Scrooge

7. Alexander

7

ALEXANDER

A lex. I hate it when people call me Alex, but my body doesn't shudder like it normally does as I watch her being led away by a kid who looks to be about eight, with a wicked gleam in his eyes. In fact, my body hums as my eyes remain glued to her, watching her laugh and play with the kids. She is about to be annihilated in that laser tag game, but she still goes with him willingly.

I look around the shop and see the abundance of children, yet it doesn’t feel busy, not like it did when I came here as a kid. Some children run around the back, livening up the place. Stupid games, though. This business must be hemorrhaging money with all their try-before-you-buy bullshit.

I am not even sure how I ended up here. It was almost like my feet brought me automatically. When the window caught my eye as I was walking past, I remembered her running into me the other night, and I had to come inside. I like her spunk and her confidence. It is refreshing as hell. Again, I look for the woman who riles me up and spot her at the back, still laughing with the kids. She is a natural, chatty, giggly, like she has not a care in the world. I wonder what that would be like.

I can’t take my eyes off her. She is beautiful, if not totally annoying. I huff at myself before I turn and walk out of the store, and I stop on the sidewalk to admire the window again. It is Thanksgiving themed, pumpkins and toys everywhere, yet even I can admit, it looks amazing. But it is the train set circling on the floor that has my attention. It is red, with black accents, and exactly like the one my father bought me as a kid. I stare at it so long my eyes start to water, my vibrating cell the only thing to break my stare.

“Alexander,” I answer quickly as I start to pace down the street.

“You’re late. You’re never late,” Logan, my friend, says. I look at my watch to see he’s right and lengthen my strides. I hate being late. It is one of the reasons I chose to walk to the bar today to meet my friend Logan instead of getting my driver. I didn’t factor in the small stop at Tucker Toys or seeing that fiery woman again. I meet women all the time. Through work, mostly, or on days like today when I join Logan for dinner and drinks at the business lounge bar at the end of the street. But the woman at the toy shop is different.

“I’m on my way,” I tell him, hanging up immediately. There’s no need to hear his reply as I am already pushing my way through the door of the bar.

“You’re late,” Logan says again, standing to greet me. We shake hands, and he smiles as we take a seat at the table he has garnered at the back of the bar.

“Got caught up,” I tell him, removing my jacket and reaching for the three fingers of Whiteman’s Whiskey already set before me.

“Not like you. Everything alright?” he asks, watching me, and I roll my shoulders, feeling out of sorts. I blame Sheridan. She made me late for my shower and breakfast this morning, which put me behind schedule all day with that stupid proposal idea.

“Fine. Just work,” I lie to him as I lift the whiskey. It is much needed as all I can see is big bright-brown eyes looking up at me, with flushed cheeks, and that laugh that bounces around the room. I realize then I didn’t even ask her name, so clearly my game is a bit off these days. Not that I usually care for names. In fact, the blonde behind the bar is already making eyes at me, even though I have been here mere minutes.

“Cheers, then.” Logan’s glass clinks with mine before he’s swinging the whiskey straight back, taking the entire shot. I have known Logan for a long time. We went to Yale together. I graduated summa cum laude, and he barely passed. I then went straight to Europe, and we only caught up whenever I was back in town, which was rare. We have absolutely nothing in common, yet all these years later, he is still a friend.

“So how's business?” Leaning back, he waves to the blond woman behind the bar to bring him another.

“Growing. Rapidly.” As I take another sip, the anxiety I feel at being bigger, better, and more for my father's legacy almost causes me heart palpitations.

“No shit,” he huffs, and I watch him as he sips the whiskey the bartender just set down for him. I notice him looking at her ass, clearly interested. Her finger traces the wood grain on the table until it hits my hand where I grip the whiskey glass. I look up at her, her gaze solely on me.

“Can I get you anything… sir?” she purrs, and I lean back, looking at her. Her lips are pouty, her body amazingly curvy, exactly the kind of woman I would usually take home.

“No. I’m fine,” I tell her, shifting my attention back to my friend. I don’t entertain her. Yet another thing that is different for me today. She gets the hint and walks away, swaying her hips as Logan continues to stare at her ass, and I wait for him to look back at me.

“Shit, been here for two seconds, and there is already a woman willing to drop to her knees. You’re such a lucky bastard,” Logan murmurs as he shakes his head, laughing. I remain quiet and take another sip. He knows the deal. I don’t commit and neither does he.

“Rumor has it that you are looking at expanding into Asia?” he asks, and I nod.

“Our European footprint is growing. Expansion is the key word for Jackson Enterprises for the next eighteen to twenty-four months, and Asia is firmly in sight.”

“You know I read somewhere that the Rothschilds down in Baltimore had some success in Singapore,” Logan mentions, and I nod, already knowing this information.

