Old Enough Page 23

  His eyebrow lifts. “Mm, impressive.”

  “I know.”

  “How did you find this guy?”

  “One of Francois’ connections gave me the information.” At least, that’s the truth.

  “He’s looking for an internship?”

  I swallow, feeling horrible for speaking on behalf of Brian. “More or less on the longer term, until he finishes his studies.”

  “He’s got…” his eyes scan over the print, “…three years left? So, this is his first year.”

  “Yes. We should grab him now, before the competition does.”

  I honestly believe Brian will add value to our team, or I wouldn’t have gone to such great, deceiving ends.

  “Mm.” He drops the paper and adjusts his tie. “I tell you what. Schedule an interview for me to meet your brilliant student. If I like him, I’m prepared to offer him a probation internship with the option to extend on the condition that he passes the year-end exams.”

  “Thank you, Toby.”

  I throw my arms around his neck, making him cough.

  “Sorry.” I pat his back. “I didn’t mean to squeeze that hard.”

  “I’ll have an offer drawn up after talking the remuneration over with Bernard. How soon can this, eh…”

  “Brian Michaels.”

  “How soon can Mr. Michaels start?”

  “Immediately.” I hope.

  “Then let’s get the ball rolling. While I have your attention, how’s Freddy doing?”

  “I’m almost done with my new proposal. I’ll have something for you soon.”

  “Good, because Mr. Monroe is getting antsy.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ve always made them happy. We’ll keep on doing it.”

  “I certainly hope so. Now that you’ve twisted my rubber arm, I’ve got a ton of work to get through before I can call it a day.” He hops from the barstool. “Are you working late?”

  “I’ll work at home. I have to pick up Abby from a friend.”

  “See you tomorrow, sugar.” He salutes as he walks through the door.

  Before heading over to Loretta’s house to fetch Abby, I want to use the time I have alone to talk to Francois. I dial his number from the privacy of the empty office bar.

  “Jane, I’m in a meeting.”

  Francois is always in a meeting. “I won’t keep you. We need to talk about Abby.”

  “Not at the office.”

  “Can you come by the house on your way home?”

  There’s a pause. The word talk probably made him shut down.

  “Can’t it wait for two weeks?”

  “No. We need to talk alone. Abby is at Loretta’s place. I’ll have to pick her up soon, so how about in an hour’s time?”

  “Jane…”

  “There will always be times we have to talk about the wellbeing and future of our child.”

  He sighs. “I’ll have to leave the office earlier than planned.”

  “Just think you’re doing it for Abby if it gets too hard.”

  “There’s no need for sarcasm.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  I end the call, feeling like a bitch, but if I don’t put pressure on Francois, it’ll never happen.

  I’m barely home before he arrives. It’s the first time since he moved out that he’s back at the house, and it’s weird to have him ringing the bell. When I let him inside, he stands in the entrance, hands in his pockets, looking out of place. It’s the strangest thing to see him there. It’s only been two months, but it feels like ten years. He’s a stranger to me. He doesn’t belong on the Moroccan carpet against the mosaic backdrop of the wall. How does a person you shared twelve years of your life and a child with turn into a stranger overnight? Or maybe he’s always been a stranger to me.

  “Come through to the kitchen,” I say. “I’ll pour us a drink.”

  “All right,” he says after a slight hesitation.

  This is getting weirder by the minute. It’s like we never touched each other or slept together.

  “Ice tea?” I ask in the kitchen.

  “On second thought, no thanks. Let’s just talk about why I’m here, shall we?”

  “Debbie asked to organize Abby’s birthday party.”

  His posture turns stiff. “If this is about Debbie, I’m not–”

  “It’s not about Debbie. Did you know about her idea to throw the party?”

  His silence gives me the answer.

  “How could you entertain such a notion even for a minute?”

  He just looks at me.

  “Francois.”

