by S. H. Kolee
"Hello?" I answered shortly. "Who is this?"
"She finally answers," Jackson said in a silky voice. He sounded deceptively calm but I could hear the anger vibrating just beneath the surface.
"What do you want, Jackson?"
"Obviously not the same thing as you, since I waited for you to show up at my apartment like a fool."
"So now you know what it feels like to wait for something that's never going to happen. Like I waited for your honesty. I see that you thought it was necessary to call me from a different number to trick me into answering."
"What can I say? I was able to coerce Harry into letting me use his cell phone. We're going to speak about this face-to-face. Let me up. I'm downstairs."
"You're crazy if you think I'm going to let you into my apartment. I have nothing to say to you. Take Craig with you when you leave. I'm sick of him following me around."
"I can have the paparazzi here in less than five minutes," Jackson said in a low voice, sounding dangerous. "I'm sure they'd love to hear about how you cheated on me with Drew Stephens."
"What are you talking about!? That's not true!"
"It doesn't have to be true to make headlines, sweetheart. You should know that by now."
I felt sick by Jackson's taunting tone, wondering how the man who had loved me so tenderly had vanished. I reminded myself that he had never existed. I had so desperately wanted to be loved by Jackson that I had fooled myself into believing that a sincere, honest Jackson existed.
"What could possibly be accomplished by dragging this out?" I was tired and didn't know if I could take seeing Jackson right now.
"I'm handing the phone over to Harry," Jackson said, ignoring my question. "Tell him to let me up. I have no problem pushing past him, but he's likely to call the cops. No doubt, the paparazzi won't be far behind if that happens. We can let it play it out like that if you want. I'm game."
Each of Jackson's words battered into me, a weapon that wounded me far more than anything physical. He sounded so cold and callous. It reminded me that I didn't really know this man.
"Emma? What's going on? Jackson asked to use my cell phone and went into the corner, muttering. I didn't realize he was talking to you." Harry sounded confused but not overly concerned. I was relieved that he hadn't heard Jackson's threats. I didn't think Harry would leak any information to the press but I didn't want to take any chances.
"It's nothing, Harry. Please just let him up." The less I explained the better.
I was a nervous wreck as I waited for Jackson. I jumped when I heard the knock at the door, opening it reluctantly. My heart wrenched when I saw Jackson, not only because I had missed him desperately despite everything that had happened, but because he looked like hell. His hair was a mess, like he had been shoving his hands through it repeatedly. His normally golden complexion was sallow and his eyes were hooded and heavy-set, rimmed with dark circles.
Jackson didn't say anything when I opened the door, simply raising an eyebrow. Even though he looked like he had been through the ringer, Jackson could still be intimidating as hell with that one gesture. I stepped back and allowed him to enter, closing the door and following him as he stalked into my living room, being careful not to get too close. I crossed my arms against my chest and waited for him to tell me why he was here, unwilling to be the first one to speak. I didn't have to wait long as Jackson closed the distance between us, towering over me.
"Did you read my letter?"
"I did."
Jackson breathed in deeply, rubbing his forehead tiredly. "So this is it, Emma? You're throwing away everything that we have because I made a mistake?"
I thought my anger had faded into sadness these past few days, but Jackson's words bought my rage rushing to the forefront. I fought to control it.
"I didn't throw away everything," I bit out. "You did. I'm just deciding to not let myself be a pathetic victim again."
Jackson's nostrils flared and I expected him to defend his actions, but he changed his tactic. "Has Drew been consoling you?" he asked with a sneer.
"What I do with Drew or anyone else is none of your business! You have no claim on me."
Jackson's eyes flashed with anger, his jaw tightening. "That's where you're wrong. You belong to me and you better damn well tell me what you've been doing with Drew." Jackson paused, a muscle clenching in his cheek. "Have you slept with him?"
"Not everything is defined by fucking or not fucking," I answered snidely. "Of course, you wouldn't understand that since you seem to only understand relationships in terms of sex."
"Answer me," Jackson commanded, his voice low but his expression thunderous. His eyes were glittering unnaturally and I felt a shiver run down my spine, not recognizing this man before me. But I wasn't about to cower.
"No. You have no right to demand anything from me. If this is why you came over tonight, you can save your breath and leave. And take your spy with you." I was sure Craig had given Jackson the full report about my lunch with Drew.
I drew in a sharp breath of shock when Jackson grabbed the edge of my t-shirt and ripped it over my head. I wasn't wearing a bra and I immediately covered myself with my hands.
"Are you fucking crazy?!"
Jackson grabbed my arms, forcing them apart so that I was bared to him. "You don't want to answer me? Fine. I'll find out for myself by seeing if he's left his mark on you."
Jackson hooked his hand over my shorts, pulling them down along with my panties, forcing me to step out of them. I was completely naked before him, trembling with rage and disgust.
"You're a sick bastard," I spat out, feeling utterly violated and vulnerable. I flinched when Jackson slid one hand gently down the side of my hip, looking pained.
"You're right," he said grimly, meeting my gaze. "You don't think I don't know that?" He glanced down at my body, not with desire but with sadness. "You've lost weight."
