Flowers for Jill Ch. 03

"You're insatiable." she left the restroom with him on her heels, and started digging in a box labeled "Accessories" with a short list of designer names printed on the same label.

"For you, I am."

She found a beige tie that worked with his outfit, though not as elegantly as the gold one did, but he didn't complain about the color. Her walking up to him and sliding it around his collar to tie it surprised him, and he smiled, "This is nice, you're sweet."

She paused, then said, "Listen, Marc, this has just taken a serious turn; you've gone and changed everything making it so difficult."

"I wanted more, you wanted more, but you were too chicken to tell me; so I took the lead." He added steadfastly, "It was bound to happen."

"That's not true."

"You're a terrible liar -beautiful, but terrible." He challenged, and she shook her head, "Okay, so we'll do it your way, but as it stands, you know a whole lot about me, and I know diddly squat about you." She slid the knot up setting it between his collar points, "I know you're Canadian because of your accent, or maybe from somewhere in northern Michigan?"

"Canadian's right," he smiled, "Born in Montréal, raised all over, but always a Montréal boy."

"What do you do for a living?"

"I work for my family's business."

She scowled, "Like the mob?"

He chuckled, "Do I look like someone who works for the mob?"

He looked like he could be a professional athlete, a hockey player or something, "I don't know how mobsters are supposed to look like."

"Al Pacino." He smirked, but she shook her head, "That's politically incorrect." And before he opened his mouth to say something, she shot out, "You're not a male stripper, are you?"

"Nah, I'm too shy." He fought a smile, placing his hand on his chest in a humble gesture.

"Right, and I buy my steak meat from Wal-Mart."

That made him laugh again, he looked so relaxed in her environment, like the monumental flip in their arrangement didn't have the same perplexing effect on him as it did her.

Her pager buzzed, and Mia said "The folks from management are swarmed around Helga, and I think she's P-ed off she looks like she'd just bitten a lemon. Good morning, Jillian."

"Morning, Mia, and you know that's Helga's happy face," she pressed her pager button talking into it, then turned her pyramid clock towards Marc -who was putting on his suit jacket- gesturing the time, "Is Mr. Dussant Jr. with them?"

"I don't see him, they all look so grouchy -well, not all of them, just Helga."

Helga was Jillian's boss, and one of two above her before the Dussant's, "Again, it's her happy face, she's a sweetie beneath all that."

Mia said something else, but Jillian released the intercom button turning her attention to Marc, "I don't even know your last name."

"Dussant," he stated simply, "Marc Dussant."

The ground disappeared from underneath her feet as her heartbeats turned into a buzzing noise in her ears, and in a flurry of motions, her door was opened by her secretary, and a group of her coworkers marched in, headed by Helga who exclaimed, "Mr. Dussant! We were looking for you!"

Marc Dussant? Belatedly, she connected the dots, M. Dussant stood for Marc not Marcel, but she had just assumed the name was the same as his father's since everyone called him Dussant Junior. He knew exactly who she was all along, knew where she lived, where she worked; he was her goddamned boss and she was in the dark this whole time!

Swallowing, she turned to her officemates trying to come up with a fib to placate their curiosity, but Marc was already talking, "I stopped by a little early to see Ms. Zahra," he looked at Jillian, he knew who she was from her employment history down to her last name, yet she only found out what his last name was less than five minutes ago, "We're good buddies." He flashed her a smile, and she exercised a herculean amount of self-control to keep from slapping him soundly, and calling him every name in the book -and a few she'd come up with just for a bastard like him. The asshole, how dare he!

"Are we?" she cocked her head to the side belligerently drawing composure from her furiousness, "Huh! I can't call my new boss a friend, anymore, now can I?" her gaze told him to go fuck himself for there will be no more Jillian for him, but he slipped his hands in his pants pockets rocking back and forth on his heels, "Of course you can, I'm not that kind of boss, Jillian."

"We're so glad you're here," one of the guys said extending his hand, "your father was a stellar guy, real hardworking, yet very approachable, and he had you in his highest regards."

"I have big shoes to fill," he nodded shaking the man's hand, the ice-breaker creating a chain reaction of introductions, while she grabbed the folder she'd put together for the meeting with quivering hands, ignoring the puzzled looks her secretary gave her.

