Page 34 of Release Me

The request sent me into an hours long tail spin that I’m still caught up in when I walk through the doors of the bank Desiree recommended when I told her about my concerns over dinner last night. They’ve only been open for a few minutes, so there’s no one in line when I make my way to the first teller I see. She glances up, her countenance caught somewhere between pleasant and annoyed.

I flash my brightest and friendliest smile, so she doesn’t read my nerves as nefarious intent and press a silent alarm of something. “Hi, I know you’re just getting settled in, but I was wondering if I could talk to someone about opening an account?”

Acknowledging that she’s just getting her day started buys me some good will. The annoyance fades away, making room for a genuine smile. “Of course, you’d need to speak with one of our associates in the offices over there.” She nods towards the wall of offices behind us. “Typically, they don’t get in until eight thirty, but Cara is always early. If you take a seat by the office on the end, I’ll text her to make sure she knows you’re waiting for her.”

“Perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Have a great day.”

My anxiety reaches an all time high as I sit beside Cara Armstrong’s closed office door. Ten quiet minutes pass by with me tapping my foot on the gleaming tile floors before one of the tellers turns on a TV, putting the channel on the morning news. The volume is down low, but there’s still no one in the bank, so I hear the exact moment the broadcast turns to a national news segment where the woman at the desk is talking about how authorities in Florida are still looking for information about a wreck that left an unidentified man brain dead and on life support.

Beside her head, a picture of the totaled car appears. It’s wrapped around the thick trunk of a stately tree. The reporter doesn’t say it, but I know that the car used to be a canary yellow Lamborghini. I also know that the reason why they’re having such a hard time identifying the man is because he stole the car from some rich asshole in Miami, and less than twelve hours later, I took his wallet, with all of his identification, off of what I thought was his corpse. I kept the cash and tossed the rest out somewhere between the dark road in the Everglades where we’d crashed and the women’s shelter in Jennings, Florida where I paid one of the regulars there to put me in contact with someone who could make me into someone new.

Nadia Hendrix was born in the sketchy basement on the Florida/Georgia state line. She was made with the assistance of a man named Ray who took my new driver’s license photo against a white backdrop I’m certain was made from a sheet and advised me to pick a name with the same initials as my old one so my signature would still be authentic.

That is who I am.

Not the girl who climbed out of the wreckage still being displayed on the TV screen. Not the destitute girl Beau sold to men he didn’t know well enough to trust, the one who hasn’t seen the inside of a bank in years and never thought she’d have an account of her own, let alone anything to put in it.

The reminder of how drastically my life has changed since I climbed out of that car and left everything behind is enough to soothe away the last of the anxiety lingering in my bones. Enough to make me confident in my yes when a woman, who I assume is Cara Armstrong, pauses at the door beside me and asks if I’m here to discuss opening an account.

It takes all of twenty minutes for Cara to set me up with a checking and savings account, print me off a bank verification form and provide me with a temporary debit card, so I don’t have to hold off on making any immediate purchases that can’t be covered by what’s left of my last check from the grocery store. I thank her for her efficiency and rush to work, hoping I won’t be late on my second day.

Thankfully, the bank is only a few blocks over from Cerros, so I get there at right on time, managing to snag a spot on an elevator that’s packed with hotel guests and Adler Holdings employees. Since Regina isn’t on my heels, herding me around like cattle, I feel comfortable making a stop on the twenty-sixth floor to give Heather in HR my direct deposit form before heading up to my office. I pass through the glass doors that lead to my space and look around cautiously, half expecting to find Regina lying in wait, ready to scold me for daring to wander outside my domain.

When it’s clear that she’s not, I laugh at myself for being silly enough to entertain the thought and approach my desk, stopping short when I see a stack of boxes that weren’t there when I left last night sitting next to my desktop. Next to the boxes, which vary in length and size, is a bouquet of flowers. My heart starts to beat rapidly, and I realize that for the first time in a long time the increase in my heart rate isn’t tied to some negative emotion like fear. This time it’s linked with something else, something positive, something sweet like the scent of nectar coming from the honeysuckle buds that are nestled among the daisies in the bouquet.

