You Matter Read online

  Also by Jazzy Mitchell

  Musings of a Madwoman

  Lost Treasures

  You Matter

  By Jazzy Mitchell

  ©2019 Jazzy Mitchell

  ISBN (trade) 9781948327343

  ISBN (epub) 9781948327350

  ISBN (pdf) 9781948327367

  This is a work of fiction - names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Desert Palm Press

  1961 Main St, Suite 220

  Watsonville, CA 95076

  Editor: Kellie Doherty

  Cover Design: Michelle Brodeur

  Blurb

  Chrissy Kramer became pregnant during her senior year of high school and was abandoned by her parents, her boyfriend, and her friends. She became a loner, working hard to provide for son. It was her and him against the world. She eventually earns a paralegal degree and works for a powerful female attorney, Reggie Esposito, a senior law partner at a leading Boston law firm.

  Chrissy’s smitten from the beginning, but she refuses to jeopardize her job by acting on her feelings. When a disgruntled former client attempts to kill Reggie after she loses his lawsuit, Chrissy prevents him from shooting Reggie, but she’s hurt in the process. While Chrissy and her son, Ben, stay in Reggie’s home to recuperate, Chrissy’s connection with Reggie deepens, and they embark on a romantic relationship.

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to my family, friends, and colleagues—all helped me push through my blocks and listen to my characters’ tales. In particular, thanks to my wife and our three children. They’ve taught me how to be present in my life so I don’t miss the good stuff.

  Thanks also go to Desert Palm Press—Lee, Mich, and Kellie for their expert work with getting this book in publishable shape. And to those who read the rough versions, David, Sara, and Ashley, your feedback made a difference. Many thanks go to Eileen T. for being my medical consultant and to Kelly P. for being my Massachusetts criminal law expert—you both helped me sound like I know what I’m talking about.

  Dedication

  To all those people who believe they don’t make a difference. To all those people who melt into the background. To all those people who feel lonely in a crowded room. Your smile may be the balm to a hurting heart. Your words may be what lift up a heavy soul. Your actions may be the reason someone keeps trying.

  You may not see it, understand it, or believe it, but to others, you matter.

  Chapter One

  it doesn’t matter who or why or how. Chrissy Kramer doesn’t try to figure out any of those oh-so-important factors. She needs to act instead of waiting and thinking and hoping. Because there’s no time. There’s no time, and she has to save them. Ben and Reggie.

  The gunman stormed off the elevator on the fortieth floor of Hawk, Esposito & Associates, the law firm with some of the best attorneys in Boston. She saw him with the rifle and the ammunition belt and the resolute expression. She knows he won’t listen. Won’t talk. Won’t reason. He’s on a mission, and she can’t let it happen.

  It’s not that she’s particularly brave or has a hero complex or wants to risk her life. Or die. No, she doesn’t want to die. But she’ll make an exception this time. She won’t hide under a desk or behind a wall or in a supply closet. She won’t hope for someone else to step up. No one else is willing or has as much to lose.

  Of all of them, everyone in this building, she’s the most expendable. She’s the most fucked-up. She’s the one no one wanted. Thrown out of her home when she became pregnant while a senior in high school, a single parent with a beautiful boy named Ben—No, not a boy. A teenager now. Chrissy knows her worth. It wasn’t until her son, but he’s in danger now.

  This is all her fault, after all. Ben shouldn’t even be here. She’d allowed him to visit after school for months, taking advantage of Reggie’s unexpected indulgence and selfishly wanting him near. Coming out of the restroom, though, she saw Frank Hogan striding down the hallway, shooting each person he saw, ignoring the screams and whimpers. He’s a disgruntled former client. Someone who lost everything, even though Reggie fought hard for him in court. Chrissy recognizes his hopelessness, despair, disregard for anything other than his endgame—killing Reggie Esposito. The one who lost him everything. He has no money, no home, no family. No reason to live.

