We check into the upscale Ocean View Hotel. It’s chic. The concierge informs us that we both have rooms on the fifteenth floor—right next to each other. Thoughts of how close he’ll be float through my mind. I enter my room and the sheer beauty of it takes my breath away. There’s a four-poster king size bed that faces the ocean. It’s adorned with a fluffy white down comforter and luxurious soft blue linens. However, nothing is as beautiful as the wall of windows that opens to a balcony overlooking the waves. I put my bags down and explore the rest of the room. The bathroom is contemporary but still has the beach feel to it with blue and white accents that match the bedroom area. A huge two-person shower all done in marble is on the left, and in front of it is a square white soaker tub. Everything about this hotel is picture-perfect.
The sound of the hotel phone startles me. I rush over, picking up the receiver.
“Hello,” I say, a little breathless.
Jackson’s rough voice meets my ear. “Hey, I know we were going to leave right away, but I had something come up at the office that I need to handle.” He sounds frustrated. I picture him pacing the room and rubbing his hands over his face.
“Sure, that’s fine. Take as long as you need.”
“Shouldn’t be more than two hours. Sorry, but I have to go,” he says quickly and hangs up.
I flop onto the king size bed in my beautiful hotel room and stare at the ceiling. I’m dead tired, even after my nap. It’s only 2 p.m. but I feel like it’s 2 a.m. Jackson exhausts me—hell, my life exhausts me. Instead of taking yet another nap, I decide to take this time and call my mother. I’m still beyond pissed that she left a voicemail, but she’s all I have left and I need some answers.
I dial her number and press the send button. After two quick rings, I hear her voice come through the line.
“Oh Cat. Hi, honey.” She sounds so happy to hear from me.
“Mom.” My reply is clipped and full of sadness. I’m trying to control my emotions.
She huffs. “You got my message, I assume.”
“Yes, Mom, it was wonderful hearing that on a voicemail.” I roll my eyes even though she can’t see it. I need to keep calm. I walk over to the balcony overlooking the ocean and stare out at the horizon.
“Catherine, what was I supposed to do? Huh?” she asks and takes a deep breath. “You don’t answer your phone. You don’t call me back. I do the best I can with your attitude toward me. If you answered your damn phone, I wouldn’t have to leave you messages.” She sounds exasperated. I don’t have an answer to that. Talking to her usually ends with one of us upset. We both argue and fight, and most of the time it’s about something I’m doing wrong—according to her.
I’ve always felt second best to my mother. Either I wasn’t smart enough, didn’t try hard enough, or was too much like him. She would cry at night about how I was a constant reminder of my father. My father and I were pretty much identical, so I can understand how looking at me was difficult, but it was even harder having her push me away. The pain of having both parents walk out that day—one physically and one figuratively—was excruciating. I lost every idea I coveted about what my family was like the day he packed and left. He took more than just his belongings with him—he took my childhood. All I’ve wanted was for her to see me without seeing my father.
I let out a deep sigh. “Really, Mom? A voicemail? Why didn’t you call Taylor?” I’m trying to restrain my voice, but I’m growing more and more agitated with her.
“I shouldn’t have to call your damn secretary!” she yells. Then her voice softens. “I’m still your mother. I don’t know why you hate me. You never think of anyone but yourself. I wish just once you cared about what I’m going through.”
I choke back the emotion bubbling up. Once again she makes me feel stupid, as though I’ve done something wrong. I know she means well, but her execution leaves a lot to be desired. “I don’t hate you. God. I love you and I don’t want to fight. I’ve been really busy with work. That’s why I haven’t called.” And it hurts too much.
“Too busy to call me back? Ten times I called!” She gets frustrated again. This is her thing: she gives me guilt trips and somehow I come out feeling inadequate. She hasn’t yet asked me how I’m doing or if I’m okay.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I will try to do better about calling.” I soften my voice, knowing we’re getting nowhere. I decide to get the answers I need. “So what information did you get from the lawyer?”
