Mister Know It All by Amélie S. Duncan

JASMINE

Are you sick?

Tiffany, Graham’s secretary, poured me a cup of water from the cooler outside of Graham’s office. Her eyes scanned over me. “I heard a group of guys attacked you at the Black Bull. Are you all right?”

What happened to me at Black Bull had become hot gossip all week. My socio-theoretic brain couldn’t help marveling over how the retelling of stories reshaped over time. I also felt responsible for telling the truth.

“One guy. I used self-defense, and fortunate for me, it worked. The bouncer threw him out.”

“Good for you. You should teach a class or maybe come and speak at our company self-defense class in the gym?” A light bulb went off above her head as she calculated the brownie points a guest speaker idea might give her. Since Tiffany needed all the help she could get to keep Graham from firing her, I didn’t see the harm in helping her out.

“Go for it. Tell Graham and whatever team he assigns the project to that I agreed. Then make sure you get in on an appointment to discuss it, so you get the credit.”

“Yes, thank you,” she said, shaking my free hand with gusto before rushing off to find Graham. And my head swelled with the good deed I’d done as I strolled back to my cubicle.

I’d only sat down when Quinton swung his door open and called out. “Jasmine, my lucky charm, I need you.” He was so excited. “Guess what just came in?” Quinton said after I closed the door behind me. He held up the prototype of Morgan Financial Holding’s summer swag: beach towels, sip cups, and a sand bucket for the kiddies. “What do you think? Be honest. It’s fabulous.”

I grinned. “I love it. It reinforces the company’s family message. It also says we’re fun and makes employees think of work when trying to relax.”

He laughed wickedly. “Yeah, it’s brilliant. Accounting already signed off on mass production. Oh, and your pajama party overtime slots this weekend are full.” He motioned me behind the desk, and we peered at the spreadsheet full of names.

We high-fived.

“You’re a natural at this stuff,” Quinton said. “You’re also as catty as I am. Can’t you work here instead of going back to Boston?”

“I may take you up on that if I don’t get into a Ph.D. program.”

My applications were out, but I’d received no messages from Tam, who collected my mail. Boston was home, so I’d sent applications to Emirs, Harvard, and Boston College. I hadn’t considered New York City. Why not? Or why did I want to come back was the real question. Sure, I loved Soraya, Graham, and Lorenzo. They’d been wonderful. But what really changed was that I enjoyed working at Morgan Financial. Living and working in New York City had given me so many ideas for research papers. Besides the top speakers coming regularly to lecture and the many courses available to help shape a dissertation, Ford also came to mind. He’d been gone five days, and I already missed him.

My hands grasped my chest to still my pulse that raced from just thinking about him. I know I should dismiss those feelings, but I couldn’t stop myself. He’d opened up to me and touched me in ways I had never experienced before. He was an insatiable, giving, and creative lover. No man had ever desired me like that. He unearthed the zealous sex goddess in me. Every time he reached for me, I was hot and eager. Definitely the best sexual experience of my life, but there was more to it. He didn’t roll over and go to sleep afterward. He talked and held me all night.

It took all my strength not to go away with him. It was the only way I could stop getting way ahead of myself, yet my heart still skipped a beat. I’d already fantasized about Ford sweeping me off my feet and tying me to his bed.

Oh, help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Ford’s gotten to me.

“Are you sick?” Quinton asked, breaking my trance.

“Bad coffee,” I lied and focused hard on the computer screen.

“Where did you get the coffee? I had some too, and I can’t get a sour stomach before a lunch feast at Flora.”

“Old coffee. I should have made a new pot,” I stammered.

“Sure. It’s either coffee or a man. We all saw you leave with Ford last week.”

I used my faulty poker face. “He gave me a ride home.”

“No one is blaming you. Off the record and not as your boss, we’d all hit it.” His phone went off, and I used it as a quick exit. I wasn’t sure what to say to Ford about people knowing he was sort of seeing me. Had he told Cecile we’d had sex? He said he’d ended things. While I trusted him, I wanted to know what was going on between them. Questions filled my brain, giving me a splitting headache.

