TWENTY-EIGHT
JACE
At almost thirty goddamn years old, I’ve learned what to expect from people so that I don’t get shit on.
I was taught early on not to expect a thing from my father. When the inheritance that started my business came in, a shock to me, it was nearly a decade too late to help my mum.
I expected that my instructors at Middlesex would write me off, so I’d applied myself more than I ever have in my entire life.
I even anticipated Michaela. I figured she’d get pissed at me, that she’d threaten to share a design I was working on with a national chain, so I fired her before that ever happened.
Up until this morning, I thought I was good at knowing what to expect, at reading the people around me.
Then Lucy had shit all over that belief.
My muscles tightening, I clench my teeth and stare across my desk at my attorney. “What the fuck do we do?”
Hannah sneers at me. It makes this situation worse. I’m about to toss buckets of money at her, and she’s staring at me like I posted the fucking photo. “For starters, you fire the bitch who made this mess and—”
“Don’t call her that,” I growl. The attorney’s shitty expression deepens, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I’m furious at myself for sticking up for Lucy. For trusting her. I don’t want my lawyer reminding me of what a pussy I am for falling for big hazel eyes and that willingness that had driven me mad with need. I scrub my palm over my face. “I’ll handle Williams, you just handle this.”
Uncrossing her long legs, Hannah stands and grabs her briefcase. “You know I will, Jace. For now, I don’t want you talking to anyone. And I want that bi”—I stare her down, making her swallow hard—“to keep quiet too. My assistant’s already working on the paperwork, so I’ll be in touch in an hour or two.”
“Good, make sure that it’s quick.”
She hurries to the door, her dark hair bouncing behind her. “I will, I swear. Look, I know Bailon. I’ve dealt with him numerous times, and I know how to get through to him. This will all be taken care of,” she says. “Just make sure you get rid of that woman so I can begin to appease him.”
“I will,” I say. It shouldn’t sting my chest to make that promise, but it does.
Lucy has fucked me.
She’s fucked me into feeling the kind of hurt I haven’t experienced in years.
As Hannah starts out the door, she pauses in the walkway. The vicious sneer returns to her face as she stares at something. I’ve got an idea of what that is, and my body stiffens. “You’re lucky he doesn’t sue the shit out of you,” she mutters before taking off down the hall, the sound of her heels clicking on the concrete floor. It competes with the awful thud of my heart. I don’t want to see Lucy. Don’t want to voice how she’s fucked everything.
I don’t want to let her go, but I’m going to because I can’t trust her.
It takes a few moments, but she finally steps into the doorway. She’s wearing those red pants she had on that first night at B’s and the same red lipstick. Her gaze is lowered to the edge of my desk, but she looks up when I make a sound. Meeting my bitter stare, she flinches. So do I. Because the wide fear in her hazel eyes is the opposite of the sleepy grin she gave me right before she fell asleep last night.
“Sit down,” I order, needing to get this over with.
She nods, trembling from head to toe as she slides into the chair across from mine. Watching her, listening to her shallow breaths, makes me realize that Lucy Williams has failed to meet another of my expectations. I’d expected that, when the time came, letting her go would be easy. Simple as fuck. But it’s not because I care about her.
She’ll be that reminder for me. When I say that I don’t do attachments in the future, I’ll think of her.
“Jace,” she starts, but I thin my lips and shake my head.
“Save it, Lucy. You're fired.”
“What?” she breathes.
Fisting my hands on my desk, I repeat myself, this time slowly, enunciating each word, so she gets the point. “You. Are. Fucking. Fired.”
She folds her arms over her stomach and sways forward. Fuck, even I feel like I’m going to be sick. I’ve not vomited since before I was the legal drinking age, but when I swallow, I taste bile. “Are you at least going to give me a chance to explain myself?” she demands. She sounds close to tears, and I don’t think I’ll be able to deal with them.
I’ve always hated when women cry. And Lucy—no matter how much her actions have ruined me—will make me regret what I’m doing the second tears fall.
If it saves my business, maybe it’s worth it.
I try to convince myself of that as I shove away from my desk and stalk around to her. I bend until our faces are close. “There's nothing to explain! I don't have a lot of rules. All I ask is for my employees to work hard and respect my clients’ privacy. You didn't do that, and now we’re all about to pay the price, Ms. Williams. You fucked me over because you just didn’t give a shit.”
“I'm so sorry, Jace.” She shakes her head defensively, her lips moving as if she’s searching for something more to say. I don’t want to hear any more. Don’t think I can. So I’m relieved when the words don’t come to her.
I lean back, narrowing my gaze at her. “Don't fucking apologize. I just want you to leave. I've got a goddamn nightmare on my hands, and I can't have the woman who took the photo here when B shows up ready to take everything I’ve worked so hard for.”
The pain in the back of my throat? It gets worse with every word I speak to her.
“What if I explain myself? What if I told him that I didn't mean to? What if…” Her voice trails off. She has so many what ifs, but it doesn’t mean anything when there’s only one that would matter. What if I hadn’t taken that picture?
“Do you think Bailon cares? Do you think he gives a damn that you didn't mean to post that photo so that whichever of your wonderful friends could share it with the world?” I jam my hands into the front pockets of my jeans and turn away from her before I can issue the blow I know will make her go so I can get my head right to fix this. “Do you think I care?”
“Yes,” she whispers brokenly, and something bitter gnaws at my insides. “I mean, I hope you care. We…” She buries her face in her hands, letting out a soft sob.
I shouldn’t want to touch her when I hear that sound, but I do.
Fucking Lucy.
Fucking weakness.
“There’s no we, love,” I state. “What you did put my company in harm’s way. It put the other people who work for me in harm’s way. Those people out there”—I jab a finger in the direction of the workshop—“they’re like my family, and you didn't give a damn about them, so that's why I can't and won’t do this.”
When I tell her this, she stands. Her face is red, chest is rising and falling rapidly, but she still takes a step towards me.
I lift a hand and close my eyes. “I don’t want to touch you, Lucy. I can’t be near you.” Dragging a hand through my hair, I set my face in a harsh line. “Just … go.”
Silent tears trickle down her cheeks, but she bobs her head. “I really am sorry, Jace,” she murmurs between gasps.
I let her leave without so much as another word.