Chapter Nine

Tessa

I shower and shave my legs the next day—that alone has me feeling better—and then I dress in simple black slacks, patent leather pumps, and a white blouse. I tuck the black pearl from last night in my pocket for good luck.

“May I help you?” the receptionist asks when I get to the front desk of the well-secured Black Inc. building. I’ve been here before to meet Skye, and I’m always mesmerized by the ornate marble lobby and the clack of my heels on the tiles. This is the first time I’ll see another part of the building.

“Yes, I’m Tessa Logan. I’m supposed to report to HR this morning at ten for an accountant position.”

A sharp nod. “I’ll let them know you’re here.” She pauses. “Hi, Leona,” she says into her headset, “it’s Margaret at reception. I have a Tessa Logan here.” Another pause. “Very good.” She looks back to me. “I just need to see your ID. I’ll make you a temporary ID badge to get you up to HR. Once you finish your paperwork, we’ll get a permanent one for you.”

I give her my driver’s license. She scans it and then hands me a sticker.

I remove the backing and place it on my blouse, and then I take the elevator up to the designated floor. Again, I have to check in with reception.

“You must be Ms. Logan,” a young brunette says with a smile. “I’m Leona, the receptionist here in human resources.”

I paste on a smile. “Nice to meet you. Please call me Tessa.”

“Absolutely. One of our HR managers will be out to collect you in a— Oh, here she is now.” She gestures. “Barb, this is Tessa Logan.”

“Good morning, Tessa.” Barb, an older woman with dark hair graying at her temples, holds out her hand. “The misters Black told me a lot about you. They speak very highly of you, as does your previous employer.”

I shake Barb’s hand, attempting a smile once more. “That’s kind of them.”

“Come back to my office. We’ll get your paperwork filled out, and then I’ll take you to the accounting department where you’ll meet your manager.”

With a smile still pasted on my face, I follow Barb down the hallway to another office.

“Have a seat,” Barb says before firing up her computer and peppering me with questions.

I answer her questions robotically and sign all the papers she gives me.

I widen my eyes when I see my salary. Quite a hefty raise from what I was making before.

“Does everything look in order?” Barb asks.

“Yes, thank you so much. I truly appreciate this opportunity.”

“We’re happy to have you here at Black Inc.” Barb rises. “I’ll take you up to accounting now.”

Accounting turns out to be one floor up, and a few moments later I meet my manager, Luke Barr. Once Barb leaves, Luke asks me to his office.

“Let’s get down to business, Ms. Logan.” He holds out his hand.

I shake his hand firmly. “Tessa, please.”

“Tessa. Please call me Luke. I’ll be your immediate supervisor, but we all report to the vice president of accounting, Marietta Wilson. She’s not a micromanager, which we all appreciate.” He smiles.

“I’ll do my best to do an excellent job for you,” I say.

“I have no doubt.” He sits down behind his desk. “You come highly recommended.”

Something is a little off in his tone. He knows why I’m here. Nepotism at its finest.

But I need the job, so I’ll do my best to show Luke and the others that I’m a good addition to their staff.

“I’m going to ask you a few quick questions,” Luke continues, “just to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

“Of course. I can tell you about what I did at my last job, if you’d like.”

“No need. Mr. Black already talked to them and got a detailed summary of your duties. I’m interested in other things. For example, how do you keep up with current accounting laws and regulations?”

“I regularly read accounting journals and attend workshops, when I can. I personally subscribe to CPA Practical Advisor.”

He raises his eyebrows as if he’s surprised. He really does think this is a pity hire.

“Good.” He looks down at his iPad. “How do you manage tight deadlines?”

“By meeting them. I prioritize tasks and keep a detailed calendar. I work extra hours when necessary. I’ve never missed a deadline, Luke. I pride myself on that.”

He seems to warm up to me a bit. “Excellent.” He looks back down at his tablet. “I don’t think I need to bother you with any more questions for now. Welcome aboard.”

“Thank you, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your faith in me.” I pause a moment. “I hate to be the person who gets a job and then asks for time off, but I’m scheduled to go to Jamaica on Thursday. I’ll be back Monday for work.”

