Scrooge

15. Alexander

15

ALEXANDER

I wake feeling surprisingly rested, especially since there is someone else in my house. I make quick work of a shower and suit up, then walk out to the living room, laying my jacket across the back of the sofa while I have my coffee.

“Good morning, Mr. Jackson,” Mary says as she organizes my short black for the morning.

“Morning, Mary.” I check my emails on my cell. “I had a houseguest last night, Mary. Miss Tucker. Is she awake yet?” I ask, my head still buried in my phone, looking at what I to take care of as soon as I get to the office this morning. It is seven thirty; I should be there already.

“Oh yes, Haylee. A lovely girl.”

My head jolts up, and I see Mary with a smile and a knowing look on her face. Clearly, she approves. Somehow, I am not surprised.

“You’ve seen her?” I ask, looking around, wondering where she is. It is quiet, as usual, and Haylee is not exactly quiet, so I am surprised I can’t hear her.

“She is already up and gone, Mr. Jackson. She called Dan, who took her to work this morning,” Mary explains.

“Gone already?”

“She left at seven. Said something about getting to the shop bright and early.”

I nod, thinking about last night. Bowling was surprisingly fun. But bringing her back here was equal parts smart and stupid. Smart, because the media will be asking questions if she doesn’t look like she is spending the night with me, and I didn’t want anyone following her home. And stupid, because when she choked on that whiskey and then licked it from her lip, I almost licked it for her. I could have easily kissed her. That’s why I had to retreat to my bedroom and take a shower. Well, that and the fact that her talk of charity had me questioning how I live my life. Something about that made me want to kiss her even more.

My cell vibrates with another email, and I again look through them. But I am unable to concentrate. My eyes sweep the penthouse as I think more about her bringing up my nickname. Scrooge. I remember the slight disappointment I saw in her eyes when I told her I don't donate. I have been asked this question in the past and normally think nothing of it. I wonder what she would think if she knew I cut staff bonuses and canceled their vacation leave.

“Don’t worry, I will wash your t-shirt for you,” Mary says, snapping me from my thoughts, and I see her looking at me with a weird smile on her face. I frown as I see what she is holding.

“T-shirt?” I question, my emails now all forgotten.

“Yes, your shirt that Haylee slept in. She had it folded and on the bed this morning,” Mary says as she wipes an already clean surface of the kitchen. That is a t-shirt I sleep in sometimes. In fact, I had planned on wearing it last night, and I swear I had it on my bed to put on after my shower. But it wasn’t there when I got out of the shower, so I assumed I had forgotten about it. Understanding washes over me. Haylee was in my room last night. My frown changes to one of disbelief. She was in my room when I was showering. I always shower with the door open. From my bed, she would have seen everything.

I lift the short black to my lips and throw the coffee back like a shot. I usually like my privacy, and I think back to the shower and what she could have seen. As I remember exactly what I did in that shower, I swallow roughly.

“Put it back in that room after it is clean, Mary.” I’m not opposed to having Haylee sleep in my clothes. “And I think it’s best I remind you of our signed confidentiality agreement and your obligations as a staff member of mine.”

Mary gives me a tight-lipped smile, her eyes filled with sadness.

“Of course, Mr. Jackson.” She nods. I am about to get going, when I spot a small glittery pumpkin placed on my coffee table.

“Where did that come from?” I ask her.

“Miss Tucker left it. She said the place needed some color. Shall I remove it?” Mary asks as she steps toward the coffee table to do just that.

“No,” I say, sounding harsh, and she stops abruptly.

“Thanksgiving is soon. It is fine for now.” Mary’s smile widens a bit. I look at the pumpkin that has left a small trail of glitter around it, liking having a bit of Haylee in my space.

“Certainly, Mr. Jackson. Dan is waiting for you downstairs.”

I grab my jacket from the sofa and walk out the door, feeling lighter than I did yesterday.

* * *

“So, you haven’t said anything about the budget,” Sheridan says. She and Laurent sit opposite me as I look through the full proposal for their grand holiday-themed party.