“I got a letter stating you’re named in his will and you need to call them. I don’t know much more than he died last week. Alone.” She lets out a puff of air and quickly sucks in another breath as if she’s upset. “I’m so sorry, baby girl.” She starts sobbing.
“I don’t understand why you’re crying,” I say in an even tone, feeling betrayed by her reaction. “Why are you upset? He left us and never looked back. He didn’t love us, Mom. At least now I know he won’t come around because he’s dead and not just because he doesn’t want to.”
She cries harder. I’m shaking, trying to wrap my mind around this.
“Catherine, I loved him! I had a child with him.”
I understand loving a man who doesn’t love you back—hell, I know it all too well. I can’t fully understand since I never had a child with Neil—thank God for that. But for once I want her to put me before my father. Sure, at some point he was a good dad, but I barely remember that because the bad memories far outweigh any good ones. There’s a small part of me that understands that once you love someone there is a piece of your heart that is always theirs. But doesn’t the hurt and pain that he put us through for twenty years negate that love? Don’t the months where we ate macaroni and cheese every night because it’s all she could afford due to his disappearance and lack of child support dampen that? My head and heart can’t find common ground with her reaction. I’m angry over his death more than anything. I will never get answers. I won’t know why he did these things. Did he feel remorse? Did he think about me and wonder who I became?
My blood boils as my chest tightens. “Yes, and then he left!” I remind her as the anger takes hold of me.
“He was a good father—”
All the air is pushed out of my lungs as if I’ve been punched in the gut. Of all the things she could say—to side with him is more hurtful than anything. “Are you kidding me?” I shriek. This is insane.
“Catherine Grace Pope, you do not get to yell at me! I don’t give a shit how old you are.”
“Mom—”
“Don’t you Mom me. He was my husband. Yes, he left, but I made vows with him. I loved him—very much. I know you don’t feel the same. I’ve never asked you to. But don’t you dare try to make me feel bad for being sad that someone I shared a part of myself with is dead.” She starts to hiccup-cry again. I know better than to try to speak. My hands tremble with rage as angry tears flow down my face. She composes herself and starts again. “He loved you. Maybe he didn’t know what to do or how to be a father after he left, but he did love you.”
Apparently she forgot all the nights I cried myself to sleep begging for him to come home. The days I sat at the top of the steps with a bag, hoping he was going to come get me for the weekend. The thousands of times I would ask if Daddy was going to call or come back. Every birthday when I would cry because I would wish for him and he’d never show. Tears fall relentlessly as anguish slices through my heart.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mom.” I take deep breath. “I wasn’t enough. I have to go.” I press end, disconnecting the call, and throw the phone on the bed. I won’t listen to her tell me he loved me. If I stayed on the phone, we would’ve fought more and I can’t handle any more of it today.
The anger evaporates and all I’m left with is nothingness. Numb. All I feel is complete numbness. I’m not angry anymore, or sad. I couldn’t give a shit less about anything regarding my mother or father. I open the balcony door and sit out there, enjoying the solitude. There’s something about the ocean that’s soothing. I hear my phone ring a few times, but there’s no way I’m getting up. I’m enjoying this small sliver of peace. The smell of the salty air, the sounds of birds and the waves crashing, and the caress of the gentle breeze overwhelm my senses. Focusing on them, I melt into the lounge chair and just breathe. Time passes and I’m content and restful.
“Well, this explains why you aren’t answering my calls or the door.” I leap out of my seat at the sound of an angry voice.
Jackson is standing on the balcony to my right, glaring at me. Trying to slow my rapid pulse, I place my hand over my heart. Short of breath from the rush of fear, I gasp and try to speak. “You scared the shit out of me.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. “I was worried. I had no idea if you left or were lost.” He opens his eyes, straining to maintain his temper. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but I didn’t know what to think.”
His concern warms my heart. I smile and shrug. “What if I was in the bathroom?”
