Page 84 of The Best Man: Unfinished Business

Chapter Fifty-six

Jordan

Jordan reached up to smooth down the sides of her freshly tapered haircut.

It was still a bit unusual to feel the air against the back of her neck instead of flowing waves brushing against her shoulders.

But here she was, in her power suit, perfectly tailored and matched with her stilettos, walking into the office hallway out of the conference room still filled with the top tier of executive management, her direct reports.

In just fifteen minutes, she clearly let every single one of them know exactly what time it was with a new sheriff in town.

She left them exactly as she’d planned—a little stunned, a little speechless, and with absolutely no question about who was in charge. She was.

“Jordan.” Her overeager assistant intercepted her, all sweater set and ballerina flats shuffling along, trying to keep up with Jordan’s strut down the hall.

“I have four urgent meeting requisitions, one from Charles, and then three of your EVPs: Laura, John, and Chris S. as opposed to Chris P., who you met with yesterday. So I know that you asked me to slot fifteen minutes after your all-hands meeting, but I was thinking that we could just use this time since it’s open for Charles at least? ”

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” Jordan repeated simply but firmly.

“You going to say no to the chairman? Jordan, I…”

Jordan stopped her strut abruptly. “Michelle, I appreciate your taking initiative, really, I do. But no. The fifteen minutes is a nonnegotiable.” And then she turned and resumed her strut, quick and powerful, right through the open door of her office, with Michelle still scrambling to figure out what had happened.

Jordan closed the door behind her and in two swift motions kicked those tall heels off her feet, sending them flying in separate directions.

Ahead of her was a clear view of Lake Michigan in the distance from her two adjoining walls of windows.

But time was short. She walked over to her carryall, pulled out her makeup bag, and carried it with her into her private en suite bathroom.

She placed the bag on the counter and dipped her fingers through the open zipper to pull out her concealer and set it aside.

On her phone screen, she opened the timer and set it to fourteen minutes and thirty seconds.

She managed to hit the start button just as her vision blurred with all the tears she’d been holding back.

By the time she’d sat in her usual place on the top of the toilet cover she’d already begun to cry.

Already she’d stopped trying not to think about Harper.

It wasn’t working anyway. Holding back tears in meetings, tearing up reading reports and emails.

This was the only thing that worked. To let it out before it poured out of her in front of everyone.

No matter how full her day was, no matter how far she was from Malibu, even with him blocked, Harper was still in her head and her heart.

I was so stupid, she thought as the tears welled.

But she missed him. She missed him down to her bones.

But she’d given all of herself, and he still left.

There was no apology to make up for a man who just wasn’t ready.

And Jordan hated being wrong. Her judgment was the one thing she could trust, but not anymore.

Fourteen minutes later, when the timer rang, Jordan abruptly stopped her tears and wiped her eyes with the crumpled-up wad of tissue in her hand. Sniffing, she stood up and walked over to the mirror to reapply her concealer and touch up her eyeliner and mascara.

She straightened her clothes as she walked out of the bathroom and into her office, retrieving her shoes and replacing them on her feet. By the time she opened her office door again, she was breathing normally and looked almost as if nothing had ever happened. Almost.

“Michelle,” she called out to the cubicle ensconced desk in front of her door. Instantly, Michelle swung around the corner with a cup of coffee.

“I’m so sorry, Jordan, I just went to get you a cup of coffee. And your friend is here, an old friend from college and—”

“Jordan.”

She’d recognize that voice from anywhere.

“Harper?”

And closely behind Michelle, there was Harper. Looking great, but uninvited.

Jordan held her hand out to accept the coffee from Michelle, but her eyes never left Harper’s face. “Thank you, Michelle, can you just give us five minutes? Tell my next meeting I’ll be right there.”

Michelle nodded and scurried in the direction of the elevator.

“Follow me,” Jordan said, her knees feeling wobbly now, but not wanting to make any kind of a scene.

She walked through the opened door to her office and closed it behind Harper.

Her heart was beating so fast but her face remained stoic.

