Chapter Text
Shauna got her first tattoo at nineteen. It was on the first anniversary of their rescue—though really, it was the fight she’d had with Jackie before the helicopter arrived that stuck with her. She’d been so drunk she still couldn’t remember which shop she’d stumbled into. Two pink poppies, right behind her ear.
For a month afterward, she considered finding another artist and paying them to scribble over it as hard as they could. The one time she actually walked into a shop to ask about it, they told her to leave.
The second came at twenty-two. Not drunk. Not stable either. An invitation had arrived in the mail. She barely skimmed it before shoving it into the garbage disposal. ...cordially invited… Wedding… & Jackie Taylor.
There’d been a note at the bottom. It was the only part she’d actually absorbed.
Shipman,
There are no hard feelings. Don’t feel weird about coming. I’ll make sure to find time to catch up with you.
Love,
Jackie
That last line echoed through her head all the way to the tattoo parlor. The certainty of it. The assumption that Shauna would be there.
But Shauna really showed her. On July 13th, the day of Jackie’s wedding, she sat in a shitty tattoo shop while an artist inked a black open heart onto the inside of her bicep. Same style as the gold necklace that still haunts her dreams.
At twenty-five, she got another. She wasn’t drunk or particularly unstable. She just felt like getting it. A small 96 tucked beneath her hairline on the back of her neck. She’d briefly considered getting 69 instead, putting her own number first, but even she couldn’t risk looking that stupid.
Only afterward did she realize she’d tattooed the year of the crash onto her body too.
Her fourth was at twenty-eight, just last week. Drunk again. Jax, added to the center of the heart. Nothing had caused this one. Sometimes she just drank and did very stupid things—like last night, when she’d swallowed enough rum to forget her own name and ended up in some man’s bed across the city despite having work at 8:30 am.
She scrambles through the doors of Fidelity Magazine, trying not to draw attention to herself. The office is small and not very modernized yet, with files still strewn about, cheap office chairs, and ancient computers. But in a way, it’s home—even if it smells like newspapers, despite them selling magazines.
Her eyes catch on the wall clock that reads 9:17 am, and she walks faster.
“Shipman!”
Shauna freezes, squeezing her eyes shut. Dani’s dark skin and warm brown eyes catch the light as she gives Shauna a sympathetic glance. Garrett’s shoulder-length blond hair shakes with his laughter. Asshole.
Sighing, Shauna trudges into her editor, Harry’s office and slumps into the seat across from him.
“You’re late.” The crow’s feet around his eyes deepen with his glare. The overhead lights gleam off the grease in his brown hair.
“Uh…” Shauna tries to come up with an excuse, but it’s hard to think with her lingering hangover. Her shoulders slump. “Yeah.”
“You’re lucky I need someone immediately.” Harry rummages through the folders strewn across his desk. “What did I do with it, dammit?” After another second of searching, he yanks a folder up with a grunt, almost knocking the powered-off computer screen from his desk with his elbow. “Here.” He shoves it at her.
Shauna takes it without batting an eye and leans back in her seat, scanning it. On the inside front cover, there’s a paper clip holding a business card.
Hartman
Assistant Creative Director
Gold Star Media
xxx.xxx.xxxx
Shauna keeps a derisive snort tucked deep inside as she plucks out the card.
“She was in this year’s Forbes 30 Under 30. Interview her. 800 words,” Harry says. “Get it to me by Friday, or you’re fired.” He gestures toward the door. “Now get out.”
“That’s business. Why am I interviewing her?” Shauna asks, not even looking at the door.
Harry drops his arm, sighing. “Lindsey is out on maternity leave. You are on the thinnest ice possible, so you get to pick up the slack and remind me why I even hired you. The time and address are written inside. Don’t be late for that, too, Shipman.”
Shauna forces back a scowl and gets to her feet. “Of course. I’ll have it done ASAP.” She has to try very hard not to slam the door.
“How’d it go?” Dani asks from the desk beside Shauna’s.
Shauna throws the folder on her desk. “I have to go do an interview for business because Lindsey’s out.”
“Oh,” Garret says, spinning around from his desk across the aisle. “Hartman, right?” He continues at Shauna’s nod. “Lindsey met her at some party they both went to with their husbands. She said Hartman was charming.”
Shauna raises her brow. “Lindsey liked someone?”
“Must be someone special,” Dani says. “Lindsey hates her own mother.”
Shauna smirks. “She’s in marketing. She’s probably just as evil as Lindsey.”
“Aw,” Dani simpers. “I love female friendships.”
Shauna snorts under her breath and skims through the folder.
Jacqueline Hartman.
