He’s grinning again and I can’t help the thumping of my heart. “So, are you gonna come eat with me or are you gonna turn me down? Gas isn’t cheap these days so you’d better say ‘yes’.” He winks.
I find myself giggling again. “Okay, okay. I guess I can spare a few minutes for a quick lunch.”
“That’s fantastic,” Chess says as I quickly log out of my computer and grab my purse.
I throw a glance at the takeout bag containing the lunch that Liam sent me today. For a fraction of a second, I fell a pang of guilt low in my stomach. But, I chase it away. I won’t let this misplaced sense of loyalty to Liam get in the way of having a great lunch with Chess.
I round my desk and Chess follows me out the door, his hand going to the small of my back as I step into the hallway. The touch makes me a tiny bit uncomfortable; it feels too intimate, too cozy. But when I glance across the hall and notice the slat of Liam’s blinds rustling, I turn to Chess, give him my widest smile and loop my arm through his.
Chapter 17
The shock comes first. Then, it’s rage pumping through my body.
I yank the knot of my tie away from my throat because suddenly the air in the room is thick and hot.
Who the fuck was that guy who just waltzed in here with those goddamned flowers and left with my Jasmine?
My mind keeps replaying that wide, happy grin she wore as she wove her arm through his. That smile should be for me. Nobody else.
I want to break something. Rip it to shreds.
I shove my fingers through my hair and pull at the roots as I pace the floor. I snatch up the paper bag containing my lunch and pitch it at a wall. Soup goes flying in all directions, staining the walls, the carpet and one of the chairs sitting in the corner of my office.
Not my Jasmine. I can’t watch another man take her from me.
There’s a soft, tentative knock at my door before it opens a crack. Luce sticks her head into my office, her eyes filled with trepidation. “Mr. Cartwright, is everything okay?”
I take a deep breath and halt my pacing. I try to relax my shoulders as best I can. I already know that my scarred face and large frame scare her. I don’t want to make it worse by acting like a psycho. “Luce, come in.”
She licks the corner of her mouth nervously as she practically tiptoes in. When she sees the mess of food dripping down the wall and puddled on the carpet, her eyes go wide. “W-would you like me to get someone in here to clean that up?”
I tug at the roots of my hair. “Who was that? Who was that man with the flowers? The one who left with Ms. Santiago?” I hate the tone of the jealousy coiled around my words.
A dreamy expression settles on Luce’s face, her hands clasping over her heart. “That was Senator Davidson,” she says wistfully. “He’s running for president.”
Chapter 18
A smile curls my lips as I gather up the documents scattered across my desk and stack them into a neat pile. It’s almost 11:30. It’s time to call it a night. I can’t work past midnight every night or else I’ll burn out sooner than later.
Lunch had been…nice. Chess is a real gentleman. The type that opens doors and pulls out chairs for a woman. We’d had lunch at a nice, little restaurant overlooking Central Park. He’d showered me with compliments and attention.
After the meal, one of the secret service agents on his detail opened the door of his black SUV, and Chess and I slid into the backseat. An eager look flashed across his face as he moved in closer, lessening the small space between us. His face lowered to mine and his eyes fluttered shut.
Shit – he’s about to kiss me, my brain stuttered.
Panic flooded the pit of my stomach causing me to recoil. When Chess puckered his lips but didn’t find my mouth, his eyes blinked open. His brows furrowed and he gave me a puzzled look.
“Can I be completely honest with you?” I said in a small voice.
He gave me a nod. “Of course.”
I pulled a sharp breath. “You’re a great guy, so I don’t want you to think that my resistance is because you’ve done something wrong. It’s just that, someone from my past just reappeared and I have some things to figure out. It’s not fair to you that I allow this to go to the next level if I’m not ready yet. Does that make any sense?”
Chess gave me an empathetic smile. “I completely understand,” he said as he sat upright in his seat, giving me some space.
I sighed with relief. I was so glad that he was being understanding about it all because although I haven’t figured out how to shut off what I feel for Liam, I don’t want to mess up with Chess. I think he has potential.
“Promise me one thing, though,” Chess said, smirking at me.
“What?” I asked skeptically.
“You’ll keep hanging out with me until you figure everything out.”
I tilted my head to the side and watched him. “You’re running for president. Do you even have time to ‘hang out’?” I make air-quotes around the words.
His voice was soft and low. “I’ll make time for you.”
Even if my heart is still in pieces over Liam and in no way ready to fall in love, Chess seems like a good guy and he’s basically just volunteered to be a pleasant distraction until I’m back on my feet. I see no reason to refuse him. “Deal,” I said.
“Deal.” He stuck his fist out at me. Incredulous, my eyes moved from his outstretched hand to his face and back again. “Come on,” he insisted. “Don’t leave me hanging.”
