by Love Belvin
Well, she isn’t young for him.
Un-fucking-believable!
Is this guy’s cock a stranger to any feminine lips in the continental US?
The remainder of the meeting, I remained broodingly silent unless something was asked specifically of me and when it was my turn to report. I couldn’t wait to get out of that conference room—out of the damn building to walk this off.
Once he adjourned the meeting, I leaped to my feet, prepared to make my dash.
“A word, Elle!” his tone no less sharp than it was when he bit my head off in front of my colleagues.
The room emptied in seconds.
“You can’t go behind my back making promises to take people on.”
“And you can blast me like you did in front of my peers because of your juvenile indiscretions!”
Jackson grimaced. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you fucked Emily, hence your resistance.”
“So?”
“So? So, you need to grow the hell up. You think because we’ve shared your magic wand, I can’t be objective as lead? C’mon! I’m sure it was so long ago, she doesn’t even recall. I’m surprised you even recall!”
“Maybe it wasn’t as long ago as you think,” he fired back. I gasped. “I’ve never reneged on my promise to you.” He answered the question I couldn’t utter.
But I was quite sure he’d slept with Emily since meeting me. If not, where was the conflict?
“What about Erika?”
Suddenly I wasn’t so sure of him being so considerate of not having me blinded to his former bedmates.
“What the hell are you implying?”
“You’ve slept with a lot of women, Jackson!”
“If I’m not mistaken, you’ve been with a lot of men, too.”
“That stings, Jackson!”
“Yet it’s reality. An inconvenient truth I live with every day.”
I sucked in a heavy breath. That statement burned.
Regaining myself, I shifted to leave the room. On my way out, I warned, “We can easily fix that.”
“What?” his face wrinkled with a combination of agitation and bemusement.
“I’m taking Rayna Jacobs up on her offer. I’m going to California.”
Jackson steeled in place, his eyes went wide in response to my untimely announcement.
Things had to change and for more reasons than our fight that was a hybrid of work and our sexual relationship. Jackson was getting to me. He’d been evoking emotions I wasn’t accustomed to. His leadership and influence had begun to blur the lines of our professional relationship and that of our personal agreement.
Jackson and I were beginning to resemble a bona fide couple. I didn’t like that shit.
No longer able to bear his rigid expression, I turned on my heel to leave. Before I reached the door, Bridgette was tapping on it, requesting permission to speak. I nodded my ascent.
“Oh, hey,” she announced with only her head in the door. “I forgot to mention the Bergdorf and Goodman Arts Matter dinner next Thursday. Goldberg and Wizer thought DB should be exposed this year. I checked both your schedules; should I reserve it now?”
I knew her inquiry was due to Jackson and me having done a round of social events over the past few months together, spreading the Dynamic Branding name.
I glanced back at Jackson. “No. That’s fine. I’ll bring a real date.”
Jackson’s neck swayed just slightly.
“Oh?” Bridgette choked out and I turned to catch her big eyes. “Who?”
Feeling satisfied, I turned back to Jackson to be sure he caught my sentiment, twisting the knife.
“Yeah, my ex, Michael has been calling again.”
“What happened to Anthony? He seemed really…cute,” she squealed, likely uncomfortable in her inquiry.
“We’re done,” I informed coolly. “But you can put down Michael as my plus one. I can handle this event on my own as Senior Account Manager.” I turned back to Jackson. “I know better than to go off, making empty promises without the approval of my superior.”
And as I uttered each word, I caught the flash of betrayal in his orbs. Just last night Jackson had exposed my fixation with him, something I didn’t deny by not addressing it. I knew from that moment I had to stop this train. I had to separate from Jackson. Here was my opportunity. Our fight about Emily couldn’t have been timed any better. Leaving for California was my exit.
So why had my stomach toiled? That didn’t feel as good as the thought of it before I opened my big mouth. Not being able to take another second under his searing gaze, I walked out of the conference room.
Outside of work matters, I didn’t speak to Jackson for two weeks after that day.