Her chest squeezes the way it always does when she sees Jackie’s first name, but she doesn’t linger. Below it is a list of marketing campaigns in which Hartman’s been involved. Shauna’s slightly impressed. She recognizes a lot of these brands.
A sticky note sits at the bottom of the last page.
An address and 2 pm.
The office of Jacqueline Hartman sits in a high-rise downtown. It has shiny tiled floors in the lobby. A receptionist whose smile turns fake when she tells Shauna she’ll have to verify her identity. And security guards who eye Shauna closely after the receptionist whispers something to them.
Shauna is considering what other magazine she should apply to when a pretty dark-haired woman in a perfectly fitted pencil skirt and blouse steps in front of her. The woman’s lips purse as she scans Shauna, lingering on her flannel like she wants to burn it, then meets her eyes.
“My name is Isabel Tanaka, and I’m Mrs. Hartman’s executive assistant. I’ll escort you to Mrs. Hartman’s office.”
Shauna tugs her bag over her shoulder as she stands. “Thanks.”
“Sorry for the delay,” Isabel says, leading her into the elevator. “We just wanted to call your office to confirm. We were expecting Lindsey.”
“‘Course,” Shauna says, leaning on the elevator wall. “I get it.”
Isabel hits the button for a floor high in the building and studies Shauna from the corner of her eye.
Shauna raises her brow.
“Do most journalists dress like they’re going to Starbucks?”
Shauna shrugs, eyeing Isabel’s stiff back and sharp heels. “Do most assistants dress like they get off on being uncomfortable?”
Isabel rolls her eyes, going back to staring at the elevator doors.
When the elevator finally opens, Shauna’s greeted by a small reception area: a heavy wooden desk, warm, painted walls, and dark furniture that looks deliberately expensive. She doesn’t let the surprise show on her face, but she expected something more modern and obnoxiously sleek.
“Mrs. Hartman’s office is just to the left,” Isabel says.
Shauna stays silent as they cross the reception area toward the closed office door. Isabel knocks and glances at Shauna’s flannel again as if she wants to ask if Shauna would like to change first.
“Come in,” a quiet voice calls out from the other side of the door.
The office is enormous, with a sturdy coffee table and a leather couch on one end. On the other is a desk that would take at least two large men to lift, with the city shining behind it. Two leather chairs sit in front of the heavy desk. Mrs. Hartman currently has her high-backed executive chair turned around as she searches for something in a cabinet behind her.
“Mrs. Hartman, the journalist from Fidelity is here.”
“Oh, Lindsey! It’s—” The chair spins before Shauna can parse why the voice sounds so familiar.
Jackie Taylor freezes, wide-eyed, and like a woman dying of thirst, Shauna drinks her in.
Jackie’s face has filled out in a way that accentuates her features even more than Shauna remembers. She’s pinned up her dirty blonde hair, letting her long neck stretch. The same doe eyes that haunt Shauna’s dreams pierce through her, but now they’re filled with a certainty that makes Shauna want to moan.
Isabel politely clears her throat, breaking Shauna out of her daze.
“Hartman?” Shauna asks, unable to help herself.
Jackie stares at her for a second too long. “My husband’s.”
“What’d you marry him so you could have heart in your name?”
Jackie rolls her eyes, her lips curling up at the edges. “No, that’d be really stupid, Shipman.”
“For money, then?” Shauna asks.
Isabel whips her head toward her.
Jackie’s eyes narrow. “No, Shauna.”
“Storybook romance?” Shauna asks.
Jackie’s jaw tightens. She smiles. It’s fake. “Of course. Why else would I marry?”
“Tax benefits?”
“Hilarious,” Jackie says. She looks at Isabel, whose eyes are flicking between them. “We’re fine, Isa. Thank you.”
Isabel hesitates, giving Jackie a long look that Shauna can’t interpret, then finally leaves.
Jackie sits in her big, obnoxious fucking chair and gestures toward the much smaller, uncomfortable-looking ones across from it.
Shauna stays standing. She ignores Jackie’s sigh to examine her office.
On the wall by the door, Jackie’s degree from Rutgers hangs. Shauna has an odd urge to run her fingers over it, like she’d be able to feel what could’ve been.
“So… journalism?” Jackie says.
“Pretty vague question, Jackie. I guess that’s why I’m the journalist.”
“So far, the only questions you’ve asked me have been incredibly rude,” Jackie says, tone stilted and polite.
“What made them choose you for 30 Under 30?”
There are books on Jackie’s back wall that Shauna can’t help but examine. She doubts Jackie has read a single one.
“Aren’t good journalists supposed to research people before interviewing them?”