My phone notification flashed before I sat down behind my desk.

Tam: On the train approaching NYC. Can’t wait to see you!

Jasmine: I can’t wait! Leaving now.

I glanced at the clock. Jack, Graham’s driver, had also left a message for me to meet him downstairs. I packed up and turned off my computer screen.

Buzz.

Ford: I’m back tonight. Did you meet up with your friend?

Jasmine: Tam’s on the way. Just leaving to pick her up.

Ford:Double date tomorrow—dinner? My friend Martin will come. He may contact you about the gallery’s contract agreement that is separate to cover liability. It’s standard.

Jasmine: Okay. I’ll send it along as soon as I receive it. I’ll have to talk Tam into the double date—so no promises. I miss you.

My pulse sped up as I stared at the screen. Too much or too soon?

Ford: I miss you too.

My chest fluttered. Butterflies. I groaned. Stop! Things were already complicated enough. Yet that sweet joy at hearing from him didn’t go away. Or the nagging feeling that things between Ford and me were changing in a way that could hurt. But then I didn’t know how Ford felt about me. And I wanted to know.

Yep. Definitely in lust teetering toward something desperate.

I spotted Tam’s black pixie hairstyle and bright pink jacket easily. I ran over, and she dropped her bags to give me a hug.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in years,” I said.

She laughed, and I picked up her bag, which Jack promptly took away along with hers.

“Thank you,” we said in unison.

Once back in the car, Tam turned her head to face me. “You’re looking good.”

I did. I had my hair in curls and wore clothes Soraya no longer wanted. A designer silk shirt and pleated line gray pants and boots. “It’s work chic.”

“I like. You look sated,” she teased, and I laughed.

“Now, I was surprised when you told me Ford used clamps on the first night, but I respect he’s letting his kinks out at the start. How was it?”

“Best sex I’ve ever had in my life,” I bragged. “But I’m always willing to try things once. No fake orgasms—”

“You fake, Jaz? Oh, shame.” She clutched her chest dramatically.

I laughed. “Yeah, just like on Seinfeld, I fake when I’m tired, and I want to sleep.”

“Never fake. How else will he learn he sucks in bed?” Tam asked. “It sounds like ‘summer of me fling’ is back. Congrats.”

I laughed, but I felt a bit weird about it. Ford was better than a fling. He was so many things, and I wanted to find out everything about him.

“My co-workers invited us for after-work drinks before Hamilton tonight. Oh, and Ford said he’s setting you up with his friend Martin for a double date.”

“What? Hell no,” Tam squeaked.

“Oh, please. You owe me. I went out with your sweaty-hands cousin to your Aunt’s wedding last summer.”

Tam smirked. “I knew that would come back to haunt me. But you owe me, and you can start by hitting the shops with me.”

“Whatever you want to do. I missed you.”

We hugged each other again, and Tam caught me up on what was going on back in Boston. Mostly, the times she had to fight to keep her times at the lab, the MCAT practice tests, and the movies she’d seen and books I had to read. I shared work and asked about my mail.

“I brought the latest that wasn’t junk mail with me. A couple of thick envelopes.”

I squeezed her hand. “I love you for not making me wait, but I’m going to leave them until before you leave. That way, we can just enjoy your visit.”

A couple more days wouldn’t change things. This entire summer was a break to see what I wanted to do with my future, and if I had transferable skills into the actual world, should I not become a professor. In truth, my prospects were limited if I didn’t become a standout. Sure, I could work at a private school or as a teacher. But I didn’t want to burden Tam with my doubts.

When we arrived back at the house, Soraya was on the floor helping Lorenzo play with an activity gym play mat.

“God, he’s beautiful. He should get a portfolio and an agent,” Tam said.

“That’s what everyone keeps telling us,” she said. “What’s going on today?”

“Shopping,” we said at the same time, and we all laughed.

“Before you go, can I speak with you alone, Jasmine?” Soraya asked.

“I’ll go get ready,” Tam said after we showed her the apartment.