Even as she brushed past him heading toward her desk and smelled his cologne.

“What are you doing here, Harper?” Jordan was as clear as she could be. She didn’t have time for bullshit and the clock was ticking: four minutes and thirty-seven seconds left.

Standing with his hands behind his back, Harper swallowed, cleared his throat.

“I—Uh, I’m sorry to interrupt your day, but I umm, I wanted to…” Harper stumbled.

Jordan’s stoicism was downshifting to annoyance that would soon find its way to anger. She too pulled a deep breath in, poised to interrupt, but Harper spoke instead. “I…got…you lunch,” he said, and pulled his hands from behind his back, producing a brown paper bag with grease stains.

Jordan’s brow furrowed with incredulous confusion. Did this nigga just say lunch?

“Lemon pepper wings,” he said. What the actual fuck? “Now, I don’t know if they’re as good as the ones that we ordered from Jasper’s back in the day but they’re close. Very close. I tasted quite a few before landing on these.” He placed the bag on her coffee table.

Four minutes and eleven seconds.

“I’m sure both of our palates have changed quite a bit, but that memory is strong for me, Jordan. Us studying together and us sharing wings.”

Jordan did not have time for this trip down memory lane. And she wasn’t about to make the time it seemed to need. She made a mental note to get those fucking wings out of here even if they smelled like heaven.

“Jordan, I can’t stop thinking about you.

I can’t stop thinking about everything from the time I met you.

From the time you gave me advice on my first girlfriend and my eighth girlfriend.

From telling me it was okay that I wasn’t gonna be the next Bryant Gumbel.

From the time you read my grad school essay and told me I’d be ‘a voice of a generation.’ I can’t stop thinking about what you mean to me and what the fifteen days and thirty years that we’ve had together has meant to me,” Harper shared.

Jordan’s brow unfurrowed. She moistened her lips with a flick of her tongue and deliberately checked her Hermès watch. Two minutes twenty-five seconds. Then Jordan saw Harper kneel.

“I want another fifteen days and thirty years with you.”

Jordan’s heart jumped in her throat and jackhammered.

And suddenly time stood still. What the fuck?

What is going on? No, this is not happening now.

But it was happening. Her eyes pricked intensely, and tears that had dried in her en suite pooled in her eyes, blurring everything before her, including Harper.

She blinked them down her cheeks. Harper’s tears were already running down his face as he reached toward her, holding out a small black box.

“I’m asking you not only to be my friend.

I’m asking you to be my wife”— Is that a ring?

—“I’m asking you to let me be your gardener,” Harper said.

His what? His gardener…? Is that a fucking ring?

Harper opened the box in his hands and Jordan thought she was going blind again.

The glare from the rock made her squint, and blink, and squint, and…

breathe, Jordan… Harper kept talking, but it was muffled. Inside, Jordan was lit with emotion.

“I’m asking you to let me be the one who’s going to be there for you,” she heard Harper say.

“To let me be the one who’s going to do shit for you.

Shit that you want me to do and shit that you’re not asking me to do.

Let me be the one who makes you better. Let me be the one who encourages you and makes you whole.

Let me be the one who understands you. And when I don’t, I’m going to find out why.

And if I don’t, I’m going to be held accountable.

I’m going to hold myself accountable. Let me be the one to dry your tears, not the one to make you cry.

” Harper continued with his moist face. “I don’t just love you, I’m ready to love you, Jordan,” Harper declared. “I’m ready to really love you.”

Jordan was frozen and breathing heavy. Tears had reached her chin and dripped onto the custom carpet. She heard her door open and saw Michelle’s feet stop abruptly behind Harper’s shoulder.

“Ummmm, Jordan, I’m sorry,” Michelle said. “I’m—I’m—Oh my God…That’s five karats…I mean…five minutes. ” Jordan heard her, but she could not respond or move.

“I just redid my makeup,” Jordan said finally, looking at Harper.

Harper smiled.

“It looks really good too. You look beautiful,” he said. “And I love the hair. So what do you say?”