  “This is why I left the office early? To talk about Abby’s birthday party?” he asks in the flat tone that marks his disapproval.

  “No. It’s to talk about why you don’t want me to call Abby when she’s at your place. You call her here all the time.”

  He turns his head a fraction to the side, fixing his gaze on a spot behind me. At least he has the decency to look guilty.

  “I told Debbie I’ll discuss it with Abby. If my calls upset her, as Debbie claimed, I won’t bother her when she’s spending time with you.”

  His gaze is expressionless when he turns it back on me. “That’s a mature approach. Anything else?”

  “I know Debbie is part and parcel of your life, but Abby remains our child. If there are decisions to be made, it’s between you and me until Abby is of an age to make her own decisions.”

  His jaw flexes, the standard sign of his irritation. “That goes without saying.”

  “Then kindly explain to Debbie she can’t make promises to Abby that require our approval first.”

  “Such as?”

  “Going to the mall alone, by bus, to meet her friends.”

  “What?”

  “According to Abby, Debbie said she’ll soon be old enough.”

  If there’s one thing Francois is careful with, it’s Abby’s safety. “She shouldn’t have said that, if it’s indeed what she said. Maybe Abby misunderstood or got carried away.”

  “Maybe, but I just wanted it to be clear.”

  “It’s clear. I’ll have a word with Debs.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Is that all?”

  Clearly, he’s in a hurry. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  On the step, he pauses. “The lawn is in great shape. For once, the edges are straight. You must’ve gotten a new garden service.”

  If only he knew. “Thanks for stopping by.”

  He stays in place, as if he wants to say something but can’t find the words. After an uncomfortable silence, he asks, “Have you found a place, yet?”

  “Yes. We’re moving at the end of the month, so you can take back the house earlier. Sorry. I’ve been meaning to tell you sooner, but things have been hectic.”

  “Oh. Yes. That’ll help a lot.” Another bothersome silence. “Where is the new place?”

  “Leeuwfontein, toward the dam.”

  “I know where Leeuwfontein is.” He frowns. “There aren’t any flats out there.”

  “It’s a cottage on a big property.”

  “I see.” He seems to make a calculation in his mind. “I suppose you’re not taking all the furniture.”

  “Only the essentials. Beds, a sofa, the small table, and kitchenware. Nothing else will fit.”

  “In that case, do you mind leaving the rest?”

  I handpicked every piece of furniture to fit with the size and function of each room. A lot of thought and love went into the decoration. Like the house, it’s hard to leave the bits and pieces I’ve collected behind. It’s like leaving pieces of myself. It’s not leaving behind the walls and carefully selected curtains or custom-built bookshelves, but the home I’ve created. It’s what the material items represent that’s hard to let go. And I am letting go. A sense of peace dawns on me as I cut the last ties with my old life.

  “Sure. The furniture can stay.” Although, I can’t imagine Debbie being happy with that. I assume she’ll wa
nt to put her own stamp on the house.

  “Great.” He offers me a polite smile, the kind reserved for acquaintances. “I’ll be off, then.”

  I’m not aware of the tension in my body until I unlock the tight muscles in my neck and shoulders when my ex-husband is gone. For the hundredth time that day, I check my phone for a message from Brian. Right now, I need a kind word from someone. I need him.

  Nothing.

  After a moment’s hesitation, I type, I’ve been thinking about you today, and hit send.

  His reply comes a second later. I’ve been jacking off thinking about you.

  A grin splits my face. It’s vain, but I’m not going to deny being perversely flattered. The butterflies in my stomach agree.

  I miss you, princess. When can I see you?

  We have to talk about the interview with Toby, but I want to do it in person. Lunch tomorrow?

  I’ll pick you up at 1pm.

  No. Things might get more complicated at the office. Let’s meet somewhere.

  Complicated how??

  I’ll explain tomorrow. Where will you be around lunchtime?

  Campus. Hatfield Square?

  I’ll bring sandwiches.