“I just wanted to check in to see how you’re doing. I’m so sorry I’ve been so busy this last week, too. And don’t think I’m going all momma bear on you, but I know you stayed over at Ford’s the other night. And since he’s been away. You okay?” Oh, how I loved my cousin.

“Yes, I did, and I like him. We’re kind of the same in some ways. I enjoy spending time with him. He’s incredibly kind and considerate.” I chewed on my lip.

She picked up Lorenzo, and I sat next to her on the couch. “He could have said no. He obviously likes you too.”

“But…”

“But you deserve better than to be the other woman.”

“Ford has told me his feelings changed, and he’s not going back to her.”

“That’s a start, but if he’s serious, he needs to tell you everything about what’s going on between them. Have you asked?”

My stomach twisted in a knot. “We’re new. I’m not sure we’re even serious beyond a summer. He told me he doesn’t want to be with her anymore. I want to trust him.”

“Is that enough?” she asked, her tone and expression sympathetic.

I swallowed and lowered my eyes. “No. I just need time to think and talk to him.”

“Whatever you decide, don’t just think about what’s best for Ford, but for you. It’s okay to walk away.”

“Is it really that easy, Soraya? You had to deal with your stepdaughter, Chloe’s mom. I know things are better, but sometimes things start imperfect.”

I didn’t mean to bring it up, but Soraya went through some hard times in her relationship when Graham’s ex tried to push her out to make a family with him and their daughter.

“Yes, but Graham and I chose each other. We love each other, that’s the difference. If you have feelings for him, you can tell Ford, and he can choose. You deserve better.”

My throat closed. I had no answers for her and feared what I’d tell her would only show me even more conflicted. We’d only had one night together, yet . . . it felt like more. I felt like I’d met someone who knew all of me and liked what he saw. Liked me for me. I couldn’t honestly say what I felt about Ford yet, but I did know that Soraya was right. I liked him, but I deserve better than being the other woman. God, I’d been telling myself that from the beginning. It was why I’d been so conflicted all week. Despite every lovely text message telling me he was counting the days until he returned home.

I kissed Lorenzo, then headed downstairs.

Soraya left me speechless. Deep down, I knew she was right to call me out. I wanted to tell her I wouldn’t get caught up and end things now. But I didn’t want to lie. This other woman wasn’t me. I was doing it again. Waiting for a man I liked to see me as special as I saw him.

Tam frowned. “Are you okay? We can stay in and chat.”

“No thanks. I’d rather just do something so I won’t have to think about anything.”

Tam held up a list. “I’ve got a few shops we can go to in Soho and the West Village.”

I took out my phone and texted Jack. We left out the side door to the car, and Tam gave him the list. The first shop was crowded, but it didn’t take long for Tam to find a few dresses to try on for herself and me.

“Try this dress on, please.” She handed over a black lace tiered minidress.

I checked the price. “I’m good.” Now that Randall had gone quiet, and I didn’t have a teaching assistant job or too many extra funds to spare, another shopping spree was out of the question. “Besides, I have clothes back at the apartment I can wear tonight.”

“Okay, okay,” she said, and I waved her back inside a changing room. A few minutes later, she came out in a silk dress.

“You look crazy hot.”

“Don’t I?” Tam did a spin before the mirror.

“Any word from Randall?” she asked, reading my mind.

“Not since he showed his true creepy face,” I said. “I’m wondering what to do for next semester. Maybe get a roommate at the house?”

“You can take out loans,” she said. “Or stay with me a month and rent it out as an Airbnb. Done.”

My brows rose, and I nodded. “Not a bad backup plan, though I don’t know how I feel about a stranger in my house. What if they refuse to leave?”

“If you’re afraid, you can always take out a loan. If you saw my bills, you’d die.”

“You’re going to be a doctor. More than likely, you’ll be able to make bank to pay them back. I have no idea what will happen with my sociology degree or why I thought going for a master’s degree was a great idea. I meet so many people at work with so many different degrees.”

Tam put her arm around my shoulder. “It’s normal to panic when you leave the college bubble. It will work out. You don’t have to decide everything right now.”

“That’s what Ford said,” I muttered.

