Jazzy and Ray

"How did you do that."

"Sir?" Aw, damn. I've been meaning to not call him anything at all since.... 'Good girl.' This just slipped out. Due to the bizarre look that was on his face as I opened the door to a flurry of knocks.

"Yesterday. You're the reason Gina wanted to meet with me again."

I am? "Uh, not quite, she kinda cornered me while I was eating my oatmeal, and I offered to help her with her hair..." he's looking at me, wildly. "I guess I am?"

Heavy hands on my shoulders now, a budding smile on his lips and in his eyes. "Thank you so much, Jazzy, you have no idea how much this means." The undercurrent of his accent slips out in the words, in the rolling buzz of my name on his tongue. The emotion of his face hits me, and then the lust rips to life like a lawn mower in my gut. A one-two punch.

"Oh, I, uh," I shrug under his hands, which slip off of my shoulders. I feel giddy, his touch is lingering even though his hands are at his sides. "I really just talked to her about nothing in particular for a little bit. Touched her roots up a lil bit."

He smiles, dazzling me with the relief on his face, and my alarm rings at that moment. 10am, time for the last goddamn meetings. Hopefully I can cool down a little bit. "Alright, Jazzy, whatever you say. Just don't stop doing what you do." He takes a breath. "You know we have an 11am, right? Are you gonna be ready?"

That snaps me out of my daze a little bit. "Gee whiz, boss, I'm so glad you reminded me," I deadpan, in between the blatant screams of my alarm set specifically for that purpose.

"My bad, Jazzy, my bad, I know you know. I'll leave you to it." He spins around and struts off to his room, and I shut my door quietly. I need several moments.

...

"Wasan said the conference was a success, baby girl, did you have a good time?" Ruby asks me in the lunchroom on Monday.

I look up from my ravioli and decide not to lie. Wynans said I wasn't good at it. "It was hell, Ruby, I hope I don't have to go to another one," I grimace.

"Ohhh, my poor baby girl," she coos. "Come here." I slump into her arms, my hot face warming her cold shoulder.

"Are you coddling my assistant, Ruby?" the demon-man inquires, popping his head into the room. I shift my head away from his voice, further into Ruby's arms.

"Somebody's got to, you sack-a-shit, get out," Ruby bosses. I nod my head in her arms, listening to several snorts of agreement from the rest of the crew in the lunchroom.

"Careful old hag, I can still fire you," Vasquez says, a smile in his words. I want to turn my head to see it.

"Are we tussling again?" Wasan asks, coming back from the vending machines. I turn to watch him walk, unbending, under Vasquez's outstretched arm planted against the doorframe.

"Not yet, but your wife is starting fights again," Vasquez tells him.

Wasan clucks his tongue, laying his Quaker oats granola bar and Sprite in front of his packed lunch. "Say the word, ladies, and I'll gladly fight for your honor," he whispers. It makes the both of us giggle, and Vasquez pretends to scoff angrily.

"Tenure is overrated, and you're lucky you've got it," he announces, before stalking off. I sit up away from Ruby's arms, although I honestly want to stay there. She opens up the granola bar and hands half to her husband.

"Tell me, chica, how long do we have you for? Wasan, did you get peanut butter again?"

"Maybe, I always mix the numbers." She taps his arm.

"What you talking about, Ruby?"

Ruby rolls her eyes and opens the Sprite, pouring herself a cup into one of the Red solos stacked on the table. "Don't play with me, Jazz, I know you're not here for too much longer," she says.

Leilah, on her way to the trash can with a balled up McDonald's bag, swerves by us and nods, eyeing me. "Two more months?" she guesses.

Wasan speaks around his half of the granola bar. "Have a little faith in our girl, I was thinking at least the better part of the year."

"Wanna bet?" Leilah challenges.

Ruby casts a warning eye on her husband. "And what betting are you going to be doing?"

"None, love, you know that." He winks at me, inciting a mutter of doubt from Ruby, but I'm bewildered.

"Ohhh, so y'all just decided I was on my way out? What if I wanna stay?" They laugh, and against my stubbornness I start to join in.

"This place will ruin you, Jazz, we probably wouldn't even let you stay," Leilah says.

"Wow... you all would put me out of a job? In this economy?"

Leilah laughs, walks back to her table. "You can stay with me until you get back on your feet."

"I have a job to go back to," I sigh morosely. When I left the university library, my boss said the door would always be open, and told me about the tuition reimbursement program. By then, I just wanted a break from the laborious tedium of the library. This is the most stressful break I've ever taken.

