Chapter 8

 

Lizzie

 

Did that really happen? That had to be a dream, right? Don’t open your eyes, Lizzie. Don’t open them just in case it wasn’t a dream. Just keep them clos-

Shit.

There he is. With his perfect cheekbones and that hair which never looks out of place – even when it is. He’s facing me, his eyes closed. He’s sleeping for sure, but he’s still got that smirk on his face which tells me that what happened last night was no dream.

Over the chiselled silhouette of his jawline I can see the orange-blue glow of the sun rising.

Fuck! Today is the day of the charity event! Of all the times to go and create a shitstorm, Lizzie, you sure picked the worst.

At a speed of about an inch-per-minute I turn over in bed and climb out. I try to stay as quiet as possible – which isn’t that hard considering I’m as naked as the day I was born and not even covered by a bed sheet.

I tiptoe out of the bedroom and into the living room. I feel crazy, and I probably look ridiculous, but as long as nobody sees me then I don’t care. I find my clothes and put them on, foregoing the panties and bra – Jax will be glad to add them to his collection I’m sure.

God bless Jax’s talent for architecture, because the front door opens and closes silently without too much effort, and I run across the gravel to my car in bare feet. The key is still in the ignition, as if it knows I need to make a getaway. A few seconds later I’m out of there, speeding home like if I go fast enough I’ll leave my problems behind.

Fat chance.

The biggest problem I have right now - bigger than the gigantic charity event which almost a thousand people are attending, and which my boss is counting on me to arrange; bigger than the fact that I left a date with a good guy who is sweet and kind and treats me well to screw Jax – is the fact that I feel fucking fantastic.

I wish I felt dirty and sleazy for what I just did. I wish I felt apologetic and regretful. I wish that I felt fantastic because James said he respected me too much. I wish I didn’t want to do the very thing that I know is bad for me.

It would be so easy. Jax makes me feel so good, so alive. He does everything right, at the right time, in the right places. But he’s also done that with a thousand women before me – and probably a few thousand after.

Why did I run from James? Isn’t he everything I want? A decent, good-looking guy with a stable career and a big heart, who respects women and would do anything for me – isn’t that everything most women want? So why do I feel like it’s a struggle?

My brain is twisted in so many directions that I nearly trip when I enter my apartment. I slam the door shut and lean against it, as if some monster is chasing me. I know that slamming the door won’t do any good though – I’m my own monster, and I’m chasing myself in a circle so fast it’s making me dizzy. I take off my clothes (which is easy, since Jax ruined most of the buttons on my blouse when he tore it off) and set myself a schedule. Shower, breakfast, business-like but attractive outfit, planning my day, then getting to work.

I jump in the shower and try to focus my mind, but it’s like steering a car through a forest at two hundred miles an hour. So instead I scrub at my hair like I’m angry with it, like I’m trying to wash away the mess of thoughts that have nothing to do with work.

“Isn’t it always like that?” I say out loud, as if hoping somebody will appear in the bathroom to offer advice. “The good things feel bad, and the bad things feel good. It’s why diets are so hard. It’s why I never go to shopping malls on pay day. It’s why I have to remind myself to work out on Sundays. Feeling good is a sure sign you’re doing something bad – and that makes Jax very, very, bad.”

When I step out of the shower I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. There are teeth marks around my left nipple so clear that you don’t even need to be a dentist to identify them as coming from Jax.

“Great,” I say, “the mark of the devil. At least Jax knows how to pick his spots.”

I’m feeling almost normal when I start getting dressed. I’ve taken all the crap involving my personal life, stuffed it into a mental sock drawer, and decided to address it when I have the time, mental clarity, and patience – which isn’t now. Right now I can only handle one mess at a time, and the mess I need to handle now is the one that my boss, and entire company, is counting on me to bring through. Focus, Lizzie. There will be time for drama later. Get through today, and then it’ll all be much easier.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway. Reality, it seems, has decided that little Lizzie is not quite done yet.

The phone rings, and I answer it quickly, without even checking the caller ID. If I had, I probably wouldn’t have answered at all.