“I only got this assignment this morning.” Shauna picks out a book on basic psychology, laughing under her breath.
“Where’s Lindsey?” Jackie says, her voice much closer.
Shauna glances over her shoulder at Jackie striding closer before looking away. Any longer and she’d stare.
“Maternity leave.”
Stopping beside her, Jackie takes the book away and puts it back on the shelf. Her brow raises as if daring Shauna to protest. Shauna only stares back, keeping her face carefully neutral.
Jackie sighs, her shoulders slumping. “Forbes said they chose me for my work on multiple international marketing campaigns.”
“I interviewed the director of the new homeless shelter downtown last week.”
Instantly, Shauna wants to shove the pathetic sentence back into her mouth. It’d be even worse if Jackie knew the director had asked if Shauna needed some water for her hangover after she had grabbed her head too many times.
Jackie smiles, her gaze steady, lingering on her in a way that it hadn’t before. “I’ll see if I can find a copy. I’d love to read it.”
Shauna’s stomach does something fluttery that it hasn’t done in a decade. “D-did the campaigns actually increase the company’s profits, or do you just mention them to sound impressive?”
Jackie’s smile falls. “No losses.” She crosses her arms.
“So not all of them had gains?” Shauna asks.
“No loss is a gain,” Jackie says, jaw tight.
“Not if you’re paying for a new marketing campaign,” Shauna says.
Jackie studies her for a beat before turning around and walking over to stand at the front of her desk. “If you’re going to keep being rude, I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Shauna,” she says, her tone and demeanor all business now.
Shauna opens her mouth to say something biting—then pauses. She can do this. She will not look like an idiot while Jackie is completely coolheaded.
After exhaling through her nose, Shauna nods. “Right. Of course. I’m sorry.” She takes the folder from her bag and flips through it for Lindsey’s notes. “I’m sure you’re busy. Let’s finish this quickly.”
Shauna looks back up at Jackie to see she’s staring at her, curiosity shining in her eyes.
“What sets you apart from other marketing professionals?” Shauna asks.
Jackie blinks, gaze shifting back to normal. “Nothing.”
“…Nothing?”
Jackie hums in agreement.
“Don’t you think you should market yourself?” Shauna asks.
“I am.” Jackie bats her eyes. “Research shows humble women come across as more likable—especially attractive ones under 30.”
Shauna snorts. “Should I make that the tagline of the article?”
Jackie leans back on her desk and gives her a long, careful look. “I’d rather you didn’t print it at all.” She says it as if she’s testing Shauna—or goading her.
“Then you should’ve said off-the-record.”
“Off-the-record,” Jackie says calmly.
“Before you said it.”
“I forgot,” Jackie says. “Can you not print it?”
Shauna clenches her jaw. “I’ll think about it.”
Jackie’s smile is slow. Triumphant.
They both know Shauna won’t include it.
That night, Shauna steps into her apartment, grinning at the sound of paws scurrying closer. “Hi, Princess,” she says softly. She kneels, running her hand over the back of her large, white Maine Coon cat. “You hungry?”
Princess meows loudly, sprinting to the kitchen and trailing back and forth where she usually eats.
“Dumb question. Sorry.”
She fills Princess’s bowl and leaves her alone to check the mail on the couch. As Shauna drops onto a cushion, she snorts at the sound of the cat daintily eating every piece.
Princess always takes forever to finish eating, like she needs to be polite while doing it.
Shauna lies down. She sorts through her mail, dropping the junk to her chest before freezing on a familiar sender. Tearing it open, she flips open the birthday card that falls out, pockets the $20, and throws it and the rest of the mail onto her coffee table.
“My birthday is in March, Dad.”
Before Shauna can wallow, Princess jumps up onto her stomach. Shauna grunts, doubling over. “I told you not to do that, fatass,” she wheezes.
Shauna’s pretty sure Princess glares at her as she settles. Shauna glares back. She has to stretch to reach the remote, but manages to turn the TV on.
She only flips channels for a few moments before pausing, a familiar name popping up on the screen below the picture of an attractive older blonde man with a white-toothed grin. “CEO and philanthropist William Hartman is making headlines again for a record-breaking donation of $9.6 million to the American Red Cross.”
Shauna stiffens. “Maybe it’s a different William Hartman…”
“He and his wife Jacqueline have gained wide recognition for their charity wor—”
Shauna turns the TV off.
Handsome, rich, kind. He’s the perfect fucking guy. Jackie’s living the perfect fucking life. Everything’s perfect. Just fucking perfect.
Shauna exhales harshly, squeezing the edge of the couch.