When they left to the boardroom, she just followed the crowd on leaden legs, a million warring emotions scrambling and combusting in her mind, and forming a massive lump in her throat.

The boardroom was cool, elegant with a lot of glossed African Blackwood furniture and modern art that bordered on out there in its styles. It also smelled of the fresh linen scent that the cleaning lady tended to go heavy on, which made a lot of employees go ahead and buy her other air fresheners, but she never used any of the stuff they brought.

There was a long breakfast table set up with a Keurig coffee machine, an electric glass kettle full of water for tea, and an array of pastries.

Eyeing the buttery no-no's, Jillian shoved a company logo mug under the coffeemaker's spout, selecting a cup of dark roast to go with her gloomy mood that bubbled indignantly just like the water boiling in the kettle on her right. Ultra-mega pain-in-the-ass, Sam Delaney decided to inject himself next to her, intruding on her personal space with a suave smile other women swooned over "I wouldn't have imagined that a woman with your figure would touch any of these goodies." He gestured the pastries that she wasn't planning on eating a piece of, since she'd already had breakfast. He knew her better than that, and she had a serious pet-peeve that involved the ignorant notion that a woman who fit in her low-digit-sized clothes starved herself. Sure, she didn't go ham on ice cream and chips every day, but she didn't deny herself, "All in moderation," she barked snatching a mini cheese Danish with a glistening raspberry on top, and sunk her teeth into it. The treat tasted like sawdust as her dour mood pissed on everything -thanks to Marc The Lying Asshole, who was talking to someone else with one hand in his pocket while the other smoothed his tie absently.

As if sensing her eyes on him, he glanced around and smiled unconsciously at her without a trace of malice or teasing in his eyes, and she felt her insides roil with a mixture of rage, confusion, irritation, attraction, and...that nameless feeling that bugged her like a pesky fly that refused to land after she grabbed a newspaper to swat it.

She gave him a dark scowl before turning to the coffee machine that coughed and spat the last of its steaming, bitter stream, and she pulled the cup fast splashing a sizeable hot drop of coffee on her hand.

"Whoa, careful." Sam grabbed a few napkins offering them to her, "I'm not in a hurry to use the coffeemaker, don't worry."

"Thanks." She grumbled snatching one of the napkins and wiping her hand.

"Welcome!" he smiled genially looking very much like the same as he did the first day she met him in college when she helped him find his class. Okay, so he was a decent guy, but it lessen the fact that he was a major pain in the hiney who seemed to sprout everywhere she went since their university days.

"So you know that guy?" he gestured with his eyebrow at Marc, and she felt an outlandish urge to laugh, "By that guy you mean our boss, right?"

"Uh, duh!"

She threw him a withering look and shook her head, "Not really, we just kind of...we're acquainted, but it's all because I had to email him several times after Mr. Dussa—his father started planning his retirement and I needed direct managerial guidance." It wasn't the entire truth, but it wasn't a lie either, and she didn't feel as terrible as she would have had she agreed with Lying Marc's story about them being buddies.

As usual, she sat on Helga's left and watched Marc take his dad's seat at the head of the table as if he'd done it a thousand times before, and he started "Okay, so many people ask me why I haven't worked to Élsi Dussant straight out of college, and I'm sure you all wonder the same thing; why now? Well," he drew a breath, "dad wanted me to, I didn't, and we had an argument about it -a bit of a squabble, if you would- and since I wanted to do my own thing, I headed over to a smaller company -one that didn't have my grandmother's name on the building outside," he grinned glancing at the big logo on the wall of the big hall, then the coffee mug in his hand, "and the inside, and the cups, and the letterheads, but I digress...older and wiser, I saw an opportunity of bringing the companies together, and suggested a buyout to my older boss then to my father, aaaand, a mountain of paperwork later; here I am!"

He was schizophrenic, is what he was, Jillian raged, how could someone act all nice and professional when he was such a massive dick—wrong choice of words, but she still agreed with herself. He'd seemed very business-oriented, and dripped of professionalism in his emails and the way he handled the reports she sent him, which contrasted shockingly with what he just did to her in her office, making her count her orgasms and lick his jism off her fingers.