“Hey, McFly.”

Shit.

“Hey,” I say, with such a bad attempt at enthusiasm I feel like a porn actor.

“Uh…about last night…”

“Yeah, about that James…I’ve got something I should tell—”

“No. I’m the one who should apologize—”

“Really, James, it’s my—”

“-I was too rough. Too forward. I know that. I just…I just thought you looked beautiful. I’m sorry you got the wrong impression. I don’t really know what happened myself. I think I had too much to drink – that cheap wine, right! Look, just give me a chance to show you that it’s not your body I’m interested in, Lizzie.”

Suddenly I’m wondering if James is the one with a problem. There’s innocent, and there’s tone-deaf. If James thinks that I ran out on him last night because he was too forward, I don’t see how I’ll ever explain how he’s wrong. And when you find yourself giving up on explaining how you feel to someone in a relationship, the chances are you’re going nowhere with it. I would know.

“You weren’t too rough, or forward, James,” I say, my voice strong and firm. “If anything you’re not forward enough, James. Can’t you tell what I wanted?”

James laughs a little goofily, but I’m in no mood for goofs right now.

“I’ve never been good at guessing what women want. No man is!”

I push aside the contradiction to that statement – his face is coming to mind all too frequently these days.

“I wanted- Wait, I needed you to fuck me. But you didn’t get it. We’re on different wavelengths, and it’s mostly my fault. I’ve been trying to become something I’m not. Something I thought I should be, just because I liked you.”

I can hear James breathing on the other end of the line, no doubt in shock at the word ‘fuck,’ still.

“I…didn’t know…”

“You’ll never know, James. You’re a sweet, kind, and gentle. And I’m…well, I’m not. And I probably never will be.” It’s good to get those words out, to finally be able to speak the truth, and I don’t regret it.

James gasps his surprise. “Are you saying…you’re telling me that it’s…over?”

“I’m telling you that, for me, it never really began. I’m sorry James. Goodbye.”

I hang the phone up and sit on the bed, gathering my breath and holding my head to stop it spinning. Well that’s one problem out of the way, I suppose.

 

Though I’m dressed like a smart, confident woman who knows what she’s doing, I get to work with a mind that’s doing more calculations and considering more perspectives than a war strategist. I get the intern to bring me a refill of my double espresso latte, make the two team members helping me recite exactly what they’re going to do, and start calling everyone involved with the event to confirm it at least three times. Yes I’m being a bitch, but if there’s one day I’m allowed to be, this is it. There will be time for apologies later.

I should be feeling worse about James—a lot worse—but the truth is, I have too much to deal with right now. And maybe some part of me is relieved that it’s over.

I’m so engrossed in beating my words-per-minute typing record as I send confirmation invitations that I almost don’t notice the sudden silence which appears over the usually-chattering office like a dark cloud. I ignore it, but when I start hearing hushed voices and stifled gasps I turn around, expecting to see some major disaster about to befall us outside the window.

Instead, everyone’s attention is on the office entrance, and the man standing there with his hands in his pockets: Jax.

I see about a half-dozen of the most confident girls in the office sprint as casually as they can in his direction. He flashes his smile, and says a few things they find way too funny. Somehow he manages to look away and catches sight of me. He points me out to the girls and almost has to fight his way out of them like they’re a group of muggers.

I stand up and walk towards him.

“What’s going on?” I say, in an aggressive whisper.

“I wanna talk to you,” Jax says, taking me by my arm and leading me out of the office. I consider yanking it back and telling him that we’ll have plenty of time to talk once I’m done being responsible for the biggest work event in my career, but the fact that everyone is looking at us, and the determined look in Jax’s eyes, makes me think otherwise.

We step outside into the hallway and I glance behind me at the women staring at us through the glass of the doors. I shuffle a little further down, out of sight, cross my arms, and look up at Jax with an expression of impatience I hope he understands.

