Cash Burn (16 page)

Jason pressed the button in the door panel, and his window sliced down. “Hey.”

The old man turned his eyes, taking in Jason with a look between frenzy and disgust. “What do
you
want?” His hands hung at his sides, limp.

“You hungry? You need something to eat?”

“Hm.” He turned from Jason and looked down at the hood in front of him as if calculating the distance Billy had encroached into the crosswalk. Apparently it was impossible for the old man to move outside the lines to cross the street.

Jason turned to Billy. “You need to back up.”

Billy looked at him as if Jason was the one operating on a brain off kilter. But he didn’t ask any questions, just shifted to reverse. A horn blasted behind them. One hand on the back of Jason’s seat, Billy inched the Acura back.

“That’s far enough.”

The old man moved with ginger steps to avoid the lines of the crosswalk like someone moving through a minefield. He made it to the other side of the street before the light changed.

Billy shifted back to drive, and the horn behind them silenced. “Since when are you a homeless advocate, boss?”

“You haven’t called me that for a while.”

Billy’s head turned, but Jason didn’t meet the kid’s eyes. Two weeks since the confrontation with Mark, two weeks with Vince setting up shop in Jason’s department, and the allegiances of the teams had shifted already. He stared out the side window. Another homeless man sat on the sidewalk, his back resting against a concrete wall. This one’s afro was the shape of a charcoal briquette, his skin so dark he could have been burned into that spot long ago. Billy’s Acura passed by, and the man became only a shadow in Jason’s mind.

The city was full of them. Black, white, Hispanic. Couples, teenagers, children. They pushed shopping carts or slogged along the concrete, toted paper bags the shape of the bottle inside, languished in alleys. At night, on his way home, a couple routinely pitched an old blue nylon tent at the gated front of a Lube & Tune, setting up housekeeping for the night with the gravity of slaves.

After the meeting with Mark and Scotty, Jason had made some phone calls to other bankers he was acquainted with, just to test the job market. But before he could even drop a hint, the other guys let him know that they were looking too. They danced around the subject, positioning themselves and their banks, each of them not wanting the other to know exactly how dire a situation they were hoping to escape. But desperation nibbled at the edges of every word.

And then the homeless seemed to appear. Jason had exhausted every contact, every headhunter who had called him over the years, names Jason had kept out of amusement mostly. On the way home that night, the invisible street people seemed to materialize before his eyes. Why had he never noticed them before? They swarmed the streets.

The Acura passed into Beverly Hills, and Jason had the sense that the streets were paved with strange yellow bricks, swept clean overnight by munchkins no one ever saw. No homeless here—at least not today.

Billy steered into the underground lot and cruised to a vacant space. Before he could switch off the ignition, Jason was out of the car.

He waited for Billy at the elevator. When they entered and the doors sealed them inside, the silence of a tomb filled the space between them. Then the doors parted, and all the sounds of the office assaulted Jason’s ears—voices, keyboards clacking, phones chiming. They reminded him that he was alive.

Billy left without a word.

Across the lobby, no one waited outside Jason’s office. He knew without looking that Vince’s office door would be crowded.

Brenda sat at her desk, her neck at a swan’s angle. She was focused on her computer screen while her fingers tapped a flurry on the keyboard. Her blouse was trim against her ribs, and before she noticed him approaching he took in the shape of her.

She turned, and a moment later her fingers stilled. “Here you are.”

A smile. A magnet for his eyes. She scooped up a couple of slips of paper and followed him into his office, crossed to his desk while he hung his jacket on the hanger behind his door. She waited for him at attention, feet together and hands at waist level with the small slips of paper in her manicured fingertips.

“I didn’t write down every time she called.” She held out the message slips.

Serena.

“How many?”

“Three. She doesn’t like voicemail, does she?”

He didn’t say anything about the messages Serena had left on his cell. He looked at the way Brenda had scrawled Serena’s name on the slips of paper. The handwriting was precise, every angle measured. It could have been a computer script. But she’d dug the pen into the paper hard enough to nearly cut it. The first one had the date and time of the call noted, but the second one was blank except for the name. The S was darkened, stenciled over a couple of times, like she’d doodled it.

