The Storm (Fairhope) (29 page)

Mary Ellen snapped her fingers in my direction. “Okay, Jana, I don’t want to start gossip, and you don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to…”

I braced myself. Here it came…

“Is Gavin Milton dating someone? I saw him with a cute blonde outside the station last week. She was reaching out to him, but he kept looking around … almost like he didn’t want anyone to see them.” She paused, biting her lip. “He’s so sweet, and that voice! He deserves to find love again.” They giggled and blushed, looking at me expectantly.

Not what I was expecting.

“I wish he’d sing to me,” Holly shrieked. “Just kidding. Kind of.” More giggles.

Though open in a vacant stare, my eyes were shut. I was pregnant again, cruising with Grace beside me, our taste buds watering for coffee.
He met some woman at the park
. I relived her words with a shiver, the words of the girl I loved since childhood, the memories of the trademark laughter never to be heard again.

With a sheepish expression, they quieted as my discomfort became apparent.

This woman … she was likely a mom looking for her kids’ lost dog or a key element in an unsolved case, perhaps … but … if people were talking … what if it
was
possible that she was more than a friend or victim?

Sometimes, I don’t think there will ever be anyone but her.
Those words were not long since spoken. No, he was not dating anyone; he would not take dating lightly with Emma to consider. He would tell me…

“Oh, Jana, I should have kept my mouth shut.” Mary Ellen was genuinely sorry, her shoulders drooping and pleasant features tensed.

I avoided their watchful eyes. “He’s not seeing anyone.” The strange feelings that rested on me were unexplainable. I agreed more than anyone that Gavin should find love again, but something felt
off
. Maybe it was the nightmares, or the lawsuit, or the four top shelf margaritas I tossed back the night before, but I could not shake the ominous aura settled over me that a secret lurked somewhere.

My cell buzzed and broke my concentration. Jack.

Their extension was denied this time. The depositions will occur as scheduled.

Click, click.
The court reporter, perched inconspicuously in the corner of the large boardroom, typed quickly. I felt my heart fluttering madly. One milligram of Xanax, zero sleep the night before, and many prayers later, I was as ready as I would ever be. Dressed to a tee in my brand new suit, I appeared professional, but inside I swam against the current in an ocean of emotion, splashing through every ounce of anxiety in an effort to gain the courage I needed.

The time arrived for Jeff’s deposition to begin. Oaths were taken and Jack and his co-counsel positioned themselves. I stared at Covington’s legal counsel, stone-faced and whispering in their sharp suits. Jeff didn’t look at me. This wasn’t the time for fake smiles and casual hellos. Given the physical distance between parties, depositions were to take place within a two-day period.

“Please state your name for the record…” Jack smiled cordially. The court reporter straightened her glasses, ready to begin.

“Jeffrey Tyler.”

“Where were you born?”

“Atlanta, Georgia.”

“Ah! I’m a Braves fan. I haven’t missed a home game in five years.”

Jeff actually smiled.

After the usual pleasantries, I could see the demeanor in Jack’s smile shift.

“Mr. Tyler, did you respond in writing to Mrs. Cook’s emails on April third?” He fanned a printed email in the air. “Mrs. Cook requested information on how to improve her ratings, which had never been less than superior before.”

Jeff coughed nervously. “I check in with my representatives several times a week, and my preferred method of communication is the telephone.”

“A yes or no answer, please, Mr. Tyler.”

He clutched the table, and a flush crept up his cheeks. “No.”

“How about on May twenty-fifth?”

Jeff looked extremely uncomfortable. He loosened the tie around his neck. “No.”

“How about on August seventeenth? Did you respond in writing then?”

A long silence passed. “No.”

“No paper trail, eh?” Confident, Jack raised his eyebrows and scanned his notes. “What did Jana do to see her ratings slip so drastically? We’ve already established that her sales performance was consistently superior, and she has never been warned by Human Resources on any occasion.” Jack paused. “Her former territory manager, Chris Broome, contends that Jana’s work ethic was superb. Reviews from her previous regional manager, Matthew Haywood, state that both her sales numbers and behaviors ranked in the top ten percent of the company.”

“Jana did not cooperate with the tenured territory manager in her geography. She refused to attend promotional events that were required.”

Furious, I slipped Jack a note under the table.

Jack cleared his throat. “We have clear documentation showing Jana’s desire to cooperate with Mr. Olivier. Regarding the promotional event, are you referring to Jana’s refusal to go to a bar with customers, while she was sick, at a medical convention?” He held up a copy of an email pointedly.

Jeff’s face turned white, and a murmur traced its way among Covington Company’s attorneys. “Uh-um, no.” I waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t.

Jack glanced at Covington’s counsel, and then fixed his intimidating eyes back on Jeff. “I understand the scale utilized to determine placement of employees was validated, but it’s undeniably subjective. Can you please explain why you ranked Jana a three out of six on the category described as ‘Selling Competency’? I find it strange that an employee who consistently wins national awards is rated average on her selling competency by her manager.”

“My opinion as her supervisor is that her partner’s selling skills were superior to hers and led to their success.” Jeff coughed nervously, refusing to meet my angry stare.

I fought back tears of fury and frustration, but Jack didn’t miss a beat. He fired questions left and right…

“ Your
opinion …
I see. In
your opinion,
I see that your initial rating of Jana was a five out of six in that competency, shortly after you hired her … prior to her pregnancy. Is that correct?”