“I spoke to Tennyson the other day. He gave me some insight,” I tell him, although I give nothing away. I am not close with many people in my life, but I do keep a few key contacts, and I would never refer to them publicly. “How about you?” I ask him, rolling my shoulders, the whiskey now starting to have the desired effect of relaxing my muscles. Logan works in his father’s legal firm, a small firm in Brooklyn.

“Busy. Dad is thinking of retiring soon. I’m looking at taking over and it is a big step.”

It is small-fry compared to what I deal with on a daily basis, but to him, it is big, and I don’t want to diminish his career.

“Am I an asshole?” I ask Logan. Clearly surprised by my question, he looks like a rabbit caught in headlights before blinking and coming back to life and giving me a smirk.

“Yep. A grade-A asshole,” he says, laughing, and I have to hold back a groan. I knew what he was going to say, but it’s not what I wanted to hear. “Not always. In college, you were great. Remember those frat parties we used to have? The girls? The booze.” Those days feel like a lifetime ago.

“I remember. My father wasn’t a fan of those,” I say, feeling melancholy as I think of the past.

“But you went to Europe, did your thing, and the older you got, the more entrenched into business you were, the bigger the asshole you have become. Since your father passed, you’ve kinda lost yourself…” Logan says honestly, looking at me as I push my empty glass on the table, the taste turning sour as I take in what he’s said.

“What’s with the question anyway? Starting to get a heart now? Is your ruthless persona starting to fall a little?” he teases when I don’t respond.

“My team thinks I need to change due to my personal brand being… detrimental to the business,” I admit.

“Fuck ’em. That is why you are at the top and they are at the bottom. You need to be ruthless. You didn’t get to where you are today by being nice, Alexander,” he says with a wave of his hand, and I nod, because it is true. You need a thick skin in this world, and over the years, mine has become impenetrable.

“They tell me I need to be nicer to staff, to stakeholders,” I elaborate.

“Hmmm… maybe, maybe not. Probably depends on who you are dealing with.”

I nod again, liking his selective approach to things.

“They also are telling me I need to commit in my personal life.”

“Shit, like get married or something?” he asks, head rearing back a bit.

“Or something?” I murmur, thinking about the girl in the toy store again. Her giggle, the way she was with the kids. The complete opposite of me.

“So what? Like an agreement with someone? Not actually for love?” Logan presses, and I frown.

“I am a businessman. I do what needs to be done for success,” I tell him. I still don’t like the idea, but I understand it a little more. My father remained single for years after my mother passed. He believed that you only got one true love in life, and he had his and wasn't interested in finding another companion after that.

“Pretty ruthless, but you got to where you are by being ruthless, Alexander, so I don’t see any point in stopping that now. Let’s eat. I’m starving,” Logan says, slapping the table, and we grab a bite as he tells me what he has in store for his takeover, the legal firm now all but his.

* * *

I walk to the park, needing to clear my head before I go home. I like the evenings. While New York is always busy, Central Park is less so. A few people are like me and walk in the night air. But it is cold, and while the rain has stopped, it is still a little damp.

I turn through the familiar paths that lead to my bench. The one where my father and I would often sit when I was younger while he took a break from his office. The one I come to when I need to think through my worries and get clarity. I have been here almost every week since my father died, and each time sitting on our seat together always helps me with whatever it is I am grappling with.

I come to the familiar clearing and balk. Someone is already sitting on the bench. I continue walking, getting closer, the light dim so it is hard to see, but the figure is small and female, her hair blowing in the breeze, her hands rubbing her arms due to the cold.

Regardless, I continue on. Once I sit down, she will move. I am not exactly giving off chatty vibes tonight. Not that I ever do.

“What are you doing on my seat?” I ask as I approach the woman, my words coming out with more bite than I intend.

As the woman looks up, I almost fall over. It is her. Her eyes widen in realization as well.

“Are you following me?” she asks, her brow crumpled. Looking around, she seems a little unsure before her eyes rest back on me.

“No. You are in my seat,” I tell her again.

“Your seat? Arrogant much?” she huffs as she takes me in.

“It is my seat. Has my name on it.” I point to the small, engraved plaque adorning the backrest.

“This seat is owned by Alexander and Jerry.” She says mine and my father’s names out loud, and I shiver.

“ Jerry was my father.” I emphasize his name and swallow down the heartache that builds when I think about him. Leaning back, I look up as I exhale a heavy breath. The view of the city skyline is front and center, my father's office building right in front of me. Or rather, my office building now. One of the biggest in the city. “He passed away almost a year ago…” I tell her, not sure why I am even talking to her. When I bring my attention back to her, her expression softens. Cheeks pink from the cool weather, her lips pout a little, small tufts of smoke coming out from her warm breath.