An urge hits her—to blemish Jackie. Just a speck of dirt, something small enough to prove she isn’t untouchable. To show her she’s Jackie Taylor. Not Jackie Hartman. Not someone who still gets to tell Shauna what to do a decade later.
“Can you say, ‘fuck you, Jackie’?” Shauna asks Princess, rubbing her ear.
Meow.
“Exactly, Princess.” Shauna nods. “Good job.”
It takes a week for Shauna to see Jackie again. It’s hard to miss her, with the way she always needs to make an entrance.
“Who is that?” Dani asks, staring over Shauna’s shoulder.
Shauna glances behind her, then looks forward again. She puts on a disinterested mask over her face as Jackie storms in, fury in her eyes.
“Do you think this is funny, Shauna?” Jackie asks, slamming that week’s magazine issue onto her desk, open to a page near the middle.
‘Can Gold Star Media Deliver What It Promises?’
Shauna picks it up with a smile. “What’s the problem? I didn’t include that off-the-record quote, like you asked.”
Jackie snatches it and starts reading. “‘Jackie Hartman (née Taylor)’—what the hell does my maiden name even have to do with this?” She shakes her head sharply. “‘The Forbes 30 Under 30 recipient will have every company believe she has their business interests at heart, but after our conversation, I could only wonder if sometimes no loss is just a loss.’”
Shauna shrugs. “Seems fine to me.”
“This isn’t what I agreed to, Shauna!”
“You agreed to an interview. I interviewed you. The article is my interpretation of how it went.”
“I should sue you!”
“There’s no libel here!” Shauna says, shooting to her feet. “I’m quoting what you said.”
“You twisted my words!”
The nearby office door slams open, and Harry stomps out, eyes already on Jackie. “Who are you and why are you in here?”
Jackie straightens, stepping toward him with a perfect smile. She sticks her hand out, reaching for his in a way that he can’t avoid before giving it a firm shake.
“Jackie Hartman,” she says. “I have an issue with the way one of your writers portrayed me in a recent article.”
“Hartman…” Harry’s face tightens as he turns toward Shauna. “Of course it’s you, Shipman,” he snaps. “It’s always fucking you!”
Shauna swallows hard, already rethinking her idea.
“We have lawyers, Mrs. Hartman. Suing us is a waste of everyone’s time.” He looks at Shauna. “But you can tell me why I shouldn’t fire you for making every day of my life more difficult.”
Jackie’s lips part. She glances at Shauna, who instantly averts her eyes, feeling the need to jump out the window.
“Oh, that won’t be necessary!” Jackie says, stepping in front of Harry with a charming grin. “I was actually hoping for another piece.”
Harry pauses, looking at her strangely. “Another piece?”
“A full profile,” Jackie says. “So I can win some trust back with our partners.”
Harry thinks for a moment, then turns to Garrett. “Numbers?”
Garrett flips through a clipboard frantically. “Uh, the issue featuring Mrs. Hartman saw a 17% increase in sales. We’ve had multiple write-ins asking about her since publication.” He hesitates. “The included photo seems to have gotten people interested.”
Translation: Jackie’s hot, and apparently that’s enough to trick people into thinking this is more than it is.
Harry turns back to Jackie. “Fine. Jeremy!” Jeremy’s head pops up. “It’s yours. Get it to me—”
“I apologize,” Jackie interrupts. “I should’ve clarified.” She glances at Shauna, expression unfathomable. “I’d prefer it if Shauna did the profile.”
Harry gives her a look as if she’s lost it. “She’s the one who caused this in the first place.”
“Who better to clean up the mess?” Jackie says brightly.
He looks between them a few times, then scoffs. “Fine. Try not to screw it up this time, Shauna.”
Shauna stays silent as he marches back into his office. She collapses into her chair, staring moodily down at her desk. When Jackie presses against the side, Shauna doesn’t acknowledge her.
“You’re welcome,” Jackie says.
“I could’ve handled that fine.” Shauna grabs a spare piece of paper and starts scribbling notes on it.
“Were you going to handle it before or after getting fired?” Jackie asks.
“Harry wouldn’t actually fire me.” Shauna writes faster, her handwriting growing even sloppier.
“Really?” Jackie asks.
“He says that to her all the time,” Dani says. “We all think he kind of has a soft spot for her.”
Jackie looks at Harry’s office door like she wants to make sure she’s got the right guy. “Okay…” She lightly clears her throat. “Call my office. You can set something up with Isabel so we can get started.”
“You can’t even schedule a meeting by yourself?” Shauna asks.
“I don’t know my schedule,” Jackie says, short. “Isa does.”
Shauna’s gaze sharpens. “Is it Isa or Isabel?”