I giggled, feeling silly as I bumped my fisted knuckles against his.
He laughed as he caught my wrist, slowly unfurled my fingers and pressed his lips to the back of my hand. “Goodbye, Beautiful Jasmine.”
“Goodbye, Handsome Chess.”
He then promised to text once he got back to Scarsdale and I actually believed that he would. One of his burly security guards then opened my door and escorted me to the elevator.
Now, here I am at the end of the day, preparing to go home. I pick up my phone from where it’s peeking out of my purse and pull up Chess’s message again. Still thinking about ur pretty smile…Can’t wait 2 “hang out” again :)
This is the type of man a girl can fall in love with…right? Handsome, powerful and considerate.
I’m still smiling as I shrug into my coat and slide my purse onto my shoulder. My office door squeals loudly as I pull it shut behind me.
When I turn around, a tall, virile body stands in the doorway across the hall. I jump, my hand leaping to my chest.
“I scared you. I’m sorry.” Liam takes a steady step towards me.
My eyes go narrow and my shoulders straighten. “It’s alright,” I say flatly.
We stand there for a moment and just stare at each other. No words are exchanged. We just look at each other.
I try to not feel the lust bubbling in my stomach and the tingle running down my arms. I try to hate him for the way he’s treated me.
“Excuse me,” I say as I move to walk around him and find my way to the elevator.
“Wait –” he says, his hand curling around my wrist as he steps in front of me, blocking my path again.
I glare up at him, shooting venom his way. “Yes?”
His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows hard. “I meant it when I said I want us to be friends.”
Are you kidding me right now?
“Liam, what you want really isn’t my concern,” I snarl. “I offered you much more than just friendship and you refused it.”
His fingers push through his hair before sliding down the side of his face and lingering on his scar. “Jasmine, I…” His words stall in his throat. For someone who makes a living as a lawyer, he really is no good with words.
I shake my head. “Good night, Liam,” I huff as I push my way past him again.
This time, he grabs me by the upper arm. The urgency in his touch sends a chill along my spine. When he notices the alarm on my face, he loosens his grip, his hand sliding down to my wrist. “Consid
er it. Please.” His gray eyes are stormy and tempestuous. They implore me to give him a chance.
And I almost break. I almost give in. But then I remember what he’s done to me. Twice.
Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice? It won’t happen again.
I shrug out of his grip. “I have more than enough friends, Liam,” I say coldly. “Good night.”
Chapter 19
I pick up a tiny pebble and toss it towards the river. I watch as it hits the surface before plunging into the depths of the water. It’s a chilly night and I can see my breath fogging up the air around me as I’m perched on this rock in a secluded spot on the bank of the Hudson.
I’ve lost her now.
She’s found someone else. Someone who’s better for her.
She’s with a good guy and she’s happy. I should just take myself out of the picture and let her have the happily ever after I could never give her. But somehow, I just can’t stop wanting her, selfish as I am.
I try to remind myself that I’m toxic and that I’d ruin her, but it feels like I need her to breathe. I’ve been slowly suffocating since the day I first saw her, the day I first let her walk away.
I trace my finger down the scar on my cheek. It’s so much more than just a scar. It’s a constant reminder of who I am and how I’ve fucked up, letting the people around me get hurt in the process.
The warm breeze kisses my skin as I ease off of the rock and stand, dusting the debris off of my sweatpants. I stretch my limbs for a few minutes before I find the beaten path at a slow pace. My stride picks up gradually until I’m running fast. I push hard till the pain is grinding at my limbs and sweat is streaming down my temples. My body is strong and disciplined. It finds its rhythm easily. But my mind? Fuck. My mind continues to run amuck.
I get home and jump straight into the shower, scrubbing my skin clean. I slide into a pair of basketball shorts and exhausted, collapse onto the bed.
The bright green lights of the alarm clock tell me that it’s 1:07 in the morning. I’m lying in my bed, on top of the sheets, staring up at the galvanized ductwork running along the ceiling.
Every time I close my eyes, I see her with him, that smug, asshole politician. I see him holding her hand and smiling down into her face with that shit-eating grin and I can’t help but think, ‘That should have been me.’
I’m an insomniac on a good night, but right now, it’s the worst. Thinking about Jasmine falling for that pretty boy chump is the worst.
I growl low as I roll off of the mattress and amble into the kitchen. I throw open the cupboard over the sink. A normal person would probably stock this cabinet with spices and dried herbs. Maybe some sugar and condiments. Or maybe coffee mugs and teacups and saucers. But the only thing sitting in my cupboard is a cardboard box containing half a dozen bottles of aged whiskey. I grab an unopened bottle and sit on the edge of the sink.
I’m going to drown my sorrows in this bitch tonight.
