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It didn't take long for her to spot Burt standing on the other side of the counter. He had shot out of the kitchen at the sound of Earle's yell, and at the sight of the crass but loyal regular covered in ketchup, his face turned as red as Earle's freshly-stained shirt.
Slowly, she put the spent condiment bottle down, walked to the counter, and looked at Burt apologetically as Earle rushed off to the bathroom to clean himself up the best he could. Burt leaned towards her and pointed to the door.
“Out,” he said in a low voice. “Get out before I throw you out, and don't come back. You hear me?”
She said nothing. Angry tears were welling in her eyes as she hurried to the back room to get her bag with every pair of eyes in the diner locked on her. She pulled off her apron and made a grab for her cardigan and bag.
“Leaving already?” Melanie asked with a sarcastic smile. She had just arrived and was about to start her shift.
“I got fired.” Jessie stopped just in front of her, but didn't maintain eye contact.
“I guess Burt finally realized you were too big for your britches,” Melanie sneered. “Maybe now you can get the job you deserve.”
“And what's that supposed to mean?” Jessie shot back.
“Well, everyone thinks you're John Harwood's mistress so maybe now you can go and apply for the job, girl. You need the money, don't you? Shit, don't tell me you'd say no to a guy like him. Is he beneath you, too?” Melanie said with a devilish grin.
“Get out of my way, Melanie.” Jessie growled as she barged past her beaming ex-coworker. Melanie barely moved, merely snorting as she watched Jessie's proud figure marching out of the diner. Jessie walked past Burt without saying a word, trying hard to maintain her dignity as patrons murmured all around her, likely commenting on what had just transpired.
The moment Jessie got outside she realized the gravity of the situation. What the hell was she going to do now? For as often as Burt threatened it, she never quite believed he'd see it through. Fired? She needed to pound the pavement and look for a new job or she'd have no money to pay her rent, let alone buy food.
Something else was adding to her feelings of anger and worry, though. Jessie was sick and tired of her new unjust association with John Harwood, a man she hadn't even met. She wanted so much to look him in the face and say, “Hey, look what you and your crazy bitch of a wife have done to ruin my life!” She wondered if a man of his wealth and stature would even care. Hell, maybe his psychotic wife had fabricated all of this just for the publicity and had chosen Jessie's name at random.
Why should she allow these rich elitists to bully her in this way? Without giving it a second thought, she jumped onto the first bus headed downtown. She was going to the busy banking district, straight to John Harwood's office, to see how he liked his life intruded upon by a total stranger.
Upon reaching the impressive skyscraper that housed Harwood Finance, Jessie looked up at the seventy-four story building took a deep breath. She had been incensed just twenty minutes earlier, but now that she was so close to the person she held responsible for her losing her job, she was more nervous than angry. As Jessie stood gazing up at the tower, a woman in an expensive suit approached the building, looked her up and down, and entered with an air of superiority. Jessie's blood began to boil once again. She rushed into the enormous marble lobby, made a beeline for reception, and demanded to see John Harwood.
“Do you have an appointment?” The receptionist was tall and elegant with straight black hair and olive skin, her coral lipstick applied thickly to very thin lips. She was quite beautiful and seemed pleasant enough. Jessie tried to calm herself so she wouldn’t take her frustration out on the woman.
“Yes, tell him his mistress is here.” Jessie casually instructed.
“I beg your pardon?” The receptionist's dark eyes widened in shock as she glanced around the lobby to gauge if anyone had overheard the request.
“I said, tell him his mistress is here. Don't you read the papers? I'm Jessica Drew. I'm his mistress, and if he won't see me, I'll scream until he comes down here,” Jessie threatened through gritted teeth while retaining her fake smile.
Nervously, the receptionist picked up the phone, dialed a short number, and spoke in a hushed voice to someone on the other end with her hand covering the receiver. Jessie hovered by the reception area and, within minutes, an attractive blonde woman in a business suit strolled into the lobby, smiling pleasantly at the self-proclaimed mistress.
“I'm Heather Bryant, Mr. Harwood's personal assistant.” She extended a hand to shake Jessie's, but Jessie merely looked at it before glaring defiantly back at the woman. “If you would follow me, Mr. Harwood will see you in his office,” Heather Bryant continued as she turned and headed towards the elevators. Jessie followed, scowling at the receptionist who stood with her mouth agape, overdramatically holding a hand to her chest as if she couldn't breathe.
