To Have and To Hold Ch. 06

Dear reader: We've reached the half point of the series. From chapter 7 on you will find that several strong sexual depictions will take place. Slow burners take time to develop, but we have reached a point of climax, in every sense. Thank you to everyone who has invested their time in my story. Both positive and negative comments are welcome, and so are you to continue this journey with me.

Thanks for hanging in there.

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Song for this chapter: Travis - Kissing in the Wind

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Six: Night is always darker before dawn.

"234 W Fairview Ave, Rob," Matilda instructs her driver as she helps me into the limo.

My mind feels wrapped in a brain fog, not functioning optimally. I'm hardly aware of anything else other than my own inner lament. Wearing nothing but underwear and Matilda's coat, I feel my pride melting in my hands.

"Alexandra," I hear a voice say, far away. "Rob's going to drive you home. I wish I could accompany you, but my father needs for me to handle a few things here," she sits by my side, and gives my arm a soft grip. "Here's my card, call if you need anything," she slides it inside my clutch bag.

"Your coat... I," my voice emerges, almost a croak.

"Forget about it, ok? It looks better on you, anyway."

"I can't thank you enough, I'm sorry if I made a scene," I smile at her. Except I'm not sorry.

She smiles back and with that, she's gone.

I feel the car starting, I'm reclining against the corner of my seat trying to distance myself from reality by counting the drops of rain on the outside of the window. Growing up, every time my mother would humiliate me I had my very own unique way of coping. I would just stare blankly at a given object, blurring everything else around me.

As the years passed, and after all the therapy I had undergone, I had managed to control it. I had learned to detach myself from shame memories and not let certain situations trigger my traumatic childhood experiences. But tonight, Christopher's actions and words caught me off balance.

"I don't owe you anything!" my mom would yell at me throughout my whole pre-teen and teenage years. The times when I most needed my mother, she made sure I didn't expect much from her. Growing up all I wanted was a little validation from her. Now, as an adult, I find myself paying a high price for her emotional abuse.

It took me a long time to accept that I was a neglected child and that my mother was a shrew. I was unloved and unwanted, unknowingly becoming my mother's punching bag where she would lash out her frustrations and the pain of my father's abandonment.

I close my eyes, and remember my therapist's words: "Don't dwell on the negative, be mindful of your past and allow yourself the possibility to get ahead."

Regardless of the triggers tonight's events have set off, there's one thing therapy with Dr. Allen has taught me: I'm not a victim, nor do I have to be one. I made the conscious decision to come here tonight, even without a signed contract. I also broke the one rule that has kept me safe all these years; you should never have expectations for other people. I thought for once I'd go against my better judgment and trust him.

Little Topher. It's officially over. I squeeze my eyes shut, but the tears keep falling. Stupid girl, this is the only reason why you should feel affected. No other reason, non-other.

The car comes to a stop, I straighten up and realize we're outside my apartment building. The front door shuts and I can hear Matilda's driver approaching. Fourteen steps later he was letting me out of the car.

"Miss, Summers, may I help you out?" he holds out his hand for me. I nod and take it, trying to keep the coat in place. Once I'm out he reaches inside the limo, grabbing my clutch, and hands it to me.

"Thank you for driving me all the way here," I say as nicely as I can.

"Ma'am," he nods. He closes the door and I expect him to turn around and get in the car, but he just stands there with his arms behind him.

I give him a look of confusion.

"Miss Levenson's orders, Ma'am," he explains.

I nod and thank him again. I walk up the stairs, fetch for my keys and go into the complex. As I'm walking to my apartment, a tide of relief washes over me when I remember Karen's not home. How could I explain what's happening to her, and where would I get the energy to cater for her need of details?

I get into the apartment, and head to my room at once. I take off the coat along with my underwear. Getting into bed, I slide under the comforter, feeling the subtle touch of the fabric on my skin. I thought by now I'd be sailing an ocean of tears, but there aren't any left. I cried in a week what I hadn't in years. Closing my eyes, I go back to that familiar dark space in my mind where nothing can be felt, it's void, it's peaceful, and I drift off.

-

I open my eyes in one move and see pitch black. I look at the alarm clock to my left, it reads 3:28 A.M. I'm thirsty, so I get out of bed, and head to my kitchen. Cold water, yes. I've been dried out by all the crying, the talking, the orgasm. Ah, yes, the feeling of cold water calming the drought inside me is magnificent.