  There’s a whole night between now and then. Send me a photo.

  Like what?

  Anything with your face to see me over.

  I hate selfies. You’ll appreciate my face more when you see it tomorrow. I add a smiley emoticon.

  I receive a GIF image of a man banging his head on a desk.

  Smiling, I delete our conversation and send a text to Loretta to let her know I’m on my way to fetch Abby, my heart several degrees lighter than a short while earlier.

  Brian

  The square is pumping with shoppers and students, but I spot Jane from a mile away. It’s difficult not to, and I’m not the only one. Heads turn as she cuts across the open area past the restaurants with tables outside. It’s not just the body-hugging fit of the dress that draws eyes to her perfectly proportioned curves or how her heels emphasize her slender ankles and toned calves. It’s more than the sophisticated short cut and striking color of her silver-blonde hair or the way her blue eyes jump at you and arrests every ounce of your attention. It’s the way she walks. Her hips don’t sway in the pronounced way a woman employs when she’s aware of her sexual power, but in a natural, subconscious manner with understated sensuality a thousand times more potent than a catwalk designed to drip with sex.

  The fact that she’s unaware of how desirable she is makes men want her even more. I see the heat in their gazes as they follow her progress with unshielded admiration. Her gait is sophisticated and poetic, like a ballet dancer’s. A Steers bag swings from her hand, the impossibly small diameter of her wrist accentuated by a broad, silver bracelet. Her posture is straight and her gaze direct. She carries herself like a self-assured woman who knows what she wants. It makes a man wonder exactly what she wants, or rather the how, when she’s alone in bed. Even with her regal pose, the most noble of men can’t help the filthy thoughts that soil their minds as they fantasize about all the dirty ways in which to corrupt her. After all, we’re only men. I can’t even blame them, but it doesn’t stop the possessiveness that rushes through me in a fit of jealous rage.

  I could’ve signaled her from my seat on the fountain wall, but I enjoy stalking her too much, devouring her unsuspecting face as she searches the masses. Then she spots me. Her lips tilt in a reserved smile. A man stops midway in stuffing his face with a shawarma to stare at those full, luscious lips painted with a pale pink lipstick. The only thing stopping me from bashing his head in is that those lips have screamed for me and me alone. It’s my name she cries when she comes. I want to rub his chubby, red-cheeked face into that and his tzatziki sauce.

  “Hey,” she says, sitting down next to me with the Steers bag between us. She takes something from the bag and hands it to me. “It’s not healthy, I’m afraid. I felt like juicy fat and carbs today.”

  I’m not paying attention to what’s in the wrapper. I’m too focused on her crossing her legs. Her dress rides up an inch, and fuck it, I know she’s wearing garters under that dress, because that’s her style. As she gently swings one leg, her shoe slips, dangling from her toes. It’s the most innocent of moves, completely unintentional, but it’s more seductive than parading naked. The heat under my skin intensifies, and my cock reacts. My T-shirt and jeans suddenly seem too restrictive. The clothes on my body are like a straightjacket, making it hard to breathe.

  I can’t resist. I have to touch her. What I want to do to her will make all those other noble men’s most perverse dreams look pale in comparison, but out here in the open, I settle for placing a hand on her knee.

  “You’re perfect. You know that, right?”

  She leans back a fraction, blinking at me, but her smile turns broader. “Where does that come from?”

  “It came from the minute you set your foot on the square and every man in a radius of visibility started to stare.”

  She utters a soft laugh. “I love your imagination.”

  I’m about to argue, but she points at the sauce-soaked wrapper in my hand.

  “Eat. It’s dripping.” She unwraps her burger and takes a big bite.