When he looked up again, Brenda was half-seated against the corner of his desktop, feet together and knees bent, palms on the desk with her arms straight to tilt her shoulders up.

Serena had cheated on him. She had stomped their marriage vows into the dirt. Why call her back? He owed her nothing.

Brenda’s eyes glinted green with mystery. The space inside the room drew close.

He went to the door. Still no one waited outside to see him. He closed the door, and his jacket swung on the hook like an empty skin of him.

The latch on the doorknob drew his fingertips to it, and he twisted it to lock it.

He wadded up the slips of paper and threw them into the corner.

Brenda rested against his desk. She didn’t look away. He approached her.

She stood to face him. Her chest rose and fell with quick breaths. Those eyes held his, determined.

Jason’s knees prickled. Weakness plucked at them and threatened to take him to the floor.

His left hand rose from his side.

She took it.

27

“I’ve wanted you since I first saw you.” Her voice was soft, earnest. “I knew I couldn’t have you. I tried telling myself to let it go and move on. But nobody else would do. I kept comparing them to you. I couldn’t help myself. It was like you were always there in the back of my mind, like something everybody else had to measure up to, and they couldn’t get there.” Brenda looked away from him for the first time. She had returned to her usual chair and sat with her usual posture, the desk separating her from him. But everything was different now. Jason had the taste of her lips on his, the feel of her arms around him leaving an impression of warmth deeper and more lasting than the sunlight angling in against his back.

She went on. “I remember the first time I saw you. It was right out there. I’d only been with the bank a week or so. I was up here with Margaret. She had a presentation to do with Mark and wanted me along. I saw you across the room, walking with a whole entourage around you. There was something about you. I just kept staring. It was embarrassing.” She smiled, and the dimple in her right cheek was lovely.

The smile faded. “Jason, can we really do this? Please don’t play with me. I couldn’t bear that. But there’s so much against us. The rules of the office, Serena—”

“Serena left me.”

“But she keeps calling for you. I can tell by her voice she still feels for you.”

“Forget Serena. Whatever she feels, she destroyed it with what she did. I don’t want to talk about her.”

Brenda nodded. “Okay. Okay. I’ll never mention her again. I won’t even give you her messages anymore.”

“Good.” Jason pushed Serena out of his mind. It was easy with Brenda so near.

“But it would be bad if they found out around here, wouldn’t it? I know the HR rules, and you do too. They could fire us.”

“We’ll be careful.”

“I could ask for a transfer.”

“No. Don’t do that. I need you here.”

Her head tilted, and a blush rose through her face. The green of her eyes seemed to bore into him, compelling. Want for her erupted inside him.

He came out of his chair. Around the desk. It took forever. She rose to him and rushed into his arms again, the garden fragrance of her filling his senses, the warmth of her body against him. Her arms surrounded him, and her hands trembled against his back. Her face rose to him, close, the green in her eyes deep and mysterious as twin oceans, teeming with life and honesty and frailty.

They kissed. Delirious with her, Jason abandoned himself to the sensation of her against him and the texture of her mouth against his.

It was too much. Too much for this place.

He pulled away.

“What’s wrong?” Brenda searched his face, her eyebrows rising to ask him what she’d done.

It occurred to Jason how fragile she was in this moment, and how careful he must be with her.

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.” He glanced at the door. From the position of the switch in the knob he could tell it was locked. But that wasn’t enough. “Look,” he said, touching her cheek with his fingertips, the softness of it as tender as the pale pink rose petal in its color. “I want you too. I want this. But more. And to have more, we have to be careful around here.”

He pulled away. He plucked a tissue out of the box on his desk and handed it to her, pointed to her mouth.

Her lashes beat with embarrassment, and she dabbed at it. “What about you?” she said. “You don’t usually wear lip gloss.”

Jason laughed. He wiped off the gloss and realized that he hadn’t laughed in weeks. “Tonight. What are you doing tonight?”