The job itself is fine, with duties I expect. I'm excelling at the work, I'm happy with my coworkers, my duties, my wages, even the now-and-then conference trips that somehow became my entire job. Maybe I'm a little too old to be a PA?

There were a great deal of assistants older than me at every conference I've been to though, rushing and scribbling along with the pack. Maybe it's just me then, worrying after Vasquez all times of the day and...

Oh. Of course it's Vasquez.

I'm soaking up his stress like a sponge. I almost want to be angry at him, but I can't blame him for my ability to make everything my problem. The tiredness on his face, the constant talk surrounding him, the feel of his hands on my shoulders, all drawing me to him. Well, not that last one, that's kind of making me run in the opposite direction.

...

Another Monday. Somehow I've squeaked by for a few months, experiencing both my happiest and most stressful work moments, often in the same week, the same day. At the most recent conference, I stayed cordial with Illiana all week while giggling with Oliver, but at the same time we lost a minor two-year deal with Rittland's company because of lines crossing in our network. We drove home solemnly, and not much I could say would lift the funk over Vasquez's head.

I'm thinking, now, in the moments when I'm waiting for him to open his door, that I could go back to school to get my Master's in Library Science. That's a fact. There's not much keeping me here; I can always hang out with the friends I've made here outside of work. I'd prefer to.

But I've never left a job so quickly. It's not even been a year, and bowing out because of a little pressure doesn't feel right. On top of that, I kind of don't want to disappoint Vasquez. I don't think I'm irreplaceable; far from it, there are plenty of people who would fill the position much better than I do. But going through another army of interviewees sounds exhausting, and I don't want to be the one to cause that sort of stress. I want to make sure he makes those tired faces less often, at least for the rest of the year.

"Jazzy?"

I respond without turning to look. "Sir."

"What's wrong today?"

I look up from contemplating the jungle of buildings in the window outside of Vasquez's office. Had I not been paying attention?

"Nothing, Mr. Vasquez, my apologies if you were speaking. What did you say?"

Vasquez frowns a bit. "I just got here, Jazzy, I didn't say anything. You look like somebody kicked your dog or something." He is still wearing his coat, raindrops coating his shoulders.

"Oh. Just in the doldrums at the moment, it'll pass," I say, waving my hand. When I leave, yes. Just gotta figure out how much longer I'm gonna stay here.

"If you say so." He's making that 'I'm thinking' face, but I'm a little too out of it to address it.

"Will you be needing anything for your next two meetings?" I take my clipboard out from under my arm and wield my pen.

He's quiet for a moment, and I hold my pose, pen in hand. I wonder when I should tell my friends around the office about my decision.

"Jazzy." Dear Lord, Vasquez, just ask me to get you a coffee, I'm so tired.

"Hmm?"

"I need you for one more trip before you quit."

"What?"

"You heard me. You've been thinking about it for a while. You have," he insists, when I shape my mouth to lie. "You've been carrying more than your share of the work, which happens to all PAs, but you're not even interested in this career path. You're wasting your time."

I tap my pen against my board. "I'd stay til February if I didn't have to go to any more conference weeks, Mr. Vasquez," I venture. I could slide back into my position at the library, right when we're kicking off the Spring displays and deals. He shakes his head.

"What's the point, if you're not happy? Might as well go out with your sanity intact instead of drawing it out." He turns toward his office and motions for me to follow him.

As has become my habit, I put on water for coffee in the countertop space in the back corner. He thumbs through a stack of papers on his desk and plops down in his chair, spinning a bit.

"If I'm prioritizing my feelings, I could put in my two weeks right now," I call out. I inspect a mug from the cupboard for dust, don't see any, and rinse it out anyway.

"You wouldn't do that though, not really."

"Why not?"

"You don't want to leave me in the lurch, especially since I specifically requested for you to attend this event." He boots up his desktop, shoves aside a stack of folders on his keyboard.

"But you didn't. The seat is still open." It was when I checked this morning, anyway. I step toward his desk, a bit confused at his persistence.

"Not anymore. It's yours now."

"I don't want it."

"I don't care."

"Why." Scribbling on the legal pad on my clipboard, and now thoroughly irritated. He's trying to convince me to go on a sixteen-day private casting for background vocals for Flora Reed. She's one of our main voices at the studio right now, and I'm told it's to be a crucial, but lax little field trip. Especially since we're not losing her book deal with Farrow, partly in thanks to me. I don't care.

