American Christmas (Dreamers) Page 9

  Gail had warned me that our program—hell, the whole foundation—was on the team leader’s radar and very likely to end up on the chopping block. So, me chatting on my phone instead of sitting at my cube working was not likely to go over well. I winced, remembering I’d seen him walking around this morning.

  “Lita, mija, are you still there?” I almost jumped three feet in the air when the voice of my grandmother startled me out of my anxious inner ramblings.

  “Aqui estoy, Abue.”

  “Your mami said you’re trying to meet strangers from the computer.” I cracked a smile at my grandmother’s suspicion for anything that happened via the internet.

  “Abue, I am not meeting people from the computer. They all work here.” I could barely hold back a laugh as a round of tongue clicking ensued. “We’re just planning a meetup using an app, because the company is big and we don’t all know each other.” I tried to sound as reassuring as possible because neither my mother nor my grandmother were above getting on a plane and crashing my happy hour.

  There was more shuffling, which probably meant that someone else was getting a turn at instructing me on how to be a functioning adult.

  “Li.” My name is Julia. A pretty short name, but somehow my family had come up with at least twenty variations to it.

  Julita, Lita, Li, Tali...the five letters of my name offered infinite possibilities for my relatives.

  “Mija, are you listening?” And it seemed my mother was still not done.

  “Si, Mami.” I managed to keep the sigh all the way down in my chest.

  “Did you get the thing I sent you?”

  I was grateful for the fact that we were not on FaceTime and twisted my mouth to the side, because my mother truly did too much.

  “You mean the box full of dry beans and adobo? Seriously, Yolanda.” I smirked picturing her narrowing her eyes at me using her name.

  “Fresca.” I laughed at that, my mother was not down with me calling her by her name. “I’m not one of your little friends, Julia del Mar.”

  I cleared my throat in an effort to at least sound a bit less like I was laughing at her. “How am I being fresh? You know it’s true. With all the Goya food you’ve sent me I just need to get a Yankees fitted and I’ll be able to open a bodega out of my apartment.”

  “Tan exagerada.” She tried really hard to sound mad, but I could hear the hint of a smile in her voice.

  “I’m not exaggerating. I got pounds of guandules in my apartment.”

  My mother had taken my move hard. I knew she missed me. I missed her too, but I was determined to make a go of things here. I would not go back to New York City with my tail between my legs.

  “I know it’s disappointing, but I need to do this right now, okay?” I pushed down the knot in my throat and tried to scare off the tears pooling in my eyes by staring up at the ceiling. Crying on the phone with my mother would really set off a rescue operation. “I need to stay here, and see this job through. Matt wasn’t the only reason why I came to Texas.”

  I cringed at my slip. Mentioning my ex’s name would send my mother and abuela to the land of petty in a hot second.

  It took less than that. “It’s all that pendejo’s fault, making you move down there and leaving you to chase after some sucia from his office.” I miraculously managed to keep another sigh inside. “I knew that boy was trouble from the day I met him. What kind of decent person comes to meet his girlfriend’s family empty-handed? Not even a loaf of bread or some fruit in all those years. Nada.”

  Yes, she was still holding that grudge.

  The disbelief in my mother’s voice would’ve been funny at any other moment, but the last thing I wanted to do right now was get into a conversation about my ill-fated move and my ex’s trifling ass.

  “Mami, I don’t want to talk about Matt. Yes, he’s trash, but he doesn’t matter anymore. This year is about me, no romance, no distractions. Nada.” I sliced the air with my hand as if she could see me. “I’m focusing on my job, which I actually love, and trying to build a life here. Esta bien, Mami? Can you guys support me in that?”

  That was a low blow, because my mom, all of my family really, was nothing but supportive.

  “Mija. I just worry. It’s so hot in that place.”

  Oh no, not the heat again. I was never going to get to that meeting.

  “It’s so dry. Mariita told me when she went there her hands cracked. Did you get the lotion I sent you?”

  My mother was convinced the regular drugstore hand lotions from New York City were somehow more effective than the ones in Dallas and sent me so many tubes I could probably stay moisturized through a zombie apocalypse.

  “You know I did. Don’t send me any more, Mami. I only have two hands, and you sent me enough to keep my skin supple for decades.”

  “Muchachita.” Her voice had that familiar mix of love and exasperation that defined our relationship. “Okay, bye, but remember to drink lots of water, mija. Our people are not built for that dry heat.” I ended the call after agreeing to do everything she said, including walking around with the jug with a straw she’d sent me.

  I realized I’d accidentally had my mother on speaker—she was so loud I could no longer tell the difference—when I heard what sounded very much like someone trying not to choke from trying not to laugh.

  Awesome.

  It had to be about my call. My mother’s voice carried for miles. But I didn’t look up to find out who was laughing their ass off at my expense and focused on the text I had from my boss. I could be mortified in a minute.

  Are you on your way??

  I quickly typed a response as I stepped up to the elevator that would take me up to the “executive” floor.

