Zed, p.4
Zed, page 4
He had, but I found myself in a rare state of stunned speechlessness. What the fuck am I hearing?
JK seemed to mistake my disbelief for confusion.
“Have. I. Made. Myself. Clear, Ms. Douglas?”
“Crystal.”
That was all I could manage without giving in to the urge to tell my boss exactly what I thought of his moral compass, or lack thereof. On a normal day, I sort of hated myself for what I did, which essentially amounted to helping corporate fat cats stay at the top of the scratching post.
I could kinda, maybe, almost justify it to myself when the issues in question often amounted to nothing more than numbers on a balance sheet, but this was different. Today more than ever I wished I’d followed my heart into the DA’s office instead of being seduced by the trail of cash that had lead me to FLW-J.
There was a person at the center of this drama, and not only were they very real, but they were also very young. Although I wasn’t going to be signing up for Xavier Cross’s fan club any time soon, I suspected that at heart, he was just like any other mixed-up kid acting out because he didn’t know what else to do. Even if he wasn’t, even if he was every bit the little douche he made himself out to be, we still had a duty of care, as did his money-grabbing school. It was both unethical and potentially unlawful to do what Jerry was instructing me to.
I decided to try a different tack in a last-ditch attempt to convince JK to see reason. “At the weekend, Xavier no doubt has sport and whatever other extracurricular activities. I’m sure he can’t just go skipping off campus to do his own thing every Saturday.”
As I said the words, I knew they were absurd. Clearly ensuring the kids weren’t doing things they shouldn’t have been wasn’t top of St. Joseph’s list of priorities.
“There’s also my time—”
“You’ll be amply compensated for the overtime.”
Patronizing bastard. And to think I’d had a preference for Jerry over the other partners. Today he was proving that he was every bit the asshole they were.
It wasn’t about the money. The fact was, unless I was preparing for court, I didn’t want to spend my weekend working, especially not if that work amounted to an overpaid babysitting gig. I didn’t want compensation, I wanted half of my weekend to not involve looking after someone else’s odious child. There was clearly a not-so-hidden agenda at play, and I had no doubt that it was very much tied to Cross Senior’s immense wealth and power. The guy was richer than God, and clearly got to behave like one too.
If I was going to stray so far from my principles, I wasn’t about to go down without a fight. More seconds elapsed than was socially appropriate, and I was the one to finally break the silence.
“This is all shades of wrong, but I obviously have no choice.”
I took JK’s silence as agreement, and I felt sick at what my life had become. What I had become.
To me, this took “corporate sellout” to whole new depths, and not ones I wanted to swim in. It was all I could do to refrain from telling him exactly what I thought of him, which wouldn’t have been pretty. I may not have loved the job, but I needed it for now, so morals aside, I couldn’t afford to shit all over it. The whole situation did, however, serve as another nail in the coffin of my enjoyment of the corporate rabbit hole I’d allowed myself to fall down. The role was squeezing the lifeblood out of me like a hapless insect in a Venus flytrap.
I sighed and felt another small part of me wither. I had to do as I was told, and that thought killed me. I ended the call, then steeled myself before reentering the shop.
“Ten till four until the ‘debt’ is paid.” There was no way I was giving up my whole Saturday for this farce, especially not if it involved dragging the kid out of his bed at a ridiculous hour to trek across the city while his peers were sleeping in.
“Nine till five” came the counteroffer.
I sighed, fighting the very childish urge to roll my eyes.
Likewise, I was certain a plan that involved keeping him back on a Saturday night when everybody else had rec time was doomed to failure from the get-go.
Who was I kidding? If there was one thing I knew about Xavier Cross, it was that the disagreeable little shit didn’t so much as blink on somebody else’s say-so. The plan was doomed to fail from the jump, regardless of the finer details.
“Ten till four thirty. And if either of you turn this arrangement into a three-ringed circus, I’ll pull the pin without hesitation. Okay, Mr.…?”
He smiled then, a small wry one, almost as though he was considering holding out on me.
“Zed.” He extended his hand, and I took it. It was smooth and warm, and his handshake was predictably firm, but those weren’t the most notable features of the physical exchange. What really stood out was the frisson of tension that jolted between us as we touched.
“Mr. Zed.”
“Just Zed.” His voice was firm, rich and lush.
“Just Zed. Like Pink or Eminem?”
He looked at me as though I was a total buffoon, then shrugged noncommittally, clearly stifling laughter. “Whatever floats your boat.”
I felt about twelve years old with just those four words.
“It doesn’t. It was just a thought.”
“Yeah, well, I’m Zed. That’s it.”
“Got it, Zed.” I wanted to ask him what the hell kind of name that was, but I figured my mouth had already been enough of a liability for one day; it was best to quit while I was somewhat ahead. Or at least less behind. Xavier was still watching the two of us as though we were a prime-time HBO drama, and if nothing else, I didn’t want to continue to make an ass of myself in front of him.
I marveled at the fact that, for someone who an hour ago had been drunk or otherwise intoxicated enough to vomit up a storm all over the shop, he seemed remarkably alert and seemingly no longer under the influence. I was both in awe of his tolerance levels and worried that at his tender age, he already had more stamina in that department than I had as a grown adult woman.
