Like a Charm (9 page)

M
y first meeting was at nine thirty. I still had that feeling of not caring about anything. I simply didn't want to be in Atlanta, and I really didn't want to go on job interviews.

I had a horrible urge to call and cancel the entire week, but I forced myself to walk out the door.

That's probably why the meetings were so successful.

Five months ago I would have been a barracuda going into those interviews. I would have said, “This is what I can do for you,” and set out spreadsheets. I would have laughed at their jokes and made intelligent small talk.

On this particular day I felt like they were lucky I showed up at all. I answered questions and I was professional, but I was far from the barracuda.

These guys were used to people kissing up in a major way. I wasn't in the mood. Over the past two years I'd put together contracts for my company that made them billions of dollars. They either wanted me or they didn't.

They'd done their homework. They knew about what happened with Melinda Jackson and my involvement in her case. They knew why Zeb Corp. had let me go, and yet they still wanted me.

Greed. There is no other reason. There were offers that came with large sums of money and even relocation to New York City.

I told them all the same thing: “I'll take the offer under consideration and let you know in a few weeks.” I didn't know what I wanted to do. I had no plan, and I wasn't about to make any decisions without a solid one.

The interviewers must have thought their offers weren't good enough.

“Kira, I hope you understand that this is only a preliminary offer. We want to make sure you're happy,” said Mr. Grayson at the first firm.

“Oh, it's more than generous.” I smiled. “I just need some time to make certain I do what's best. I'm sure you understand.” I stood and reached out my hand. He shook it, his mouth agape. “Thank you again for meeting with me this morning.” I picked up my briefcase and left Mr. Grayson stuttering behind me.

“But surely we can come to some kind of terms?”

I shook my head. “I'll let you know.”

After I did the same thing at the next meeting I knew something was wrong with me. I called Sam. It took a few minutes for him to get to the phone.

“Hello?” He sounded rushed.

“Sam, I'm losing my mind,” I whispered into the phone. I was walking down Peachtree Street to my next appointment a few buildings over. The weather had turned chilly and my breath made wafting clouds.

“Kira?” He paused. “Tell me what's wrong.”

“I'm having this weird feeling. Really it's no feeling. All of a sudden I don't care about anything.” I caught myself waving my hand in the air as I passed a window and stopped. “I was offered the job of a lifetime. The job I've dreamed about since I entered law school, and I told them I'd
think
about it. What's wrong with me?”

He cleared his throat. “First, take a deep breath and let it out.”

I did what he asked.

“Hold on one sec so I can make it back to my office. I'm in the reception area.” He put me on hold and I waited.

I glanced at my watch. I only had another twenty minutes before my next appointment.

“So the job interviews are going well?” He came back on the line.

“Exceptionally well. But last night…I don't know. I was in my apartment. It's a place I've loved and I just didn't want to be there. I don't want to be here—in Atlanta.” I could hear hysteria creeping into my voice.

“Look, you've been through so much the last few weeks. It's not unusual to feel some aftereffects. Though you can't remember what happened with your friend, you did see what happened. And it happened to you there in Atlanta, which may be why you feel panicked. We can't know how that affected you mentally. It shut you down physically with the mono. You were smart to follow your instincts and tell them you'd consider the offer. I suggest you do the same for the rest, until you can talk to someone.

“I'm not a psychologist, but it sounds like post-traumatic stress disorder, and you really don't want to make any major decisions right now.”

I stopped to wait for the light to change. “What? That's what soldiers get. I mean, what happened was bad, but nothing like what those men and women in Iraq have gone through.”

“There are different levels of stress,” Sam added. “What you saw was no less traumatic than what happens in war. And then Mrs. Canard died, and the mono kicked your butt, and you aren't completely recovered from it. Well, anyone would be uneasy.”

I sighed. “I have this terrible feeling. Like I just can't do the attorney thing anymore.” My eyes began to water and I sniffed. “This is my life. This is my dream.”

I was so involved in the conversation that it took me a minute to realize the guy walking next to me was giving me a strange look. I stared back at him and he moved on.

“Kira, stop it. No matter what happens, you can do whatever you put your mind to. You know that as well as anyone. What's going on with you right now—think of it as an illness that's making you feel this way. Depression can make you think things you wouldn't normally. That's a big part of what makes post-traumatic stress disorder so dangerous. Does that make sense?”

“I don't know. I guess.” That's when I realized where I was. “Oh, no.” I hadn't intended to walk this way. I staggered back against the windows of the Zeb Corp. lobby.

“What's wrong?”

I ignored Sam.

The pavement had been scrubbed clean where she had landed on the sidewalk. It was as if the horrible events of Melinda's death had never taken place. Looking up toward the roof of the building made me dizzy and queasy.

The image of her flashed in my brain. Her hair flew out around her and then—darkness. I couldn't remember anything after that. I squeezed my eyes shut to stop the tears.

“Kira? Damn cell phones. Can you hear me?”

“Sam, I have to go. My next meeting is in a few minutes and I've got to try and get myself together.” I turned and walked back the way I had come. It meant going two blocks out of my way, but I couldn't go past that spot.

“Do me a favor and give yourself a break. Listen to what these guys have to say and just don't make any commitments right now. You weren't wrong about needing time to consider. You have to heal your body and your mind.”

“Okay, Doc. Thanks. I know you were probably with patients.”

