James - Part 3
Yeah. I should have called.
Ana wasn't the texting type of girl; she wasn't one to hide behind words on a screen; actual conversation and connection are more important than any games over messages. I definitely can buy into that; in fact, I did buy into that. It was refreshing, and it settled a calm in my chest that I hadn't felt before. In the weeks that followed, I became pleasantly accustomed to my European routine: work, band rehearsals, a couple of gigs, and an absolutely freezing November weekend away in the 'Peak District.' Which I discovered was somewhere a few hours north of London. I have never known cold like it, but the climbing club that I went with didn't seem to bat an eyelid as they negotiated the damp limestone rock in layers of clothing that I wasn't accustomed to; at home, I would barely be wearing shorts.
The weekend continued my British experience of pushing far outside of my comfort zone, yet, in spite of the chill, there was a serenity in the climbing. I lose myself in short bursts playing music, but my solitary explorations in the Derbyshire hills lighten my mind. Even the tingle that radiated across my scalp in recent weeks dulled to sit with me like an easy companion, almost guiding me to be in the moment, indulging in the experience without external influences.
On our phone calls, Ana impressed upon me to take this time out and think about how I might... How had she put it?
Cut the puppet strings
.
I didn't probe too deeply on quite what she meant; she laughed off my standard response about the company and my father's legacy and left words unspoken but echoing through my head.
I could have a legacy. What did I want it to be?
All weekend I constantly push the thoughts away, yet like her dark eyes etched in my memory from when we broke our first kiss, they become ever present, as if by some invisible force. I just wasn't ready to confront the idea. I want to climb; that's what I want this weekend. I think there must be some kryptonite-like substance in English rock that warps your thoughts from what you have always known to be true. The irony was not lost on me: finally, on this trip to London, I was succumbing to the success of my father's company, accepting that it is to be branded on my soul. Emily was right; the geographical separation has finally pulled me into the right mindset. The one where I finally shed my childish pursuits to take my privilege and position seriously. I am groomed to take the helm one day if my father sees that I can do it right, and this could be my last opportunity to fall into line.
Except that the line is shifting in real time, seemingly out of nowhere. I can't shake this...intrusive nag. Was it just buried at home, doomed to be forever ignored? What if there is something more? What if what I actually want is different from taking up my father's mantle? It scares me to even have the thought. It's a betrayal of my family.
These thoughts, like Ana, are so different from my norm. The only want I can admit is that, god, I want her so bad. She resides in my head in an, excuse the pun, mind-blowing manner, like no other girl I have been with, and we haven't really even done anything physical. Just talking to her is effortless, and I crave the moments when my phone lights up with her name.
A maelstrom of ideas pervaded my weekend away in the British countryside, flitting between a nagging sensation that seems to spread vine-like tendrils across my skin and the entirely more pleasant thoughts of Ana and experiencing a whole lot of nakedness with her. I was grateful for the privacy of a one-man tent as my hand inevitably reached into my sleeping bag to release my fantasies like some sort of hormonal teen, but I swear, as I gripped my hardness in the freezing night, watching my panting breath cloud out into the tent, I could almost feel her soft lips press to mine, and my nostrils seem to fill with that honeysuckle and ocean scent that surrounds her.
***
My stunt in the boardroom resulted in an entire office running around on my whim to submit documents that are actually pointless. However, in their precarious position, hope is a fickle friend, and the employees are clinging to some sort of Christmas miracle.
"Mr. Bren... James." Michaela's timid knock raps on the glass as she corrects herself and hesitantly steps into my office.
She's the only person in the building bothered to give me the time of day, quite literally, organising my schedule with unfaltering efficiency. Aside from that, she also asks about my well-being and family outside of work, which no one else has. Ignoring the fact that I make minimal effort with them, because they cautiously avoided the son sent over from the bully company with a hatchet. I have neatly packaged the entire London staff up as obnoxious idiots in my version of the truth.
"Michaela." I drawl, flashing a smile in her direction, before I flick the calendar up on my screen. "Have I missed another meeting?" My eyebrows knit at the seemingly blank morning that appears in front of me.
"No, no, not at all." Her manicured nails start to fan the corner of the papers she is clutching to her chest, and her teeth work on her bottom lip. "I just wondered if I could ask you something." She takes another, hesitant step into the room.
"Of course, come in, sit, shut the door." I smile up at her, placing my pen down on the desk and pushing my chair back.
She plops her well-rounded ass down heavily in the chair opposite and gingerly places the papers down on the table.
"I was just looking through the documentation," she starts cautiously. "I mean, I was asked to, you know, for spelling and formatting," she clarifies. "Would you mind if I check my understanding on a couple of bits?" She pushes the papers towards me, spreading them out, and then tapping on sections she has highlighted.
I lift sheets in turn and scan the sections marked. My eyebrows rise.
Well, I'll be damned
; the receptionist of all people has found the part that we thought we had buried so deep that Poseidon himself wouldn't be able to locate it.
Keeping my face carefully trained into a mask of boredom, I place the pages back down on my desk.
"Go on," I prompt.
She takes a deep breath. "As far as I can tell, once we finalise this part here," a manicured finger reaches forward and taps a section. "Your company takes control." I maintain a neutral expression and don't give any indication that I agree or disagree.
"And then according to this precedent here and the ruling of this one here." More finger taps. "You then have the right to exercise all these conditions, and the board control shifts?" Her finger taps shift rapidly now across more highlighted marks.
"Am I right?" She looks up at me, her blue eyes wide and expectant.
"It's a little more complex than that." I state quietly, with more than a touch of condescension in my voice.
Her cheeks blanch as she looks up and drops her hands into her lap, knitting her fingers together.
"Oh, I'm sure it is; I just wanted to check if, I don't know..." She trails off, looking around the office nervously.