  Going up to you now.

  I fired that message off and kept my attention on the elevator door, trying not to read into Gail’s unusual urgency. Pushy was not her style and she’d sent four messages in ten minutes. My boss usually channeled a Super Soul Sunday vibe in her texts. The double question mark was not a good sign, and the fact she was keeping strictly to the point was definitely concerning.

  Something was up.

  I stepped into the elevator and shoved my phone into the pocket of my dress, took a moment to send a prayer to the employee discount that let me buy bomb clothes on a nonprofit worker budget, and did some mental math of what could be going on.

  Was the program really in trouble? Could we actually get shut down?

  Nope, I would not go there. I would not think about what it would be like to get on a plane back to New York dumped and unemployed. Not happening.

  A distraction. That’s what I needed. Just as the door to the elevator was about to close, someone got in. The fact that I was eye level with the base of his throat was a good clue as to who it was, but when he opened his mouth and the now familiar knee-weakening baritone echoed off the walls of the elevator, I got my confirmation.

  “Morning, Ms. Ortiz.” That voice could be used for interrogation tactics. Every muscle in my body loosened at the same time whenever I heard it.

  I squeaked out a “Morning” and took my time lifting my head all the way up to look at the last person in the world I wanted overhearing my conversation with my mother.

  Him.

  Rocco Fucking Quinn, otherwise known as the “Team Leader” for the consulting firm looking to bag my job. The guy with the New York City-est name on the planet. I hadn’t exactly gotten personal with Mr. Quinn, but I picked up on that accent the first time we met.

  “What’s good?” I really tried to sound polite, but my Queens jumped out in situations like this. I did not gulp, because I could not let this fucker see me sweat. I managed not to cut my eyes at him, but it was a close call.

  I took him in, ramrod straight, every hair in its place, not a wrinkle in sight, and decided he could not be the proprietor o
f the laugh-choke from before. The man seemed to be completely lacking a sense of humor. I knew he must have teeth but I’d never seen them.

  Yeah, definitely not him. That fact rallied my spirits a little bit as I stood close enough to pick up on how he smelled. Like the ocean and something woodsy. That was not helpful information.

  Without saying another word, I ran my eyes over him. It struck me that he was not wearing something bespoke like pretty much everyone here. Don’t get me wrong, he still looked good enough to eat, but he was clearly on a budget. And at a place where everyone looked like they were heading to a New York Fashion Week photo shoot, it was sort of jarring. Still, the suit fit him well. And there was no question, this guy could wear the fuck out of a suit. I held back a whimper when I envisioned him in a Brioni or a Zegna. They’d have to put out a heat advisory for the building if that ever happened.

  “I thought I could detect a familiar accent when I was coming down the hall.” His perfectly blue eyes twinkled at what I was certain was an expression of utter mortification on my face. He sounded pleasant enough, but he was also alluding to the fact that I was yapping on my phone. This wasn’t the first time he tried to be cute. Rocco Quinn seemed to like fucking with me. And it was only a matter of time before he stepped on my last nerve and I reamed him out.

  Thankfully, just as I was scrambling to respond to his comment, the elevator got to my floor. I was planning to just leave him hanging and run off, but he was hot on my heels.

  Dammit.

  “Sounds like your mom misses you.”

  Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why did he have to act all fake nice?

  I nodded without looking at him. “She does. Listen, Mr. Quinn—”

  “You can call me Rocco.”

  Nope, that was not happening. I was not letting this sexy bastard talk me into getting all chummy with him. I was already on thin ice as it was. He could keep his pheromones and his slick-as-fuck expressions to his damn self. I came to a dead stop a few feet away from the conference room door where my boss—and whatever shitty news she was about to give me—was waiting.

  When I turned around, Rocco was looking down at me with an expectant smile. God he was handsome, that jet-black hair so dark it almost had a tinge of blue and those eyes, piercing. And I guess he had teeth after all, and of course they were perfect. Asshole. I shook my head hard when my traitorous brain started wondering what Pantone color his eyes would be.

  Get your head in the game, Julia del Mar.

  I straightened my back, determined to fight off the debilitating effects of those gleaming teeth and perfectly pink lips. I had to remember this niceness was probably his way of getting us to let our guard down. He was here to find ways to cut jobs. I was not about to mouth off and get myself fired, but I needed to get some things clear.

  “Look.” I was proud of myself for not rolling my neck or pointing at his face. “I know you’re trying to be nice, but you make me nervous.” I pulled on the hem of my blue polka-dot dress and smoothed my yellow cardigan, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

  “Why do I make you nervous?”

  Uh, maybe because you’re here to close down as much of the foundation as you can.

  I refrained from actually saying that because I had not been raised by a Puerto Rican man and Dominican woman just so I could act like I had no home training with the guy who could get me fired. But it was a close call.

  “I’m sorry for saying that. You don’t make me nervous.”

  Lies.

