Doubt fills me at my ability to not give in to this hunger for her. A whisper teases me: Just one taste. She will be like all the rest—once I have had her she will lose her appeal. No woman has held my interest for longer than a few weeks, ever.
None of this makes any sense. She is nothing like my normal type of woman. I keep to models, for the basic reason they were content with no more than a week or two at most of fucking. As long as I make it worth their while, which I was willing to do. I don’t do relationships. Emotions, obligations are not something I welcome in my life. Most models are of the same mind, as long as they were young and ambitious.
Christina is no model. She is only five foot five, maybe five foot six. Her makeup was minimal, the better to see her clear, glowing skin. She was no stick-thin hanger with a head. Christina’s curvy body called to mind old-fashioned pinup girls. Lush was
the word that hit me. Thick and full. I wanted to feel her against me, under me, above me, anyway I could get her.
My cell rings, yanking me out of my daydream. I should be grateful, I resent the fuck out of it. It is my other sister, Hannah. I am not in the mood. Hannah takes great joy in annoying me. Sending it to voice mail, I make my way back to my office. I will call her back after I listen to her message to find out what she wants. If she texts me it means her call is an emergency. There is no text. Whatever it is can wait.
Rebecca is waiting for me, her agitation clear.
“What?” I demand as I close the door to my office.
“Have I angered you? Why am I to stay in Chicago when the team goes to Jefferson City tomorrow? Why is Christina Connolly going?”
The way she says Christina’s name is charged with hostility.
“You have a problem with Christina Connolly.”
Her eyes drop from mine. “She got the job without being clear what she was.”
“And what is she?” I lean back as I study her. Rebecca has been at my side for almost five years, in all that time I have never seen her act this way.
“Do you not know?” Her surprise is clear.
“If you define what it is I could answer the question.”
“Her grandparents...”
Ice slides down my spine. I straighten, prepared yet unbelieving where she is going with this.
“They are black. That means she’s black. Just because she doesn’t look it doesn’t mean she isn’t. She never told anyone in her interviews. It’s dishonest not to warn people of what she is.”
I press a button on my phone, Denise answers instantly. “Call security, they will be escorting Rebecca out of the building and home to retrieve her laptop as well as any work documents she might have there. As of now she is terminated. Lock down her access. Her status is ineligible for rehire, no severance. She is paid to today, no further.”
Rebecca’s gasp is loud in the room.
I press another line, Tim answers. “Escort Rebecca to the conference room until security comes to get her. Have them clear her desk of all personal items.”
Turning my attention to her, “Who indicated she lied?”
She is shaking her head, stunned.
“Answer me.”
She gives me the names of the hiring manager, the human resources receptionist, and one of my acquisitions managers. Tim enters; he gives her the respect of allowing her to exit before him.
I punch my line into my head of human resources again. The woman’s voice is shaking with fear. I give her the names as well as Simon’s while I’m cleaning house. All of them are terminated without severance. I make it clear if there are people who have a problem with the hiring of minorities in my company, then those people should be purged before the end of the day.
It is only as I take a deep breath, fighting my rising anger, that I realize I have only myself to blame. I never indicated I did not have a problem with my staff being more than ninety percent white. The makeup of staff never penetrated; I trusted the best people were being hired, regardless of the color of their skin. Today that would change.
I begin writing a clear, concise email to that effect, stating it was an error on my part. It will be rectified going forward.
My lack of knowledge to Rebecca’s leanings, shared by so many of my staff, disturbs me. Did they think I approved of this? How could they think so when I am a number of mixed ethnicities? My father was Roma and Jewish and my mother a mix of Turkish, Armenian, and Greek. None of those features are strong on me, yet I am not the typical pale Englishman despite my English accent.
The same could be said of Christina, her skin glows as if she simply spent a day in the sun. If no one had said a word I would never have guessed her parentage. What did it matter her mother was black?
I message Tim to come into my office once Rebecca is gone. Then I lean back as I consider the result of my actions. Between Connor’s family issues and Rebecca gone, I am now in severe deficit. A brief knock precedes Tim entering.