Boom.
I wanted to jump up out of my seat and tackle-hug Jack.

Jeff looked at his attorneys with a twinge of fear. “Yes.”

The rest of his deposition flew by in a blur. Jack fired questions, his confidence radiating.

“Jana won the company’s national award two years in a row. When was the last award Mr. Olivier won?”

“On August first, you questioned Jana’s ability to perform her job once she became a parent. Can you explain this blatant discrimination?”

“Jana was voted ‘Most Valuable Player’ among those in her position last year, and Mr. Haywood remarks that Jana’s team spirit is ‘contagious’ and ‘remarkable’ in her performance review. Chris Broome supports that statement. Can you explain why you rated her a two out of six on team contribution?”

Covington Company’s attorneys were sharp as a tack and definitely helped Jeff redeem himself, but my gut told me it was not enough to discredit me.

Jeff’s deposition was over before I knew it, and we moved on. Chris and Dr. Tynes painted a picture of me as an excellent teammate and device representative. The opposing counsel couldn’t shake them, no matter how they tried. Chris never faltered, even when they tried to pit us against one another.

My own deposition began at two o’clock the next day. Fatigued, I willed my shaking knees to still and my pounding heart to slow. Jack prepared me for what to expect. My opposition tried to discredit everything, from my conversation with Kevin, to my emails to Jeff, to my execution of my every day responsibilities. With a confidence I did not know I possessed, I sailed through with flying colors.

One question surprised me, though: “Mrs. Cook, you are the daughter-in-law of former United States senator Allen Cook, is that correct?”

“Yes.” My eyes widened as they exchanged an unreadable glance.

When it was over, Jack placed his hand on my shoulder as they walked out, boasting a smile full of pride.

“Why did they ask about Allen?” I faced him, hungrily gulping back the ice water his secretary brought me. I was famished.

“Your father-in-law’s positive political reputation will be something they consider, not to mention any connections he may still have where it matters.” He grinned. “You did great, Jana. Sometimes when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. You just made lemonade.”

I grinned, my anxiety melting away with his old-fashioned saying.

“The worst part is over. Slam dunk, kid. Slam dunk.”

All things work together …
the whisper.

SHE LIFTED MY left hand lackadaisically, exposing my two-carat heirloom style diamond ring. “Look at that rock. Andrew must want everyone to be damn sure you are off the market.” She cast a seductive look at Andrew and slyly raced her eyes up and down the length of my green Vera Wang gown that clung to every curve. “Can’t say I blame him.”

She
was Andrew’s completely out-of-the-closet bisexual office manager Darla, and
she
had already downed too many gin and tonics. His office holiday party was in full swing, and Darla was making her rounds, scanning the room for a bed to end up in. Absolutely harmless, but annoying.

“At least this time, it’s
me
getting hit on in front of you,” I teased, playfully running my nails up and down Andrew’s arm.

He grinned and pulled me close. “You look stunning. My fantastic trophy wife.”

Trophy Wife (AKA Tina) and her awful fake tan and overdone breasts flashed through my mind, and I winced. “For God’s sake, I am not a trophy wife.”

“Yes, you are.” Darla was back again, handing Andrew a Corona and me another glass of Pinot Noir. She grinned, and I envied her pearly white teeth.

“Gorgeous, smart, and a sweet little stay-at-home mommy, now, right?”

I grimaced. “Right, Darla. Thanks for the compliments.” Politely, I sipped the wine she brought. It was too warm for my taste.

“Do you dye your hair or is it naturally that dark?”

“It’s naturally this dark.” Self-consciously, my right hand sprung to my hair, which was spun up in an elegant up-do, courtesy of Jessica.

“Love you, babes.” She trotted off loudly, lumbering for Andrew’s boss, who was belligerently drunk and falling all over some new guy’s wife. “Andrew, take care of that girl while I go take care of Max. Better
keep
her at home with those model legs and that fabulous face.”

“I bet she’ll take care of Max, all right.” Andrew rolled his eyes. Max, a divorcee with three children who hated him and an ex-wife who raped half his salary, would never miss an opportunity for a no-strings-attached rendezvous.

Chuckling in agreement, I set the wine down on the nearest round table, the once pristine tablecloth already littered with half empty glasses and dotted with stains. Dinner was fabulous—filet mignon, grilled to a perfect medium plus, drowned in a light garlic cream sauce with organic greens and the best scalloped potatoes I had ever tasted. I polished Andrew’s leftover potatoes and the final quarter of his strawberry cheesecake. I paid for it with interest, ending up with a bulging, uncomfortable waistline.

As soon as the glass touched the tabletop, Andrew whisked me into his arms as several couples around us danced to an old love song. “Relax and dance with me.” The warmth radiating from his muscular physique drove familiar shocks of electricity through my body. I stood taller and pressed my hips closer to him, wishing we were alone.

“I feel myself forgetting that I’m suing my company, my best friend is in heaven, and that I have a precious baby who I miss terribly.” The alcohol skipped its way through my bloodstream, and all I could think about was stripping my clothes off. There was no way to explain it, but our sex life was better than ever. Maybe the manufacturer of this new birth control pill had a whole new market to tap into…

“Good,” he whispered, gently pulling my head to rest on his shoulder. I caught a whiff of his masculine cologne and felt myself getting turned on.