Page 52 of June: Jess' Story
Instead, I say, “I was honestly okay for a bit. Not great. But okay. But yeah, things could be better, and I’m alone with Eden all the time, and it’s hard single parenting. There’s no breaks, I don’t get to ever be ‘off.’ And I’m tired. I’m tired of carrying it all on my own. But I also don’t want anyone’s help. So I just get overwhelmed, then a little bit stressy-depressy, add in a splash of anxiety about what the hell I’m doing. Et voilà! I’m listening to Lana Del Rey on repeat while wearing socks with Birkenstocks.”
Brit holds up one of the bell glasses for me to smell; it’s basically the scent of money. (Not literal dollar bills, just expensive.) I nod, and she asks the sales associate for four bottles. The girls will love the Alchemist’s Garden bottles.
She picks out a few different cardigans, one logo (mohair, long), one cropped (logo, cashmere). And honestly, all her picks are on point. Brit’s speed is more Eileen Fisher, but here we are. She’s impressing the shit out of me.
“Since when do you shop at Gucci?”
She shrugs, “Since readingMagnolia Parks.” Makes sense.
After Gucci, we hit up Celine, The Great, and Trudon, then grab lunch at Cipriani’s. She’s fawned over me as I’ve tried things on. She’s insisted on treating me at every store, and when we come back to my apartment, she has a cheesy smile on her face.
There are boxes and bags from everywhere we went today, piled around the entryway.
“Just a little gift. My way of saying good luck at your interview. Also, it’s your severance…and it’s me bribing you to come to Spearhead for Christmas.” She gives me a tight little hug before leaving to check on Liam who’s been with Eden all afternoon. I’m sort of pissed, but honestly, a bit excited. Maybe it’s finally time to get back on the wagon.
If I wouldn’t waste my life moving to Taipei, I shouldn’t waste my life here either.
My new boss is wearing Crocs and a snapback. He’s definitely in his 30s. Definitely loaded, but definitely dressed like a man child, and it absolutely works on him. His name is Caleb, and he’s exactly what you’d expect a techy billionaire to be. (The only thing missing is a puffer vest.)
My interview lasted thirty minutes. Most of which he spent talking to me about his latest trip to Bali. The only question he really asked was, “You worked for Brit, right?” I said, “Yeah.” And he said, “Good enough for me.” That was it. (Classic people-with-money shit.)
I owe Brit for this. Notjustfor the new Triomphe bag, notjustfor the interview, but for pushing me and giving me exactly what I needed. What I’d needed was a day without Eden, a killer outfit, small-town gossip which is ten times better hearing about because I have no skin in that game, and not one single reminder about Tommy, or Jamie, or even Alex. For an entire day.
Was it hard not to ask about Alex’s impending nuptials?Yes. Would ithave been harder to hear about it?Also, yes. Brit didn’t bring it up either, so who was I to rock the boat?
“So, this is my office,” Caleb gestures around the space that features floor to ceiling windows framed by the changing fall trees outside. It’s a massive space, taking up half the second level of his townhouse in Soho. He motions over to where there’s already two desks, which is nice. “You’re welcome to use my partner's desk when you work here, but don’t feel like you have to come here to work. We’re gone so much, I imagine it’s probably easiest for you to work from home.”
Caleb gives me a run down of what he needs, help with travel arrangements mostly. Some light event planning. Help with organizing meetings with clients.
Aside from being independently wealthy, he runs a sort of travel/experience/extreme excursion business that caters to high-net-worth individuals and their upper-echelon crew. Definitely sounds like good ol’ boy shit, but for the salary he offered, and the minimal hours required, I can look past it.
“My partner is taking a, let’s call it, ‘sabbatical’ or a 'time out’ even, and I need…help.” He smiles at me, boyish charm, dimpled smile, genuinely seems like a happy person. (A billion in the bank tends to assist with that.)
“He normally does all the prep and ground work, but now that’s me until I get someone else.” Apparently there’s some big trip to Patagonia coming up.
There’s a gentle knock at the open office door and a lanky (clearly) model (looks Russian) pokes her head in. She says something in Russian, and Caleb replies, (also in Russian) and then he introduces me as his new assistant.
“Hi, I’m Jess.” I extend my hand and she takes it, limply.
“Hi. Anya.” That tracks. She seems nice enough. But also seems like another reason I’ll end up working from home. She gives Caleb a kiss on the cheek, then says “Paka” to the both of us.
Caleb isn’t wearing a wedding ring, not that that means anything, though. “Girlfriend?” I ask, and he blushes.
“I wish.”
I laugh. That’s how it is here. Got it. I hear Anya exit as someone enters, and then there’s footsteps on the stairs. “Alright, let’s get you an email set up, and some paperwork going, and then mostly everything else we can do virtually. Of course you’re welcome to come in, though! Just let me know your preference.” Uber accommodating, that’s nice.
I smile and just say, “I’ll work from home unless you need me here. I have a 1-year-old.”
He looks at me with a strange look, and says, “That’s awesome,” but punctuates the statement with a sincere smile.
“Ahem.”
(Pause.) Have you ever had that thing with a person where you can feel they’re there before you know it. You can’t see them, hear them, but you sense them? That’s us. I probably guessed it the moment I heard a booted foot hit the first step.
Alex clears his throat from the doorway and…seeing him…looking sun-kissed, with hair that’s been naturally windswept on this blustery November day makes me physically weak in the knees. Like someone took a baseball bat right to the back of my thighs.
I don’t really know where we stand. There’s no hate for him from me, it’s just I maybe always wanted more than he could ever give me. That’s it. But does he still hate me? He sort of acted like maybe he didn’t anymore, and then that night…wait, was he dating/engaged when we had sex? That definitely makes my stomach lurch then roll. Also, he’s been a major dick to me, and made me look and feel stupid. (I retract what I said about not having hate for him.)