The Bergdorf and Goodman Arts Matter event was a painful bore. Under the stiff environment, I was able to speak to a small number of executives of companies that could be beneficial to Dynamic Branding as well as J.G, Wizer and Hunter. At this stage in the game, I should have been prepared for the tedium, but I never recalled this level of it while out with Jackson. He seemed to have known so many people at a given event and possessed the ardent talent of creating small talk with them that would be relevant to the firm’s agenda. Not to mention the rundown he’d give before we’d approach a prospect and the endless coaching and tips he’d provide about gauging and engaging a range of personalities. Taking Michael along proved he didn’t have a corporate bone in his body, which was odd seeing that his family had a thriving and longstanding enterprise. At one point, I left him and continued my elbow-rubs on my own. Though marginally successful, it was a challenging evening.
My nightmares had returned. I could no longer understand what incited them. They were no less frightening and disturbing than before, but I rode out the horror of them alone. Although the reprieve from them had been blissful, they were mine to own. I endured them.
I hadn’t spoken to Jackson for two weeks, not even about work. He seemed to have streamlined all of my communication to Bridgette. I was fine with that at first, but after a few days without Jackson, my days seemed to have grown less vibrant. Tasks turned tedious and work turned into…work. As much as I told myself I needed to adjust to his absence being that I indirectly broke it off with him, I didn’t account for the grievance of his presence.
Just as I returned from a run at the gym, I received a call from Martha, Anthony’s mother. She first said Anthony had gone missing. Taken by the news, I began firing off questions. Her answers to them illuminated Martha’s propaganda. Anthony was not missing. He simply wasn’t speaking to his mother and had asked his boss not to forward her calls to him.
Hearing from her reminded me of the hell I escaped when she unceremoniously ratted her son out. In many ways she should have, considering his proclivities. Getting involved with a man with such secrets could’ve proven embarrassing and expensive when you think about his propensity to arrests. Who would knowingly sign up for a life like that?
And just to think… He was pursued over Jackson.
Jackson had secrets, too. Of which nature, I had no clue, but there was something deep within him that I was drawn to in spite of. I couldn’t shake the last look in his eyes when I basically told him I didn’t want to attend the event with him. My actions were cold. And no matter how frustrating my boss was, he’d never been cold toward me.
At that thought, I grabbed my phone to call Bridgette.
“Helleeeer.”
“You watch too many Tyler Perry shows, Bridge.” I noted wryly.
“Elle?”
“Yeah,”
Caller I.D. much?
“Oh, I love that man…well, woman—Madea,” she shared with a tone equally as dry.
“I don’t mean to disturb you, but I was wondering how soon Goldberg, Wizer, and Jackson would be in town at the same time. The Museum of Fine Arts guy I was telling you about from the other night says he needs to settle with a PR firm within the next few weeks. I don’t w
ant to lose this opportunity. I need to prep whomever will take the lead for a meeting with him.”
As a public relations firm, we worked around the clock. This was why Bridgette answered without considering the caller. She had to in her liaison role. She also had access to the other heads of the firm.
“You don’t need them all in the room. You can pass the specs over to Jackson,” she informed predictably.
“Is he even in town?” I bit my bottom lip and squeezed my eyes in angst.
“Sure. I happen to know he’s at home innnnnn…” I held my breath as I heard her throat vibrate whil she tapped a keyboard, “the city at home…at Trump.”
“Cool. Thanks, Bridgette. Lemme catch him before he leaves.” I rushed out and threw her off the phone.
Forty minutes later, I was stalking nervously to Jackson’s door. I rang the bell with a trembling hand. My stomach twisted with fear as I waited. I tried going over the lines I’d assembled on my ride over. How I would explain without apologizing? I didn’t understand why I pushed him away like I did. I could only describe the need. The door clicked and my breath caught in my chest. When it opened, I released my lungs.
