Jackson

I took a big chance coming over this morning. I couldn’t turn my mind off. Being with Angelic was the only thing that made sense. I picked up coffee and muffins to soften her up.

She answered the door, tired and groggy. Hair disarrayed, no makeup. Her robe barely tied revealing her tank top and boy shorts. She looked positively fuckable.

That wasn’t why I came this morning. I just wanted to lay with her in bed and not wake up alone.

I sent the mockups to Richard and explained a meeting at this time made no sense. I wanted to include some of Angelic’s photos and that meeting wasn’t happening until Wednesday.

Could I convince her that waking up together was right? That waking up together every day was the only thing that would ever feel right?

Could I do that in one day?

“I thought if I came over, we could go back to bed and wake up together.” Say yes, please God, say yes. I kept my voice low. I tried to sound sexy but I thought I came off as desperately needy. I didn’t care, as long as she agreed and didn’t kick me out on my ass.

She took my hand and nodded towards the door I hoped was her bedroom. I happily followed.

Score!

From the look of her messy bed, she had not slept much last night, either.

I peeled off my shirt and jeans, leaving my boxers intact and attempted to arrange the covers. As I pulled them back, I caught her reaching for something and throwing it in her nightstand.

I cocked an eyebrow, silently asking for an explanation.

She blushed. “I was having a little trouble sleeping last night...so I took out my electronic boyfriend.”

She could tell I had no idea what she was talking about. She slowly opened the nightstand and took out a pink vibrator, then quickly tossed it back in the drawer.

“We are never to speak of this again, do you understand?”

I nodded my head yes. If it got me in her bed, I’d agree to anything at this point.

We got comfortable. We fit together perfectly, her back against my chest, spooning in complete harmony.

“This doesn’t mean I’m going to play hooky with you today, Jackson. I have a lot of work to finish and a meeting to prepare for on Wednesday.” I heard her trying to suppress a yawn.

“I could hang around and be your assistant. I could get you coffee, lunch, pick up your dry cleaning,” I teased. I would definitely do those things for her today if it meant I got to spend the day with her.

She reached her arm over and scratched my sweet spot, the one spot that had me putty in her hands. “First let’s get some sleep, then we can see if you are cut out to be my assistant.”

I could do that, sleep, then convince her she needed me waking up next to her every day for the rest of her life.

The sleep that eluded me last night hit me hard.

“Holy fuck, Jackson, it’s nearly noon.” Her screeching dragged me out of my slumbered bliss. I pulled her closer, not letting her escape the bed.

“Jackson, I have to get up. I’ve got shitloads of work to do.” Her tone, although exasperated, showed no signs of resistance.

She turned to face me. “A good assistant would make sure that I followed my schedule.”

I did ask to be her assistant today. “I guess that means I need to go out and get coffee?”

“Yes, coffee would be a good start. Letting me out of this bed would be another one.”

My hand roamed her body and grazed a ridge on her shoulder. It was not the first time I’d brushed that ridge. A scar, covered with a tattoo of a semicolon. An odd choice for a Tattoo, I thought. I’d meant to ask her about it. I wasn’t sure now was the appropriate time to bring up something this personal.

She was clear about getting to know each other. Something about this scar, this tattoo, told me it needed to be approached delicately. This morning while she was trying to get out of bed for work was not a delicate situation.

After her shower, she gave me instructions to her favorite coffee shop. “Tip the barista decently or next time you go in, you may not want to drink the coffee,” she teased.

At least I thought she was teasing.

I did what she asked and made my way back to her studio. The place was incredible. Her equipment was placed elegantly according to what kind of photos were taken. She had stations set in different areas of the shop.

“I like that you have each theme sectioned off. This must save a lot of setup time.”

I wondered if her sense of order had anything to do with her PTSD. I read that people who have suffered need order. Another issue was the need to be in constant control. Angelic definitely had control of her environment.

Being in charge of my new company was the first time I had ever taken control. I let my father’s money control how I behaved. I let the hordes of women who used me only for sex be in control of my personal life. I let my mother’s guilt control my emotions about relationships.