“Isabel to you,” Jackie says. “Isa to me.” She adjusts her coat and turns to leave. “Call her soon. I want to get this profile started.”
“I’m sure your business partners will be just as pissy next week as they are now.”
“Yeah.” Jackie’s lips shake before she purses them tightly together. “And so will my boss. Some of us actually care what other people think of us.”
“Don’t worry, Jackie,” Shauna mutters, going back to her notes. “I remember that just fine.”
There’s an odd shift in the air. Like reality suddenly knocking into them.
Jackie leaves without another word.
Dani glances at the exit that Jackie just marched out of and stares at Shauna’s head. “Do you know each other?”
“No.”
Shauna ignores her dubious look and opens Google on her computer. She types Jackie Taylor, then deletes it and tries again.
Jackie Hartman.
Enter.
A few days later, Shauna stands at Isabel’s desk with messy hair and a torn flannel sleeve.
Isabel gives her a judgmental glance as she presses the button on her intercom. “Shauna Shipman is here, Mrs. Hartman.”
“Give me one moment,” Jackie says, distracted.
Shauna turns to sit and wait when Isabel places a comb on the edge of her desk. It’s still in the plastic wrap. Shauna doesn’t reach for it. “What’s this for?”
“Your hair,” Isabel says, shaking her head as she writes something in a calendar.
“And why do you have a brand-new comb?”
Isabel looks up with a sigh. “I have many things in my desk for Mrs. Hartman.”
Before she can reconsider, Shauna leans over the high reception counter, eyeing Isabel’s desk drawers. All are shut. “Like what?”
Isabel opens a drawer. Inside are several sealed combs, neatly stacked. “Like combs,” she says, matter-of-fact.
“Why the hell does she need that many combs?” Shauna asks, frowning.
Isabel pauses, something sharp flickering in her eyes. “Mrs. Hartman is fine. You’d be surprised what other assistants deal with.”
Shauna starts to speak when the door to Jackie’s office opens. Jackie freezes in the doorway, glancing from Shauna to Isabel. Only then does Shauna remember she’s practically trying to climb over the counter.
She drops to her feet, coughing awkwardly. “Thanks, Isabel.” She raises the comb.
Jackie shoots Isabel a questioning look, but Isabel keeps her head down, hand moving quickly across her paperwork.
Before Jackie can say anything, Shauna shifts sideways, blocking Isabel from view. “I’m already running late because you asked me to wait, Jackie.”
After one last frown in Shauna and Isabel’s direction, Jackie turns into her office and settles into the chair behind her desk
Shauna drops into the one across from her and pulls out a recorder. “Do you mind?”
Jackie barely glances at it. “Yes.”
Shauna almost places it down on the desk before comprehending what Jackie said. “Yes?”
“Yes, I mind.”
The tape recorder digs into Shauna’s palm as she squeezes it. “Why?”
“Because I do,” Jackie says.
Of course she fucking does.
Sighing through her nose, Shauna throws the recorder back into her bag. “Isabel told me you only had about 20 minutes. So for now, I’ll just ask a few basic questions. I’ll need to shadow you at some point to get to…” She pauses before saying ‘get to know you’ and recalibrates. “Get a good read on you. And we’ll need to schedule a longer interview for later.”
“How much longer?” Jackie asks, face shifting with surprise.
“Uh.” Shauna frowns. “I’d clear an afternoon.”
“An afternoon?” Jackie laughs. “I can’t clear an entire afternoon for one interview. That’s ridiculous.”
“This is a profile, Jackie,” Shauna says. “You can’t be in this industry and not at least have some idea what that means.” She shakes her head, writing a note for later. “You’re the one who asked for this.”
“I only asked because—”
Shauna looks up, pencil ready, and Jackie tightens her lips.
After another second of scrutiny, Shauna moves on. “Why does Isabel have so many combs in her desk?”
Jackie blinks slowly. “How could that possibly be relevant?”
“Because it is,” Shauna says, copying Jackie’s superior tone from before.
“Next question, please.”
Shauna grits her teeth. It’s her interview. Jackie needs to cooperate. “Why marketing?”
“It’s fun and interesting. I like what I do.”
Shauna snorts under her breath and notes that for later. “Do you think your personality lends well to your profession?”
Jackie leans back in her seat, fingers crossed loosely over the desk. “In what way?”
“Do you think the way you’re so image-conscious makes you better at marketing brands?”
“No.”
“Why‘s that?”
Jackie pauses for a moment. “When I’m considering my own image, it’s singular and unchanging—very specific to myself. It’s also only able to affect me.” She shifts in her seat, brow furrowing. “When I’m thinking of brand image, I’m thinking of the brand’s history and identity with consumers, but I also have to consider it on a larger scale. Marketing can hurt the product and the consumer if not done correctly.”
