Paying Her Dues

CHAPTER3

Mike

It’s been a whole week and nothing has changed. I grind my teeth together holding my head in my hands.

One, I can’t stop thinking about her. Not for a second. Not for an instant. She’s the first thing I think of when I wake up in the morning and the last thing I think of at night. I’ve even stolen a photo of her from Sam’s bulletin board to keep in my bedside table. Her face. Her body. Her eyes. Her scent. It’s locked in and I can’t do a fucking thing to change it.

She’s in my thoughts, my dreams, my every waking moment. Even though I haven’t seen her for a week, that shows no signs of calming down. If anything, the obsession is getting worse.

And worse. And worse.

Two. My rage and death wish for that fucker Markham is worse than ever. If anything, the more I think about her feeling threatened, the more protective I feel. And the more I want to poke that fucker right in the eye with his goddamned conducting baton. Dickhead.

I might not be able to do a goddamned thing about the lust I feel for her. But as for the red haze, that is something I can fix.

The day after I overheard her talking to Sam, I made a few calls. Moved some money around. Pulled a few strings. Hired a guy to hack into a few emails. And now, as the newly minted top doner to the North Carolina Junior Symphony Orchestra, I’m sitting on the board of directors. And thanks to my generous donations, the board was very happy to hear my thoughts on Markham. HR was very interested in his reputation. And very happy to terminate his contract effective immediately especially when I danged another six-figure donation in front of them.

I’m sitting in the board room right now. I sit on many boards. Work has been my only focus outside of Sam and it’s served me well. My degree in criminal law didn’t take me in the direction I thought I wanted being a cop. That wasn’t the life for a single dad so I found my first job as a marketing rep for a medical supply company.

It sucked balls but I learned in the trenches about business and sales and using every skill to turn people to your side. I took those skills and started my own company. We sold medical supplies to start then, merged with a up and coming medical equipment manufacturer that needed some good marketing and sales representation.

They ended up taking over the market and I sold off my part of that business when Sam was five and bulked up my bank account into the nine figures. From there, I took over other businesses, turned them around and sold them or took shares in trade.

It’s been a ride and I don’t need to worry about money ever again but the thrill of the chase is still there.

And now, on a different sort of board I sit with Markham iacross from me, looking hungover. He’s lost access to his beloved [emailprotected] email, he’s been removed from the programs, and his picture has been taken down from the “Conductors: Past and Present” display in the hallway outside the practice rooms.

He’s also had zero opportunity to see or be in the same air space as Jess again. I made sure of that. He missed Thursday practice due to a blown motor on his pretentious as fuck Hummer as well, he had a serious case of the shits from a gift of gourmet brownies delivered from a secret admirer.

I’ve never been so fucking happy to make a person miserable.

And today, on his last official day on the payroll, I’ve made him come in to turn over his building keys, like a disgraced cop handing over their badge and gun.

“Keys,” I say to Markham. I tap the table like I’m asking for another card in poker. “Right now.”

He looks like a beaten man. “But Mr. Hawthorn, I never, I didn’t…”

Blah blah fucking blah. Jess doesn’t lie. That’s all I know and all that matters. He should be fucking dead but I held back my urge to un-alive him only because there was a chance that I’d be caught and convicted which would take me away from Jess and Sam. “I said, keys.”

Markham sheepishly fishes them out of his pocket. He struggles to get them off his key ring before finally handing them over. “Just tell me this. Who’s going to replace me? Who’s going to conduct them through the Schubert? Hmmm?”

He thinks he’s got me there, but he doesn’t. Time to ante up. “We’ve poached Miriam DeWitt from Duke not that it’s any of your fucking business but wanted you to know because she’s a whole fucking flight of stairs up from your sorry ass. She starts tonight. But I suppose you didn’t read that in this afternoon’s email newsletter, did you?”

He pinches up his face. “What newsletter?”

I nod, letting him see all my cocky arrogance. “The one you didn’t get. Because you’ve been permanently unsubscribed from the newsletter mailing list.”

Markham slaps his key on the table and stands up, fixing the mother of all wedgies as he does. “Fine. Fine. I know when I’m outmatched. I hereby tender my resignation.”

I laugh in his face. “You can’t resign after you’ve been fired, man. Now get the hell out of here. And good luck on finding another line of work. Because I’m going to personally guaran-fucking-tee that you never work in this business ever, ever again.”

Markham walks out mumbling some grumpy, woe-is-me shit, leaving the smell of gin thick behind him. When the door swings shut, I lean back in the big board room chair and stretch, then stand up to get a glass of water from the table by the window.

And there, down in the parking lot, is Jess.

It’s the first time I’ve seen her in a week and it sets my body on fucking fire. I get hard instantly. My focus narrows, my balls ache. She looks amazing. Her red hair is loose and long. She’s wearing dark green leggings that hug her perfect ass, and a modest, white lace top that accentuates all her tits.

One of the big upsides to being the top donor is now I get to move freely around the concert hall—they even gave me a fucking office—and I might, might, have picked the lock on her practice locker two nights ago when the orchestra was practicing Schubert on their own due to the conductor’s sudden illness and car trouble, and spent as long as I possibly could with my face buried in her little black cardigan. I figured out the scent—lilac lotion, which she keeps in her locker, and which I might have bought a bottle of for myself and used almost all of it already fucking my fist using the lotion as lube.