TWENTY-ONE YEARS LATER
If life throws you a lemon, you should probably eat it or else you’ll remain hungry.
At least, that’s true in my case.
The fact that I got fired from my last job should say something. Apparently, I’m not supposed to call a customer a “creepy old man” if he “accidentally” touches my butt.
And okay, maybe pouring water all over his head was a bit of an extreme reaction, but I don’t have a filter when it comes to these types of things.
Not after everything that’s happened in the past.
So now, I’m hoping one of the companies that I interviewed with will call me back. Otherwise, Jayden and I are screwed.
I might not have finished university, but I did study at Cambridge for two years, and I have some experience.
But oh well. It’s brutal out here in New York, so my small amount of experience may mean nothing.
“Are you okay, Nikki?”
I lift my head from my task of chopping vegetables and stare at the adorable face of my little Jayden.
He looks so much like me, it’s a little freaky. But his blond hair is shinier, like my mum’s, and his eyes are a light brown, like a warm forest during a sunny day.
Despite being only nine years old, he’s the definition of a blessing. I don’t know what my life would be like if he weren’t around.
“I’m fine, baby.”
A delicate frown appears between his brows as he trudges toward me. “Stop calling me that. I’m not a baby anymore.”
“As if.” I ruffle his blond strands and he whines wordlessly. “Have you taken your medication?”
“Yeah, I did. I told you I’m not a kid.”
“If you say so.”
“Uh-huh.” He strains to see what’s on the stove. “What are you making for dinner?”
“Fish. Your favorite.”
A slow grin spreads across his beautiful little face and every hardship I’ve ever gone through seems to vanish into thin air.
As long as Jay is happy and safe, I can fight through every battle and win any war.
He hops onto the stool and faces me. “I love the food you make.”
“You mean you love fish.”
“That, too, but anything is great. You’re the best cook I know.”
“I’m the only cook you know.”
He grins again. “You’re still the best.”
I reach over and ruffle his hair to which he whines again. “Where did you get that sugarcoated mouth from?”
“Myself. And stop messing up my hair!”
“No.”
I put the fish in the middle of a plate and take extra time to display the sauce and the salad in an aesthetic way, then I slide it in front of him. “There you go.”
He digs in, not bothering to hide his glee, and I just stand there, watching him with a satisfied smile.
I search for the asthma control medication on the living area table to see if he really took them. Due to troubled housing as an infant, he developed severe symptoms, and he has to take medication for it.
Sometimes, a quick-relief inhaler is enough, but most of the time, medication is needed to control it. Which is why I need to find work soon if I want to keep him healthy, well fed, and with a roof over his head.
Though this small studio flat is humid as hell. The landlord told me he can do nothing about it and that if I hate this place, I can beat it.
He knows full well that I couldn’t afford a hut on the streets with my finances.
“This is so good,” Jay speaks through a mouthful of fish.
“I’m glad you like it.”
Lolli, our black cat with white paws, who somehow jumped onto our balcony about a year ago, meows. Jay gives her some of his fish that she gets engrossed in.
“By the way,” he says without looking up. “The landlord came by earlier today and was yelling about rent.”
I wince. “Sorry you had to deal with that, sweetie. I’ll talk to him.”
He lifts a shoulder. “I told him he’ll regret treating us like shit when we become rich, because we’ll buy this whole-ass building and kick him out.”
“Jayden! You’re not supposed to talk to the landlord that way.”
“That’s the only way to talk to jerks like him.” He pauses chewing and stares at me. “Where’s your plate?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re never hungry, Nikki.” He narrows his eyes. “Are you skipping meals again?”
“Of course not, and how dare you look at me as if you’re the adult?”
“Well, maybe I should be so you won’t skip meals.”
“Just eat your fish, Jay.”
I spent all my food budget so he could eat fish today after months of craving it. So what if I skip a few meals? When you’re poor, you don’t have the luxury of complaining.
“You eat it.” Jay pushes his half-finished plate toward me.
I slide it back. “No, you eat it.”
He starts to glide it across the counter again, but I grab it, too, and we start a war of glares.
He’s a stubborn little shit. I wonder who he takes that after.
My phone rings in my back pocket and I grab it without releasing the plate.
I don’t recognize the number flashing on the screen so I answer cautiously, “Hello?”
“Is this Nicole Adler?” a woman asks.
My heart picks up speed and I unconsciously release the plate and wipe my palm on my apron. “Yes, this is she.”
“This is Diana from the Human Resources department of Weaver & Shaw’s law firm. Congratulations, you got the assistant position.”
“Oh, thank you. Thank you.”
“I wasn’t done, Ms. Adler. You’ll start on Monday and will be assigned to a junior partner and he requires a three-week trial period. If you fail, you’ll be paid for that period and won’t be permanently employed. If you succeed, we’ll sign a long-term contract.”