"I appreciate your concern," I said in a scathing tone. "It's so kind of you to strip me naked and comment on my body."
"You're still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." Jackson said huskily as he released my wrist, gliding both his hands up my back and pulling me against him. His voice was muffled against my hair but I heard his next two words. "Love me."
My body jerked in response, in a combination of desire, fear and self-loathing. I hated myself for still wanting Jackson despite everything he had done to me. He had betrayed me, stripped me naked, humiliated me, yet I still hungered for him. I was as sick as he was. I needed to end this.
"Whatever I felt for you died last week. If I can't trust you, I can never be with you. And I've learned that I can't trust you. I'm a slow learner, but it’s finally sunk in. Please just leave me alone."
Jackson didn't move, his face still buried in the crook of my neck. We stayed in the awkward embrace for a long time, my hands hanging loose at my sides as Jackson burrowed himself into me. I had to fight the urge to raise my arms and hold him close, to let myself believe this man actually cared about me. I believed Jackson had some sick obsession with me, but it had nothing to do with love. Love didn't feel this wrong.
Jackson finally released me, reaching down to pick up my clothes from the floor. I was speechless as he tenderly dressed me, his hands gliding against my skin reverently as he pulled my shirt over my head gently and steadied me as I stepped into my shorts and panties. He then embraced me again.
"Goodbye, Emma," Jackson whispered against my neck and I had to stop myself from clutching him to me. "Don't forget me."
I watched in silence as Jackson pulled away, his expression wistful as he gave me a small sad smile. As he walked out of my apartment, turning to give me one last glance before shutting the door behind him, I had the sudden fear that this was the last time I would see Jackson Reynard.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I told myself I should be satisfied that Jackson had finally given me what I had asked for when I didn't hear from him the next few days. But it didn't make t
hings any easier. Eventually the days turned into weeks until I woke up one day, surprised that it had been two months since I had last seen Jackson. There had been a few rumors about Jackson and me breaking up in the gossip rags since we hadn't been seen together for a while, but they were half-hearted and I didn't have the paparazzi hounding me. Craig had disappeared the day Jackson left my apartment and I stopped checking for him behind me.
Winter was a welcome change, and I embraced the chilly air, the bitter weather matching my mood. Work was in full swing and I buried myself in it, not finding much satisfaction in my boss's vocal approval when I landed a huge textiles company as a client.
I was walking home one cold November night from the subway station after work when Jackson's picture on the front cover of a magazine caught my eye at a newsstand. I had avoided any magazine or television show that had the risk of mentioning Jackson, but his picture was unavoidable now on the front of Vanity Fair, his expression grim and serious. I knew I shouldn't, but I couldn't resist grabbing the magazine, paying the man behind the newsstand. The magazine was burning in my hands as I rushed home, knowing that I was breaking the promise I had made to myself to avoid anything that mentioned Jackson. I was feeling weak and I wanted to devour any information about him.
When I got home, I didn't bother taking off my coat as I rifled through the pages to get to the article about Jackson. My heart stopped at the pictures of him, posed thoughtfully in a sleek suit, looking sophisticated, urbane and untouchable. His expression was impossibly bleak in one picture, affecting me more than I wanted to admit. I wondered if he had been forced to do this interview because of the one I had backed out of, the one we were supposed to do together.
I hungrily read the article as it discussed Jackson's meteoric rise to fame and how each role he played was a reflection of him. Most of the article was about his career and what he was hoping to achieve in future roles, but the interviewer made comments throughout the article about Jackson seeming somber and almost grim. My breath caught in my throat when I read the last part of the article
Jackson Reynard seems almost solemn for most of the interview and I venture to ask him the one question that I have been reluctant to ask since Reynard is well known for shying away from questions about his personal life. But I decide to take the plunge. I ask about all the publicity concerning his relationship with Emma Mills, the woman who supposedly got away whom he rekindled a romance with. Reynard pauses, looking even more somber than he had throughout the interview. His words are measured but I hear a tinge of sadness in his voice.
"Emma is the love of my life. Always has been. Always will be. But we all know that happy endings happen more often in movies than in real life."
When I ask Reynard to explain his cryptic statement, he refuses politely. "It's a private matter and I prefer not to speak about it."
Reynard is charming for the rest of the interview, but I can't miss the glimmer of bleakness I see in his eyes. Reynard is a man of few words when it comes to his personal life, but his expressive face makes me think that there may be trouble in his relationship with Mills. We loved the story of a famous movie star falling for the girl-next-door and we can only hope that this story has a happy ending.
The magazine slid from my fingers, my emotions making my throat feel tight. I cursed myself for reading the article as desolation pierced my soul, making me feel more alone than ever. How could Jackson say that I was the love of his life, yet betray me? A slither of doubt ran through me. Maybe I had overreacted. Maybe Jackson had been telling the truth and he had just wanted answers from Claire.
I shook my head, wanting to rid myself of these thoughts. They did nothing but make the pain sharper, more pronounced. I promised myself that I would avoid anything about Jackson Reynard from now on.