The cool drops on my skin remind me I'm naked. It's liberating being able to expose my body to the nothingness of my home. I head back and turn on the lights in my room, so I can look for a robe. My auto-pilot mode halts as I look over to the recliner and see the empty boxes from Versace, Christopher had sent me. The card. It's still in my purse. I dig in looking for it, and find it with no trouble.

"I've never had a moment's dou-," Oh, for god's sake, I can't read through this bullshit again. Ripping it in four pieces I flush it down the toilet. I walk to my dresser, and take a robe from the hangers, putting it on. I pick up the empty box, the bag and the tissue paper that's scattered on the floor, holding all of it in one pile. Going to the kitchen I take out a big trash bag to throw everything in. With my keys on hand, I head out downstairs to the residential dumpster. I dispose of the bag in the waste bin, and go back up to my apartment. One thing less to worry about.

Taking the robe off, I hit the shower. While rinsing my body, I'm immediately reminded of Christopher's hands on me. His sweet touch against my skin, the hunger, the need. Stop. Enough for now, Lexie. Get ahead.

I dry myself up and put my p.j.'s on, rushing to get back to bed. Don't overthink, just shut it down. I take my earbuds from my night stand, and put them on. I slide under my comforter, covering myself up completely. Tapping on a song in my music app, I close my eyes.

You're only happy when you're dreamin'

Dreamin'

Dreamin' 'bout nothin' much

I drift off, once again.

-

Loud laughter and incessant conversation wake me up. The sun is fighting to break in through the dark curtain cracks. My head feels like exploding. I try sitting up, but I feel the weight of the world on me. I groan with an undecipherable tune and just lay still.

More laughter. More conversation. Clinking dishes. I need to wake up.

I remove the bedding over me, and sit on the edge of the bed reaching for the phone. Shit! It's 10:00 A.M. I check my phone notifications. Little Topher group chat marks 200 unread messages. My mother called again. My landlord sent the new lease papers. Nothing more. Why would there be?

I tie my hair up in a bun and head to the living room. The second I walk in, Karen's on my ass.

"Well, good morning, lazybones. Enjoying the unemployed life, I see," she jokes.

"Shut up," I say, rubbing my eyes with my wrists. "I can't believe I slept so much."

"Well, you've been working so hard this week. It's only normal that your body gives up," she says while serving me a cup of coffee.

"Can you explain to me why do chicks have so many bottles of shit that do the exact same thing?" Jeff, Karen's fiancé, barges in.

I laugh at his accurate description of Karen's bathroom. "Hey, Jeff," I say bumping his fist.

"I was worried about you. You're usually up before us. I told Karen you had probably jumped off the roof," he laughs.

"Jeff!" Karen scolds him. I laugh at her reaction, and nod at Jeff in agreement.

"I'll bear that in mind. Might come in handy if I can't find a job in say...one week?" I say touching my chin with my index finger, looking up.

"Ah, Lexie. I'm really sorry about the center."

"10.1 million unemployed citizens, I'm only making that number grow stronger," I nod in false display of achievement.

"Come on, Lexie. We'll figure it out! There's lots of opportunity out there for you to choose. You're talented, you have the experience... It'll be ok," Karen reassures me.

"Oh, by the way. My friend Patrick from UCLA, his family owns this massive law firm, I was reading a post of his on Facebook that they are venturing into educational projects for kids. I could hit him up and find out if they are hiring. I mean, if you're game," Jeff comments, looking my way.

"I wouldn't want to impose, but I'm game!" I clap my hands in cheer.

"Not at all. We really want to help you out as much as we can."

"Anything you can get for me, I'm arms wide-open," I finish.

The rest of the day goes by in high speed. Pushing the thought of Christopher to the back of my mind, I turn my Made of Honor mode on. Karen and I discuss dresses, make-up, flowers, catering, invitations, color pallets, music, speeches and bridal parties. Creating files of endless pictures, and pinning tons of inspiration on Pinterest.

By the time we feel worn out it's already seven P.M. We reheat some left offer Thai from lunch and decide to submerge ourselves in the healing power of show reruns. Three episodes in and I was already on zombie mode, falling asleep on the couch.