I like the feeling of being in control of my life for once. I was beginning to understand Angelic. She needed the control. It had taken her years to gain that, just as it had taken me years to achieve it.

“Do you want to see something really cool?” Her eyes lit up and shone like crystals.

“Lead the way.” I could give up control to her. I think subconsciously, I already had.

The sign on the door read DARK ROOM.

“Angel, do you still use film?” I was floored that anyone in this digital age had the knowledge to properly deal with the time consuming effort of processing film.

“You bet. There’s nothing that can take the place of the quality of good old fashioned film.” She dragged me into the room. “I’m not currently processing so you don’t have to leave your phone.”

I followed her to the row of photographs left drying on a line.

“Look at these, Jackson. They’re amazing, aren’t they?”

She was not exaggerating. The photos hanging on the line were nothing short of spectacular. There was no other word to describe what was before me.

“I want these for the campaign.” There was no asking, no false accolades at how beautiful they were. I knew the minute I set eyes on them, I needed them. Untouched. Perfect.

“I’ll add them to the portfolio.” She was direct, no games or scheming, hoping to cash in on her talent. “Doesn’t your own photographer have the equipment to do this?”

I remained silent.

“Does he work out of your office, or does he have his own studio?” She turned to face me like I should know the answer to these questions.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “I hired him based on his references and his portfolio. He had some really great work in them. Nothing like what I am seeing here, though. Shit, if I had seen these before his, I definitely would had thought the guy an amateur.”

I didn’t want to diss my own photographer, but his work was nothing compared to Angelic’s.

“I know I gave him a budget for equipment and an office. I guess that means he works out of my building.” I knew I sounded like I had no clue. Which I didn’t.

“That’s ok,” she laughed, “we can cover that on Wednesday. Can you send me a copy of the mock ups. I would like to know what your vision is for this campaign. Just for reference. I don’t want to waste my time sorting photos that don’t fit the image you want to project.”

I stood behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist. “I definitely wanted to see the photos of that beautiful sunset you took from the lighthouse.” I brushed my lip across her exposed neck. She shivered in my arms.

She was not any more immune to the chemistry between us than I was.

Good, this fit into my plan perfectly. The plan to have me waking up with her wrapped in my arms everyday.

“That was a beautiful sunset,” she sighed, as if she remembered what else happened that night.

The night I found my long lost Angel.

My phone went off, disrupting the moment. It was nice simply holding Angelic, remembering the weekend. It was the first step to getting her to understand we belonged together.

I pulled out the phone and thumbed through the text. It was Anita, my right hand gal.

I responded to her text. “I really should call her,” I explained. I was expecting Anita to chew me out for not showing up this morning. The ironic thing about being the boss was that you should be able to take a fluff day. Except when you were the boss, people depend on you. People who expect you to show up and do your job.

“Anita wanted to know if I planned on coming in today. Word is out that my agency is doing the PR for Richard’s Van de Graaf’s new venture. Apparently, I’m in demand all of a sudden.” I waited for her reaction.

Would she ask me to stay, or would she insist I go and leave things hanging between us?

“This is a great opportunity for your agency. This is what you were hoping for, wasn’t it? Your own independence away from your father’s influence.” She sounded sad. Did she think I was not going to need her now that my agency was a success?

I needed her more.

But not until we had no more secrets between us.

“Angel, I had been meaning to ask you about your tattoo. The one that’s hiding a scar.” I wasn’t sure if there was ever going to be the right time to ask.

“I was waiting for that. It was too easy to believe that you hadn’t noticed.”

The stiffness of her posture told me this was going to be another one of those hard luck stories. How much shit did my Angel have to go through in her short life?

While I was out partying, getting drunk, getting laid, complaining about my shit life, she was actually living a shit life.

I felt guilty even asking about it. How could I possibly think I could understand the complications of her world? How could I think I could take away her pain and make it all better by telling her I loved her?

Was my love enough?