Page 1 of Unwrapped

CHAPTER 1

NICK

The car to my right nearly collides with my Range Rover. Only the blaring sound of my horn causes him to swerve, nearly colliding with the car on the other side of him.

“Sorry, Ben,” I say into my car. “Go on. Nobody can seem to drive today.” Today’s been a complete cluster, and it’s barely ten a.m. The furniture I bought wasn’t delivered on Saturday like it should have been, which meant two extra nights on an air mattress. Then they show up at nine this morning instead of four p.m. like I requested.

Now, I’m late for my second day of work, which has left me unbalanced and unhinged. This is not how I expected this day to go, but this is only temporary, I tell myself. This is a favor for my uncle, and I’ll be back to my life soon, whatever the fuck that will look like in a few months.

The only thing I know for sure is that I’m back in Boston for good. At the very least, it will be my home base while I decide what to do. My time in Chicago is over, but even after leaving the Midwest, the bad memories and my stupid mistake will not let me go. It doesn’t sound like Ben will have good news for me, and the next five minutes of the phone call confirms my suspicions. The shittiest Tuesday in history continues.

“So, what you’re telling me is that she can fuck around on me behind my back, steal fifty thousand dollars from my business, and with all the proof that I have, she gets no jail time. Is that what I’m hearing, Ben?”

Ben, a lawyer and my friend since our days at Northwestern, sighs into the phone.

“It’s not all bad news, Nick.” His voice is low, and I can hear the contrition. It’s all bad fucking news. Of all the women I could fall for, I fall for a thief.

“Really? I’m not seeing that, though. It sounds like it’s all good news for Paige. What did she do? Flip her blond hair and bat her baby blues at the judge? Did she offer to fuck him too?”

“Yeah, no jail time is shitty, but consider all the other things. She’s a convicted felon. She’s on probation for the next five years, and she has to make restitution. She can’t so much as leave the state while she’s on probation. Her life is fucked.”

All I can do is snort at the absurdity of the statement.

“It’s her first offense, and she’s a nonviolent offender. The state is trying to control its prison population.”

Exhausted and fed up with the situation, I pull into the office parking lot.

“It is what it is. I doubt I’ll get anything back. You can’t squeeze blood out of a stone. I’m the victim, but I’m the one who got fucked by our justice system. Next time you talk to the district attorney, tell him I said to go fuck himself.”

He laughs at my statement, and I can practically see him right now sitting behind his desk with his feet propped on the table. “Thanks for handling this shit show for me, Ben.”

“Well, I did introduce you two. You’re still coming to the wedding, right? I can’t guarantee she won’t attend. She’s Melissa’s cousin, and there are family obligations, but we will seat the two of you on opposite sides of the room, and if she starts any shit, she’s out. I made this clear to Melissa.” Paige, the cousin of Ben’s fiancée, was desperately in need of a job. Ben knew I was considering hiring someone to handle our accounts payables and receivables. Mary, the sweet woman who had the job, finally decided to retire and move to Florida to be closer to her grandkids, and I was too busy to handle that myself.

“I’m not worried about it. I’m not worried about her, and I don’t blame you or Melissa.” Paige did more than handle the accounts at my former business; she soon became my live-in girlfriend. I was even foolish enough to consider proposing, but someone you love stealing from you has a way of waking you up.

“All right, man. I’ll see you back in Chicago next August. You know you have enough time to find a date.”

If it was anyone else, I’d hang up, but this is my best friend, so I humor him with a fake laugh. “Don’t hold your breath. I think I’ve had my fill of the female population to last me a while.”

“I have faith in you. Gotta go.” He ends the call just as I pull into the office parking lot and pull into my Uncle Joe’s reserved spot.

As I step out of the car, I slam the door with more force than necessary, only to reopen the door again and grab my forgotten coffee.

The coffee slips from my hand and splashes on the sidewalk as I slip on ice. “Fuck!” When I pick the cup up from the ground, some of the spilled liquid drips on my jacket, leaving it stained. “Can this day get any worse?” I ask myself as I throw the cup into the trash. Instead of taking the elevator to the third floor, I take the stairs two at a time to calm myself, but I’m still in a tailspin by the time I arrive on our floor.

My irritation only increases when I notice the receptionist is missing. I don’t miss the miniature pumpkins lined up against the wall. The fact that it’s already ten in the morning on a Tuesday, and there isn’t a living soul in the office only fuels my displeasure.

I count twelve skeletons, four ghosts, and a set of three coffins in a makeshift cemetery on the short walk to my office. There are cobwebs everywhere, and I know my first order of business will be to yank it all from the ceiling. There will be a strongly worded email about how unprofessional this place looks.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me?” The minute I step into my office, I yank the damn cobwebs hanging above my desk, and take the posters on my windows down. I even take it one step further and rip them all in half before throwing them in the trash. When I notice a skeleton in the corner of my office, with a rage I haven’t felt since I realized Paige’s deception, I yank the damn thing from its spot and break it in half against my knee. I shove it in the trash headfirst, the feet sticking straight up in the air.

If this is how Uncle Joe does business, these people in the office are in for a rude awakening.

I’ve been here for three minutes and have not seen another person. Needing more coffee, I stomp out of my office and head for the kitchen. It’s still a ghost town, but I finally hear voices as I approach the kitchen.

“Glen would be perfect for your daughter, Mona. He’s finishing up at Dartmouth and he’s waiting to hear from several medical schools. Oh, his father is Jamaican, so that should make Nigel happy.” I recognize that voice. It’s the receptionist, Sherry.

I’ve talked to Mona on the phone several times and we’ve exchanged emails, but we have not met yet. I have no interest in hearing about her daughter’s love life or lack thereof. If the poor thing needs her mother to help find her a date, I can only imagine what she looks like.

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