“It is… a sizeable sum,” I say, trying to tamp down my need to yell at them for being so frivolous, but every time I start to say something, I think of Haylee’s eyes when I told her I don’t donate.

“Tell me about the charity donation,” I ask them and watch as Sheridan looks at Laurent before they both look back at me.

“Well, holidays are for children. We thought that a donation to the children’s ward at the hospital would be a good option,” Sheridan says, and I nod.

“What about the homeless?” I despise the homeless, usually. Their lack of food and shelter, no doubt down to their own doing. But then I think of Deloris, and how Haylee sees her as a friend, and my thoughts shift.

“Homeless? You want to give to the homeless?” Laurent asks, eyebrows raised in surprise.

I clench my jaw as I nod, the movement easier than I was expecting.

“Oh, well, we can direct those funds from the hospital to the city’s homeless programs,” Laurent confirms, and I take a deep breath. It feels odd, as I hate giving away money. But all I can hear when I think about the homeless is Deloris shouting the word “dicks” over and over again. It’s fucking ridiculous, but my mouth moves before my mind can stop me.

“As well as,” I say, my jaw again ticking.

“As well as? Do you want to donate to both causes?” Sheridan asks, looking at me like I have grown a second head.

“That is probably a nice thing to do,” I say, and Laurent’s mouth widens into a grin I have only ever seen a few times before.

“Spit it out,” I snap at him.

“Nothing… it’s just, we are going to Tucker Toys later. We have a meeting with Haylee and her sister to talk through the toys and Santa that they are providing for the party,” Laurent says as he watches me carefully.

“That reminds me. Sheridan, Haylee will be accompanying me to the soccer game,” I tell her, in case she is collecting RSVPs or anything. I haven't been to a kids’ soccer game before, so I have no idea how they are structured.

“Great!” she says, smiling, although looking awfully confused.

“Anything else?” I ask them both, needing to move on, not wanting to think about what I have just committed to.

“Nothing.” Sheridan stands and walks out of my office while Laurent lingers.

“Soooo. Rumor has it that she slept over last night…” He’s playing coy, and I give him a deadpan look.

“I thought it would make more sense,” I tell him simply as I stand, needing to move.

“So… are you two getting along?” he asks, and I see him smiling at me expectantly.

“We have a contract, Laurent. We are both abiding by that contract.”

His face sours, as does the taste of those words on my tongue.

I watch as his eyes flick over me, assessing. “What’s that on your sleeve?” he asks, his eyes thinning, and I look down. I can’t see much, until I move a little, the lights of my office catching on the small gold flecks.

“Glitter,” I say, and Laurent looks at me sharply.

“Glitter? From where?” he asks, confused.

“Haylee brought over a glittery pumpkin for a Thanksgiving decoration.” I immediately wish I didn’t say it as his face lights up and his eyes widen. He starts to say something, but I interrupt him before he can.

“It’s just a contract,” I murmur, feeling tense, and he picks up on my demeanor.

“Of course.” He nods resolutely. “I will tell her you said hi.” Walking out the door, he closes it behind him. I remain standing, my mind drifting back to Haylee as I glance down at my jacket sleeve again, seeing it sparkle. I’m suddenly a little jealous that Laurent gets to spend the afternoon with her. There are still a few weeks to go until the holidays, and we need to get through Thanksgiving first. I walk to my office intercom.

“Angela,” I say abruptly.

“Yes, Alexander?” When she says my full name, it all feels a little too formal now.

“Get me an appointment at Harry Winston,” I tell her, and I hear her gasp a little.

“Harry Winston, sir?” she confirms. I am not surprised by her reaction. I have never asked for such an appointment before. Buying jewelry isn’t something I ordinarily do.

“It needs to be before Thanksgiving.”

“Certainly, sir. I will make the call and update your calendar.”

I end the conversation and walk to the windows to look at the streets below. I spot the area where Tucker Toys is located, the heritage building now surrounded by high-rises made from reflective glass panels.

She is right. Tucker Toys is the heart of New York, and my buildings are suffocating it.