I nodded to Xavier. “Come on, young man, gather your things. You need to get out of Zed’s hair and back to school. I’d like to think someone will realize you’re missing soon.”
I looked Zed’s way again, trying to ignore how his eyes had been boring into me even before I looked at him.
“We’ll be back on Saturday. I look forward to seeing you with pants on.” That sounded way worse aloud than it had in my head. “I mean, I hope you’re appropriately clothed when we see each other next. I have no interest in your pants.” Fuck.
I didn’t seem to be able to string a sane sentence together, let alone a convincing argument. Thank God I wasn’t going to be in court again until early the following week. I had time to get a hold of myself and stop behaving like a simpering teenager.
Of course, I’d have to get through Saturday first, and Xavier’s first “community service” day. Why did I already have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach about it?
“My humblest apologies if my sartorial choices offend you, but you can rest assured that you no longer need to concern yourself with the status of my pants.” Something about the smirk gracing his lips told me I was never going to live that faux pas down.
“I’m not normally in the habit of showering during the working day, or walking around in only a towel, but then it’s not every day I end up in situations that mean I need to. I’ll be correctly attired when we see each other next. In the meantime—” He looked at his watch not-so-subtly. “—I have a customer due to arrive very soon, for whom I would actually like to get dressed, so if you’ll excuse me.”
He sounded pissed, and when he put it like that, I guessed I should have cut him some slack. It wasn’t like the unfolding drama was his fault, after all. Something in his tone made me feel foolish to have taken up so much of his time. I suddenly couldn’t wait to be out of there.
“Don’t worry, we’ll be on our way right now. I apologize on my client’s behalf for wasting your morning. Come on, Xavier. Let’s get you into a cab and back to school.” I nodded curtly at Zed. “Saturday.”
“Saturday. I’ll be there. With pants on.” He saluted. Then he played his ace, turning to speak over his shoulder.
“And Xavier, if at any point when you’re working, I find you’ve been drinking or taking any kind of shit, I will pull the plug and call your father without warning. I mean it—straight at all times. You so much as pop a Xanax or swallow your mouthwash before you come here, and it’s done.”
* * *
When I returned to the office after dropping Xavier back at what purported to be the best school in the city, I found myself questioning my life choices more than ever. Hours and God only knew how many illicit substances later, and yet nobody seemed to have noticed his absence. It was ridiculous, and if the text he’d sent me a few minutes after entering the building was anything to go by, he’d managed to slip in, shower, change his clothes, and join his French class as though nothing had gone awry.
It wasn’t even midday on Monday, but I already had a feeling it was going be a looooooong week, and an even longer weekend.
6
Zed
I reached over and snoozed the alarm on my phone for the ten-billionth time that morning. I had been finding myself doing that a lot lately. I liked my job as Manager of SK:eTCH, but lately I guessed I didn’t love it like I had when I started out. I’d built it from the ground up—choosing the location, the decor, staffing, pricing: the full nine.
I’d poured so much passion and creative energy into making it one of the city’s hottest ink joints, yet even that thought no longer heated my blood or fired my creative juices the way it had back in the day. It was clear that my feelings toward the place had changed, but I couldn’t pinpoint the exact reasons why.
Every day, I got to work with the cool team I’d hand-chosen to be around me—Kian, Harley, Jorja, and Spider, who were without a doubt the best in the game. More than that, though technically Arlo Jones owned the business, he treated it like it was mine to do with what I wanted. I hired and fired, set the opening hours, price increases, deals, and promotions.
In fact, to date, I’d never made a suggestion that Arlo had rejected. He was all about giving me the freedom to act if I thought anything could be changed or improved. Hell, he was a billionaire rocker who just loved tats; as long as I put forward a strong business case for the things I wanted to do, his pockets were as deep as they needed to be to fund whatever I suggested.
I got to do something I loved on a daily basis with people I respected, and who showed me the same, but at the end of the day, when it came to taxes, business permits, employee entitlements, and all of that tedium, the buck stopped with Arlo. It was a dream gig, really—all care and no fiscal responsibility.
All of that made it even harder for me to understand why I wasn’t springing out of bed before my alarm, ready to take the day by the balls like I once had. I looked at my phone again, sighing. At this rate, there wasn’t even going to be time to work out. I needed to get my ass in gear or I would have to train on Sunday, which I hated doing. As my only day off, my Sundays were sacred in more ways than one.
Slowly a thought dawned in my mind. If tomorrow was Sunday, then that made today Saturday, which made it the day the punk-ass kid and the prim-and-proper lawyer would be in the shop. The thought filled me with enough energy to propel myself out of bed and into my gym gear at warp speed. Not the thought of the kid, obviously, but something about the attorney got to me. I couldn’t quite articulate what, even in my own head.
Maybe it was the way she looked at and spoke to me as though she thought she was better than me. God only knew, but what was clear was that I wanted to see her again, even if it was only for her to treat me with disdain.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
* * *
I bounced into the studio a few hours later with a spring in my step. “Morning, Kota. How are you?”
