I’m on my third pint of Chunky Monkey for the weekend when I look at the time. It’s past midnight, and I have a job that starts tomorrow. Not that I have any clue as to what the job was, but desperate times and all. There are also four voicemails and ten text message notifications waiting for me on my phone. I don’t want anything to do with my ex, but something has prevented me from blocking his number. I vanquish him from my mind as I focus more on what I need to do moving forward.
Not wanting to look like a complete idiot, I read through the documents about my shares and did some research as to how it works. Kemper’s is a privately owned S corporation, meaning none of the shares are traded publicly. I have no idea what the shares are worth, but based on the contract it seems as though the board has to agree on whom shares are sold to. So it seems like Aiden or Zach would be my only options if I decide to go that route. Not that I’m sure I want to. It seems like there’s potential to make money through profits for just being a shareholder itself.
Maybe I need a lawyer. I’m only able to understand half of the terms in the will and Google can only help so much. It’s also nice having a stake in something my father created, he wanted me to be a part of the family business. He had to die for us to get here and for me to find out I had a sibling, but it has to be worth something.
Meeting Zach was difficult, and maybe it’s blinded optimism or this lingering desire for a family, but I have hope that maybe he will come around. I don’t even know if he holds a position at the company or just owns a huge chunk of it. But I’m willing to give him another chance, I just hope that he’s open to it.
I turn out the light and toss and turn as I wait for what tomorrow is going to bring.
* * *
Kemper’s Sporting Supply is not a store, apparently. I guess I had no idea what I was walking into. I spent all weekend researching what being a shareholder meant—with little fucking success—I didn’t think to research the company beyond information about my shares. It’s very clearly the headquarters. It’s a small glass building with minimal decor. There’s a low hum of voices answering phone calls and common office chatter as I walk to the receptionist’s desk.
“Hello, can I help you?” she asks. She’s pretty, her skin is sun-kissed and her blonde hair sparkles with highlights from the sun. Her dress is casual and her face is welcoming as I smile back.
“I’m Jessa Peters. I’m supposed to meet with Aiden.”
Her eyes widen, and she nods her head. “Oh yes, Mr. Carlson is expecting you, follow me.” She stands up from behind her tall desk, and I trail her as she continues talking as we walk throughout the cubicles and closed door offices on the left. “My name is Penny. I work the front desk, if you ever need anything.”
“Thanks, Penny. I’m Jessa.” I cringe at saying my name twice, but the tall blonde woman just gives me a smile instead.
“Oh yes, everyone knows who you are.” I’m about to ask her what she means as she stretches out her arm. Aiden is sitting at his desk, dressed far more casually than he was at the funeral: a simple black polo shirt and lightweight pants. He talks in a bored tone over the phone as he waves me in, giving Penny a nod. She retreats out of the office, shutting the door behind her.
Aiden’s office is sparse. There is a small imperial red plant in the corner, but besides that, no other personal touches. No photographs of him and his family, no memorabilia, nothing that indicates that this is a place that he comes and goes every day.
“No, you listen. Kemper’s has supplied the equipment for UCF for over a decade. If you’re going to fuck me, Gary, at least have the decency to do it when I’m present,” Aiden says over the phone, and I look out the window, where a homeless man sits on the curb, panhandling for change.Maybe I should just leave.
There’s an awkward silence while I wait to hear what Aiden says next. “Okay, tell them we’ll match it.” His tone isn’t as curt as before, and I play with the hem of my dress as I wait for him to finish up his conversation.
There’s no goodbye or great speaking to you, he just hangs up the phone and looks at me. I look back at him and blink a few times. Not one to handle awkward silences well, I raise my hand like an idiot and wave. “Hi.”
“Jessa,” he says, picking up a file and looking over it for a moment. “Did you find the cottage fine?”
“Yes, it’s really nice.”
He nods and clears his throat. “Have you gotten a lawyer?”
“What?”
“To explain your shares and to protect what Collin gifted you.”
“I know the gist of it,” I say, knowing damn well I can’t afford a lawyer right now.
“I’d strongly advise you to do so.”
“About the job,” I cut in, not wanting to dwell on it any longer.
“What experience do you have?”
This, I came prepared for. I grab my portfolio and place it on his desk. He flips the front and his gaze travels over the pages. He doesn’t give me any indication of what he thinks; he doesn’t hum or speak. He just looks at the work I’ve done: the websites, the email marketing, even a few logos.
“Your background is in design?”
“Yes. I graduated from Virginia Commonwealth University with a degree in design and applied arts. Most of my work has been freelance since I finished school. I’ve had other side jobs to balance my income, but designing is my passion.”
He looks over the last few pages and rubs his chin. “Most of our stuff is outsourced. I need to talk with Huck in human resources to see what we would be able to offer you. Would you be amenable to other office work?”
I perk up, sitting up straight in my chair and nodding my head. “Of course, I’m a hard worker. I won’t let you down.”