“Now’s not the best time, Jax. Believe me, I’d like to talk too, but I have the event to arrange today, remember? If you think I’m ready for a quick bang in the bathroom, or a recreation of last night on the back seat of your car, then no. Just no. I’m being a bitch to everyone today. That includes you.”

I know I’m acting crazy, but it’s not just the work stress. It’s the guilt over throwing myself at him last night, the harsh way I broke up with James this morning, and the frustration at knowing, even now, that things could never work out between me and Jax, even if I am single again. Plus, that confident look on his face is just making me even more enraged.

Jax nods slowly and looks aside like I just slapped him. “Wow, you’re certainly doing a good job,” he says, with a smirk that shows he’s joking. “And Ferraris don’t have back seats. We’d have to do it on the hood.”

“Fair point,” I say, trying to smile a little, but completely not in the mood for his jokes. “But I’m getting back to work.” I push away my annoyance. Same Jax. Same lines. He never changes. I know I’m taking this way too seriously, but I can’t help it. This is not the time.

I turn away and start down the hall, but Jax grabs my arm and tugs me back toward him gently.

“Please, wait,” Jax says, with a heavy seriousness that’s so rare for him it sounds like he’s a different person. “I just came by to…I was thinking that…”

This is new. This is definitely new. As I stare up into his eyes, I realize that Jax almost looks like he’s trying to be honest. Or at least that’s what he’s projecting. I guess he’s got so many approaches that I haven’t even seen them all yet.

“Yes?”

“I wanted to say…that I like you,” he says, finally. He looks at me with an expression that’s pleading.

I can’t believe Jax pulled me out of work just to play games with my head. Does he actually expect me to fall for this, after all he’s taught me? What am I, his personal, on-call sex toy? Is this what I get for running into his arms last night?

I can’t stop the anger exploding out of me now. “Like me? You mean, you like me pressed up against a bathroom stall? Bent over a sink so you can see my tits in the mirror? Sucking your dick in that stupid car you drive around?”

He shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

He looks genuinely taken aback, and suddenly I’m ashamed. Why am I jumping all over him for this?

“Oh God, I’m sorry,” I blurt. “Shit. I like you too, Jax. I do. But this is a bad time for me. Last night, it was a one-time thing, okay? Not a reinstatement of our previous…whatever. We’re cool. We’ll hang out. We’ll talk. It’ll be fine. Just don’t worry about it,” I say, taking a step back towards the office.

“No,” Jax says, not letting me go. “I mean I like you. A lot. I want you to be mine. I want us to date. I want you to be my girlfriend. No arrangements. Just us.”

For a split-second I see his eyes, and then I have to look down at the floor. They’re too compelling. Too deep. Too full of honesty. Too much like the kind of eyes I could fall in love with. God, he’s good at this. A master deceiver.

I put my hand on his chest. “Jax…I don’t know what this is, but I’m pretty sure it’s a moment you’re gonna forget – no matter what I say.”

“It’s not, Lizzie. It’s for real.”

And then I realize: he’s telling the truth.

But it doesn’t matter, because this is Jax Wilder. I know exactly what he has to offer me, and it’s not enough. Relationships are about more than hot sex and goofing around, and this man can’t give me what I need. I’d be a fool to believe otherwise.

I lean toward him, lowering my voice. “Are you really going to make me do this? Are you really going to make me have to explain to you the thousands of reasons why that wouldn’t work?”

Jax shakes his head and his jaw clenches, but his eyes are still wide and imploring, like a man pleading his case after the verdict. “We get along so great. We understand each other. How can you not admit that? The sex is out of this world, as good as it gets – believe me, I should know - but that’s not even what I’m talking about. There’s something real here, and I don’t wanna lose it.”

I wish I could just agree with him, that we could just run off into the sunset together, but I’m not going to let myself jump into another doomed relationship. I know what I need, and I won’t settle for anything less. Even if it comes in an incredibly hot, well-hung package. “Give me your phone.”

Jax rocks his head back like he’s avoiding a punch. “What? Why do you want my phone?”

I hold out my hand. “You wanna date me? Give me your phone.”

