Family Pieces (8 page)

“What’s the status of next month’s issue? A mock-up should have been on my desk days ago! First Montague’s mishap and now I don’t even know what the next issue will look like? Are we amateurs or what?” Addison demanded.

Jacob’s voice cracked as he replied, “We’re working on it.”

“Do you realize it goes to press in three days and I haven’t even seen the initial proof?” She paused as he gazed blankly back at her. “I want it on my desk by five sharp, not a minute later! I can’t afford another mistake.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And it’s Addison, not ‘ma’am.’ What am I, fifty?”

“Of course not.” Jacob retreated toward the door.

“Jacob,” Addison said catching him before he left. Knowing another order would follow, he obediently stopped and turned toward her like an enlisted soldier attending an officer.

“Can you also have Marjorie get me a coffee? A non-fat, decaf, one-pump peppermint mocha, hold the whip… venti, no grande. Ah, hell. Venti – with whip.”

“Certainly,” he replied, hoping to God as he made his escape that she ordered the same drink consistently and that Marjorie would know the details.

The page button beeped through the rings on Addison’s phone.

“It’s Emily Blaker. Line two,” announced Marjorie.

“Urgh…Tell her I’m on the other line. Better yet, tell her I’m in a meeting and won’t be available for the rest of today…and I’m flying to London until next week.”

“With all due respect, she’s called every hour on the hour all afternoon. Can you just talk to her?”

“No.”

“Just know this is affecting my productivity.” Marjorie’s voice bordered between serious and utterly sarcastic. She had been Addison’s father’s assistant for thirty-five years prior to Addison taking charge, an unheard of feat in today’s world of takeovers and layoffs. Now she worked more to occupy herself versus needing an income, which gave her the confidence to push the boss’s buttons without fear of getting canned.

“I’ll take it if she calls again. Now go, Marjorie. Line one is ringing.”

“Fine. She’s only the closest friend you’ve got.” Click.

Addison leaned back in her sleek, black Herman Miller chair. Marjorie certainly had no right to comment on her personal friendship, but she knew she was right. She stared at her office. Unquestionably a change from the traditional style her father had maintained. She’d revamped the entire area after his retirement. A magazine diva must not have a plain Jane office, she’d commented to Marjorie who questioned the turquoise accent wall. The office had a retro flare that Addison had successfully pulled off to look modern. A swirled silver rod positioned five hand-blown glass spotlights overtop of her extra-large desk. The glass swirled shades of blues and greens coordinating with the wall. She’d imported the two modular chairs sitting in front of her desk from Italy and accented them with sequined throw pillows to add a little extra sparkle.

She thought it a wonder the magazine was successful under her dad’s less than creative ways. Even so, she had learned her business acumen from watching him. He was disciplined. On the rare occasion she attended work with him as a child, she’d mimic his every move. There were days when she would pretend it was her magazine. She would gesture as he did, repeat orders she’d heard him command. Sometimes even now she felt like it was all pretend.

The phone beeped again. “Yes?” Addison said, agitated.

“It’s your father. Are you taking
his
calls today?”

“Funny, Marjorie.” Addison picked up the line. “Hi, Daddy,” her voice sweetened. She’d maintained ‘Daddy’ throughout years when most would have transitioned to ‘Dad.’ There was something about it that made her feel more connected to him – a connection she longed for that, too, seemed all pretend.

She was thankful for everything her adoptive parents had provided during her childhood. She knew they loved her as much as she did them, but parenthood had not come easily to them. Most envied her – the family’s money, the status, the success. But no one knew the truth, or at least no one had until she blurted it out in the middle of the bistro. She half expected to see her name and her highly public disclosure on the cover of every tabloid magazine in the morning.

“Hello, Addison. I just wanted to call and make sure you were planning on visiting your mother at the hospital,” her father said. “She’ll be admitted Sunday.”

Hearing his voice so soon after her lunch fiasco, made her feel like she wanted to shut out the world again. “I’ll try.” Addison realized their roles had flipped in recent years. She was now the career-obsessed, no-time-for-anyone executive, and her parents wanted
her
time. She couldn’t help but remember all the times she needed them and they weren’t there for her. Not the way she needed them to be. Especially the day she found out that she had been adopted. There was no personal touch, no intimate conversation. Her parents, in the process of enrolling her in boarding school, were filling out emergency medical forms. Her blood type was O, matching neither her mother’s nor father’s type. Without any emotion, like a business transaction, she’d been told very matter-of-factly that she was not their biological daughter. She was only twelve. Not nearly mature enough to handle the immensity of such a discovery with no support. Her eyes welled up at the memory.