“Hi, Madeline,” I greeted Jackson’s housekeeper, who had caught me on my knees, deep throating her boss one morning before the crack of dawn as we tried leaving the bathroom for the bedroom in his master suite. Apparently, that day, she’d decided to start her cleaning in there. I’d seen her once since then and just like now, her cheeks heated immediately upon recognizing me. I fought my knowing blush as I pulled at the opening of my kangaroo leather crossover blazer. “Is the big guy…I mean”—my eyes squeezed close—“Jackson in?”
“Si, Señorita Elle.” She gave a short nod and shifted to let me through.
As I crossed the vast apartment, I immediately smelled an aroma trailing from the kitchen. I knew right away that’s where he was. I trekked dejectedly in that direction, each step I took my feet felt weighed down by cement blocks. He was over the stove, stirring a pot, appearing just as desolate as I felt. I stood quietly at the entryway for a few seconds before he sensed me.
Then I heard her. Call me paranoid, but Bella’s bark wasn’t with the buoyance that she expressed when I first visited his place. As she galloped toward me, I shrieked, inadvertently revealing my fear. I could not bring myself to bond with Jackson’s dog. The commotion caught Jackson’s attention. When he recognized me Jackson all but let out a long breath that collapsed his shoulders and rolled his eyes in the way men who don’t roll their eyes do.
“Bella!” he shouted to get her attention. Immediately she retracted. “C’mon, girl. To your room.” He snapped his fingers and led her from the kitchen, passing me on the way without paying a glance.
Great…
He was back in no time, entering the kitchen without uttering a word of greeting. I took a fortifying breath, accepting my fate. I knew I’d have to work my way into his good graces no matter the route, though I’d decided on one before leaving home. My eyes swept my Isabel Marant Bekett high-top sneakers that I never wore, only purchased because they were the “it” item at the time. I was in such a rush to get over here that they looked good enough to sport on my mission this evening.
I sidled up next to him, resting my hip on the counter.
“Got enough for two?”
“If you have good leads from your current clients or pending ones, I have enough for five,” he uttered sardonically.
At that pseudo-invitation, I hopped over to the table as he finished up on robust shells stuffed with cheese, beef and basil. Before he served that, Jackson laid out a platter of fresh Caprese salad. The texture of the mozzarella against fresh balsamic vinaigrette had my palette buzzing with jubilation. Things got even better when he joined me. He ate quietly while I filled him in on my activities at the gala, seeming fairly impressed with the Museum of Fine Arts prospect. He served me red wine as he sipped on lemon water and listened raptly. I made sure to stay away from the topic of me taking the Jacobs’ assignment out in California. For some reason that didn’t pose as a sensible topic with my boss.
I hated when dinner came to an end, even delayed it by having seconds that I couldn’t fit in. And when there was no other straw I could grasp for, I began to panic. Jackson appeared detached and tired. I observed him closely as he stretched his arms in the air on a yawn, his triceps bunched tightly like hard knots on a thick rope. The only thing breaking my lustful trance was the sound of a heavy sheet of rain hitting the glass wall of the kitchen. My eyes jumped to confirm it.
Shit!
Pebble-like drops came pelting down over the city. The sky turned completely dark and the street lights were a blur from the thick droplets falling audibly. When lightning struck and thunder roared I leaped in my seat. Our eyes met and after a few seconds, Jackson began clearing the table. I jumped into action, assisting him. He didn’t utter a word as he worked with diligence, cleaning his immaculate kitchen. I wiped the table and counters—doing anything I could think of to appear useful.
After twenty minutes of this and observing the harsh rain falling outside every ten seconds, I turned to find Jackson right behind, staring expectantly with his hand out. As I stood over the aluminum trash can, I glanced down at the broom and dustpan I was holding, realizing they were what he was asking for. When I handed them over he quietly returned them back to the pantry, sauntered over to the adjacent counter to pump hand sanitizer into his palms and moved to the entryway of the kitchen without looking back.
“It’s late, Elle. I have an early flight.” His hand hovered over the light switch.
Damn! This isn’t going how I planned.
