“Nice to finally meet you, Jackson. We’ve heard great things.” A tall, lanky man in a dark blue suit stood to greet me. “I’m Cal Turner.”
I nodded. “Thanks for taking the time. I appreciate it.”
We all took our seats around the sleek wooden table, and I casually leaned back as the assistant floated around, serving everyone coffee and water.
“Let’s get right to the point, Jackson. We like what we’ve heard, and we’d love to have you on our team,” Mr. Turner said.
I had been fed this line in practically every interview I’d been in. At first, I had been shocked and a bit flattered. Then, I’d heard the whispers and rumors that the relationship between my former employer and Senator Prescott was rocky at best since my departure, and he was possibly looking for new representation. Everything after that had started to make sense, and now, I was just extremely annoyed.
“Where have you heard this exactly?” I casually took a sip of my coffee.
The guy who seemed to be in charge, an overweight man who reminded me of a younger version of my father, spoke up, “Around.”
“Around where?” I pressed.
“Look”—he sighed—“you’re young and come with an excellent letter of recommendation. What more could we ask for?”
Right, because finding a job in a place like this was so damn easy.
I looked at the clock on the wall. Ten minutes had passed, and Noah hadn’t called.
I needed to wrap this up.
“You saw me in the paper?” I asked flatly.
“Perhaps, but that has little to do with our job offer,” he answered quickly.
I was not convinced. “While I’m flattered, I’m going to have to decline. I’ve already left one job because of how it interfered with my personal life. I will not be hired because of it either.”
“Jackson, please reconsider. Just take a look at our offer and sit on it. We’ll chat in a day or two.”
I was already rising from my chair. “I don’t think we have anything further to discuss. For the record, my relationship with Olivia Prescott does not give me access to the Senator, nor would I want it. In fact, if you want someone to suck up to the old man, I’d say I’m the last person you want on your team.”
I didn’t even give them the chance to respond. I had hoped this interview would be different—that perhaps I might be judged on my own personal merit, rather than what my personal life might be able to offer them. Apparently, like all the others before them, Turner and McCollum were just like everyone else.
Letting the doors swing behind me, I moved swiftly toward the elevator. I called Noah’s cell phone while I loosened the tie around my neck.
It rang and rang until his voice mail picked up, making my stomach churn in apprehension.
I called him once more, and again, he didn’t answer.
God only knew how long it would take me to get through traffic and make it back home. Entering another number into my phone, I waited until someone answered.
“Hey, it’s Jackson—is she busy?” I asked Liv’s receptionist.
“No,” she answered. “She just finished up with a client. Let me get her.”
I tried not to call Liv’s cell during office hours. She tended to leave the ringer on, and I wouldn’t want to distract her if she were in the middle of a session.
I was unlocking my car by the time Liv picked up.
“Hey,” she said, her voice coming through loud and clear.
“Hey,” I answered. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Sure, what’s up? You sound worried. Did your interview go bad?”
“Yes, but that’s not why I’m calling.”
“Oh God, did they offer you another job? Shame on them. How dare these people keep throwing all this money at you,” she mocked.
“Liv,” I stressed, my voice alerting her that something was wrong, “Noah’s not answering his phone.”
“How many times did you try it?”
“Twice, plus a text. He should have gotten off the bus almost half an hour ago.”
She paused for a moment before answering, “I’m leaving now. I’ll call you when I get there.”
“Thanks, sweetheart.”
“I’m sure he’s fine,” she said.
I thought she was trying to assure herself more than anything.
“Let me know when you get there.”
“Okay.”
Ten minutes later, as I was speeding down the road, I got the phone call.
“Hey, is he okay? How many weeks do you think I should ground him?” I said, a hint of nervous laughter following.
“Jackson,” she said, her voice panicked and hoarse, “he’s not here.”
~Liv~
“What do you mean, he’s not there?” Jackson’s horrified voice echoed through the phone.
“The door was unlocked, Jackson. He was here at some point. I came in and called out for him—”
“Maybe he’s upstairs,” he interjected, his voice becoming more and more panicked by the second.
“I already checked.”
“What about a note? Maybe he went for a walk?”
“There isn’t a note. Jackson, his phone is here.”
Silence.
“He left his phone?”
“Yes, and his backpack.”
“I’ll be home in a minute.”
The phone went dead, and he was gone. I looked around the empty house. My heart pulsating and my ears roaring from the rush of adrenaline and absolute terror,
What should we do first? I asked myself, trying to remain calm when it was absolutely the last thing I wanted to do.
Check his phone.
I ran over to where his backpack and phone were lying on the kitchen table. It was as if he’d left in a hurry. I didn’t know if that was good or bad, but I tried to stay focused.
I began searching through emails, contacts, and text messages.
Nothing stuck out.
I saw random messages with friends and a bunch of emails about schoolwork, but nothing shouted, Calm down. This is where I am right now!
The door burst open, and I turned to find Jackson rushing toward me.
“I searched his phone.” My last bit of resolve began to fade as tears dribbled down my cheeks. “Where is he, Jackson? Where did he go?”
“I don’t know,” he answered, pulling me into a tight hug.
“Let’s go check with the neighbors,” he suggested, squeezing me tightly.
Hand in hand, we walked next door to the other side of Jackson’s house. A young family lived there, and the mother was usually home with two toddlers during the day—but not today. We saw her unpacking groceries from her car, and she waved at us.