"Oh, Jazzy girl," he sighs. "You're the best fit for this one, and you don't even have to sit through any real meetings this time."

Jazzy girl. Good girl. I remember how he sighed it into the stale air in that elevator, I remember the moments after, wanting to lean to the right and rest my head on his shoulder, ease his embarrassment. Wanting to hear him say it again.

"Hmm. No."

He sighs at his desk, sips from his mug, leans back and looks at me. I'm peering stonily over my clipboard, I hope, and standing firm.

I hold my breath while he searches my eyes. "Fine," he finally says, and I want to relax my shoulders, take a deep full breath after doing the impossible and saying no to him, but his eyes are still searching mine.

"Do you need anything for your 10:30, sir?" Sharp words, cold, cutting the roof of my mouth as I say them, but he ransacks my thoughts, it seems, and smiles comfortably.

"No, Jazzy. I'll see you then."

...

"Jazz? What are you doing here?" Ruby asks as I wave on my way past her cubicle.

"Huh?"

"Mr. Vasquez didn't come in this morning, I figured it was another trip. Do you know if he's okay?"

"Oh, it is another trip, I just didn't go this time."

"Why not?" She raises an eyebrow.

"I didn't want to," I shrug. "Those kinds of things get tiring, I figured I'd let Leilah take a spin." How did it become my sole role at Daft Studios?

"Oh... I'm surprised he didn't kick up a fuss, I hope he's alright without you," she muses.

"Probably driving Leilah half-mad by now," Wasan says, striding up to his wife with two coffees in his hands. He hands one to Ruby and sips the other.

I grin. "I get to keep a little bit of my sanity this week though, looking forward to that."

"Hmm. I know we're all going to love seeing you go, but we'll hate it, too. Some of us more than others," Ruby says, watching Wasan wander back to his office.

"You're not going to start avoiding me after I quit, are you Ruby? I thought I was invited over for Christmas?"

She purses her lips. "If you don't know what I'm talking about, maybe you're more delusional than I thought," she says.

I bend to place a loud smacking kiss on her forehead, wondering if she's implying what I think she is. "It always surprises people when they see that my casualwear is a straightjacket and velcro ankle restraints," I joke. In bad taste, I think too late.

I find my way back to my desk in front of Vasquez's office, half expecting him to pop his head out and make some request, comment, or joke. I do hope Leilah is doing fine out there, but she's equally, if not more, competent than I am. Vasquez isn't some toy poodle that only I know how to care for. He's a grown man, albeit one with a lack of interest in his own affairs. They'll manage for a few days.

...

Two and a half weeks later on an obnoxiously thundery Friday, Leilah and Vasquez return. I personally would've just asked not to come in, but I don't think Leilah's taken a personal day since I've been here. Not quite a workaholic, but maybe the type who doesn't know what to do with a day off.

At lunchtime, she comes up to me while I'm getting Sun Chips from the vending machine slot. When I stand, she envelops me in a tight hug, making me drop my snack.

"I'm so, so sorry. I had no idea that that's what you go through."

"Oh," I squeeze out, surprised by the sheer force of Leilah's arms around my lungs. "Did you have a bad time?"

She drops her voice to a whisper. "It stressed me out just being around him, Jazz, and nothing ever even went wrong. I had the schedule printed out on my clipboard and he still went over every aspect of it in detail. Like, all day. He asked me to change my jacket. It was the only one I packed. Why in the world does it matter what color jacket I wear?!"

I sigh, squeezing my arms out from under hers to return her hug. "I have no idea, Leilah. No idea."

Walking down the hallway to my desk, I'm joined in step by a tired-looking Vasquez.

"Good morning, Mr. Vasquez," I remember to say. Good girl, I think to myself in his voice.

He doesn't respond, and I look over at him. Relatively expressionless, no doubt thinking up a solid list of demands. He walks me to my desk, stopping to watch me settle.

"Jazzy, were you trying to teach me a lesson by asking Leilah to come in your stead?"

"Sir?" I look up, matching his gaze with a frank stare of my own.

"See, I'm torn, because I always think we get along pretty good, with our little spats here and there. But your absence -"

"You had another perfectly suitable PA."

"Yes, but Leilah-"

"The other personal assistant you handpicked."