I gulp. “I understand. I’ll try my best.”
“Perfect. I’ll email you the requirements for your job as well as a virtual tour of the firm. It’s imperative you arrive early on Monday.”
“I will. Thank you.”
The moment I hang up, a tiny squeal bubbles in my throat and Lolli judges me with her little black eyes as if I’ve lost my mind.
“What happened?” Jay stares at me with expectation. “Good news?”
“I got a job at a huge law firm.” I round the counter and squeeze the hell out of him in a hug.
“I knew you could do it, Nikki.” He strains, but he squeezes me back.
I pull back, my smile vanishing. “You might have to spend more time with Mrs. Potter next door when I’m not around.”
She’s a kind elder woman and the only neighbor who welcomed us when we first moved in here. She loves Jayden and even Lolli and often watches them whenever I’m working.
“I don’t mind. She makes delicious pancakes.”
And then my little gift in life insists that I share the rest of his meal with him.
To celebrate.
From now on, I won’t have to live on the run from his father.
From now on, I’ll have the means to fight back.
On Monday, I wake up early.
After I prepare a lunch box for Jay, I place it on the counter with a Post-it Note that says “Don’t forget your lunch” and then bang on the bathroom door so he’ll hurry up.
He woke up groggy from sleeping in an uncomfortable position with me. This studio flat is the only thing I could afford with my various low-paying jobs. One sofa bed. A kitchen. And a very small bathroom.
But that’ll change.
I’ll make sure I’m fully employed and we’ll move out of this shithole in this bloody loud neighborhood.
My new boss can’t be as demanding as the many others I’ve worked for. He’s an attorney, after all.
I step out of the flat with a smile on my face. I don’t even pay attention to the screaming neighbors, the stench of alcohol, or the passed-out drunk by the side of the road.
I don’t even mind the crowded streets. Okay, maybe a little. Even though I’ve been living in the States since Jay was born and moved to New York last year, I still can’t get used to how fast-paced everything is here.
It’s like everyone is chasing something and won’t stop unless they reach it or drop dead.
Sometimes, I miss London with its peaceful afternoons and even its strained relationship with the sun.
But London and I are no longer on speaking terms. Not since I ran away from it faster than a speeding train.
By the time I reach Weaver & Shaw, I take a pause.
It’s massive and intimidating as well as elegant. I remember feeling like a mouse when I first came here for the interview. I applied to much smaller companies, too, because I thought it’d be virtually impossible to be accepted at this one.
I’m pretty sure I don’t have enough experience. But maybe they took the two years I spent at Cambridge into consideration? After all, it’s one of the most prestigious universities in the world and I did study business.
Though not American or anything specific to New York City.
Whatever the reason, I’m the one who was called into this famous law firm that has a few of the best attorneys not only domestically, but also worldwide.
They have branches all over the States and Europe. Even one in London, from what I learned from the other applicants for the assistant job.
Security lets me in once I give him my name.
My head is held high as I walk past the vast creamy white walls. Everyone here looks prim and proper—elegant, too—and I think I did a decent job of dressing the part.
I’m wearing a white button-down that’s tucked into a black pencil skirt. I also wore my only good heels that I save for professional settings, such as this one.
My hair is gathered in a ponytail and I put on natural-looking makeup and peach-colored lipstick.
My phone case is the same color. My key chain, too.
I kind of never got over my obsession with that fruit. Even though it nearly killed me when I was a child.
After a trip to the Human Resources department, I sign the trial contract and get my temporary access card. Diana, a kind middle-aged woman, tells me to head to the seventh floor, then gives me an ‘I hope you make it’ look.
But I don’t understand why she shakes her head as I leave her office.
The occurrence keeps puzzling me as I take the lift to the seventh floor.
I try to breathe deeply since it calms my nerves. Then I touch my pendant that shares the color of my eyes. The one I’ve worn for the past sixteen years.
You can do this, Nicole.
You have to. For your own and Jay’s sakes.
When the lift stops, I get out with a small smile on my face.
There’s an open area for interns where many of them are busy typing at their computers or reading documents.
But that’s not what I’m here for. Diana told me to head to the second office on the left.
All the junior partners and associate attorneys have glass walls, but the one I’m walking to has the blinds drawn.
I straighten my back, walk through what I suppose will be my office until I reach another door, then knock on it.
“Come in.”
The deep voice with a British accent causes a foreign feeling to constrict my chest and I pause.
No. It’s only my stupid imagination that I can never manage to control. There’s no way in hell it’s him.
That would be just tragic.
And cruel.
And every negative word in the dictionary.
Chasing that ominous thought away, I push the door open and freeze.
My heart drops to the base of my stomach and I cease breathing when my gaze meets those blue eyes that stole from the sun, sky, and the stars.
It is him.
The man who ruined my life as much as I ruined his.
Daniel Sterling.