-

Sunday went by just as fast. I went to the laundromat, and picked up some fresh fruit from the farmers market. My phone hadn't rung or pinged all day. I was efficiently surviving day number two away from him.

I was making myself some afternoon coffee, when my phone rang. My heart stopped and my pulse sped up, but looking at my screen I sigh in relief; it was Jeff calling.

"Hey, Jeff."

"Lexie, hi! Listen, I wanted to run this by you before I could confirm with Patrick. I called him this morning, and he said they are actually on the look-out for a Junior project manager. Now I'm not fully aware of the specifics, but he agreed to an interview, if you are up for it."

"Are you serious? Tell him I'll be there," a rush of excitement courses through me. A job opportunity so quickly.

"Great! So, I'll text you the address. The interview is tomorrow morning at 9."

"Jeff, I owe you big time, thank you!"

"You got it, Lex. Good luck!" he hangs up.

Sure enough a little after our call ended I get a message from him:

9 A.M. at 811 Wilshire Blvd. McMillan & Foyth, 17th floor. Ask for Patrick McMillan. Please send your résumé to patrick@mcmillanfoyth.com

Jumping over to where my laptop is on the couch, I update my résumé, making sure everything fits in a single one-page document. I type a short email, introducing myself and courteously address the opportunity he's giving me, I attach the document and click send.

Tomorrow can't come soon enough.

Sunday evening arrives, and I'm going through the McMillan website. Jeff wasn't kidding, these people are huge. They have their hands everywhere. For a brief moment I wonder what is it with me and powerful people? Like a moth to a flame.

I finish my pre-interview research and go to bed.

-

My alarm goes off. I know it's 6:20 A.M. I get out of bed and hit the shower. I needed enough time to do my hair and makeup, grab a bite and get there with at least 10 minutes to spare. If you're early, you're on time. If you're on time, you're late, I keep repeating Alfred's words like a mantra.

8:10 A.M. and my Uber is waiting for me downstairs. I grab my brown leather briefcase, say goodbye to Karen and promise to call after the interview. I step out of the complex, hop in the car and off to Downtown LA I go.

8:45 A.M. I'm taking the elevator up to the 17th floor at the McMillan building. I can't help but feel nervous, because I haven't had a job interview in a long time, even at Little Topher. I was a volunteer first and when I graduated I was sort of picked by hand to join the staff. Likewise, I never really had to prove anything to be given the opportunity. But this is different. This is where all my education, experience and my passion would be put to test.

The elevator dings and the door opens. I step out and right in the middle of the reception there's a huge set of stone letters that spell McMillan&Foyth. It's a little overwhelming. I walk up to the front desk, where a petite woman with a Bluetooth gadget attached to her left ear smiles at me.

"Good morning, may I help you?" she asks, politely.

"Good morning. Alexandra Summers for Patrick McMillan. I have an interview at 9."

"Certainly. Please have a seat. Mr. McMillan will be with you shortly," she points at the waiting area to the side.

I nod and head to the smaller couch. Placing the briefcase on my legs, I wait, breathing in and out, calming my nerves.

"Miss. Summers? Follow me please," the receptionist guides me into a hall to the left. All the offices are made of non-reflective tinted glass for privacy. Everything is so clean and put together, nothing like the office I had in my beloved center.

"He's expecting you," the receptionist interrupts my thoughts and holds open a glass door.

"Thank you," I say.

I walk in and approach the desk in the far center of the large office. Mr. McMillan was reading something, and I could see him highlight stuff on a paper with a marker. Highly attractive man, but certainly no Christopher.

He lifts his head and stands up when he notices me.

"Alexandra, welcome. Thank you for coming in on such short notice," his voice is cool and collected. But there was nothing threatening about it.

"On the contrary, Mr. McMillan. Thank you for the opportunity," I shake his hand, firmly.

"Please, call me Patrick. Firm handshake. You're already halfway there," he tells me with a broad smile.

"I practiced so many times, yesterday," I flush, and he laughs.

"Nervous?"

"Apprehensive," I return.

"You shouldn't be. You have a great résumé. Just be yourself and let's find out if you're a good fit for the project."

I smile and nod, feeling much more relaxed than 3 minutes ago.

"So, Alexandra, Jeff mentioned that you have experience in the community service industry, and I also see here that you majored in Social Work. Can you elaborate?" he leans back on his chair.