“For an hour?” he questions in that raspy voice of his.
“An hour?” I ask, confused. I thought it was maybe twenty minutes.
“Yes. An hour of calling and then banging on your door. I came out to my balcony to see if maybe I could see you on the beach because I was starting to panic.” He shakes his head and runs his hands through his dark brown hair.
“I came out for some fresh air. I didn’t even hear the door. I’m sorry you were so worried.” I walk over to the edge of my balcony to get closer to him. “You should know, though, I’m not as fragile as you seem to think.” I smile, trying to reassure him.
Closing his eyes, he turns his head toward the ocean and mumbles to himself. Something about women being the death of him.
Using my diversionary tactics, I clear my throat to grab his attention. “Ready to go?”
He seems to collect himself and one side of his mouth quirks up. “Yeah, I’ll meet you right outside your door.”
“Okay. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
I head back in the room. Grabbing my phone, I look at the call list: eleven missed calls. Two are from my mother and the rest are from Jackson. No wonder he was pissed and worried. I check myself in the mirror and groan at my appearance. I look like a bus hit me. Knowing that he’s waiting and already irritated, I decide not to push my luck. I pinch my cheeks for some color and flip my hair a few times, trying to bring some life back to it.
As I open the door, I can’t stop the smile that forms at the sight of Jackson. He’s pacing with his hands clasped behind his head. When he hears my door shut, he looks over and walks toward me. Standing face-to-face, I tilt my head to look up and try to read his mood through his eyes. They give nothing away as he stares down at me. He shakes his head, letting out a short groan as he does so. I lift my eyebrow at the noise that escapes him and Jackson returns the gesture. Then we both start laughing at each other.
The moment of humor seems to have quelled our awkwardness. He puts his arm out in a gentlemanly way and I place my hand through it. He looks down, smiling as we walk and get on the elevator. “What am I going to do with you?”
“What the hell does that mean?” I ask, narrowing my eyes as I try to decipher what exactly his question is implying.
“Just what I asked.”
“Yes, but what kind of a question is that?” I drop my arm from his.
“Clearly there is something happening here.” He steps closer and I take a step back.
“Nothing is happening.” I straighten and take another step back, trying to put distance between us.
His jaw tics at my statement and he takes another step toward me. He’s hot and then cold—I can’t keep up. He kisses me—a soul-searing kiss—and then acts as though it was a mistake. Needing something to hold onto, I grip the hem of my dress. Jackson’s eyes snap down as I tug on the fabric and he grins.
“Catherine—” Before he can speak, the elevator door opens allowing me to get the hell out of here.
I don’t reply or acknowledge him as I practically run out of the elevator. This man manages to suck the air out of any space we share. He makes it difficult for me to focus on anything other than him. The intensity between us is crippling. I continue walking through the lobby and outside, heading over to a bench to sit. Think, Catherine! I need to be able to do my damn job.
He sits beside me, not saying a word. I need to tell him that this has to stop. He must have sensed my apprehension at some point, yet he continues to play whatever game this is. It’s my life he’s playing with. My job pays me way too much money to screw this up. I also refuse to go through another agonizing breakup—as if we’re even close to that. Ha! It’s too much. I have to maintain control. Yeah, like there’s a shot in hell that’s going to happen with a man like Jackson. Regardless, I’m going to attempt to keep it together.
I glance at him and my heart squeezes.
He returns my gaze as the car pulls up. “Let’s get to work,” he says as he stands and walks over to the car. This time he gets in the front seat.
Good. We need physical distance. We need to resume the roles of client and consultant. No matter how charming he is, no matter how handsome, he’s ultimately paying me to help his company. I need to honor that agreement.
We arrive at the production facility fifteen minutes later. I used our travel time to strengthen my resolve and plan how to get back to being the strong businesswoman I am rather than the girl who can’t control herself over some guy. Hell, I never acted like this with Neil. Half the fun with him was kicking his ass in the business world, not fawning and tripping over myself.
