -- you'll grow into it.' She replies. 'Now. I suspect there are two potential reasons for this uncharacteristic meltdown. Either you're pregnant, or you've fallen for a client. You're too clever for the former, so I'm going to assume this is about a certain young millionaire by the name of Sam Byron.'
Okay, I admit - she's good. I take a deep breath and tell her the whole sorry tale. When I'm finished, she doesn't say anything at first, just continues to watch me intently.
'So, you really do like him?' she asks at last.
'Crystal, I think I'm in love with him.' I reply honestly. Her expression gives nothing away.
'Well. A girl in love is really no good for me to have on my books; you'll be off your game in no time and you know how I feel about maintaining high standards.' She states calmly.
'Are you saying I'm fired?' my voice is unintentionally shrill.
'Don't be ridiculous darling girl, I'm saying let him continue to book you exclusively for a month or two and see where it goes.' She shrugs like it's no big deal, I shake my head firmly.
'I can't do that Crystal; I need to know if we work legitimately, not as a prepaid arrangement where I start off feeling like I owe him something. If I'm going to be with him, I want it to be on an even footing, not as an asset.' I reply sadly.
'Then take a sabbatical,' she shrugs again nonchalantly, 'you know I'll hold your job open; so, take some time off, live off your savings for a while. Who knows where you'll be a month from now? That saucy little book of yours just might explode and make you richer than him!' I laugh.
'That would be amazing, but unfortunately in the meantime, my savings barely cover a month's rent.' I sigh despondently. Crystal rolls her eyes at me in despair.
'Oh, darling girl. Did you actually read your contract when you started working for me?'
'Um, I mostly skimmed it.' I admit, 'To be honest, I just went with it at the time before I chickened out.' I add sheepishly.
She rolls her eyes again and opens a drawer in the filing cabinet behind her, pulling out a Manila folder and pushing it across the desk to me.
'Rule number one: I take very good care of my precious jewels.' She motions for me to open the folder. Puzzled, I do and look down at the contents.
It's a bank statement, for an offshore account by the looks of it. Suddenly everything goes into freeze frame and I hear myself gasp. The balance of the account is £128,651. And it's in my name. All of the information is in front of me, but I'm still struggling to join the dots.
'How... What?' evidently, I'm struggling to form full sentences too.
'Ten percent of everything you've ever earned working for me. Plus reinvested interest along the way.' Crystal offers by way of explanation. 'I do it for all of you girls - a pension come emergency rainy-day fund.' She adds dismissively as if it's no big deal.
'And I can use this to take time off?' I reply in disbelief.
'You can use it for whatever you like darling, it's your money.'
My head is spinning. It's like a golden ticket. I can explore the possibility of being with Sam; give him what he wants in terms of exclusivity, without needing to be financially dependent on him. It's perfect!
I can't contain my glee. I jump up and round Crystal's desk to hug her, much to her disdain. It's ironic really that she's not the touchy-feely type.
Once I've sat back down, still staring at the piece of paper that might be the answer to all my problems she's all business again.
'So, I'll arrange a cash transfer, shall we say twenty thousand?' I nod dumbly. I've never had that much money all at once in my life, 'and shall I clear your calendar for one month or two?' She's half smiling now.
'One.' I reply. 'There's still the matter of a mystery blonde I don't know what to do about - I don't want to count my chickens before they're hatched.'
'Darling, need I remind you that your Mr Byron once paid eight thousand pounds for two hours of your time? This blonde could be anybody, or nobody. She's definitely not another precious jewel, I can tell you that much!' no, I think, but she could easily be from another agency. I feel sick at the thought, remembering how angry he was, and knowing what his natural instincts lean to when he needs to regain control. Crystal continues 'As you wish though, one month, effective immediately; your job will be waiting if you decide you want it back, but much as it pains me to say, I doubt that's very likely.' She smiles warmly at me. 'Good luck Jessica, keep me up to date.'
It's not until after I've left the office that I realise she used my real name for the first time in three years.
As I walk down the street with a newfound sense of optimism and intention, I start thinking about the next stage of mission get my man back; hoping with everything I've got that he still wants me.
* * * * *
I glance at the time on my phone -- nearly seven o'clock. Far too early to be in the back of a black cab in a silk cocktail dress, really. I doubt I've ever looked more like a high-class call girl in my life! I giggle inwardly at the irony.
I've taken a lot of black cab rides in the last three years, but I've never been as anxious as I am right now. I try to breathe deeply to calm my racing pulse. I fiddle with my Jessica pendant as I run through in my head what I want to say for the millionth time.
As the car rounds a corner, Sam's building comes into view and my stomach flips.
'This the one flower?' The driver asks from the front, I nod & take a deep breath.
I see Sam and my heart leaps. He's standing in the doorway, illuminated from behind looking delectable in dark denim and a slim fitting white shirt, smiling warmly -- has it really only been a day since those lips were on mine?
Then I notice the red convertible parked outside.
And the petite blonde I saw him with earlier getting out and walking towards him. Then her hand on his shoulder as she kisses him on both cheeks before he ushers her inside. I feel sick.
'Actually, can you keep going please?' my voice comes out tiny and the cabbie looks puzzled.
'You alright flower?' he asks and I nod
'Yeah, fine -- just forgot something at home.' I try to smile then look at my phone for a distraction so he won't see my tears falling on his back seat.
* * * * *
I wake up on my sofa, curled up in a ball. I check the time and it's after ten - there's an old black and white movie on TV but I have no idea what it is. I only turned it on as a distraction when I gave up trying to read after staring at the same paragraph for twenty minutes.
I can't get the image of Sam and that pretty blonde out of my head. Who is she? My replacement? Is he getting over me by thrashing her in his playroom instead? Am I even allowed to care?
A knock at the door makes me jump.
I open it and half wonder if I'm still asleep. Nope, definitely awake, dream me wouldn't be wearing yoga pants and a vest top with no bra. Sam Byron is definitely standing at my door.
