We walk down the street toward my apartment, hand in hand. Jameson is being overattentive and talking nonstop, and I am quiet. I’m annoyed that with just one dinner meeting, I find myself here with him.
I’m officially a pushover.
Weak as water.
His phone beeps with a text, and he shuffles around in his pocket to retrieve it and smiles. “Tristan.” He reads the text out loud “How did it go?”
I roll my eyes. “Text back, ‘Not out of the woods yet. Still may be found dead in a ditch tomorrow.’”
Jameson smirks. “No, I’m not writing that. If it actually happens, I don’t want you to go to prison.” He turns to face me and tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. “You wouldn’t kill me.” He leans in and kisses me softly.
My eyes hold his. “Wouldn’t I?”
He smiles and then takes my hand as we walk toward the door. I stop on the spot. “Good night,” I announce.
“What?”
“You’re not coming in.”
“Why not?”
“Jameson, I am still eighty percent pissed off with you.”
“Yes. I know. Let me make it up to you.” He smiles darkly.
I pull out of his arms and step back from him. “There is nothing sexual that you could do that would make up for how you have treated me.”
His face falls.
“When I agreed to try again, it was just that . . . to try again. I’m not promising anything, and I don’t know how this is going to turn out. I honestly don’t know if we can get back what we had. The morning you left me after the second stopover, you broke something between us. I have never been so upset in all of my life. It was devastating for me. Having sex with you now is the very last thing that I want to do.”
“Em,” he whispers. “I couldn’t talk to you because it killed me to push you away. I was battling myself over it.”
“Good night, Jameson.”
He looks around in a fluster. “Well, when will I see you again?”
I shrug. “It’s Thursday, and I’m away for the weekend, so next week, I guess.”
“Next week?” he huffs. “That’s like four days away.”
“Is it?” I reply flatly as I begin to dig in my bag for my keys. I really do need to get a better system in this damn handbag; it’s like the fucking Bermuda Triangle in here.
“Well, that’s too long,” he stammers. “I haven’t seen you for a month. I need more time with you.”
“Take it or leave it,” I reply.
“Em?”
I turn and kiss him softly on the lips, and he snaps his arms around me. We stay still for a few minutes in each other’s arms, holding on tight and needing the closeness that the other provides. I’ve missed him desperately, and it would be so easy to take him upstairs right now.
No . . . I have serious trust issues that I need to deal with. He needs to deal with.
“I’ll sleep on the lounge,” he whispers. “I can’t be away from you for one more night. Don’t ask that of me.”
I pull away, knowing where this is going if I stay in his arms. “Good night, Jameson.”
His eyes search mine as he silently begs to come upstairs.
I force a smile and open my door as he stands on the pavement. I give him a wave and disappear into the elevator as he watches on. The elevator doors close, and I blow out a breath of relief.
Good girl . . . stay strong.
I put my lipstick on and smile at my reflection in the mirror. Jameson called me when he got home last night to say good night. It feels strangely good to have him back in my life . . . but for how long?
I have this annoying little voice in my psyche that keeps reminding me what he did and how badly he treated me. I’m trying to listen to his reasoning and trust what he’s saying, but it’s hard to pretend that nothing has happened between us.
It wasn’t nothing; it was Armageddon, and my entire world crashed at my feet. I don’t like the way I depend on Jameson Miles for my happiness.
It won’t happen again; I won’t allow it . . . even if that means holding him at arm’s length for the rest of my life . . . or however long we’re together.
See, there it is again.
Negative thoughts . . . ugh.
I make my way downstairs with my luggage for the weekend with me and out the front doors to see Jameson leaning up against the wall—navy suit, gorgeous face, and a swoony smile . . . just for me. “Good morning, my beautiful girl.”
“Hi.” I smile up at him.
He leans down and takes my face in his hands and kisses me, and I feel my knees weaken underneath me. “How did my girl sleep?” He takes my hand in his and takes my suitcase from me.
“Fine, thanks.”
“Can we get a civilized lift to work today?” he asks.
I glance over and see Alan and the limo parked at the curb across the street. “Um.” I frown. “You go with Alan. I want to catch the bus.”
He raises an eyebrow as if unimpressed. “Okay, bus it is.”
“You don’t have to walk me to work, Jameson. I’m quite capable of getting myself there.”
“I know; I just want to spend the twenty minutes with you. I’m not seeing you all weekend, remember?” He gives me a sexy wink, and my stomach does a nervous flip. We walk to the bus stop hand in hand.