  Chrissy worked on his file. Remembers the weariness on Reggie’s face, the second-guessing and the endless research. A pro bono case. A white knight’s crusade. But the knight came back from the fight bloodied and bruised, and now the knight must be saved.

  The floor is a labyrinth of hallways and offices. Chrissy uses that to her advantage by running down a parallel hallway to get to Reggie’s office before Hogan arrives. She pulls Ben out of his seat, startling him since he has his headphones on and is engrossed in a book. As he squawks in surprise, she opens the door to Reggie’s office and shoves him inside. Music blares from the headphones as they slide off his head and fall to the ground. His eyes widen when he hears the screams.

  “What’s going on?” Ben steps forward, and Chrissy holds her hands up to stop him. “Mom?” His voice shakes.

  She takes in the moment, regret resting heavy on her chest, taking her breath away. So many things she should have done differently. Her eyes travel around the well-known office, Reggie’s personality on full display. The ornate cherry-wood desk, matching bookcase filled with legal books, and two water-color paintings of flowers she’s never seen in person—all speak of Reggie’s sophistication. She shakes her head to dislodge the thoughts. I don’t have time for this.

  Searching every inch of Ben’s body with her eyes, Chrissy mutters, “It’ll be all right.”

  An agonized shout rends the air, and Chrissy glances toward the front office, half-expecting Hogan to have his weapon trained on them. He isn’t there, yet, but she’s out of time. She presses her lips together. I won’t let him get past me.

  Reggie rises, eyes widening as more screams fill the air, and Chrissy says in a voice that brooks no argument, “Get under your desk, and don’t move. Ben, go with her.”

  Chrissy throws her son's backpack behind the desk and takes one last look at her son, at Reggie, one more long, heart-wrenching look. “Don’t come out unless I tell you to or the police do. Call 911. I love you.” Her voice cracks, and she cannot keep herself from looking at Reggie’s beautiful face, stalling for one more precious moment to make sure her message is received by both.

  Expressive, umber eyes well up as they ask questions Chrissy has no time to address. She studies the antique desk as they duck under it, remembering how she tried to move it one time. Even when she pushed with all her strength, it hadn’t budged. Reggie’s father used it for years before it became Reggie’s. Chrissy hopes it will keep them safe if Hogan gets past her.

  She flicks the lights off, closes the office door, and slides into her seat at the receptionist’s desk. The L-shaped configuration and dark wood may look like it can shield her if she hides behind it, but she knows how flimsy the manufactured wood is. It’s where she sits everyday as Reggie’s paralegal and has for the last eighteen months. She loves her job, loves impressing her boss, loves her boss. But she can’t think about that now.

  Hogan turns the corner and stalks toward h
er, not stopping until he’s standing on the other side of her desk with the semiautomatic rifle leveled at her. “Where is she? Where’s that bitch?”

  Raising her hands, Chrissy shows him she’s not a threat. “She’s in court.”

  “Don’t lie to me.” His eyes are bloodshot and wild, jumping from Chrissy’s face to behind her. He looks like he slept in his clothes, black stone-washed jeans with a wide swath of dirt smeared across his thighs and a navy T-shirt with a hole near his bellybutton. Nausea rolls through Chrissy when she realizes the dirt is dried blood.

  “I want that cunt Esposito. She ruined my life.” Spittle hits the desk, and Chrissy flinches. He wiggles the rifle in her face. “Tell me where she is.”

  A pregnant pause blankets them, and Chrissy take a deep, calming breath, not surprised when it does nothing to keep her heart from beating a mile a minute. “I don’t know.”

  She rises. “Look, you seem upset. Let me get you some coffee, and we can talk about it. You like it with cream and two sugars, right? I remember from when you were here last. You know, Reggie’s been researching ways to appeal your case. I can go over it with you. Help you.”

  She steps to her right, standing in front of Reggie’s office door, even as he swivels to keep the rifle trained at her heart. Never in a million years would she have guessed she’d be seconds away from being shot by a madman. She’s shaking like a leaf, and with every moment that passes, she becomes more afraid he’ll shoot her and step over her dead body to get to Ben and Reggie. She doubts Hogan has one ounce of humanity left, certainly not enough to take pity on a young man who still has an entire life to live. No, if he sees Ben, he’ll shoot.