She squeezed my shoulder. “You’re doing that thing you do.”

I raised my brows. “What thing?”

“You know you’re not staying here. This is all temporary, and you just left Randall. Just try to enjoy yourself.”

I sighed heavily, and she went back to the dressing room.

My phone buzzed with an NYC number I didn’t recognize. “I’ll be right back.” I left the shop and answered. “Hello.”

“Hello, Jasmine Bisset?”

“Yes. This is Jasmine. Who is this?” I asked.

“I’m Martin, Ford’s friend from Zmirak Gallery. Can you stop by to sign our contract? I know you haven’t started working with Ford yet, but I like to have everything in place should we proceed. I can send a car for you.”

“You’re actually considering making a show around my photos?” Even though Ford had explained it to me, it was hard to believe people were interested in seeing me, let alone adding my photos to their collection.

“Yes, a few art collectors who have purchased from Ford’s previous collections are eager. Your photos moved me, and I’m rarely moved.”

The dramatic inflect of Martin’s tone made me think his compliment was a big deal. I still was unsure, but as a lover of social experimentation and reflection, I was simultaneously keen. Not to mention the hope I could pay off some of my student loans before I pile on more for my Ph.D. program.

“A friend is visiting. We’re seeing Hamilton tonight, but I think we can make it before if you could text me the address.”

“Great, I will. Since you’re making a special trip, I’ll show you some of Ford’s work. See you tonight.”

“Great. Thank you.” I went back in and over to Tam in a strapless sequin rainbow dress twirling in front of the mirror.

“A slight change in plans. Do you mind if we go to a gallery first?” I asked and told her about the call.

“Yeah. I enjoy looking at art exhibits. I had hoped we’d go to the Guggenheim or Metropolitan Museum of Art.”

On the way, I texted Ford because I couldn’t resist.

Jasmine: Tam’s here.

I took a picture of us in the car.

Ford:Sweet. You both look happy. How are you, beautiful?

Jasmine: Great! Your friend Martin asked me to sign the contract you mentioned. He said he’d give us a private viewing of some of your work.

Ford:We haven’t discussed all my artwork, and I’d prefer you view it with context. I can call Martin and have him collect the contract later.

I frowned at the phone. “Ford doesn’t want me to go to his show at the gallery?”

“Maybe he’s sensitive to his art and wants to see your reaction. But of course, we’ll go anyway,” she added, grinning like the devil.

I put my phone away. Ford had me too curious now. “Yes, let’s go.”

Zmirak Gallery was in one of those elegant cast-iron Greek revival buildings in SOHO South of Houston Street neighborhood of Manhattan. The building reminded me of other high-end designer shops in the neighborhood with large display windows and no more than five people inside—the clientele who can afford such luxuries. We walked in and rang the door at the entrance, but no one appeared.

My head turned to Tam after a few minutes. “Maybe we should try later?”

She opened her mouth to answer but quickly straightened her spine and licked her lips, tilting her head to capture her “best light,” or in other words, she found a man in the vicinity worthy of her attention. His hair was white, but he had a chiseled, unlined face that put him years younger. He looked quite smart in an all-black tailored suit. His pale green eyes had a glint of recognition when our eyes met.

“Martin?” I asked. “I’m Jasmine. The lovely lady with me is Tam.”

“I recognize you from your pictures,” Martin said, shaking our hands. “You, I hope to see in pictures as well.”

“Depends on the photographer,” Tam said and smiled.

“I take photos, but I’m more of an art appreciator than an artist.”

He went behind the desk and removed a file with my name on it. “I’m old-school. I prefer paper. I’ll send you a copy by email.”

I took the pen and signed my name on the pages marked. Even though Ford had told me the contract was standard, I still took the time to review it. On a search online, Zmirak had won a lawsuit against someone who attempted to sell the artwork they contracted exclusively to the gallery.

“Thank you. I’ll have our assistant send you a copy for your records. We’re not open for the evening yet, but I’d be happy to show you some photos from one of Ford’s collections.”

A nervous excitement went through me as Tam and I followed Martin around a half wall.

I froze.