"Ms. Zahra here has helped give me a detailed picture of how things were looking, staff and image-wise, and I have to agree with her on the number of changes that need to take place in order to keep Élsi Dussant from sinking and turning into another coup d'état for another corporation," he pulled a few documents from a folder supplied by -whom she assumed was his assistant- and hit a few printed bullets, pausing to explain his view in between his reading, as well as sending sharp scrutinizing looks at the faces of his audience.

Opinions were thrown about, some possible solutions, some plain silence fillers that screamed I participated, so that's out of the way, and she found it difficult to keep her attention from straying towards Marc. She was staring at a printed page in front of her, after reading the same paragraph a good thirty times without really reading it, when his voice rang out, "I'd like to work on your suggestions, Ms. Zahra."

So she went from Jill to Ms. Zahra in less than half an hour, "Right, yes," she straightened in her seat tapping her pile of papers on the table, "The ah...the proposals I've emailed you about?" she couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze as she went on with her plans shortening the detailed aspects to as not to bore everyone to tears since this was just an initial discussion.

"The plan is to revamp the operating staff and some of the managerial chairs, and I think it's been delayed for far too long," Marc commented using the same description she had in her head; revamp, she found herself staring at his face for a brief moment that she killed the second he turned his eyes to her, "The assessments you've given me are quite bleak, to be frank, but not unsalvageable." He repeated.

"We need to act fast though," someone put it, "you don't want us to promote from within, Jillian, but it will save us the training time needed on outsiders."

"Here's my issue," Jillian began spiritedly, "We don't have the right people in the right places; a buyer for a Dallas market can't do the job in place of their peer in...say, Atlanta, unless they're from Atlanta, or very well acquainted with the funky fashion trends ATL requires as opposed to the old-money austere-class Dallas socialites lean towards...and that's just one example, on just one problem area. I've been guilty of micro-managing before -caught myself doing it several times- but sometimes it's the only way to prevent disaster."

"Yeah, you breathe this job." Sam put in.

"She does micro-manage!" Stella, the marketing guru chuckled, her short, straight blunt-cut platinum hair bobbing forward and back like a pendulum, "In fact, that dress she's wearing was obtained by her interfering with a buyer's deal that was going down the drain, and saving it. She finagled it right from under Gilbert Goupin's talons!"

The memory of beating another company to the punch brought a grin to Jillian's face, "It's a limited edition, I had to save it, and keep a memento for myself!"

She felt his heated gaze on her for the remainder of the meeting, and was crafty in her escape as she sneaked out of the hall unnoticed by him, and slipped into the ladies' room.

The common restroom was nice, but she hadn't needed to use it since she got her promotion and bigger office more than two years ago, but it was the closest place to hide in until everyone went back to their offices. A soft hiss startled her, and she detected the air freshener attached to the wall, her OCD brain emphasizing the scent that was better than the boardroom's fresh linen, as she watched the small drops get sprayed across the air.

"You're pathetic," she told herself breathing deeply, and watching her chest rise and fall in the mirror, her breasts pushing against the dress' bodice like they're about to spill out everytime she inhaled.

She shook her head still looking at her reflection, not heeding the door that swished open, until she saw his reflection behind her in the mirror, and swiveled on the balls of her feet with a finger pointed at him, "You lying bastard! How dare you! You're a liar, a jerk, and you sneak on people in bathrooms," she was gushing, and didn't care to lower her voice, "you can't do that to people...what was that, like, a-a-a test?" she threw her hands in the air, "Okay then, I guess I failed. Good for you, good for you." She caught herself before she turned into a full blown lunatic.

"I didn't lie," he amended, "you wanted a stranger to fuck, so I didn't tell you my name until you asked for it."

"Omitting important facts is lying, genius."

"It wasn't a test, I wanted you. Still do. You're not wearing panties, are you?"

"What the..." she blinked pressing her fingertips to her temples, "Are you for real? What are you on, seriously, 'cause it sure is one hell of a trip!"

He started to say something when a couple of conversing voices materialized at the door, making him slip into a stall and try to pull her with him. She swatted at his hand right before the two women walked in, and he was forced to close the door and hide.

