Jane Eyre Austen (5 page)

At lunch time, Mrs. Fairfax had left and Jane went in to retrieve her lunch. She startled when he appeared behind her as she closed the minifridge door.

“May I help you, sir?” she asked shyly.

“Walk with me, Ms. Eyre.”

“Yes, sir.”  She followed him down the hall, leaving her lunch on her desk. He walked purposefully to the stairwell and opened the door for her.  Once inside he stopped, looked up and down the stairs to see if they were in private and relaxed. 

“How is your mother, Ms. Eyre?”

“She is well, sir.”  Jane had no idea what this conversation was about, other than he wanted to play with her.

“No, Ms. Eyre, I fear you do not speak the truth.  How is your mother?” His eyes studied her carefully.

She felt her heart stop, wondering what her mother could have said to him at the party.  “She suffers from a broken heart, sir.  It has affected her most egregiously, I am sorry if she said something to disturb you.”

His eyes softened, “No, she said nothing.”  His mouth set in a grim line, “How do you see me, Ms. Eyre?  Do I suffer from the same ailment as your mother?”

Realization swept over her. He was asking her if she thought he was crazy.  “I believe your heart has been broken, sir, but not your mind.  My mother cannot judge between her fantasies and her realities. I believe the latter is too harsh for her.”  She looked at him gently, “Sir, I do not wish to offend you, but I have assumed your creative nature allows you to play, as we all did as children.”

A corner of his mouth went up, “I prefer your opinion of my. . .” he paused, one eyebrow lifting, “singularity, to the reality.”

Her stomach flew to her throat. She had upset him. “Sir, please do not consider my opinions of any value.  I am like a silly school girl in my play; my tongue is faster than my wit, and not as clever as it should be.”

“I find that I do value your opinion, Ms. Eyre.  Tell me, who taught you to play in this manner?”

“My father enjoyed a lively discourse at supper.” She smiled, “It is there that I learned to sharpen my tongue.”

He looked thoughtful. “Does it bother you, Ms. Eyre, to play this game with me?”

She smiled warmly, “No, sir. I quite enjoy it.  It reminds me of a better time, when my parents were both alive and in good health.”

“I enjoy challenging you with words, Ms. Eyre.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You are most singular, Ms. Eyre,” he said wryly.

She arched her brow, “I regret, sir, I must correct you.  We cannot both be singular.”

He laughed, “Then how would you describe yourself, Ms. Eyre?”

“As others have done so -- peculiar seems to fit me well, sir.”

“The word does not do you justice.  You are exotic, remarkable…”

“Sir, those are synonyms, as are curious, eccentric.  I believe the descriptor is accurate and I take no offense by it.”

He grinned, opened the door and motioned for her to exit.  “I appreciate your candor in our discourse, Ms. Eyre.”

“Thank you, sir.”  She tilted her head toward him as he reached for the door, opening it for her.  She walked slowly back to her desk and he entered his office.  She sat down and mulled over the conversation.  The man wanted to play games with her, just games.  Jane swallowed; she could probably play games and still come out with her heart intact.  Probably.

Gray closed his office door and sat down at his desk wanting to beat his head against the blotter. What an idiot he’d been to even speak with her alone.  She could easily sue him for harassment.  He needed to stop.  Clayton was right; she was at least ten years his junior and certainly deserved to enjoy her youth.  She was willing to play the same game she played with her father, the game that wasn’t a game at all for her mother.  She was amusing and kind to him, but then he expected she would be kind to all.  She was incredibly sweet and willing to tolerate his singularity.

If she wasn’t so damned attractive and witty it would be easy to ignore her.  She had changed him, in just a week he was a different man.  The scowl that Fairfax felt was permanently affixed to his aspect had slowly relaxed off his face and Jane was responsible.  Perhaps she would allow a friendship. He could wish for more, but it wasn’t fair to her.  She needed to enjoy her youth.

Jane looked up from her computer, accepted a folder smiling at the young man on the other side of her desk.  The post it note addressed the folder to Mr. Poole.

“You’re not Michelle,” he observed amiably.

“No, I’m Jane.” 

“I’m Kevin Perkins, accounting.”  He offered his hand and she shook it.  “How is it going?”

She nodded, “Very well, I like it.”

His eyes widened in disbelief, “Uh huh.  Well Mrs. Fairfax is very nice.”  Jane nodded amused that he failed to mention Mr. Poole.  He relaxed against her desk, “You know a bunch of us go out on Friday night to Bimbos for drinks.  You should join us.”

She smiled gratefully, “Thanks, I appreciate the offer. Unfortunately I’m busy most Friday nights.”

He smiled and leaned in, “Well, then maybe just the two of us could get dinner on Saturday?”

She shook her head, “I’m sorry. I work on Saturday, I really don’t go out.  Thank you though, I appreciate the offer.”

He was about to say something when Mr. Poole interrupted him, “Ms. Eyre, I wish to speak with you.”

“See you later Kevin,” she whispered, his face now frozen as he watched Mr. Poole carefully.  She
stood; picked up the folder Kevin had brought, and walked over to the doorway.  “At your service Mr. Poole,” she said politely.

“In my office, Ms. Eyre,” his eyes still watching the frozen Perkins, not allowing him to thaw.  She walked into his office and waited while he closed the door.

“Have a seat.”  It was a command; his voice was not at all playful.  She sat and tried to remain impassive. 

“Who was that?” he asked.

“Mr. Perkins from accounting.”

“Why was he here?”

She handed him the folder, “He dropped this off.”

He took the file, opened it and thumbed through the pages.  As he was reading he said, “Why don’t you go out?”  He was still thinking of the invitation from Mrs. Austen and he suddenly remembered James suggestion.