  “I don’t want your help.” His voice sounds like a foot dragging through gravel.

  This is it. This is my last chance to protect them. Roaring, Chrissy lunges, tackling the man’s knees. She hears a crack, a scream, and shots so loud Chrissy can’t make sense of the other noises around her. Glass shatters, voices shout. That’s Ben’s voice. He sounds scared. And Reggie’s. She’s calling for me. They need to be quiet. Hogan can’t know they’re here.

  Hogan falls down, she bounces against the ground, hanging on to his legs even as his fists rain down on her back and blood splatters against her skin. She scrabbles up Hogan’s body, pulls the rifle away, and strikes his chin with the butt of the weapon. Pain radiates through her, but she doesn’t know why. Am I shot? Am I going to die? Did he hear them? She shifts to get a better look at him and screeches, a sharp pain racing through her torso. Her left side is burning, and she can’t focus on where the pain originates. All she knows is she’s hurt. Against her wishes, her body sags, and she rests against him, even as bile rises in her throat. She hates being this close to him. Although he’s not moving, Chrissy holds the rifle across his chest.

  Pounding. That’s what she hears. The pounding of her heart. Of her head. Of her blood. It overtakes her. Consumes her. Blackness flitters along the edges of her vision, and the sounds converge, as the pain intensifies. She can taste the pain, thick and pungent.

  As arms pull her off the unconscious man, she hears Reggie’s worried voice and her son’s cries, and she knows she’s protected the two people she loves most in this unfair world. She’s glad about that, glad she can hear their voices.

  The rough rub of the carpet against her arms redirects Chrissy’s attention. She tries to sit up and shrieks, the white-hot pain lancing through her body, slicing through her mind. Tears pour down her cheeks. Panting, her eyes slip closed, and she concentrates on not moving.

  “Christina, you’re going to be all right.” Soft fingers stroke through her hair and cup her cheek.

  Chrissy works hard to open her eyes. Devices beep and urgent voices float around her, as she struggles to remain conscious. Hands move her, hurt her, and she cries out again.

  “Christina, don't you dare leave me. You fight. Dammit, you have to fight.” Reggie’s voice splinters across Chrissy’s consciousness. She tries to keep her eyes open, tries to speak, but she’s tired. Tired and cold. Her body trembles, and she grits her teeth. Waves of pain flow though her like a relentless tide.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Chrissy mumbles, having trouble focusing on Reggie’s worried face. “I don’t…” She falls silent.

  And it’s okay. Not that she’s hurt, but that they’re not. She closes her eyes, ready to let it all go. But before the pain overwhelms her, before the cold envelops her, before the blackness cloaks her, she hears Reggie utter four incredible, life-changing words.

  “You matter to me.”

  BEFORE

  Chapter Two

  Six months earlier

  Sitting at her desk, typing away, Chrissy’s surprised when her cell phone rings. It’s Ben, and he knows not to call while she’s working unless it’s urgent. Normally, he texts her once he gets home. Her stomach knots up, jumping to all the terrible things that might have spurred her son to call. It’s less than an hour before school lets out for the day.

  “Ben? What’s wrong?” Chrissy uses a soft voice, not wanting to attract attention. Reggie Esposito, senior partner of Hawk, Esposito & Associates, is in her office, an intense look of concentration pulling down her brows while she sits at her desk reviewing a case file. Although Chrissy can take personal phone calls, she prefers to avoid them when anyone is close enough to hear.

  She stares at the computer monitor, although she doesn’t attempt to continue working on the cover letter. It’s for a court filing, and she’s used the same template countless times. All she has to do is print it.

  “Mom, I’m in study. Billy wasn’t in English class today. Stacey said he’s out sick.” Ben’s voice holds an apology.