  I steel myself for the familiar aversion to set in, but nothing happens. Is this real? I can eat with Jane without becoming freaked out? Ah, hell. That mouth… The way she chews and swallows before licking a bit of sauce from the corner of her mouth… It makes me think of a time on her sofa and times that haven’t even happened yet. And damn it, does she smell sweet. I’m a fuse on a stick of dynamite. I’m a puddle of lust at her feet. I can’t look at her walk, sit, or eat and my dick turns hard. I shift, attempting to make my arousal more discreet.

  Gently cupping my hand, she moves it away from her knee. “Not in public.”

  I want to argue. With vehemence. How am I supposed to protect what’s mine from the other vultures if I can’t stake my claim? Besides, the urge to lay my hands on her skin every second of the time we’re together is an overbearing impulse I can’t control or deny. It takes all my willpower to abide by her rules and not force my hand. In an attempt to dispel my dark and lustful thoughts, I concentrate on peeling the wrapper from the burger.

  “I want to talk to you about something,” she says. “Sorry to jump right in, but I don’t have much time.”

  My gut clenches. She can talk about the man on the moon if she wants and have my undivided attention. The only subject I won’t entertain is goodbye, but that she already knows from our talk on Sunday.

  “How would you feel about applying for an internship at my firm?”

  My fist closes around the empty wrapper, scrunching it up into a ball. “What?”

  “I need an intern. It’ll be part-time, so you can work on a schedule that fits your studies. The pay is good, plus you’ll have a foot in the door when you graduate.”

  “Slow down.” My breath comes faster. “Are you asking me to work for you?”

  “If you’re interested. You’ll have to pass the interview, of course. Toby, my boss, is prepared to offer a probationary contract with the option to extend if you perform well at the firm and pass your exams.”

  In many ways, it’ll be the solution to my problems. One, I’ll see Jane every day. Two, I’ll earn more money.

  She dabs a napkin to her lips. “What do you say? The interview is tomorrow. I have to give Toby your answer today. I didn’t mean to put you under pressure, but if you accept, you’ll get to know Toby. He hates procrastinating.”

  “How many candidates are interviewing?”

  She flexes her foot, fitting her shoe back on, just like a perfect Cinderella with a glass slipper. “Just you.”

  “Just me, huh? Why?” The dick part of me that’s ruled by my cock wants her to tell me it’s because she wants to see as much of me as I need to see her, but Jane is too professional for that. Which leaves the one thing I won’t accept–pity.

 
; “You’re a good candidate. I have no doubt you’ll be an investment to the team.”

  “I don’t need charity, Jane. I’ll get by fine without it.”

  She stops eating. “I can’t cope with the workload. Whether you decide to give it a shot or not, we’re employing an intern. Think about it, Brian. How many opportunities like these happen in a lifetime?”

  I chew over the facts in my mind. I don’t want a job because of connections. I don’t want Jane, or anyone else, to think I’m using her, or worse, that sleeping with her was just a means of getting into her firm.

  “How many students enroll for a BA Communication degree each year?” she asks.

  “Two, three hundred.”

  “That’s just in Pretoria. Then there’s also Johannesburg, Potchefstroom, Bloemfontein, and Cape Town. Make it a thousand five hundred, roughly. How many of those will finish their fourth year?”

  “You don’t have to validate how big this chance is by numbers. I get it.”

  “You don’t. Statistically, two hundred-and-fifty of those students are going to graduate. The rest will fall out along the way. How many advertising jobs become available each year? Ten. Maybe twenty, if the economy plays along. How many small advertising firms close down every year? Three to four. How many big game players are there? Two, of which my agency is one. If you can land this internship and prove your worth, your career is made. It’s not easy with the times we live in. No matter how top your grades are, you’re going nowhere unless you know someone, because our world is all about connections. It’s sad. It’s wrong, but it’s reality. Ask me, I know. Winning a job at Orion on your own merit is a noble idea, but it’s a fairy tale. We all get in because of who we know. After that, the cards are in your hands. If you fuck up, you’re out, no matter who your father or his best friend is. There’s more supply than demand in our industry. Another opportunity like this won’t come along.”