“Have you heard anything more about Lara Aspin and Hayden?”
“No. They’ve been charged, but the court case won’t be for a while. I can’t believe you solved it. You don’t know how grateful I am to you.”
I smile, feeling proud of myself.
“How do you like your new job?” he asks.
I shrug. “It’s great.”
His eyes hold mine. “Great as in ‘really great,’ or great as in ‘it will do’?”
“Great as in ‘I’m getting used to it.’”
“Why don’t you come back to Miles Media?”
“No. I’ll be keeping our work lives separate from now on.”
“Hmm.” He frowns, unimpressed. “We’ll see.”
The bus arrives, and we make our way on. It’s crowded today, and I find a seat, but Jameson has to stand. He’s squashed between a smelly man and a woman who looks like she has rabies. I sit and watch him and the horror on his face as he watches the people around him. I have to bite my lip to stop myself from laughing. Eventually the bus pulls to our stop, and he gets off in a rush.
“That’s it,” he scoffs as he brushes his suit off like the snob that he is. “No more fucking buses. We need to be disinfected right now. Did you see the people on that fucking bus?”
I giggle. “That was just a bad trip.”
“I mean it, Emily,” he snaps. “No more fucking buses. Alan is now your driver. Over my dead body are we catching another bus.”
“Yes, boss.” I smile as he takes my hand in his, and we begin our walk to work.
“What time does your flight leave tonight?” he asks.
“Three.”
His face falls. “You’re going early?”
“Yes. I have a half day today.”
“I was going to take you to the airport.” He frowns as he stares down at me. “I have a board meeting at four; I can’t get out of it.”
“That’s fine.”
“Shit . . . maybe I can cancel?”
“Jameson, it’s fine. You are not canceling a meeting to take me to the airport. Stop it. You will see me when you see me.”
He stares at me as he processes my words. “Alan will collect you.”
I nod, knowing that if I don’t agree, he will in fact cancel his meeting. “Okay.”
We arrive at my work, and he turns me toward him. “You’ll call me the minute you land?”
“No.”
“I’ll call you before I go to bed.”
He stares at me.
“What are you doing this weekend?” I ask.
“My brothers are all going to Vegas tonight.”
“Are you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“They’re chasing booze and wild women.”
My face falls.
He wraps his arms around me. “I already have my wild woman; I’m not interested in what they are looking for.”
I smile up at him, surprisingly grateful that he’s not going.
“Will you miss me?” he whispers.
“Probably not.”
“You probably could try and be flirtier in our conversations, you know?”
“Could I?” Our lips touch, and he kisses me softly.
“Are you sure you have to go?” he murmurs against my lips.
“Yes, Jameson.”
“I love you,” he whispers.
My heart somersaults in my chest at hearing those precious words. “Have a nice day.”
“That’s not what I wanted to hear.”
“But that’s all you’re getting.” I kiss him quickly and pull out of his arms. “Please stop pressuring me. I’ll call you tonight.”
He puts his two hands into his suit pockets and smiles sexily as he watches me walk into the building.
I get into the elevator with a hammering heart and flushed cheeks.
Why is he so damn gorgeous?
I walk out of work just after one o’clock and see the limo and Alan standing beside it. He smiles warmly and opens the back door as if gesturing for me to get in. I smile and make my way over to him. I haven’t heard from Jameson all day and wasn’t sure if Alan was in fact coming to collect me. “Hello.”
He smiles warmly. “Hello, Emily. It’s so lovely to see you.”
I get into the back of the limo and find a lone red rose on the back seat, waiting for me.
Oh.
I smile and inhale it deeply; a beautiful perfume fills the space. The car pulls out from the curb, and I get a vision of myself stomping on the yellow roses the other night. Maniac.
I was half hoping that Jameson would be in the car waiting for me. Should I even be going away right now? Isn’t sorting this out with him more important?
No.
You had these plans before he decided to waltz back in . . . stick to them.
I should call and thank him, though. I dial his number.
“Hello,” his sexy voice purrs down the line.
My stomach flutters at the sound of his voice. “Hi,” I breathe.
“Are you with Alan?”
“I am. Thank you for my rose.”
“So red is better?”
“Seems that way.” I feel my face blush in embarrassment.
“Mental note to never buy anything yellow ever again.”
I giggle, embarrassed.
“You have a good weekend,” he eventually replies.
“You too.”
“I’m not going to call you this weekend.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“Your words are playing on my mind.”
“You told me not to force this between us.”