It was hard not to think about him the next day. I had a meeting with one of my clients whose office was near his apartment and I had to force myself not to walk past it afterwards. Instead, I decided to eat lunch at Andrews before I returned to work, not being able to dismiss my thoughts of Jackson completely. The Vanity Fair interviewer had mentioned meeting Jackson at a restaurant in L.A. so it was safe to assume that I was in no danger of bumping into him.
That was why my heart did a somersault when I saw Jackson on the sidewalk when I left Andrews, looking larger than life. I was caught totally off guard and was in danger of throwing up the grilled cheese and tomato soup I had just wolfed down. Jackson looked as surprised as I did. He also looked utterly gorgeous in a grey suit and a long black coat. His hair was still shaggy, which made him seemed less untouchable, but just by a fraction.
"Emma! I didn't expect to see you here." His breath misted in the cold air as his eyes seemed to drink me in.
"I guess it's a surprise for both of us," I replied with an uncomfortable smile. "I was in the neighborhood for a meeting, so I decided to stop by Andrews for lunch."
I blinked in surprise when I saw a flash go off, blinding me temporarily. Even though it was in the afternoon, the winter sky was dark as if there was an impending storm and the flash made my vision cloud.
"Crap." Jackson moved to block me from the photographer, but it proved to be futile when a few more men joined him, their cameras taking pictures frantically. It had been a while since I had paparazzi take my picture and I wondered if it had anything to do with the article in Vanity Fair.
"Come on," Jackson said, grabbing my hand and steering me away from the photographers. I followed him blindly, the panic of being followed by the photographers overtaking any reservations I had about being with Jackson. We ducked into a building and I noticed too late that we were in the lobby of Jackson's apartment building.
"What are we doing here?" I asked warily.
"I'm trying to evade the paparazzi. They know better than to try and come in here." Jackson raised his brows at me. "Unless you want to take your chances with them outside. Be my guest."
I sighed, spotting Sam smiling widely at us. "Emma! Good to see you!"
"It's good to see you too, Sam," I said with a half-hearted smile. Sam walked over to the elevators and pressed the button to call for it. He waved us in when the doors opened.
"We're not going up, Sam," I said, shaking my head. "We're just trying to wait out the photographers."
"It's going to be a while," Jackson interjected with a shrug of his shoulders. "We might as well wait it out being comfortable."
I didn't know what possessed me to follow him into the elevator. I cursed myself for falling right back into the same pattern of letting Jackson dictate our actions, but he was right. The photographers were foaming at the mouth in front of the lobby, waiting for us to leave. Maybe waiting them out was the answer.
I glanced at Jackson sideways as we rode up to the sixteenth floor. "You look nice."
Jackson quirked his mouth as he looked over at me. "I had a meeting."
I nodded my head, not asking for a further explanation. The strained civility was taxing and I didn't want to continue our stilted conversation. I followed Jackson silently to his apartment when we arrived on his floor, and my speechlessness continued when I stepped inside. The apartment looked completely different. The utilitarian furniture had been changed to furnishings that were more modern and the walls were now a light grey instead of stark white. I noticed that the small changes Jackson and I had previously made were still intact, at least in the living room. The apartment still looked comfortable but much more updated.
"You've redecorated," I commented offhandedly, not wanting Jackson to see how taken aback I was.
"This was the surprise you were supposed to see when I asked you to come over in my letter."
I nodded my head, not knowing what to say as I walked around his living room, my fingers trailing on the back of the black couch. "I would've been surprised."
"Do you want something to drink?" Jackson looked as awkward as I felt standing next to the breakfast table, which was now made of glass and chrome instead of the s
carred wooden table we had eaten countless meals on.
"No. I probably won't be here long." The corners of Jackson's mouth turned down at my words but he didn't protest. Instead, he took off his coat, draping it on the back of a chair, and walked towards me. I resisted the urge to back away, but he just sat down on the sofa, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankles. He looked up at me standing next to the sofa.
"Make yourself comfortable."
I gingerly sat down on the sofa, leaving plenty of space between us, but I didn't take off my coat. Jackson looked amused but didn't comment. I cleared my throat after a few beats, the silence becoming too strained.
"How have you been?"
"I've been surviving. You?"
I nodded my head. "Me too."
"How's work?"
"It's going well. I just landed a new client." I couldn't believe we were having this banal conversation, but it was better than screaming at each other.
"Congratulations. I always knew you'd succeed at anything you chose to do."
"Thanks." I nervously played with the buttons on my coat. "How about you?"
"I just flew in from L.A. this morning. I have a few meetings in town before I leave again."
"That's good."
Jackson sat up suddenly and I suppressed a gasp at his abrupt movement. I was relieved when all he did was ask me another question. "What are you doing for Thanksgiving?"
"Going home to Maryland. What about you?"
"Same. Going home to Westchester."
"Tell your mother I said hello."
"My mother's not too happy with you at the moment."
I sputtered at Jackson's statement. "What do you mean, she's not happy with me?"
Jackson smiled at me, looking wistful. "I told her you broke my heart, so she's holding a grudge. She's actually taking my side this time."