There was a life-size image of Cecile staring lustfully at the camera, the composition of the photo eerily familiar.

Ford had taken a similar picture of me.

“Cecile Arpin,” Martin said as if we asked him. “Most of them are sold, but the gallery selected a few to display permanently. Is this the first time you’re seeing his collection?”

“I saw some in a portfolio,” I muttered as my gaze went to the group of images on the wall.

Cecile naked on his bed.

Cecile naked with bound hands, some stylized painting I hadn’t been aware he did. However, what caught my eye was the 3D-printed hearts fixed into the canvas.

The final photo was of Cecile and Ford entwined in his sheets, their eyes fused in love. Yes. Ford’s art collection was a visible sonnet. Their love. The close-up of her face, her need and longing so evident. The images were so similar to the ones he took of me on his phone. Did he use me to recapture what he was missing? Am I fooling myself again?

“These images are older,” Martin said. His brows furrowed as he studied me. “An artist’s work can be his signature.”

“These are insanely hot. I’m a big fan.” Tam’s smile wilted, and she raised her brows when she looked at me. “What’s wrong?”

I swallowed and shook my head.

“I think we’re ready to go now,” Tam said. “We’re off to see Hamilton.”

“Great show,” Martin said. “I know we’re going out tomorrow, but if plans change, and you’d like to see more art . . .” He took out his card and handed it to Tam.

She dropped the card inside her purse without looking at it. “I’m only visiting for the weekend. I’m in Boston.”

“Boston’s not far,” Martin replied, giving Tam a broad smile.

“It’s further than you think,” Tam said and lifted her chin.

Martin laughed. “On that note, I’ll leave you two to prepare for your show.”

I put on a smile. “Yes. We need to go.”

“Okay,” he said, and we followed him outside.

I leaned against the side of the building to take some deep breaths and cool my hot skin.

“You went quiet in there. Tell me what’s wrong so I can be upset with you,” Tam said.

“The pictures were beautiful,” I murmured.

“But . . .?” she coaxed.

“He took similar pictures of me, and now I feel like he’s recreating the love of his life.”

Tam hugged me. “She’s not around—”

“Not by his choice. Why did he take similar pictures with me?”

“I’m going to give you some tough love here, babe. He was attached when you met him. Even if he said he’s changed, it’s good that you know what’s in his head now, so you don’t get caught up in him. You don’t need to break up or anything dramatic; play it fast and loose. Enjoy him, shake his hand at the end of the summer, and revel in the memories.”

I averted my eyes and didn’t answer. My heart up in my throat, and I, for some reason, thought of the gothic romance, Rebecca. Why am I always cast as the second Mrs. de Winter? Why couldn’t I find a man who’d raise me up and treat me as special? Ford was just using me for his artwork. He’s just like all the rest.

“You can still be sad.”

“Not tonight,” I said and took a deep breath. “Let’s go see what all the fuss is about. What do you think of Martin?”

“He’s got style but not my type. I hate you’re unhappy now, though. What can I do to cheer you up?”

“I’ll be fine. Just talk about anything else.”

She hugged me.

We climbed in the car, and Tam started singing “The Schuyler Sisters” from Hamilton, and I put my feelings aside and joined in.

My phone chimed.

Ford.

I hesitated, trying hard to ignore the phone. But then it chimed again.

Ford:We need to talk. Let me explain everything to you.

There wasn’t anything to explain because now I had more clarity. I hadn’t understood his yearning to take photos of me post-sex. But I did now.

It had nothing to do with the beauty he claimed he saw—adored—in my sated expression.

It was because of her.

Everything has to do with her.

And I was done.

Jasmine: You don’t. We’ll just leave things between us now. Okay? I should never have gotten involved with you.

Ford: Yes, you should have. That was old artwork. I’m not with Cecile. Hell, I can’t even talk with her. I left a message (the only way she agreed to communicate) that I’d met you and I was ending our relationship, just as I told you I would. Don’t make me do this by text. Please, see me.

I couldn’t respond. I couldn’t erase those images from my mind. I . . . wasn’t strong enough. Not this time.