“Addison? Helloooo?” Her father’s voice brought her back to the present.

“Sorry. I’m a bit distracted today…deadlines. You remember, right, Daddy? Next month’s issue is going to press in three days and I haven’t seen the proof, let alone approved it.”

“Your mother,” he avoided her excuse and returned to the topic at hand. “You do remember she is having surgery Monday?”

A double mastectomy,
Addison cringed at the thought. “Yes, I didn’t forget. I’ll stop by to visit. I promise, okay?” Addison did a quick calculation in her head. Her schedule was tight. She’d have to take the proof home to review, which meant another working weekend.

“I expect that you will.”

“I said I promise.”

“Very well then.”

Addison placed the receiver down and closed her eyes. She was no stranger to busy schedules or stressful situations, but lately even she thought enough was enough.

7

T
he long flight to the Phoenix airport left Karsen lethargic. She couldn’t get the missing link out of her mind. She knew there had to be an explanation, but the perfectly obvious person to ask was unavailable, at least without the help of a medium. Her mother and she had been close. Why would she have told her all the pieces fit if they didn’t?

She felt shabby as she waited for her bags. Her make-up had long worn off and her hair was flat. The gray velour sweat suit she wore provided comfort but did little on the attractiveness scale.

“Let me help you with that.”

A strong arm reached over her shoulder, lifting the suitcase from her hands. Startled, she looked behind her.

“James!” she cried, wrapping her arms around his neck, causing him to stumble from the weight of the suitcase.

“Hey, K.” His deep voice was a long-awaited comfort.

“You must have gotten my text. I wasn’t sure if you’d be here. I missed you.” She went to kiss his lips. His head turned and she grazed his cheek instead.

“Me, too,” he said turning to Brad. “Hey.” He tipped his head in a masculine acknowledgment.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you here, your busy schedule and all,” Brad commented, his voice dripping with sarcasm. James may have welcomed her home, but his lack of attentiveness over the last six days scored no points in Brad’s eyes. As far as he was aware, Karsen had spoken to him only twice during their trip.

“Give it a rest, Brad,” Karsen said. She did not have the energy or the patience to moderate their petty squabbling in the middle of baggage claim.

Karsen grabbed her purse and magazine. She’d bought the new issue of
Urbane
during their layover in Chicago, although she’d fallen asleep on the flight before she’d even read the first page.

Brad hoisted his bag over his shoulder and pulled Karsen’s suitcase behind him. James offered no assistance.

“I can drive you home.” James pressed against Karsen from behind. Brad bit his lip and drew in a deep breath attempting to mitigate his contempt.

“I’ll see you later, okay bro?” Karsen said.

“Fine with me. I’ll call you tomorrow.” There was no doubt in Brad’s mind that Karsen deserved better. He had tried several times to talk sense into her to no avail. Women always think they can change a man.

No sooner had they entered Karsen’s apartment, than James’s hands began groping at her. “I missed you,” he said.

“Really?”

“Of course.” He kissed her neck from behind and wasted no time beginning to undress her.

“But, you didn’t even call Saturday. I wanted to hear your voice.” She’d still felt hurt that he had not made the trip back to Indiana. Yet his attention now was on her and she needed him. Or, more appropriately, she wanted him.

“Karsen,” He sounded frustrated. “I told you, honey, I had to work.”

“On Saturday?”

“Yes. Clients don’t care whether it’s the weekend or not.” He kissed her neck again. “Now, do you want to talk or can we just make up for lost time?”

Forgetting the past week, she abandoned her disappointment with him. They recklessly tore at each other’s clothes. He kissed her aggressively. She could feel him hard against her. He was here now and that was the only thing that mattered. She needed to feel protected, like everything would be okay.

The bed bounced as they fell onto it in unison. The weight of his body made her feel safe. She needed him to want her, to love her. Her mind cleared and his rhythmic motion soothed her until she felt his body collapse beside her. Afterwards she lay still, his arm draped across her chest, and felt the rise and fall of his chest as he panted.

James rolled to the side of the bed and reached for his boxers. “I should get going,” he said, beginning to dress.

“You’re leaving?” Karsen sprang up in disbelief. He had always stayed before.

“I’ve got an early meeting with another potential client tomorrow.” He sat at the side of the bed to put on his shoes.

“Honey, can’t you just stay with me tonight? I don’t want to be alone.” She put her arms around his waist and linked her fingers. She felt like a child trying to keep her mommy close for just one last goodnight kiss.