“I'm sorry,” she says sincerely, and while many people have said that to me since he passed, none have actually said it with any genuine feeling.

“Thank you” I say, clearing my throat as I look back up at my building. Moving to sit next to her, we sit in silence for a while. I notice her gazing out at the park, not that you can see much as it is covered in darkness.

“What are you doing out here so late at night?” I ask, because now that I think about it, it is probably not entirely safe for a female to be wandering alone at night in Central Park.

“Sitting in your seat, apparently,” she murmurs, smirking to herself.

“It's a bit dangerous, isn't it?” I comment, just as I hear a noise not too far away.

“Deloris is looking out for me.” She nods toward a woman in the distance, face deep in a garbage can, pulling out all manner of things.

“Deloris?” I frown, watching with interest.

“Yeah. She wasn’t on the train today, so I came looking for her,” she says, and my frown deepens.

“Looking for her? Is she a friend of yours?” I ask tentatively. The homelessness in this city is growing and is such a black mark on our streets. My eyes narrow, looking at the woman scouring through the garbage can. It is filthy and so is she.

“Yes. I have known her for years. She is homeless, probably cold and hungry, too, tonight. I wanted to make sure she is okay before I leave the city.”

I look between her and the woman again, wondering what the hell kind of friends she has.

“Doesn’t she have a shelter to go to or something?” I ask.

“She doesn’t like shelters.” When I turn toward her, her face is forward, watching the woman carefully. Not unlike a mother in a playground. Giving her child just enough distance to feel independent, but ready to step in at a moment's notice.

“She’s homeless. Surely, they are better than nothing?” I’m gobsmacked as to why anyone would refuse free accommodation. It is absurd that a woman would prefer to sleep in a park on such a cold night rather than go to a shelter.

“Not really. Not for women.” She turns to me, her face coated in the light from the lamp nearby, giving her a soft glow that makes her look angelic. Pulling up her collar, she’s obviously cold, and my chest tightens, not liking that one bit. “What are you doing here tonight anyway?”

“Sitting on my seat,” I say simply, and she huffs a laugh, making my lips quirk. The movement feels weird. I haven’t smiled so easily in a long time. My fake grin comes out regularly when needed, but it is almost like my lips forget how to move on their own. Until now.

“So you’re Alexander Jackson, right? Jackson Enterprises?” she asks, and I nod. I wondered if she knew. Most people do, although I wasn’t sure about her.

“That’s our office over there. That big building,” I tell her, feeling proud as I point it out.

“The tall one? With the big, pointy thing at the top?” she asks, and I look back at her.

“It’s called a needle,” I explain. “The needle adds extra height and aesthetics.”

I watch her roll her eyes before she goes to say something else, but we get interrupted by a woman’s voice.

“Look, Haylee!” Deloris yells, and the woman next to me stands. Haylee. It was my mother's name, and I rub my chest as a light ache pulses through my heart.

“Your name is Haylee?” I ask her, sitting forward on the bench seat, and she smiles back at me.

“It is. But with a double E not a Y .”

I swallow past a sudden lump in my throat. Spelled just like my mother’s.

“What is it, Deloris?” As she walks toward the homeless woman, I stand, not yet trusting the new stranger. Her hair is a matted mess, her skin full of wrinkles, displaying a hard life. She has piles of clothes on, and although it’s cold, I count at least three jackets, making her small frame look wider than it is.

“A bag of dicks!” Deloris coos, lifting a brown paper bag that looks heavy, like it is going to rip any second. I stop short of following. Did I just hear her right?

Haylee laughs as she peeks into the brown paper bag, and I watch them both laugh like old friends.

“A bag of vibrators. Someone obviously had a clean out,” she says through a chuckle, looking back at me.

“A bag of…” I’m wondering if my hearing needs to be checked.

“Dicks!” Deloris yells. “Dicks, dicks, dicks, dicks, dicks!” Grinning at me, she showcases her lack of teeth, the few she has looking to be placed almost haphazardly in her mouth. Haylee flings her head back and laughs once more, and my pulse thuds as I can’t help huffing a small laugh at the ridiculousness of this situation.

“Well, I better get you and the dicks somewhere safe, Deloris,” Haylee says, curling her arm around Deloris, the two of them starting to walk past me and down the path.

“Good night, Alex. Don’t work too hard on Monday in the big building with the spike.” She is teasing me on purpose, and I roll my lips as the feeling of smiling starts to feel more fluid.

“Good night, Haylee… with two E ’s,” I say to her quietly, and her smile widens from where she stands. At the sight, I feel my lips quirk a little more. She nods before she and Deloris leave the park, and I stand watching them until I can’t see her anymore. Then I do something I have never done. I grab my cell and call my security team to follow them from a distance to ensure they safely get where they are going.