I pop the cork off and take a swig straight from the bottle.
I remind myself that Jasmine deserves the best of everything, things that I’m too messed up in the head to provide. I want her, but she doesn’t belong with me and I’d be a selfish asshole to pursue her.
I pace the floor of my large, open-concept loft, from wall to wall, from the kitchen to the bathroom through the living room right to my bed and back again. Ad I drink and drink and drink.
I flip on the light in the bathroom and lean in close to the mirror. I squint at my features in the dim light. Despite my beard, I see the thick wounds, silver and serrated against my cheek. I feel a hot tear sprint down my face, getting lost in my beard. “Ugly motherfucker!” I roar as I send my fist through the mirror. The glass shatters around my hand, splintering my knuckles.
Bleeding and broken, I slide to the floor, leaning against the bathtub with not a friend in the world, except for my old bottle of whiskey.
Chapter 20
“You still haven’t told me yet,” Ruthie says as she blows steam off the top of her cup of hot milk. “What are we doing for your birthday?”
Ugh. The dreaded b-day is three days away and I plan to just skip it altogether like I’ve been doing for the past few years.
I glance quickly towards the door of the tiny, hole-in-the wall café where we are meeting our friends. Nadia texted to say that she’ll be running late, but Amber and Hailey cancelled on us. Still no word from Madison.
“I told you, I don’t celebrate my birthday.” I’m growing frustrated of having this conversation with Ruthie. I know she means well, but she’s a persistent little bugger.
I don’t celebrate my birthday. Period.
Ruthie sighs melodramatically. “We love you, Jazz. We just want an opportunity to celebrate you.”
“I appreciate that, Ruthie,” I say as I watch people bustle by on the sidewalk in the light summer drizzle. “You can celebrate me any day of the year. Just not on my birthday.” I take a bite of my iced lemon pound cake.
She sighs, shoving her hair over her shoulder just as Nadia hurries through the front door carrying an umbrella with her. She looks over at our table and waves. “Fine, Jasmine. Be a party-pooper on your own birthday. Fine.”
Chapter 21
I glance out the window at Liam’s office. It’s dark and the door is closed. I wonder if he’s in there, alone, hiding from the world.
I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t feel sorry for him. But I do.
I shake my head trying to wrestle my heart free from the emotion. He hurt me. The fact that he buys me lunch and has it delivered to my office everyday doesn’t change that. I can’t forget that.
But there’s just something so sad about him, so lonely. I recognize it. It’s what I feel underneath my broad smiles and got-it-together exterior. Maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to him – because I feel like I’ve finally met someone who gets it, who understands what it’s like to feel so alone.
“What the hell are you talking about, Jasmine?” I mutter to myself. I remind myself that he’s a stranger. I’d be a fool to think that after two random nights together, I know him or he knows me. I’m just projecting my inner crap onto him.
I take a bite of the energy bar I just pulled out of my bottom drawer and try to focus on the work in front of me. But my phone starts to vibrate on the table next to me. I glance at the caller ID.
Alessandra Santiago.
I feel anxiety bubble up inside of me and I swallow in a futile attempt to force it down. I clear my throat and hit the ‘answer’ button. “Hello?”
“Jasmine…”
“Hola mamá.” I try to inject some enthusiasm into my voice but what I really feel is trepidation. I feel it every year when she calls on this day.
“Happy birthday, mija,” she says warmly and I’m sure that she’s trying just as hard as I am to sound brave.
“Gracias, mamá,” I say, faking it all the way.
“So, do you have any plans to celebrate?” she asks carefully “Will you be going out with your friends later?”
I roll my eyes. She already knows the answer to that question. “No, mamá. I’m not really in the mood to celebrate this year.” I never am.
She sighs heavily. Here we go. “Mija, you are only young once. Please go enjoy your special day.”
“It isn’t a special day to me,” I mutter gruffly. I already regret answering the phone. I should have let her call go to voicemail. “You know that I don’t celebrate my birthday. And you know why.” I grab my energy bar and take a big bite.
“Jasmine, what happened to Lily was not your fault.” Only, it was. Everybody knows that it was.
“Mom – I’m at work right now. I really have to go. Can I call you later?”
She sighs again. I can hear the tears straining on her voice. “Yes – call me later.” But we both know that I won’t.
“Goodbye, mom. I love you.” I hope she knows I at least mean that. Although my relationship with my parents has been strained for th
e last few years, I still adore them.
I just can’t bring myself to face them.
“I love you, too, Jasmine,” she says softly. “And you know that your father loves you too.” I bet. Is that why he pretty much wrote me off when I turned 18? He couldn’t wait to get rid of me.
But I don’t tell my mom that. We’ve already had this argument far too many times. Having it again is futile at this point. So, I just say. “Tell dad I love him, too.”
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