"Jazzy-"

"Who is fully qualified to assist you, made not one error - you don't have to tell me, I know she didn't - who helped make sure things went off without a hitch. You did not go without, sir." He stands silent over me. "You know I'm leaving, Mr. Vasquez, and I'm not sure what I provide that someone else at this company couldn't, but you should probably make it a qualification in your hiring process if the lack of it is that unbearable."

He shoves his hands deep into his pockets, dark eyes digging into mine and wanting to say a million words, it seems. I don't know what he wants me to do; I have one foot out the door, and he's acting like a child.

"Can I get you anything, Mr. Vasquez?" I ask.

A tense moment before the thunder cracks outside, outlining his figure against the dreary sky. My legs shift under my desk, restless.

"No, Jazzy," he says, finally. "I'm good for now."

...

I've been dreaming about this day.

I don't even have one of those damning "I'm leaving" boxes to take my things to my car in; I wasn't here long enough to get so much as a mug as a Christmas gift, to buy a wrist support for my keyboard; nothing like that.

So I stand with a bouquet of wildflowers at the door to the lunch room, myself and my flowers crushed in a strong-armed hug by Leilah, with Ruby waiting to tap in.

"Leilah, we're going to the thrift store on Saturday, you'll see me," I mumble over her shoulder.

"But I won't see you everyday, and that's different. And I'll have to go on more stupid trips," she complains.

"Aw, Lamar's gonna be back soon, you know. But do you want me to rough Vasquez up for you before I go?" I joke, staring at the back of his head as he fills his coffee mug, largely unnoticed, across the lunchroom. He was late again, and he never gave me the key to get into his office when he wasn't there, so I didn't get to make him a fresh pot.

"That's something I'd like to see," Ruby says, also staring at our boss but with a wry smile on her face. "Drag his sorry, uptight ass across the asphalt, teach him a few things about order and decency."

"Yeah, Jazz, take him by the ear, show him how to really run a business," Wasan says to his face, grinning widely and handing him the creamer. I don't think he usually drinks hazelnut, but he'll probably take it to be nice.

Leilah finally lets me go, and I get to breathe before being seized by Ruby. Vasquez turns around, mug in hand; an imposing figure if it weren't for the mock gruffness on his face. "I'll be meeting you in the parking lot then, Jazz?"

I nod from Ruby's arms. "6pm, sir, on the dot," I tell him. The rest of the surprised lunchroom residents laugh, and we go about our day, some making the trek to my desk on the outskirts of the office to express their farewells, their "wish I got to know you better"s. I think I made all the friends I need, though.

I clock out for the last time, wonder if I should give a proper goodbye to Vasquez. I could sneak off into the night, away from the man who shifted my perspective on how much I thought I could care about him.

I knock on his office door and it creaks open under my knuckles, brushing smooth over thick carpet. I stand at the threshold for a moment before deciding to go in and at least start a fresh pot for him before I go.

It's not like I won't see him, anyway, with how often I plan to pop into the office in the next few months. Leilah and I signed up for yoga classes together, and I'll be picking her up when her brother has her car; I'm even still invited to the office Christmas party. Technically to all future office Christmas parties.

He's running low on the breakfast blend he likes to drink most, but it's not my job to order more. However, I do know he has a late meeting at 7:15 in the guise of a dinner party, and he's going to need caffeine. Well, no - he doesn't need any more caffeine, certainly, if I had a say, but I don't.

I hear a series of footsteps and the shuffle of papers at the desk, and stand staring at the rising line of coffee. When I finally turn around, I see the man himself, idly tidying his wreck of a work space.

"You missed our brawl, Jazzy," he accuses, giving up and dropping his head into his hand.

"You wouldn't have won, sir. And you're out of coffee." I begin zipping my coat, adjusting my bag on my shoulder, and turn to give him a fitting goodbye.

Vasquez heaves himself from his chair, checks his watch. "Thank God for you, woman, both for having mercy on me and for thinking of me on your way out," he chuckles. "But you don't work here anymore. Get out."

"I'm gone," I say defensively. "Well, I was going to wait a few minutes until the night shift came in at the front door so I could say goodbye to Ysolde and Warren, but," I shrug. "Boss's orders."

"No, just plain orders. You'll probably be back in a few days, bothering my workers, you can say hi then." He strides over and tops off his thermos, checks his watch again. "Come, I'll walk you to the deck," he commands. "Got to sit in traffic if I'm gonna be on time for this last meeting."

I follow him out the door after he drapes his coat over his shoulders. "So it's not this position that made you the way you are," I speculate beside him.