She shifted slightly in her chair. That was a very personal question she mused; and yet, he’s not being playful.  She decided to deliberately misinterpret his question and rose from the chair and headed toward the door.

“Where are you going Ms. Eyre?”

“I understood that you asked me to leave,” she answered calmly holding his gaze.

“That was not my intent.”  His eyes seemed to pierce her; she could feel his anger and didn’t like it.  “Tell me, what you think of Mr. Perkins?” He closed the folder and leaned back in his chair. 

She stood, feet close together, hands clasped in front of her, “I find him amiable.”

“Ha,” he snorted, “found your Bingley, Jane?”  She raised an eyebrow in warning, but he continued. “And his physiognomy?”  His eyes were boring into her, she could tell he was trying to intimidate her, but she couldn’t figure out what she had done to upset him.

“He has the appeal of youth, sir.” She answered quietly, but honestly.

“You are young as well, Ms. Eyre. Why didn’t his invitation tempt you?”

Jane raised an eyebrow, “I have family obligations sir.”

“I am curious. If you had no familial duties, would you have found his invitation appealing?”

Jane sighed, “I have never found a public house diverting, though I would have enjoyed the company of others.”

“But not Mr. Perkins in particular?”

The corner of her mouth rose, “I am certain once Mr. Perkins has the opportunity to know me better, he should find me less agreeable.”

His eyes smiled, “I doubt that, Ms. Eyre.”

“I do not believe Mr. Perkins would enjoy my cutting tongue sir. He would find it too sharp for his intentions.”

“You would not temper it for him?”  His mind wandered to what things her cutting tongue could do to him and he quickly reproached himself.

“I neither possess that quality, nor the desire to change my character to impress a man,” she said drily.

He chuckled, “That’s a serious warning.  Poor Mr. Perkins does not stand a chance then.”

“No, sir, you have not to worry. Your toy will not be shared, or spoilt, by another.” she muttered.

His manner changed completely. He looked at her warily, confused by her statement and unable to reply.  She wondered if he would stop with this game and just speak plainly to her. 

Apparently not, for he finally found his tongue, “I hope you shall find a man worthy of your character and appreciative of your many exceptional qualities.” 

“Thank you, sir.”  She curtsied, and excused herself. Her heart stung from the wound he carelessly inflicted with kindness.  She sighed and her head told her to calm down; he’s just not that into you.  Damn it.

He spent the next two days away at meetings or working in his office and didn’t speak to her.  He promised himself he would stay away.  When he walked by her desk, he would nod and smile. But he made sure to always be in a conversation with someone else, faking one on his phone if necessary.  In a week or two he would be back to himself.  He watched her as he walked by. Her eyes would light up as he approached, a sweet smile on her lips, and then her gaze would drop suddenly and his heart would clench.  God, what the hell was wrong with him, he wondered. 

It began to eat at Jane. She missed their play. She felt miserable developing feelings for a man who was her boss and didn’t reciprocate them.  He made it clear each time he walked by-- simply dismissing her with a quick nod.

She had agreed to take her mother to the annual symphony charity event Friday night.  She had donated a collection of water color paintings in her mother’s name for the silent auction having chosen to do portraits of Dizzy Gillespie, Duke Ellington, and Glenn Miller which she felt had come out quite nicely.  She managed to get a deal on the framing and hoped that someone would be generous for her mom’s sake.  Her dad used to purchase an elegant piece of jewelry or a weekend getaway.  His name alone used to bring a good price for whatever he donated, and it made her mother proud. 

Even better, today her mother was quite normal, probably due to the fact that she and her husband had started the charity auction some twenty years ago.  She dressed in a black cocktail dress.  Jane wore a beautiful red cocktail dress she had found in Barcelona and had fallen in love with the way it clung to her curves.  She wore matching four inch heels and a beaded purse she had purchased in Ireland.  When they walked into the reception her mother was immediately enveloped by hugs and swept away.  Jane followed a few steps behind until she was pulled into a bear hug by Patrick, her first boyfriend.

“Janie, when the hell did you get home?”  He set her back on her feet.

She looked up into his still impossibly blue eyes, sandy hair, and easy surfer dude good looks.  Her heart fluttered. Even after all these years she still reacted to him.  It was a Pavlovian response, memories of sweeter moments and his incredible gentleness. 

“I’ve been home for about two months.”  She stepped back, out of his embrace.

“Working yet?”

She nodded, “Poole Enterprises, for none other than Mr. Poole.”

“That’s great.  I saw your paintings, they are amazing!  I want to see what you did last year, ok?” 

“Sure.  Come to brunch on Sunday.  I think I might even bring some to a gallery. You can help me pick.”

Patrick’s partner, Ben, came up and joined them, pulling her into an embrace and whispering, “Janie, you look like a Christmas present that needs unwrapping.”  She laughed as he released her, and he raised his eyebrows, “Honestly Jane, you look delicious.”  

Patrick grinned ignoring Ben’s flirting, “Janie’s going to bring some paintings to a gallery.”

Ben nodded, looking impressed until something caught his eye over her shoulder, “There’s a dude that’s seriously checking you out.”

She rolled her eyes, “Right.”  She looked down at her feet, “Are you sure there isn’t TP on my shoe?”

Ben looked her up and down, “Baby, I’ve got a hard on for you and I’m gay.”

She grinned and teased him, “Ben, that’s so sweet in a totally inappropriate sexual way.  But I gotta admit, you look really good tonight too. It could happen…”  She teased her friend.  Ben was dark Italian, built like a defense football player, and drop dead gorgeous, and so in love with Patrick. She sighed.