“So you have to think of the psychological side of things?” Shauna asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Exactly.”
“How is that any different from you trying to make yourself seem meeker as ‘an attractive woman under 30?’”
Jackie slowly straightens in her seat. “Me acting a certain way isn’t going to cause global psychological ramifications like an international marketing campaign.”
“True, but you specifically said it would only affect yourself,” Shauna says. “It doesn’t just affect you, though. It affects how people see you and people like you.”
Jackie’s lips part. “Well—um—”
“I also have a follow-up on your explanation of brand image versus self-image. Your answer is almost word-for-word from the branding book that your mentor, the current creative director, Abby Gordon, wrote.” Shauna reaches into her bag and takes out the copy she bought last week. “Do you actually believe what you’re saying, or have you just repeated Abby Gordon enough times that it’s become compulsory?”
A few moments pass in silence as Shauna taps her pencil, watching Jackie closely.
“I… can you repeat that, please?” Jackie swallows hard, her cheeks flushing bright red.
Shauna has to tamp down a shudder. Controlling the room, the conversation, the person. Something about it keeps her steady in a way that not even her journal could.
But this isn’t the same as usual. Not when it’s Jackie on the other side.
It’s only a few minutes before Jackie’s next meeting that Shauna takes the chance to ask:
“Off-the-record,” Shauna says, not reacting to Jackie’s bewildered glance. “The Forbes article didn’t mention the crash at all. There’s no way they missed that. How did you manage it?”
Jackie’s shoulders curve inward. Her fingers clench tight around a pen. “My charm.”
Shauna doesn’t blink.
Jackie glances away. “Will pulled some strings and got it taken out. I’m not sure how.”
“He must really love you to do that.” Shauna hopes Jackie can feel her eyes piercing into her skull.
Jackie purses her lips.
It figures—a husband who’s handsome, rich, kind, and wrapped around Jackie’s finger. Jackie really got everything she had always wanted.
Suddenly, it’s Shauna who can’t meet Jackie’s eyes. The flannel wrapping around her shoulders feels scratchy. Wrong in a way she’s never considered before. Why hadn’t she taken Isabel’s advice and combed her hair?
“Is that why Harry doesn’t fire you?”
Shauna looks up, her cheeks flushing at the open curiosity on Jackie’s face. “What?”
“That was…” Jackie straightens in her seat. “I’ve never seen you like that before.”
“Oh, um.” Shauna scratches the back of her neck. “I kinda just wanted to write at first, and never talk to anyone, but my professors almost laughed in my face. They all basically beat the shyness out of me. And then I realized I was good at um…”
“Being terrifying?” Jackie asks with a small laugh.
Shauna’s chest twists unpleasantly. She stands, planting her hands on Jackie’s desk, leaning closer with a worried frown. “I didn’t scare you, did I? I can get kinda intense during interviews.”
Jackie stares.
“Jackie?” Shauna asks.
“I—no—of course not.” Jackie clears her throat. Her hands tremble. When she notices Shauna looking, she pulls them off her desk.
Shauna’s gaze sticks on the red spreading across Jackie’s cheeks. The room seems warmer all of a sudden.
The door opens. “Mrs. Hartman, I—”
Without straightening, Shauna glances over her shoulder. Isabel stands in the doorway, eyes flicking between them.
“Right!” Jackie says. She stands up too quickly. Her chair flies back, slamming into the file cabinet.
For a moment, the only sound is the echoing of the metal file cabinet. Then the click of Jackie’s heels rings out as she rounds the desk. She places a hand on Shauna’s lower back, leading her toward the door. Shauna stays silent, the touch feeling familiar even after a decade, but Isabel’s eyes keep darting toward it like she needs to check if it’s real or not. Thankfully, Jackie doesn’t notice, her hand staying in place.
Jackie stops at the door. Gives Shauna one last look, then spins around without saying anything.
“I’ll send Mr. Deacon in right away,” Isabel says hesitantly.
Jackie nods, gaze trained on some paperwork on her desk. “Schedule…” She sighs. “Schedule another interview with Shauna. An entire afternoon.”
“An entire—” Isabel cuts herself off, clearing her throat. “Of course, I’ll check your schedule. Though I’m… unsure how soon I can fit that in, Mrs. Hartman.”
“I should really do the interview first, but I guess I can make an exception for you, Jax,” Shauna says, her mouth running faster than her brain.
A beat passes. Shauna can feel both of them staring at her.
Fuck.
She turns too quickly, hurrying out of the room. “I’ll figure out the other stuff first until you have time for the interview.”