I start my well studied answer to that question. Going from my academics, to my later involvement in community service. I pinpoint my particular interests and motivations, and explain in brief detail my work at the center, answering just enough so that he would keep asking if interested.

"That's impressive. Sounds like you have been involved in many of the areas that enclose social service. Have you had any experience with foster care?"

"I interned at the Los Angeles DCFS for about 4 months, and I was introduced to many of the legal procedures in the foster care system. Eventually, at Little Topher, we handled 3 or 4 foster cases as caregivers."

"Excellent. Well, having heard your account, I will share with you in-depth details of the program I am trying to establish. I'm still on phase 1 right now, but we are hoping to find someone that can round up all of our scattered ideas."

Patrick begins telling me about the project and the type of profile they would like to bring onboard. As he talks I can see the passion he has for this project. He expresses himself with ease. His knowledge on the subject is attention-grabbing, and I feel like I'm learning rather than sharing my expertise.

"So, what do you think?" he asks intrigued.

"I'm confused," I tell him, narrowing my eyes. "You say the project is still on phase 1, but you have dissected every single edge of the workflow. Not at all a rough wireframe," I shake my head.

He's silent, just looking at me. I think he might be angry. Shit, save yourself.

"I mean, don't get me wrong. I'm not trying to contradict you. It's just, I think you're giving the thought you have put into this much less credit than it deserves," I smile, apologetically.

"You haven't, not at all," he finally speaks up. "This project isn't expected to succeed, Alexandra. I'm pretty much self-funding until I can pitch it to my parents for them to take over the financial side. So, to hear someone else saying they understand what I'm trying to do here is rewarding. Thank you for that," he smiles.

"Why do you say it's not expected to succeed?" I ask.

"Because if there's one thing you need to learn when it comes to people with money and charity is, if it doesn't have a way of gaining any revenue, they won't touch it, unless it helps fix problems their companies caused in the first place. Philanthropy is just a fancy word for-"

"Corporate hypocrisy?" I interject.

"That's exactly right," his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

I'm a little too acquainted with the term. Christopher was certainly first hand experience.

"Well, in my opinion the structure of charity enterprise is much more than just good-hearted altruism," I continue, unable to hide my disdain.

"I couldn't agree more. Sounds to me like I don't have to go into detail about the confrontations this type of projects fight against," he looks at me, intently. "Let's talk salary," he continues.

We discuss pay, benefits, work schedule and minor details. Jeff's offer is almost twice what I made back in the center, but I don't want to be shaken by it because I'm only interviewing.

His office phone beeps.

"Felicity," he calls out.

"Mr. McMillan, your 10:00 A.M. is here," she informs him.

I look at the clock on the wall, it's 10 minutes past 10.

"Thanks, Felicity."

"Sorry, I wasn't aware of the time," I say, standing up and grabbing my briefcase.

"I should be the one saying that," he stands up and smiles. "It was truly my pleasure, thanks for coming in," he extends his hand to shake mine.

I thank him again for the interview and start walking out. As I turn the knob I look back at him, and he's still standing up, watching me.

"You have a project that has potential to drive a Non-Profit revolution here. You can't just find a good fit... find the right fit" I say to him, and he nods. I open the door and step out.

-

Back home, the adrenaline from the interview hasn't subsided. By noon, I decide it's time to call Karen since she'll be on lunch break. We share a brief conversation in which I update her on everything that happened. I also mention that I'll keep job hunting trying to set as many interviews as I can. We say our goodbyes and promise to talk more come tonight.

I'm enjoying my post-lunch daze, when the thought of Christopher crashes into my mind. I had managed to repress the need to think of him or dwell in the negative, but I caved. It's almost as if my subconscious couldn't hold it anymore. I close my eyes and the memory of his lips feels so real. The way he would hold me, reassure me and make me feel wanted. Followed by the reminder of his selfishness, his egotistical ways and his shamelessness. You set yourself up for that one... I admit to it. Once again I'm let down by my own ambivalent expectations.

The phone rings, breaking my heart-rending mood. I see an unknown number, my throat closes.

"Hello?" I say, hesitantly.

"Hello, Miss. Summers? This is Felicity Daniels from McMillan&Foyth. I have Mr. McMillan on the line for you. Please hold."