Brenda pressed herself into him and ran her hand down his arm to wrap his palm with hers. “Whatever you want.” She didn’t smile, just gazed into his eyes in a way that rattled his guts. Then she released him and went to the door, unlocked it, and returned to her desk.

* * *

Jason looked at his watch again. It was almost four thirty.

He could sense Brenda’s presence outside the door.

Eighteen unanswered e-mails spelled out their sender’s names, subjects, and dates in boldface. Half of them had attachments. One was from Mark, two from Vince. It would take some time to get through them.

He glided his mouse to get the cursor over the Start icon and turned off the computer.

A hand to his lips, he considered the layout of the desks outside his office. Brenda sat ten feet from Angie Barrett’s desk, and lenders were always hovering around. Anything he said to her out there would be overheard.

He slotted the laptop into his briefcase, then closed up a couple of files and dropped them in too. As if he would be working tonight.

Hands resting on the briefcase on his lap, he watched the doorway. Just a few feet outside it, she sat. He didn’t hear her typing or her voice. If she’d gone somewhere, he would have heard the sound of her chair rolling against the floor and the scrape of her heels when she slid her feet around to stand. He would have heard one heel on the plastic sheet between the carpet and her chair before she stepped off it, and he might have heard her speak a word or two to Angie as she passed.

He took up the briefcase and went to the doorway. The briefcase had to go to the floor for him to retrieve his jacket from the hanger on the back of the door. He draped the jacket over one arm and leaned over to pick up the briefcase. He cleared his throat.

Rounding the corner, he saw her. She lifted her eyes to him.

Angie glanced up, then back to the paperwork before her.

“I’m taking off,” he said to Brenda. “I have that appointment, then a dinner tonight.” He shuffled his feet, glanced toward Angie. Angie’s head stayed down. “You can go ahead and clear out if you don’t have anything too pressing.”

“Okay. Good night.” She gave him nothing. No wink, no smile.

“Okay, then. See you.”

Jason moved away from her desk. His feet acted like they didn’t belong in his shoes. His movements felt as clumsy as a toddler’s. At the elevator, he held his briefcase in both hands, then shifted it to his left and pulled his jacket over onto his other arm. Finally he draped the jacket over his shoulder.

The elevator let out a chime. The door was about to open.

“Jason.”

No. Not now.

“Hey, Jason.” Vince stood in his doorway. The Pillsbury Doughboy in a Brooks Brothers suit.

The elevator doors opened. Jason put out the hand with his jacket to hold the door open. “Yeah?”

Vince waved him toward his office and turned his back to him, his round bulk moving out of sight.

Jason sighed and shook his head. He let his hand drop, and the elevator doors slid closed. The whir of the car descended away.

He went to Vince’s office. “What’s up? I have a five o’clock appointment.”

“Who with?”

Vince hadn’t met the Northfield guys yet. It would be as safe as any other lie. “Ed Monroe.”

“We need to go over a few things. I’ll be here for a while. You can see me when you get back.”

“I’ll be late. We’re going to dinner after. It’ll have to be in the morning.” Jason turned to go.

“You know, I still need to meet Ed. Why don’t I clear my calendar—”

“Not this meeting. Next time.” He walked out.

“Jason!”

He cursed under his breath and went back.

Vince met him at his office door. “Why not this meeting?”

“We’re just going to go over third-quarter performance and grab a quick dinner. I’d rather do it later. You know, make a special appointment to introduce you.”

“No, let’s do it today. I’ll clear my calendar. Be with you in a couple minutes.” Vince went to his computer.

“All right. I’ll call him and let him know you’re coming.” Jason marched across the lobby.

Brenda was away.

He picked up his phone and held it to his ear. Listening for anything that would signal Brenda’s return to her desk, he tried to think through his options.

He dialed Ed Monroe’s office. Ed’s assistant picked up. The CEO was in New York meeting with investors.

Brenda still hadn’t returned. He would have heard her, sensed her, even while talking with Ed’s assistant.

Vince was waiting. With no Northfield appointment, any other excuse would be transparent. Jason’s frustration mounted.