“Oh, yes. We’ve already been told.”

The tone is back.

“If this is a problem, I—”

“Can cancel going to your best friend’s bachelorette party? Is that where you’re going with this?” He raises his eyebrows.

“No.”

I’m not sure what else to say, so I leave it at no.

He rises. “Let me show you to your desk.”

“Thank you.”

Luke leads me to a small interior office. It’s windowless, but at least it’s better than a cubicle. “We use all the standard accounting software, but if you’re not familiar with it, there are user manuals in your file cabinet or you can access them online.”

“I’m familiar with all the standard software,” I say. “I won’t have any problem, Luke.”

“I’m sure you won’t. Check your inbox, and you’ll see your assignments. Everything should be self-explanatory, but if you need me, I’m just down the hallway.”

In his office with windows.

But he’s a manager, and I’m not.

Management is no longer my thing. I used to aspire to management, but it means dealing with people.

I used to be good at that.

Now? Not so much.

I like numbers. Numbers represent order and structure in a chaotic world. Numbers don’t mess with your head or play with your emotions. With numbers, you can usually find a right answer. An answer that makes sense. An answer that follows the rules. Numbers don’t talk back, and numbers don’t manipulate you.

I get through the day and even stay past quitting time so I’m not leaving any projects unfinished. Luke leaves at six thirty, and I leave at seven.

It’s a decent job, and nothing I can’t handle.

Am I thrilled about it?

No.

But nothing much thrills me anymore.

Once I get back to my place and take Rita out, I see that I have a voicemail from Ben.

Funny, I didn’t hear my phone ring.

I check it and realize I turned the ringer off during my meeting with HR and forgot to turn it back on.

“Hey, Tessa, Ben Black here. Just wanted to let you know that everything is finalized for the two parties this weekend in Ocho Rios. I’ve emailed you the information to distribute to the other bridal attendants for the shower. Everyone will go on our private jet. All the details are in the email.”

I read through the email that tells me where to go in the airport, which terminal, how to get through security for private jets, and whatnot.

He really did take care of everything.

I owe him one.

Hell, I owe him a lot more than one. I’m not sure I could have done this myself in my current mental state. I have a great new job because of his recommendation, too. I should be happier about this than I am, but I can’t help but wonder if he wants anything in return for it. Then I feel bad for assuming he’d manipulate me like that. Then I feel worse because I remember why I tend to jump to those conclusions lately, especially with men. It’s a nauseating mental spiral, and only one thing will pull me out of it now.

I grab Rita and pull her into my lap, cuddling her.

“Rita, Rita,” I say to her. “The little dog who saved me.”

After I was drugged and date raped by Garrett Ramirez, I was in such a depression that the only thing that got me out of bed in the morning was Rita. She had to go out, and I certainly didn’t want a dogshit-infested apartment.

My mother stayed with me for the first week after it happened and then came by once a week. She would’ve moved in with me, but it wouldn’t have worked. I only have one bedroom, and my couch doesn’t roll out. Besides, I love her dearly, but she’s a devout Catholic and would’ve been praying over me every second.

Not that I can’t use the prayers. I need all the help I can get these days. My mother means well. She truly does.

But I need more than prayers, that’s for certain.

As for what it is I need?

I wish I knew.

My stomach lets out a growl. Rita scrambles off my lap as I rise and go to the freezer. No ice cream. No bacon in the fridge.

Neither sounds good to me, anyway. I’m ready for real food again. I loved the burger and oysters I had with Ben, and now…

Now I want some of my mom’s Mexican fare. Some gooey cheese enchiladas and refried beans with rice and pico de gallo.

Man, it actually sounds good! Am I getting excited about food? Yes, I am, and realizing that excites me even more. I’m actually excited about something.

My mother gave me all her recipes years ago, but I never bothered trying to make any of them. Whenever I needed a fix, I just went home and got the real thing. It’s nearly nine p.m., way too late to expect Mom to whip up a batch of enchiladas for me, and also too late to go out shopping for what I need.

But maybe…

Actually wanting to eat something decent and wanting to learn how to make it for myself?

Maybe it’s a start.