I run tentative, but appreciative, fingertips over each petal before I set the vase to the side and take a closer look at the boxes waiting for me. Now that I’m closer, I can see that the larger one, which is on the bottom of the stack, contains a laptop—the latest edition to Apple’s Mac collection. On top of the laptop, is an iPad, and on top of that is what’s sure to be the newest iPhone. I’m already dancing on the edge of overwhelm when I see the note stuck to the phone. I pick it up and revel in the newness of the experience that is Sebastian’s handwriting, in the way seeing it makes me picture him sneaking into my office early this morning, or late last night, with his arms full of gifts for me and stopping to write something he knew would make me smile.

Welcome to the 21st century, Nadia.

14

SEBASTIAN

Nadia is a born leader.

I was certain of it when I hired her, but there’s something so different about seeing it in action, about seeing her in action. As soon as I heard about the staff meeting she’d set up, I shifted my schedule around so I could be here to witness her in her true form. Not in the cloak of shame and self doubt, but in the power she hides underneath it. It’s there in every stride of her long legs as she walks back and forth across the front of the indoor dining room attached to the rooftop. In the firm but motivating tone she uses to convey her expectations for her team and the changes she plans to make.

And I’m not the only one who sees it.

I’m standing off to the side, in the room but removed from the conversation, which gives me the opportunity to scan the faces of the servers, hostesses, chefs, and busboys. There isn’t a single person here who isn’t engaged, who isn’t nodding or smiling at the things she’s saying, or, in some cases, specifically with the college age kids who like to be teacher’s pet, taking notes. No meeting I’ve ever seen Vince run has gone this way. In fact, the days after his staff meetings were usually when people were most likely to quit. He always said it was because people didn’t want structure or respect authority, but I know it was just because he was wrong for the job.

Nadia, on the other hand, was made for it. When she talks, people listen, and when she smiles, it makes them want to do whatever the fuck she says. She’s smiling right now, and the sun is pleased by it, sending streams of light and adoration to wash over her form through the glass windows in the room, making her look radiant in the cream and yellow sundress she’s wearing today. She’s paired it with a blazer and a pair of heels to make it look more professional, but I know it’d be the perfect ensemble for a more casual setting. A picnic on a beach at sunset or dinner with my parents on their patio…

“Okay, guys, last thing.” Nadia’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. “I’ve sent out a calendar link with a few time slots throughout the day for anyone who wants to have a one on one meeting with me. One on ones are not mandatory, but you should feel free to use them if you want to talk privately about something. This would be the perfect time to let me know what jobs you’d like to be cross trained on or bring me any questions you have about the new scheduling system.”

When the meeting finally breaks, I feel the strongest surge of pride run through me. I knew she could do this, but it feels so fucking good to see the evidence of her growing belief in her abilities on her face. It feels even better to watch some of our more reluctant staff members from the kitchen approach her with compliments and praise about the changes she plans to make. I know I shouldn’t linger any longer, but I can’t bring myself to move just yet. It’s not until our eyes meet over the head of one of our newest servers, that I realize it’s because I’m waiting for her.

I want to talk to her. To congratulate her on a successful meeting and ask if there’s anything I can do to support her initiatives. I’m not usually this hands on with my managerial staff, and I damn sure don’t make a point of personally offering my support, but I’ve accepted that Nadia is different. Not just because she’s new at this job and doesn’t have any documented experience doing it, but because she’s her.

Whatever that means.

“Mr. Adler.” Her lips pull up into a smile that curves around my name and makes my heart skip a beat. She comes to a stop in front of me, and I notice the tablet I bought to make sure she never has to lug home another stack of paper in her hand. She glances at its screen and then back at me. “I don’t remember getting your RSVP to this meeting.”

“You didn’t send me an invite,” I return, eyes skating down her frame to take in her relaxed demeanor. She’s different today. More confident, less worried about whether she belongs here. The air of certainty looks good on her.

“Well, I figured you’d have better things to do than attend a lowly staff meeting.”

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