  Rocco Quinn didn’t just make me nervous. He made me want to run my hands all over that big-ass body and moon over his almost but not quite curly hair and blue eyes, in spite of the fact that I knew he was out here gunning for my entire program. And yet, I still wanted to kiss the hell out of him while I climbed him like a sequoia.

  Enough.

  I cleared my throat, while he looked at me like he was trying to read my mind. Jesus, I’d probably just jumped up like ten spots on his list of people to fire. In an effort to calm myself down, I looked down at my cream and navy blue Mary Janes and resisted the urge of tapping the heels to see if I could Dorothy my way out of this mess. When I looked back up, he was still looking at me expectantly, like he was watching his favorite telenovela and could not wait to see what bananas plot twist was coming next.

  I jerked a thumb over my shoulder, still flustered but powering through. “I have to go see my boss.” Nod. Smile. Eye contact. “Have a good day, Mr. Quinn.” There was no way I was calling him Rocco.

  I stepped into the large conference room thinking that little interlude could not have gone more perfectly terrible, and made my way to Gail, who was sitting on her own at one end of the table.

  As soon as I reached her, I knew shit was worse than I’d thought. Gail’s usual calm demeanor was gone and she looked full-on frazzled.

  “Hey, sorry it took me so long to get up here,” I said as I sat down next to her, trying to figure out what were all the papers strewn around the table.

  Gail usually wore some colorful tops and slacks to work, but today she was in a very solemn slate pantsuit and blue oxford shirt.

  “I just met with the executive team.” She closed her eyes as she spoke and pushed her fingers into the space between her eyebrows, as if trying to fend off a tension headache. This was a woman who meditated during lunch every day.

  This could not be good.

  “Okay.”

  She sighed, and opened her eyes. She looked exhausted and it was barely noon. “Basically all our programs are being looked at closely and some will get cut.” A hole opened in my stomach and I had to force myself to speak calmly.

  “What does that mean?”

  Gail ran a hand over her white hair. Her carefully styled pixie cut was a bit in disarray today.

  “For now, it means that we need to make sure we show the consultants why our programs are important.” She scowled at whatever popped into her head and looked to the conference room door, expectantly. “The twins are not happy about this and they will fight like hell to keep everything going. Davidson’s, this firm they’ve brought in, has a good reputation and it’s known for making transitions that don’t steamroll the company’s values. Still, they’re here to do a job.” She lifted her hands like that could placate the panic that was probably written all over my face.

  I was too freaked out to answer so I took a moment to mull over the information Gail had just thrown at me. The Twins were Mitzy and Muffy Sturm, the granddaughters of the founder of the company and two of the three majority owners. They had been the ones who’d, after watching the news and what was happening to children at the border, had come to Gail and expressed their desire to fund a program for immigrant and refugee children. Gail had come up with a trauma-informed after-school program for middle and high school kids and a trauma-specialized counseling center for families. I’d been hired to develop and run the after-school program.

  Gail cleared her throat and I braced for whatever she was going to say. “But Mitzy and Muffy are not the only ones who get a say.” I knew there was another sibling, but he was sort of a mystery to me. “Their younger brother, Duke, is the one behind the push to go public, and he does not seem to have any use for the foundation, much less new initiatives costing the company millions. He’s the one who pushed for hiring the consulting firm.”

  Bile rose up my throat when I thought of how messy I’d been with Rocco. Fuck.

  “We’ve barely started the semester. Where does this leave us?”

  I’d arrived in Dallas in late spring in order to set up the program for the start of the school year. It had taken an enormous amount of work to get everything ready, but we’d managed. Gail had been a huge driver in that effort. She was not one to cower in front of a challenge and at my question, the woman who I’d grown to admire and respect in the six months we’d been working together was sudden
ly in front of me.

  “We show them we’re too important to cut.”

  I nodded woodenly, definitely not feeling as fired up as Gail. It didn’t help that she gulped for whatever she was saying next. Whatever was coming was some bullshit, but before she had a chance to say it there was knock on the conference room door. Gail’s back went up and my stomach dropped somewhere around my Mary Janes. This would not be good.

  I turned around to catch my elevator buddy poking his head in with a big smile on his face. All of a sudden this asshole was all teeth. “Are you ready for me?”

  “Yes, of course.” Gail’s voice sounded mad fake as she waved him over.

  I shot a look at her, certain that whatever she didn’t get to tell me had everything to do with the fact that this gorgeous, oversized motherfucker was sauntering over to us, looking like poorly dressed perfection.

  I stood up and knocked over a can of Diet Coke, hitting my elbow on the table so hard I belted out a curse. As I stood there rubbing my injured limb, I realized Gail had stayed in her seat and was looking at me like she might have seriously misjudged my ability to be helpful in this situation.

  “Julia.” I had no idea how Gail could pack so much warning and encouragement into one word, but I had to admit, I was impressed. “Part of what the executive board has asked for is that we fill Mr. Quinn and his team in on the work our programs do.”