  “Okay. Okay.” Chrissy’s foot bounces, her thoughts whirling. It’s the middle of June, and he has one more week of school before summer break. Although he stays at home alone until she finishes work, she doesn’t want him taking the subway by himself. He normally takes it with Billy and his mom, who live down the street. “I’ll come get you.” She’ll have to take the rest of the day off. It’s okay, though. He comes first.

  “I can take the T home. It’s only three stops.”

  “Three stops but two different lines. No. I don’t want you taking it by yourself.” Although the Boston subway system is old hat for Ben, it tends to be busy this time of day, and he’s never taken it alone.

  “Mom, I’m thirteen not three.”

  Chrissy smiles. Lately, it’s his response any time she expresses concern. “Don’t remind me. For now, I’ll come get you.”

  Glancing to the right side of her desk she stifles a sigh. She has three thick files that need to be organized. Reggie has a tendency to throw all correspondence—whether they’re emails, transcribed notes, or court documents—inside them without bothering to affix them. Chrissy has to file them from newest to oldest—court documents on the left and all other paperwork on the right—using the prong fasteners.

  “But, Mom, I’ve taken the subway for years. I know all the stops. I promise I’ll go straight home and lock the door.”

  “No, sweetie. We’ll talk about this later. I promise. Stay there.” Her eyes trace the glistening rocks featured in a framed photograph hanging across from her. One of her first duties as Reggie’s paralegal was to choose a picture she wouldn’t mind seeing every single workday. Whenever she needs a moment to regroup, her eyes latch on to the ocean scene. After she hears his reluctant agreement, Chrissy disconnects the call and rises, slipping her vintage flip cell phone in her pants pocket. Ben keeps telling her to get a newer model, but it works fine, and it’s more important for him to have a newer phone in case he needs to contact her. Like today. She knows she’s overprotective. Ben’s street-smart and cautious. She’ll have to pull back on her mama-bear routine soon. But not today.

  With a sigh, Chrissy smooths down her mint-colored pantsuit and straightens her gold rope chain over her robin-blue blouse. Ben claims the outfit makes her pale blue eyes pop, particula
rly with her shoulder-length, sand-colored curls. Chrissy thinks she looks like a character in Miami Vice. It wouldn’t surprise her if Don Johnson strolled over to her and asked for his clothes back. Still, she has to admit the colors do showcase her eyes. Nodding, Chrissy approaches her boss.

  Reggie is staring straight at her, chocolate eyes alert. Her office has a gorgeous view of the Boston Commons, but it hardly registers when Reggie’s in the room. She’s wearing a pale-yellow dress with a sweetheart neckline, and her matching four-inch high heels are lined up next to the desk. Chrissy often forgets Reggie is shorter since she wears heels every day. Her chestnut locks crowd her face, and Chrissy has the irrational urge to tuck them behind her ears.

  “Problem?”

  “My son. He usually takes the T with a friend, but Billy’s not in school today. I’m sorry, but I’ll have to leave early to pick him up.”

  “Of course. You can take the rest of the day off. Or,” Reggie says, raising a finger while leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs, “you can bring him here, and we’ll count your time retrieving him as a break since we both know you never take any.”

  Chrissy’s mouth drops open. “Really?” Watching one of Reggie’s sculptured eyebrows rise, Chrissy grimaces. Reggie never says anything she doesn’t mean. “Thank you. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  She wouldn’t categorize Reggie as a hard-ass, but she doesn’t suffer fools gladly. She expects professionalism at all times. Chrissy’s worked in Reggie’s division for a year, and during that time she’s witnessed several acerbic tirades regarding how colleagues dress on casual Fridays. Grabbing her purse, Chrissy makes her way out of the building while recalling one memorable diatribe. Reggie had said, “You would think others would know casual Friday does not mean dress-as-if-you’re-getting-sloshed Friday. Honestly, we’re running a business, and business casual does not mean roll-out-of-bed attire. Thank God you got the memo, at least.” Chrissy remembers preening at the back-handed compliment, but right now she worries about how Reggie might view her with having her personal life intrude on the workday.