I open the door and smile at Jackson, wearing my business mask. This time he keeps his hands in his pockets.
“Welcome to Raven Cosmetics,” he says as I walk past him into the building.
“Thank you. I know our main objective is the successful release of the new line you have coming out. Will we get to see that today?”
“Yes. The older products are being handled for now. The new line is really what we want you to focus on.” It seems Jackson has also found his professional mask. Thank God! When he’s charming and flirtatious it makes it damn near impossible to keep my mind on task.
“Perfect. Can I ask why you brought in an outside company?” The more information I have, the better.
He looks away and stops in front of a door. “Do I look like I wear makeup?” he asks, dripping with sarcasm. My breath hitches at his sudden mood shift. Jackson has never been rude or nasty. It shocks me. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s been a real shitty day.” He inhales and begins to speak in an even tone. “I never had control over anything that happened with the cosmetic company. I honestly couldn’t tell you the first thing about what the hell went on here. So when—” He stops abruptly and looks up before continuing, “—the former CEO departed, I knew I needed help. That’s where you came in.” He turns and opens the door, holding it so I can pass through.
“I understand.” I nod and smile tightly as I walk past him. I stop and turn back, adding, “I’m glad you chose CJJ.”
“I chose you. Not CJJ.” He reaches for my hand and places it in the crook of his arm, holding it there. I stare at his beautiful eyes, biting my lower lip. “Now let me show you all the girly shit we make here.” He turns and pulls me through the hall.
Our tour lasts about two hours and I’m exhausted by the end. I’ve met all the people on the production team as well as a few people I’m sure I’ll speak to when I start to get more involved with each product. I have a million ideas floating around about things I want to focus on. I also have a huge bag of products to sample. Jackson was friendly, funny, and playful with his employees. The rapport he had with them was amazing. Just as impressive was how obvious it was that they love him. He knew almost every person’s name, which is rare in a lot of big companies nowadays. It’s clear that he views them as people and not just numbers. For someone who’s had little to do with the company, he’s either learned fast or has been more involved than he let on.
After the tour, both of us seem to relax into our appropriate roles. Throughout the car ride, we talk a lot about what he wants regarding the company’s growth and how he’ll be hands-on but ultimately knows nothing about this market or how to handle the press. The amount of free reign I have on this account has me feeling confident, even a little giddy.
Once we get off the elevator at our hotel, Jackson’s phone rings. He glances at the screen and grimaces. He looks at me, a frown marring his features as he takes the call. “Hi, Mark. Everything okay?” He makes a low grumbling noise in the back of his throat at whatever Mark is relaying on the phone. “Well, fix it!” he yells, clearly frustrated at the situation. “No, I don’t … fine. I’ll be in the office in twenty minutes. You better have Tom, Aaron, and Dean on standby. I’m not fucking around this time.” He disconnects the call and puts his phone in his pocket.
Looking over at me, he swallows and his shoulders drop. “I’m sorry, I have to go deal with this crap. I know we planned to go over some things at dinner, but …”
Wanting to relieve whatever turmoil he’s struggling with, and also understanding all too well the pressures of his position, I smile and place my hand on his arm. “No problem. I’m exhausted anyway. Today has been … overwhelming.”
His eyes look sad. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.” He gives me a small smile.
“No need, Jackson. Just go. What time is our meeting tomorrow?”
His eyes twinkle with mischief and his voice turns playful. “No meetings. I have other plans for us. Be ready by one o’clock.”
My eyes widen and I start to twist my hands as my heart races. Do I continue to fight this? There’s only one way this is going to end—badly—but I want to spend the day with him. I want to see if this is all my crazy imagination. I’m too tired to think anymore. I take a shaky breath and exhale. “Okay.” My brilliant plan to keep things strictly business just went out the door. I know I should spend tomorrow working or alone, but I can’t resist him.
“Good night, Catherine.” And with that, he turns and walks away.
Too late to change my mind now.