Striding decidedly to her office, she emptied a box of hopeful models' polaroids, and started arranging her personal stuff in it. The stylish desk clock, her collection of engraved ballpoint pens, an eclectic selection of planners, rolodexes, and her—she paused staring at the glass rose that Marc had wrapped with a moist wipe clearly intending to wipe it after he cleaned himself. The delicate artwork sat there like an offending witness of her foolhardy, reminding her of how people always let her down.

She shook her head in an attempt to reroute her thoughts, this box wasn't going to be enough -her office had become her home away from...actually, her own home was "Home away from the office" so to speak- she'd brought in a lot of stuff turning it into a cozy haven for her to drown in her work. Things won't fit in her car in one trip. She also needed to type and sign an official letter of resignation...oy vey!

"Jillian, you have a visitor." Her intercom blared.

She leaned across her desk pressing the button, "I'm busy."

"It's Mr. Dussant." Mia clarified the same moment Marc pushed the door open, "That wasn't cool." He began, then halted, taking in her half empty desk with the loaded box on top, "What's this about?"

Facing him, she squared her shoulders, "I quit. You don't need to fire me, I'll do it for you." There. This was easier than typing a letter of resignation.

A dark frown transformed his face, "You what? I won't accept it." he treaded towards her, and she held a hand up gesturing him to stay away, "I'm saving you the time and energy, and saving myself from the humiliation of a demission. I failed your test, hence I'm leaving."

"What test? There's no test. What's with all this crap? I told you I don't like bullshit."

Arms akimbo, she spat, "No bullshit here, I'm leaving. Officially."

"Yeeaaaah, no. You're not. I don't accept; you're the best asset this company has, and you said yourself that this job is very important to you, don't flip out over some personal shit that isn't related to your work in any way or form. What we have between us is exactly what it is; between us. Personal. Case closed. When you come in here, I expect you to do your job the way you've always done it, and I shall do my job the way I'm needed to. Our relationship-"

"Is that why your fucked me in my office?" she nearly shouted, and stood in place, shaking with rage for a ten second count, before snatching her purse, "I'm done with this."

She rounded him reaching the door first, and throwing it open in a cheap shot at stopping any further arguments from him in front of witnesses, and out of the privacy of her office.

"This conversation isn't over." He ground out then walked off ahead of her.

"Wow, he looks pissed." Mia remarked tilting her head back to stare at his retreating behind, "He's a super hunk. I like angry hunks."

Jillian shook her head balefully, "I'm leaving for the day." She declared shutting her mind and ears against Mia's comments about what a prime piece of beefcake Mr. Dussant Jr. was.

Unconsciously, she drove to the pet store closest to her loft, and walked straight to the cat section where they had some cats for adoption. One cat has caught her attention a few weeks back, as she frequented the store to look at animals she didn't have the time to raise, and she noticed that it -she was still there.

The kitty was three years old, as the chart on her glass window said, nameless, and had a bum-eye.

"Hi Kimmy," Jillian touched her hand to the glass watching the cat's good eye dilate in affection before she started to rub herself against the window as if she was getting stroked by Jillian's hand, "I missed you."

It was sad that everyone wanted the pretty little kittens, and fluffy cats, but no one wanted Kimmy because of her eye. She was a very friendly calico, and it squeezed Jillian's heart to see her get ignored by the kids and animal lovers who came in to adopt a helpless creature, and walked out with one of the cute ones.

"You should take her home." Shannon, the store manager walked up to Jillian, "I know you want to."

She smiled ruefully, "I can't take care of her, you know that."

He cast her a knowing glance, "You'll make a great mother for her; you're very affectionate and kind."

"Right," she laughed mirthlessly, "you should do stand-up, Shannon."

But he insisted, "You come in here regularly to look at the animals, and donate money, and you don't even own an animal. That says something. And I haven't even mentioned how sweet you are to my associates, or the Christmas gifts you gave us last winter."

Was she kind? "What if I was a terrible person who wanted to attune to their sins by giving back a little?" was she a terrible person? She tried not to be, very effectively, in fact, yet karma seemed to be after her all the time.