Chapter Thirty–Five
Alone Again, Naturally
Jordan Lovett did not understand why, over a week since that disastrous weekend, he kept thinking that he saw her. Waiting in line at the cafeteria. Standing out with the smokers over by the store. Dancing at the overly loud night club he’d gone to hoping to distract himself. He kept hearing her voice nearby, a soft sound on the edge of his hearing. And he kept hoping it would turn out to actually be her, magically appearing before him so he could make it all better. But what would he say? “I know you were desperate, please let me help you.” Stupid wishful thinking.
She didn’t want his help. If she wanted his help, all she had to was ask. Clearly everything about her was an act with the goal of stealing from his family. He didn’t even know what she wanted. Lauren thought she was after the jewelry. George figured she was hoping to find the company check book. For all Jordan knew, she was just searching the drawers of the desk for spare change.
Lying alone in the darkness of his downtown apartment, he could almost make excuses for her. She must have had a rough life. Working as an escort—that must have a decision made in pure desperation. The idea of her going back to it, taking off her clothes for the likes of Buddy, well, that was enough to make him feel physically ill.
All of which went to prove the woman he thought he knew wasn’t who she was at all. Charlotte Jones wasn’t even her real name, he’d phoned every single one in the phone book.
Clearly, he was a total idiot.
Better not to think about her at all. He threw himself into work instead, happy he was making headway on that front at least. It helped that his emotional reservoirs were drained. The truth was, he needed to use his management team more and stop the reliance on himself. Every person in the company wanted his eyes on their project. He wished he could be involved in everything. But he couldn’t, he was spreading himself too thin and he was going to have to make some changes. He focused on maximum efficiency and firm decisions. Maybe George was right, he spent too much time thinking and not enough time doing. Maybe he’d been too soft-hearted. But not anymore.
The other truth was he didn’t dare allow himself any free time. Not while Charlotte was still haunting his dreams. When he allowed his mind to wander, he’d remember her hair falling in her face again, and he’d come undone. He’d dropped his morning run. He couldn’t go out without remembering the way she kept running that morning, even though she was clearly falling over with exhaustion. She never gave in, never gave up. He just couldn’t believe she was nothing but a common thief, looking to take what she could get. But then he remembered her reaction to his proposal. She was horrified.
He kept himself busy rather than experiencing the shock of her betrayal over and over again.
He looked at his inbox and started working through them, writing curt responses to everyone who needed them. Usually he tried to add in a positive line at the end, encouraging people to push their limits and look for new solutions, a rallying of team spirit. But he had no time for motivational words lately. No energy left for making people feel the company appreciated them. Maybe his dad was right all along and this was where all businessmen ended up.
He bet they hadn’t all fallen for someone as amazing as Charlotte. Not that he’d fallen for her. No, it was just a few stupid days, a fling, and now he was swooning like a moonstruck teenager over a woman who did not give a damn about him.
She hadn’t even tried to explain, not that there was anything she could possibly say to make it better. Not that there was any chance that he’d listen. He’d never let her, or anyone else, get their claws into him like that again. The phone buzzed, interrupting his thoughts. “Buddy here to see you,” said his assistant.
Buddy barged in before he could say he was busy. “Hey big guy, hello! Looking good...” Buddy paused. “Actually know, you look like shit.” He pulled up a chair and sat down heavily into it. “What’s up? You saw the financials and we’ll be bust within a week?”
Jordan rolled his eyes and shook his head, no. He didn’t want to encourage the man.
“Hungover? No. Girl trouble?” Buddy crowed with success. “That’s it, isn’t it! Oh kiddo, you didn’t see Lauren again, did you?”
“Christ, Buddy. No. I mean yes, I saw her, but that’s not my problem.”
“Huh. You gotta get her out of your mind.” He pulled out his phone, started tapping at it. “How about I get you that number I promised you. You will LOVE this girl, I’m telling you.”
“I don’t need a girl,” snapped Jordan. “Especially not another escort.”
“Another escort? Oh boy, you dog! Go on, tell your Uncle Buddy everything.”
“There’s nothing to tell!” He tried to change the subject. “What do you mean, that number you promised me?”
“Cherise! I told you about her last week. She is the bomb. Beautiful, flexible. She can do things to that pole you can’t—”
Jordan thumped a fist on the desk, anything to shut him up. “Yes, Cherise, Charlotte, whatever her name is. Thanks a lot for that.”
“Who?”
“That woman you sent in. She’s calling herself Charlotte these days.”
“I didn’t send Cherise anywhere. You want me to?” Buddy looked baffled and then frustrated as he waved the phone under Jordan’s nose. “I’m not a mind reader, kid. You want to meet the girl, or what?”
“Or what,” said Jordan, shaking his head. “Wait. You got a picture of her?” It was stupid to ask but even after all this, he still wanted to see her. Maybe seeing her on Buddy’s phone would stop his longing, remind him of her guilty expression the day he caught her pilfering through the office.
“Sure I do.” He swiped at his phone then held out a photograph of a short woman wearing a French maid’s outfit, all pouty lips and quivering cleavage.
“That’s not Charlotte.”
“No, Jordan, it’s Cherise.” He peered at him. “Have you been drinking? Who the hell is Charlotte?”
“That’s a good question.” He stared at the photograph. The one thing he thought he knew about her was wrong. He laid his hands flat on the desk to keep them from shaking. “Buddy, did you need something? I got things to do.”
“Right, sorry, sure. I can see you are distracted. I just wanted to know if we could invite the Bouncing Babes to the Christmas party. Variety act. Seven pretty girls with only about seven inches of fabric between them.”
“Sure, whatever.” He waved him away. Charlotte was not Cherise.
Buddy stood up. “We can? Great!” He bounded out the door and then stopped and glanced back. “You sure about that?”
Jordan blinked, replaying the conversation in his head. “What did you say? Seven inches of fabric? No, of course not! Get an Elvis Impersonator or an 80’s cover band or something. Buddy, don’t mess with me.”
“Someone needs to make sure you are paying attention,” chortled Buddy. “I’ll sort something out, I promise.” He held up a hand, stopping Jordan from protesting more. “I’ll make sure it’s suitably PC and boring, don’t you worry. Who woulda thought?” He was still laughing as he disappeared down the corridor.
Jordan wasn’t laughing. Charlotte wasn’t Cherise.
He replayed the conversations with her in his mind. Did she say she was an escort? No. She just said she was there about the job. What job? Who the hell was she? And what the hell did she want in his father’s office?
Jordan didn’t know, but his grief had turned back to anger. Whoever the hell she was, he was going to find out.