Ruthless In A Suit(71)
We texted a couple of times. He wrote and asked, Any ideas for dinner? I guess he didn’t want to impress me with another fancy meal. Which is fine, honestly. I’m not complaining. My mind is going into crazy-girl territory, wondering if he’s losing interest in me. Maybe he doesn’t care about impressing me anymore.
But I took the initiative—always a good thing—and found an Italian place in the North End that gets great ratings for serving freshly made pasta. Jackson asks if I want him to pick me up or if I want to meet him at the restaurant. Ouch, I think. It’s really starting to feel less and less like a date and more like a casual meet up. My place in Allston is totally out of the way, so I tell him I’ll take the train and meet him there. He doesn’t argue.
When I see him walk down the crowded street, I can’t help but smile. He’s staring down at his phone, and I’m watching, worried that he’s going to walk right into the pole of a parking sign or something. He looks so slick and handsome in his suit, even though he ditched his tie. Hopefulness springs up in me—maybe we just hit a rough patch and tonight things will get back on course.
“Hey, you,” I say, stepping toward him. He glances up at me, lands a peck on my cheek, and continues working his phone. “Still busy with work?” He grunts a reply. I wait until he finishes what he’s doing—his brow is slightly furrowed so it can’t be anything good. I have to respect Jackson for the multitude of things he is responsible for. I respect him for it, I don’t fault him for it, like I worry my family does.
When he finishes, he slips his phone into his inside coat pocket. Once we’re seated and have ordered our food, I hope things will relax but there’s a weird tension between us.
“Something bad happen at work?” I ask.
“Something bad happens at work at least five times a day,” he says. “But I always handle it.”
I think about telling him about Brent, but he’s clearly in a bad mood and I don’t want to make it worse. Besides, I’m handling Brent. Hopefully his poor little ego wounds will heal soon and he’ll back off.
We eat in relative silence. I wish it were the comfortable silence of a couple that is assured of their status, but it is not. Jackson shoots me a tight smile now and then and asks me a few bland questions—how’s the food, how’s school, what’s new with work—but it’s nothing substantial.
I’m prepared to shake his hand and walk to the T after dinner, but he surprises me by saying, “Want to go back to my place?”
“Sure,” I say, trying to sound casual when inside I'm doing cartwheels. He’s just in a funny mood. He wants to be with me. And I need to stop reading into things.
Jackson
I can’t shake it. Today was as epically bad at work as yesterday was with Emily’s family. What is happening to me? I’m losing my edge, that much is clear.
Today my brothers circled me like the sharks they are. Miles and Rex both responded to an email that was sent to all three of us by the family attorney which read: “Your father’s wishes were to put the most responsible family man in charge of Croft International and it is my job to ensure that happens. Until one of the sons is married, an intermediary president and CEO will named as head of Croft International and will remain until the terms of Edward Croft’s last will and testament have been fulfilled. The board has selected Robert Irving to step into this role until such a time as the requests of your late father have been fulfilled.”
It goes on to some legalese crap but Rex and Miles had to chime in despite our agreement to speak only through our assistants.
Miles wrote from New York: “Don’t think for a second that there aren’t a hundred perfect blue bloods down here in New York. Nothing is more important than showing you two losers how things should truly be done. And I think we can all agree that, if Irving gets that title, he will not let go until he’s six feet under.”
Baby brother Rex had to throw his own temper tantrum from Los Angeles to inform us that being the youngest CEO of a multi-billion-dollar empire would be just one note to his legacy. “I live in the land of women whose only goal is to marry up. All I need is one visit to the Polo Lounge and I will find a willing woman to make the next Mrs. Croft. Prepare to bow down, assholes. And I agree with pretty boy Miles—Irving can’t be trusted with our company. It’s time to put extra pressure to this race to the altar.”
Rex keeps it classy, as always. And Miles definitely makes a good point in Robert Irving. He’s a blood-sucking, scrupulous, under-handed monster—which is exactly why Father liked him. He let do Irving do the truly heinous jobs that Father didn’t want his hands dirtied on. Father always had clean hands.