My strategy was to seduce my way back into his bed. Now with the treacherous rain coming down like small stones out there, I couldn’t go out there! But what to do? I still hadn’t addressed the issue of me pulling back on him.
There’s no time!
“Ummmm… Jax?”
The kitchen went black. Jackson turned off the lights.
“Do what you gotta do, Elle,” he called out as he exited the room.
His yielding at my pathetic request to stay the night let me know he was on to me. Although I was cold with him outside of sex, Jackson made me feel like I was in control even when we weren’t indulging in one another. And clearly I wasn’t, which is why this needed to end. But like a damn fiend, I kept coming back. He’d give me my space each time and damn if I didn’t keep luring him back in because I couldn’t keep my shit together. This thing had turned far beyond sex and that troubled me deeply.
I followed him helplessly as he padded to the back of the apartment. I couldn’t even allow myself to ogle his muscular ass and masculine walk, which had become one of my favorite pastimes as of late. Jackson went straight into the bathroom, turning on the shower. When he returned, he still refused to look at me when he handed me one of his crewneck tees from the drawer on one finger.
“Here you ago,” he murmured.
That stung. It was well established that I slept in no more than a bra and underwear, and if I was sleeping with Jackson, I slept in the nude. His asking me to cover up was equivalent to shunning me.
As if it isn’t warranted, Elle.
I took it of course. I hoped to catch his eyes as it exchanged our hands, but no luck with that. I was really in the dog house. Hearing another clashing thunder, I exhaled my frustration. I was stuck. Unwanted or not, I wasn’t leaving Jackson’s bed. I kicked off my sneakers, peeled out of my ribbed biker jeans, and pulled my cropped long sleeved turtleneck over my head. After removing my bra and underwear, that I refused to sleep in, I applied Jackson’s freshly laundered t-shirt and sat on the chair like an interloper.
When he surfaced from the steamy bathroom, I shot in and washed up for bed. The lights were off in the bedroom as I padded my way to the bed.
Jackson really meant business when he said it was late.
I patted my way onto the mattress until I felt him. That’s when I kne
w I found my spot. I shuffled next to Jackson, being sure to push my ass into his side as he lay on his belly. I wiggled under the guise of finding comfort, hoping to capture his attention…or that of his member below. I was back on the seduction prowl, refusing to go another moment like this.
When after a few seconds of laying against him Jackson didn’t move, I sighed and squirmed again. He still didn’t respond.
Third time’s a charm…
I waggled again, this time clearing my throat in the quieted room, other than the hard rainfall.
“I’m not going to fuck you,” rumbled from his heavy chords.
My eyes shot open in utter shock, not to mention my bruised ego. I literally felt a pang in my belly at that declaration. Jackson never took that tone with me.
“I’m letting you stay and that’s enough,” he continued with his brashness.
That riled something within me.
“I need more than for you to fuck me.”
“No, you don’t,” Jackson shot right back.
“I do.”
“How could you need more from someone you don’t even trust?” he growled with harsh disdain.
Tru—
He was bringing that term up again, throwing it in my face.
“I do trust you, Jackson! Completely!”
The thickness of the air hung in the balance between us. If Jackson wanted a fight he was getting one. I was here, being humble. Wasn’t that good enough?
“Prove it,” he challenged. “In my medicine cabinet, there’s a bottle of lube.”
Shit! I now understood that dare. Jackson was testing me. Without thought, I pushed out of bed and felt my way over and into the bathroom. Jackson thought I didn’t trust him and I did. I patently trusted him in every way sexually. If this was how I could prove it, so be it. You couldn’t challenge Elle with a sexual excursion and have me back down… Well, you could with this one act: anal sex. But this was Jackson. If I trusted no one with this expedition, Jackson would be the exception.
When I left the bathroom I noticed the room was dark outside of the softly illuminating lights from outside casting shadows in. My heart began to pound viciously and all I could do was remind myself that anal wasn’t a new venture for Jackson and me. We’d been playing around with toys for a while now.