Kota looked up from her position at the reception desk. “Morning, sunshine. What’s gotten into you?” She glanced at me quizzically, as though trying to decode me, her gray eyes clouding over and her brows knitting together in concentration.
“Gotten into me? Nothing. What do you mean?”
“I mean you’re not exactly a morning person, are you? Normally you storm in here like a bear with a thorn in his paw, and the best we get out of you is a few grunts until you’re at least two double espressos down. Have you never wondered why all of our regulars only ever book appointments after midday?”
Huh? I had actually never taken note, but as she spoke, I did a quick mental tally of our repeat clients and realized she was right. I was sure it was a coincidence, though. It had to be. Right?
“No way. That’s not a thing.”
“Oh, it’s a thing. Trust me, boss man. But it’s no biggie, honestly. You know you’re good enough at what you do that people would line up around the block for days if they had to. What’s a little foul temper between friends under those circumstances?”
“What are you talking about? I’m not foul-tempered.”
“Okay, so I’ve worked out what the special occasion is.” She changed the subject abruptly, jumping up and down like an overexcited puppy, and I just knew she was about to mock me hard. She paused for dramatic effect.
“It’s opposite day. A day when we can say you’re not cranky AF before lunchtime and your customers don’t avoid you at the witching hour. It’s a day where you bouncing off the walls exuberantly first thing like Tigger is a totally normal occurrence.”
“Me, exuberant? Are you okay? Now I know you’re talking bullshit.” I approached the desk, leaning around to get a better view of her computer screen.
“Who’s in my book first up? Any new bookings since yesterday? I know a busy day’s a good day, but I was kind of hoping to have a bit of time to show the kid the ropes when he gets here. I don’t want him wandering around with nothing to do, thinking this is going to be a walk in the park.”
“Oh, that’s it!” Her eyes took on the twinkle they always did when she was excited or happy.
“What’s it? Honestly, Kota, you’re really not making much sense right now.” I faux-scowled at her, knowing she wouldn’t take me seriously for a moment, nor did I want her to.
“It’s the good lawyer. She’s the one who’s put a twinkle in your eye and a smile on your dial.”
Had she? I couldn’t deny that I was looking forward to encountering the uppity brief again. Strange really, considering she had grated on my nerves instantly, and the feeling seemed to be mutual.
“Not at all. That woman was a thorn in my side from the moment she walked in the door. No, scratch that. She pissed me off on the phone before she even set foot in the place. Then she came in and finished the job. Did you see the way she looked at me? Like I’d just crawled out from under a rock.”
Kota laughed heartily, and I thought for the millionth time how much I loved that sound. It was like a symphony of wind chimes tinkling on a summer breeze. Though it was a simple thing, coming from her, it still meant so much. I could vividly remember a time when I thought I’d never hear her sound so bright and joyous, and I was thankful for it every day.
“Yeah, I remember how she looked at you. And I definitely remember how you looked at each other. Like the other person was a cool ice cream on a hot day and you were each deciding which part to lick first.”
I had to laugh. She found a way to amuse me every day, and clearly today was going to be no different.
“Woman, that was totally in your mind. How many times have I told you not to confuse your fantasies with reality, especially at work? Now, I don’t pay you to gossip all day long.” I winked at her. “And as much as I would love to hang around listening to your far-fetched theories, someone’s got to hustle if you’re not. Who else is in already?”
She smiled at me indulgently, another privilege that would never get old.
“Ummm… I think I heard some rustling around back and the telltale sound of the Beastie Boys blaring, so I’m guessing Spider is here. I think that’s it, but you know how quiet Kian is. He could easily be lurking out there without any of us realizing—he’s like some kind of fucking ninja. I mean, I wouldn’t know for sure, as I’ve been so busy hustling that I haven’t had time to go see.” She stuck out her tongue and flipped me the bird for good measure.
God, I loved her.
I loved the whole SK:eTCH crew, even Kian, whose taciturn ways made me seem like a Boy Scout in comparison, despite Kota’s claims to the contrary. Each member of the team had been specifically selected because their artwork and level of skill and expertise brought something unique to the business that gave us the edge over our competitors. More than that though, it had been hyper-important to have good people around me. People I liked and could trust.
I didn’t care if someone was the best artist in the world—if their attitude sucked, it was a deal breaker. I wanted to be surrounded by people I could rely on to run into a burning building for me, and for whom I’d do the same—more figuratively than literally, although you never knew what was just around the corner.
I still couldn’t believe I’d been fortunate enough to find them and have them want to be part of the SK:eTCH family. Sometimes I still thought it might all just be a dream, and I was going to wake up back where I started before Arlo took a chance on me: with pretty much no prospects and no hope. All of that made it even more baffling that I was starting to have niggling doubts. It didn’t make sense to me.
I headed out to my studio to start getting ready for the day. Although I meticulously cleaned and tidied my workstation at the end of every evening, I was sure to always go over things again the following morning. You could never be overly clean or organized when it came to ink, and no customer would ever complain that we kept the place excessively tidy or sterile.