“Don't worry about it. If you want I can get you some referrals for some great counselors there in Atlanta, or there's actually a terrific one here in town you might want to talk to. I'll see you on Friday. Don't hesitate to call if you need me again.”

“Okay.”

We hung up. As I turned the corner I saw the reflection of the same guy who had been looking at me so strangely. He wore a ball cap pulled low over his eyes and a camouflage jacket with jeans.

Why is he following me? Stop being paranoid. There are tons of weird people in downtown Atlanta. You know this.

I took a deep breath and increased my speed. I was only a half block from my destination and I power-walked into the lobby, heading straight for the security desk.

“Hi,” I said to the guard. “I have an appointment on the eighth floor. You might think I'm crazy, but I think that guy out there”—I pointed to the man in the jacket—“is following me.”

The guard looked from me to the man outside. “Guys like that are always following pretty women and scaring them,” the guard grumbled. He grabbed his nightstick. “I'll take care of it. You go on up.” Handing me a visitor's pass, he moved from behind the desk. He turned back at the door. “You make sure you call down for a taxi when you leave, and we'll escort you out.”

“Thanks,” I said, but he had already gone out the revolving door. I didn't stick around to see what happened. My hands shook, and a quick stop in the lobby bathroom showed I was even paler than normal.
I can't think about this. You can have your nervous breakdown later. Get it together.

The weird thing was, the idea of going back to Sweet made me happy. It's the only thing that got me through the rest of the day. Maybe it was Caleb, or maybe it was something else. I wanted to go home, and that was no longer Atlanta.

One thing was for certain, I was screwed up in a big way and I had to get my head together.

 

“K
ira, it's Cynthia Jordan from the agency.” The headhunter called and left a message on my voice mail. “Mr. Grayson told me what happened and says he'd like to sweeten the deal with a sign-on bonus of a hundred thousand dollars.”

I was back in my apartment drinking a bottle of water and I almost choked.

“He also said you have your choice of offices here, New York, Chicago, or L.A., and he's willing to wait.”

Let me explain something important. These guys don't wait for anything or anyone. They are power brokers of the highest degree. Mr. Grayson's investment firm pulled in billions last year, and I'm small potatoes in the grand scheme of things.

All of the meetings for the day had gone well. Some better than others, but Mr. Grayson had made the best offer by far. I didn't understand why he wanted me so bad. I could make him more money, but so could any other decent lawyer worth anything.

My BlackBerry rang again. Expecting Justin, I picked up.

“This is Kira.”

“Hey, it's Caleb.”

“Oh, hi.” I smiled even though he couldn't see me.

“How's Atlanta?” His voice was deep and sexy, and did strange things to parts of my body.

Other than a psychotic meltdown, everything's great.
“The interviews are going well. Lots of choices, which is a good thing.”

“Absolutely.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, I have to go out of town for a job, and I wanted to let you know.”

My smile faded and the deep, dark depression made a fast return. He was breaking our date.

I felt like a dork for being so excited about it in the first place. I should have known.

“Okay. Well, I appreciate you calling and letting me know you won't be able to make it Saturday.”

“What? No, that's not why I was calling. I'll definitely be there Saturday. Sorry. I was trying to say that I'm not certain I can make it back for the memorial service. I'll do my best. I know how much Mrs. Canard meant to you and I wanted to be there for you.”

“That's so kind of you.”
Thank you, Jesus and Buddha.
My parents were Buddhist and I was open-minded when it came to religion. “I understand. No one would expect you to be there. You barely knew her.”

“I know. I just wanted to be there for you. It's going to be a rough day. I'm looking forward to Saturday, though.”

“Yeah, me too.” I suddenly felt shy. This guy was so totally awesome. My phone clicked with another call.

“Well it sounds like someone's trying to get through; I'll let you go. I'll see you this weekend. And if I can make it back by Friday I will.”

“Okay.”

He hung up and the next call rang through.

“Hey, I just got your message that you wanted to cancel dinner.” I'd called Justin on the way home from the last interview. Even though the day had gone well, all I wanted to do was put on my pj's and hang out at home. But Caleb's call had changed that. I suddenly felt energized and excited.

“Um, is it okay if I change my mind again? I've decided I really am hungry for the Spaghetti Feast.”

“Now that's the Kira I know. Sure. After Rob gets off work at seven, we'll stop by and pick you up on the way to Alfred's. Our reservations are at eight,” Justin informed me.

I noticed the stacks of mail. There weren't many bills. Most of those came to my e-mail and I paid everything online.

“Okay, I'll be ready.”

Putting down the phone, I flipped through the envelopes and ads. “Ninety-eight percent of this is junk.” I tossed catalogs and direct mail ads into the trash by the front table. Then I came across a letter that had been addressed in pen.

Huh?
I didn't know anyone who still wrote letters. There was no return address. I opened it and pulled out a single sheet. It had one sentence that read:

“You're responsible and you'll pay.”

I let the letter float to the floor. Who would send me something like that? Were they talking about Melinda? My hands shook, but I stooped down to pick it up, reading it over and over again.

My stomach churned and I was afraid I might be sick any moment.

You'll pay.

Did that mean whoever wrote the letter wanted to hurt me? I turned to double check the lock on the front door. Taking the letter, I stuffed it back in the envelope and put it in one of the drawers.