I listen.
“I’m stepping back.”
My heart drops. “You’re giving up?”
“No. Just the opposite; I’m making plans for our future. But I understand that you need time. Me forcing you to forgive me before you’re ready may not be the smartest move.”
I smile softly as I listen, hope blooming in my chest.
“You just call me whenever you want to speak to me,” he says.
“Okay.”
“And that could be fifty times a day. I’ll be waiting for your call like a lovesick schoolboy.”
I smile as I hang on the line . . . I really do want to see him this weekend.
No.
“Okay.”
“Goodbye, Emily.”
“Goodbye,” I whisper. I hang up, smell my rose, and smile sadly out the window as New York flies by. I feel like I’m in a subspace. Caught between two men, each with their own memory—one of Jameson Miles’s coldhearted dismissal and the other of playful Jim’s overwhelming love. Each time I feel myself leaning toward one, the other jumps in my way. I’m not sure how to turn this off, but I need to work it out . . . and sooner rather than later.
Half an hour later the limo pulls up at the airport, and Alan opens my door. I clutch my rose in my hand, knowing that I can’t take it in.
Alan retrieves my bag from the trunk. “Would you like me to carry this in for you?” he asks.
“No, thank you.” I look down at my rose. I feel strangely attached to it and can’t stand the thought of it dying. “Would you be able to put the rose in some water for me, please?” I ask him.
He smiles warmly. “Of course.” He takes it from me. “I’ll put it in water at Mr. Miles’s apartment for you.”
“Thank you.” I shrug, suddenly feeling stupid. “Goodbye, Alan.”
“I’ll see you on Sunday when we pick you up.”
“Okay.” With a meek wave, I make my way to the check-in desk, and surprisingly there’s no line today. “Hello. I have a booking for Emily Foster.” I slide my license across the desk to the check-in clerk.
“Hello.” She types my name into her computer. “Ah yes, Ms. Foster. I see you have amended your booking to first class.”
I frown. “No.”
She rechecks the details. “Yes, your two tickets were upgraded late last night.”
“Two tickets?”
“Yes, a second was booked, and then they were both upgraded.”
Jameson.
“Oh, I see. Okay, thank you.” I collect my ticket and walk through security and make my way to the bar. I have nearly two hours before my flight leaves.
“What will it be?” the bartender asks as I take a seat.
“A margarita, please.”
I text Jameson.
Mr Miles, thank you for the upgrade.
It is very much appreciated.
Tell me, was the second seat for you or to make sure I didn’t sit next to someone else?
My drink is delivered, and a text bounces back.
My dear Miss Foster, I am outraged that you would think I could be so calculating.
Of course, I don’t want you sitting next to anyone else.
I know how irresistible you are.
xoxox
I smile as I sip my drink, and another text arrives.
Although, if I wasn’t playing hard to get and being non-pushy. I would have taken you on the company jet and initiated you to the real Miles High Club.
You wouldn’t walk for a week.
Enjoy the peaceful silence.
xoxox
I roll my lips to hide my smile, and I text back.
Goodbye Jameson.
Glad that your deviant behavior is still alive and well.
I was getting worried.
xoxoxo
A text comes straight in.
You have no idea.
And no watching Magic Mike, watch Grumpy Old Men instead.
It will make me more appealing.
xoxox
I sip my drink and find myself smiling goofily into space.
Things are going well . . . for the first time in a long time, I feel myself become a little excited for what’s to come.
Let’s see what happens.
I stare at the ceiling in the darkness from my bed. It’s midnight. My old bedroom brings a surprising comfort that I didn’t know I needed.
It’s great being here with my family, but New York seems so very far away.
I didn’t call Jameson like I said I would; in fact I haven’t spoken to him all night.
Being here with people who love me makes me realize how fragile I’ve been. I was completely alone and heartbroken in New York. I mean sure, I had Molly and Aaron, but I’ve known them all of three months. It’s not the same as having family around, the ones who will stand by your side through thick and thin.
I don’t know where I’m going with Jameson, only that I didn’t want to speak to him tonight. Why?
Maybe I’m never going to let go of this hurt; maybe he’s done irreversible damage.
Maybe I’m too good for him and his shit . . . there’s no maybe in that sentence—I know I am.
My phone vibrates on the side table, and I frown as I see the letter J light up.
I exhale heavily and answer, “Hello.”
“Hi.” He pauses for a moment. “You weren’t calling me tonight?”
“I got distracted.”