They quietly rode the elevator up to the top floor, both staring straight ahead at the brushed stainless steel doors. After what felt like an eternity, the doors finally parted with a ding and Jessie's first thought was that she had entered an art gallery rather than a place where people conducted business. Marble floors and pillars matched the lobby, with an array of stone busts scattering the hall on stands of varying heights. Large plants grew out of decorative pots, and impressive paintings lined the walls. Heather Bryant's heels echoing along the hallway were a stark contrast to Jessie's squeaky sneakers.
They came to a set of tall mahogany double doors and Heather Bryant opened them without knocking. She stood aside to motion Jessie in, and closed the doors behind her before leaving. Jessie stood in a vast office with a huge desk situated in front of a floor-to-ceiling window that was just as wide as the spacious room. The view was incredible, and the massive window let in so much natural light that the overhead bulbs likely didn't serve a purpose until sunset. She took a breath and looked over her shoulder at the closed doors. What was she supposed to do now, just wait here?
“Come and take a seat,” a deep, commanding voice shot through the silence.
Jessie's eyes darted around the room before realizing the voice had emanated from behind the desk and belonged to whomever sat in the high-backed leather chair that faced the giant window. She took two steps towards the desk as the chair began to swivel around until the voice that had startled her moments earlier now had a face to go along with it.
She recognized him instantly from the pictures in the papers and from his countless television appearances. This was John Harwood himself; the genius banking magnate who got his start working in the mail room and had worked his way up to owner and executive chairman of Harwood Finances. His quick ascension was likely due to his father, Mark Harwood, being the founder of the company, and she suspected nepotism played a large role in John's quick rise to power.
“So,” he greeted. “you're my mistress? Please, take a seat. I'll have someone bring us drinks.” He stood up, revealing himself to be much taller than she'd expected, and gestured towards the two chairs that sat in front of his excessively large desk. She waved a hand at him dismissively.
“I won't be here long enough to require any hospitality. I just came here to have you deliver a message to your wife for me. I want you to tell her thanks for ruining my life, and to stay away from me.”
“Excuse me?” he replied curiously while taking off his glasses. Through them, Jessie and already seen how brilliantly his piercing blue eyes shined. Without them, she now noticed the well-defined cheekbones and strong ja
w his handsome face featured. His dark hair was neatly trimmed, and though he must have been in his mid-thirties, the formal shirt and tie he wore made him look slightly more mature.
“Did you know she came into my workplace and accused me of having an affair with you?” Jessie asked in irritation.
“I heard. I'm sorry. My wife can be rather… erratic… at times. She made it her mission to track down the source of those crazy tweets.” He sat back down and added, “It turns out the IP address was traced to that diner you work at, so if you didn't make them then somebody there did. Either a customer or coworker. Either way, she shouldn't have come to your workplace, and for that I'm truly sorry.”
“First of all, no, I didn't tweet any of that nonsense. Anyone who knows me knows I don't do the whole social media thing. Hell, I don't even have a Facebook account. And you're sorry? No one is more sorry than me. Thanks to her wild accusations, I wound up making the news and got fired.” Jessie wanted to come across angrier than she was sounding, but up close and personal John Harwood actually seemed like a decent person and he had been nothing but polite to her so far.
“What? Why would your boss fire you for that?” he replied skeptically. “I can't imagine anyone actually believes that ridiculous story. That doesn't make sense.”
“Well, I did just squirt a bottle of ketchup all over a pervert at the diner who seemed to think that the story was true, so there's that.”
“I see,” John Harwood said with a chuckle, placing his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his fists as his voice grew serious again. “So, it wasn't the story that got you fired, it was you basically assaulting a patron.” He nodded mournfully, but she could tell he was on the verge of smiling.
“Don't mock me.” Jessie squinted her eyes. “I was pissed. I couldn't help it. All of those lies caused this, and they all came out of nowhere. I mean, I didn't post anything about us online. Why would I? I don't know you and, no offense, I don't care to know you. Like I said before, I don't even use social media. Take a look at my phone,” she insisted as she fished it out of her pocket. “Look at what an antique this thing is. It can't even get online, so there's no way I could have posted any of that crap from my work. I didn't do this.”