“You can head in now, Mr. Deacon,” Isabel says, following her out.
Shauna leans on the reception desk, not looking up as a man heads into Jackie’s office, and Isabel rounds the desk, settling into her seat.
“Mrs. Hartman is… an incredibly private person.” Isabel focuses on her computer, already typing away.
Jackie? Private? She used to tell Shauna what color underwear she wore that day.
Shauna hopes her dubiousness is clear.
“Perhaps your view of her is skewed.” Isabel types steadily, the clacks sounding through the room.
“Or she’s changed.”
Isabel pauses. “Maybe.” She types again. “I’m more inclined toward my theory, though.”
Shauna makes a small sound of acknowledgment in her throat, not really caring what Isabel thinks either way.
“Regardless,” Isabel says, “she hasn’t mentioned her history with you.”
“Uh-huh.”
Isabel gives her a glare. “That was my way of asking.”
There’s no way Isabel knows about the crash if she doesn’t know who Shauna is. Which isn’t surprising; it’s been a decade, and they’re not in small-town Wiskayok anymore. This city is home to millions, making it much easier to get lost. Not to mention the change in Jackie’s last name.
Shauna ignores the churning in her stomach and looks back at Isabel. “Aren’t you supposed to be loyal to Jackie?”
Every muscle in Isabel’s body tenses. She looks at Shauna as if she had just questioned her entire identity. “Of course I am!” she says. “Mrs. Hartman’s done a lot for me. She never gets upset when I take time off to help my mother. She even paid for my mother’s last stay in the hospital after overhearing me talking to my brother about how expensive it was.”
Shauna gives her a long look, then takes out her notebook and scribbles it down. “Do you have any way I can verify that?”
Seconds pass in silence, then she glances up at Isabel, who looks as if she hopes Shauna disintegrates on the spot.
“You think I’m a liar?” Isabel asks.
Shauna rolls her eyes. “I think I need to do my job.” And she wouldn’t put it past Jackie to get someone to lie to make herself look better.
Isabel sighs, her shoulders slumping. “Fine, I’ll see if I can find some paperwork with Mrs. Hartman’s name on it.”
“Does Jackie make you call her Mrs. Hartman?” Shauna asks, still scribbling.
Isabel laughs softly. “The opposite. She’s given up trying to get me to call her Jackie. I told her I’d compromise with Jacqueline, but she seemed to like that even less.”
Shauna’s head whips up. “Don’t call her that,” she snaps.
Isabel flinches. “I-I—okay. I already said I wasn’t.”
Shauna clenches her jaw as she looks back down.
Jackie’s mother only called her Jacqueline when she was upset with her—just hearing the name used to make Jackie sick with anxiety.
Shauna glances at her watch and curses. “I have to go, but I’ll call to schedule more for the profile when I can.”
Isabel nods, her eyes searching, but Shauna doesn’t let her find anything. She spins around and escapes into the elevator.
Shauna hurries down the sidewalk, footsteps getting faster at the sight of someone with familiar curly hair sitting at a table out front of a cafe. She hops over the metal railing separating the patio from the sidewalk—ignoring Tai’s groan and the other patron’s stares—and drops into the seat across from Tai.
“How is it that I don’t even live in this city and I’m still here first?” Tai says, nudging Shauna’s iced tea closer to her.
“I got caught up.” She grabs three sugar packets and dumps them into her cup. After taking a sip, she frowns and adds a fourth.
Tai grimaces at Shauna’s drink. “Caught up at work, right?”
“Yes, Tai,” Shauna says. “At work.”
“Just making sure after last time.” Tai waves over a nearby waitress.
“That was important, too!”
“How?” Tai scoffs as the waitress arrives.
“When a girl says you can’t make her come for a fifth time, obviously you’re going to have to stay to prove her wrong.”
Tai squeezes her eyes shut.
“I can come back,” the waitress says, her voice unnaturally high.
“No, it’s fine. I’m ready to order.” Shauna hands the blushing waitress her menu. “Hamburger. No tomato. No lettuce. No onions. Extra extra bacon.”
“A house salad.” Tai frowns at Shauna. “Might as well just give me all the vegetables she’s refusing to eat.”
“Uh, it doesn’t work that way…” Their waitress taps on her order pad.
“I’m just—” Tai sighs. “Of course. No problem. Just the salad, please.”
After the waitress walks off, Tai gives Shauna a judgmental glance. “You’re an adult and still can’t eat vegetables?”
“I can eat vegetables.” Shauna draws in the condensation on her glass. “I just don’t like eating them with meat. I don’t know.”
“You miss eating unseasoned deer and dirt that badly?”