Slowly, with a confused look on his face, he pulls out his phone and puts it into my hand.

“Ok,” I say, “let’s see. Wow. I didn’t even know phones could hold that many contacts. Ah! ‘Tuesday Blonde’ – do you fuck her every Tuesday, or does this just mean you met her on a Tuesday?”

Jax shuffles on his feet like a schoolboy caught smoking pot. “She’s in the bar every Tuesday.”

“‘Jelena,’ parentheses, ‘bondage’ – pretty clear, that one. ‘Michelle Toesucker.’ Not bad. ‘Squirty Suzanna.’ Well, that’s always good to know. ‘Tight Slim Ass’ – not even a name for her, huh? ‘Lana,’ parentheses, ‘Batman’?”

Jax goes red and shuffles around a little more. “She liked me to…ah…pretend to be Batman.”

“Wow. And it goes on. ‘Black supermodel 4.’ ‘Asian dancer 2.’ Oh, I like how you spelled ‘Deborah’ with two ‘d’s – I doubt that’s a mistake. ‘Kalani Ass Birthmark’ – see, now, I like how even a name like that isn’t quite enough to remem—”

“Ok I get it,” Jax says, almost physically in pain at the embarrassment.

I laugh a little—even I can’t stand to see Jax squirming.

“Look, this is my point. When was the last time you were monogamous, Jax?”

There’s a long pause which says everything. “I don’t remember.”

“Because you probably never have been.”

Jax stops squirming and looks me dead in the eye. I’d like to look at the floor again, but he’s on full tractor-beam.

He takes a breath. “I know all of this. I know that it’s scary. I know you’re afraid you’ll get hurt. But I also know that you feel something for me, too. I know that every impulse in my body is towards you. I know that you’ve already changed me, and that as much as I try,” he grabs the phone from my hand and waves it, “I can’t go back to this. The past and the future are entirely different things, Lizzie.”

He looks at the phone in his hand and then slams it to the ground, shattering the screen. As if it would change anything.

I close my eyes. Partly because I can’t look back at him, and partly because I’m getting dangerously close to crying.

“Just because you know those things, Jax, it doesn’t mean this would work.”

“But time will tell, so give me a chance. Please.”

I’m shaking my head, trying to block out the sound of his voice. “I just can’t believe you, Jax. I’m sorry. I know it’ll hurt me – it already does-”

“Lizzie!” comes the shrill, female voice from the entrance doors. Linda steps into the hallway with a worried expression that breaks into a smiling one when she sees Jax. “Hey,” she calls to him with way too much girlishness for a woman her age, before putting on her stern mask again and walking towards me.

“Just give us a moment, would you Linda?” I say, trying to hide the shake in my voice.

“No can do, honey. Even your boyfriend isn’t more important this.” She notices the cell phone pieces shattered on the tile and tsks at Jax. “I hope you got the insurance on that thing.” She turns back to me. “Elizabeth, now.”

I look at her with frustration. “What? What is it?”

“It’s our glamorous, A-list Hollywood celebrity; the one that the wives of the billionaires who will be attending want to date. He’s just checked himself into rehab.”

“Right after the event? We still have him showing up, right?”

Linda shakes her head. “No. Apparently he’s been in there since this morning, and his agent just scraped up enough decency to tell us three minutes ago.”

I feel the blood drain out of my face and my stomach hit the floor. “Fuck!”

“Exactly. So what do you want me to do?” Linda asks. “We need someone to take his place, and we need them in about five hours’ time.”

I close my eyes tight, hoping that if I concentrate hard enough I can turn back time, or that maybe when I open them this will all turn out to be a dream.

“Leave it to me.”

Jax’s voice breaks through the black void I’ve fallen into like the world’s longest olive branch.

“You can find us a famous Hollywood actor in five hours?” I ask, slowly.

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but I’ll do it.”

I grab him by the lapels, knowing my voice is coming out crazy. “Please, Jax. Don’t mess with me. This is my career. This is my life on the line. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Jax’s eyes stare at me like they’ve noticed something moving in a corner of my soul.

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”