Silence down the phone. Eventually he speaks. “Em.”
“Did you go there to get away from me?”
I roll my eyes in frustration. “No, Jameson,” I whisper angrily. “Why is everything about you? I booked this trip two weeks ago.”
“Okay, I just asked. Jesus. Why are you so angry?”
Tears form in my eyes. “You really have to ask?”
“You tell me why.”
Suddenly a volcano that I didn’t even know was there erupts inside of me. “Because I’m in love with a selfish fucking asshole, and I don’t know how to turn it off, and I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop and for you to walk away again,” I blurt out in a rush.
He stays silent.
“And the way you just march back in and demand my forgiveness pisses me off.”
He listens.
“And you could have any woman in the world; they are lining up for you. So why are you putting me through this shit? I don’t want the heartache, Jameson.”
“Is that what you think? That I want any woman in the world?”
Tears roll down my face, and I swipe them away angrily. “I have no idea what you want anymore, Jameson.”
“Cut the fucking shit, Emily,” he snaps. “You listen, and you listen good. I don’t want anyone else. I’ve been promiscuous since I was eighteen years old. I’ve slept with a lot of women . . . and I mean a lot of women. You are the only person I have ever had this connection with. The only woman I have loved like this. So don’t you dare throw that shit at me about wanting someone else. Have I ever given you any reason to doubt me?”
“Your masseuse,” I snap.
“Was before I fucking met you,” he growls. I can hear the anger in his voice. “If you don’t want me, then fine, I’ll leave. But don’t let me hold out and try desperately to make things work when you’re obviously not going to let me in.”
My face contorts with tears.
“Only you can decide if you want this, Emily. Forgiveness is a choice.”
I stay silent.
“Do you want to walk away from me, or do you want to try and make this work?”
I don’t answer him.
“Well?” he demands.
“You know I want to try,” I whisper.
“Then stop thinking of the bad shit, and think of the good between us.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because you scare me.”
He falls silent. “You’re scared of me?”
“Yes.” I nod through tears.
“Baby,” he whispers as empathy floods his voice. “Don’t be scared of me. Please, don’t ever be scared of me. I love you.”
“I’m trying.” I sob. “But I can’t help it.”
We both stay silent for a while, lost in our own thoughts.
“I want you to take this weekend to think about us. I was serious about what I said—if you don’t want to live in New York, we can move. I’ll resign from my position immediately.”
“Jameson,” I sigh. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I want you to know that you come first to me now. All of this shit—my money, my apartment, my job, New York—it means nothing if I’m fucking miserable, Emily. And believe me, I am fucking miserable without you. If you want to live in a tent in the back of bumfuck nowhere, we can.”
I get a vision of Jameson living in a tent and being eaten by mosquitos on the daily. “You idiot.” I smile softly. “I don’t want to live in a tent. I love New York. I love you running Miles Media. I wouldn’t change anything about you. Why would you think that I would?”
“Because I’m a lot to take on, I know that. You said to me once before that to love is to be brave. I need you to be brave, Emily, and move forward from all this. Please think about it. Come back to New York and back to me one hundred percent, and we can start working on a new life together. Holding me at arm’s distance isn’t the way to navigate this. We won’t be able to work it out if we’re not together.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“Will you think about what you really want?”
I stay silent.
“Please, Em?”
“Yes, okay. I will. I promise.” The line falls silent for a moment, and I want to change the subject. “What are you doing tomorrow?” I ask.
“Shopping.”
“Shopping—you? What are you shopping for?”
“Well, where do you get the tents with bathrooms in them?”
I smile. “Bumfuck nowhere.”
He chuckles, and it’s a beautiful sound; it does things to my insides. It’s been a long time since I heard him laugh.
“Em . . . I’m not going to speak to you again until I pick you up from the airport on Sunday night. I want you to really think about your future and who you want in it. Either you come back to me with open arms, and we give this a red-hot go, or you end it.”
My heart drops.
“It has to be this way. If I can’t have all of you, I would rather be without you.”
I listen as my mind begins to go into overdrive . . . he’s giving me an ultimatum.
All or nothing.
I honestly don’t know if I can give him my all. I don’t think my all exists anymore.
“I’ll see you then?” he asks hopefully.
“Okay.”
“I love you.” He hangs up, and the line goes dead.
I roll over in the darkness and exhale heavily.
What do I want for my future? Do I give him away . . . ? Or give him everything? Or what’s left of my heart, at least. It’s been smashed to smithereens.
I literally have no idea.