“No.” Shauna draws a frowny face on her glass. “I miss working with my hands, though. That was…” She adds X’s over the eyes, then shakes her head, wiping them away. “Whatever. I like broccoli.”
Tai gives her a loaded look before seeming to let it go. “Fine. Why were you actually late anyway?”
“Oh, uh.” Shauna hesitates, an odd urge to keep this—keep Jackie to herself. “An interview…”
Tai nods for her to go on.
“With…” Shauna groans. “Fuck it. It’s with Jackie. I’m interviewing Jackie.”
Tai blinks slowly. “Jackie Hartman?”
“Yes, Jackie—wait, why do you know her married name?” Shauna asks, eyes darting over Tai’s face.
“I went to her wedding,” Tai says casually, like she didn’t just admit to something sacrilegious.
“You—what—why?” Shauna sputters, leaning closer.
Tai moves back. “Because I was invited.” She gives her a sympathetic look. “Were you not? I didn’t want to pry when I noticed you weren’t there.”
“Of course I was invited,” Shauna snaps. “I didn’t go because that would be insane.”
Tai’s lips part, then close again with a sigh. “Right. Yeah. That makes sense.”
Shauna nods, glad she understands. She doodles on her glass for a few more seconds, a question on the tip of her tongue. A heart forms under her fingertip before she quickly wipes it away.
“Do you think I should dress better for interviews?” Shauna blurts.
“I’m not sure,” Tai says, oddly pleased. “What were you wearing before you got here?”
Shauna frowns down at her clothes. “This.”
Tai’s face deadpans. “Then yes.”
“I’ll consider it,” Shauna mutters, picking at her sleeve.
“And these sticky notes?” Shauna asks Jackie a few days later.
There are various old physical presentation boards stored in the room, but she’s currently focusing on a hair dye campaign.
She lifts a sticky note up next to a picture of a brunette woman. Refer to study — DOI: 10.1111/j.1467–9450.2008.00651.x
“What does this mean?” Shauna asks.
Jackie scrambles over, yanking her hand away. “Research!”
“Yeah, I know what a DOI is.” She taps the note with the eraser of her pencil. “More psychology?”
“Marketing is psychology,” Jackie says, tightening her grip.
Shauna glances down. Only then does she realize Jackie’s still holding her hand.
Jackie pulls away, stepping further back with crossed arms. Staying quiet, Shauna flexes her fingers as she looks at more presentation ideas, all with Jackie’s handwriting.
“If I look up the articles on these sticky notes, are they all going to be about how brunettes like buying more things because of, uh, feeling inadequate or something?”
“That’s silly,” Jackie murmurs, sounding distracted as she straightens a crooked poster. “I’ve always preferred brunettes.”
Shauna studies her for a moment, trying to figure out if she’s fucking with her. She’s not.
“Your husband’s blonde, Jackie.”
Jackie falters, her hand falling back to her side. “Right. Well, you don’t choose love. Love chooses you.”
The words sit in the air for a moment, floating uselessly.
“Which campaign did you steal that slogan from?” Shauna asks.
When Jackie gives her a sidelong stare, Shauna only raises an eyebrow.
Finally, Jackie groans, head falling into her hands. “A jewelry one, I think. I’m not sure they tend to blur together.”
Shauna throws her head back, laughing in that way only Jackie could ever make her do.
When she settles, she lowers her head and finds Jackie already watching her, eyes soft. Shauna’s heart stumbles, then kicks into a faster rhythm. She wants to stay in this moment a little longer, long enough to forget what Jackie can still do to her.
Fuck that.
“You have a propensity to use marketing language in everyday interactions,” Shauna says. “Is this a personal habit or an industry standard?”
“You have a propensity to sound like you’re writing a term paper anytime you want to shift the conversation,” Jackie says, not missing a beat. “Is this a personal habit or an industry standard?”
“Personal habit.” Shauna scribbles a note for later. “Have you ever similarly copied other marketing campaigns without realizing it?”
“No.” Jackie narrows her eyes. “Do you think you’re so good at interviews because you secretly just like bullying people to feel better?”
Shauna pauses, not having an answer to that. She’s… not sure. Which might even be worse than a yes-or-no. Now she’ll have to wonder.
“I…” Jackie steps closer, holding her hand out. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”
Shauna swallows everything down deep. Just like she did when Jackie upset her in high school. She turns back to the campaign ideas and forces her head to tilt. “How many are here again?”
Jackie stays quiet for a moment, a heaviness still lingering in the air.
“I’m not sure,” Jackie says quietly. “A dozen at least.”
“Lemme count.” Shauna steps forward.
She barely looks at Jackie again before leaving that day.