“That’s just how Deacon talks,” he murmured.
She shook her head. “No, that’s how a mob boss talks. Do you actually want to be like that man?”
Jordan lifted his chin. “In some respects, yes. He put his own blood, sweat, and tears into making Deacon CrossFit the most profitable fitness chain in the state. And when I was nothing, he taught me how to be the best.”
Anger surged through her veins. “Don’t you see? You were never nothing! Skinny or ripped, that doesn’t define who you are.”
He glanced away. “It does to me.”
Those four words cut like a dagger to her heart.
“Then you really are a ten, Jordan Marks,” she shot back.
He met her gaze full-on. “Whatever made you think I wasn’t, Georgiana?”
She stared into his cold eyes and bristled at his stony exterior. Who the hell was this? It certainly wasn’t the man who’d just bid a grand on her. And it most definitely wasn’t the man who’d made love to her and kissed her every night until she fell asleep in his arms.
A loud crash from behind caught her attention, and she whirled around to find Barry standing in the same spot she’d occupied when she’d overheard Jordan’s conversation with Deacon.
The man opened and closed his mouth like a confused flounder. “Um, Georgie, Hector and Bobby wanted me to get your reaction to Jordan making the winning bid, but…”
But Jordan had reclaimed his title of the Emperor of Asshattery.
She glanced at the man she’d sworn she was falling in love with, then turned to Barry and schooled her features. “Here’s a reaction. I’m leaving, and I never want to see Jordan Marks ever again.”
12
Georgie
“You haven’t heard from him?”
Georgie set down a stack of books, then wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. “No, Becca, and that’s the way I want it. I’m fine. I’m totally fine.”
Her trifecta nodded. Yep, totally fine. Could not be finer. The finest of the fine.
Becca crossed her arms and leaned against the counter. “You’ve been carrying around that same stack of books and muttering to yourself all afternoon. I don’t know if that constitutes as being fine?”
Georgie stared at the books. “I just want to find the right spot for them,” she said as Mr. Tuesday came to her side and whimpered.
“You’re even freaking out your dog,” Becca added with a sympathetic grin.
Georgie scratched between her sweet pup’s ears. Ironically, today marked eight days since she stormed out of the gala. Eight days since she’d had the taxi that she’d hailed to whisk her away stop at the market so she could buy the largest tube of vegan cookie dough they make. And eight days since she’d even glanced at her blog or anything online.
If somebody was owning the eights, it certainly wasn’t her.
She glanced at her watch, then patted Mr. Tuesday’s head. “I think it’s time for our run, boy.”
Mr. Tuesday perked up and scampered around her legs.
Becca pursed her lips. “Are you sure you want to do that 10K?”
Georgie blew out a weary breath. “Yes, I’m signed up, and it’s the last official CityBeat event. They can crown the Dannies or Jordan, and then I can be done with it all.”
“But you’re not that far—”
“No, no, no!” Georgie said, cutting off her friend. “I told you. I don’t want to know anything about the score or the blogs. I just want it to be over.”
“Whatever you say, boss,” Becca replied with a mock salute.
Georgie switched out of her Birkenstocks and into her running shoes, then grabbed Mr. Tuesday’s leash and carefully fastened it to his collar. She’d started running the day after the gala. Determination or bullheadedness, or maybe it was her stupid longing to have some little piece of Jordan, she’d decided she’d take the time before the race to train and improve her stamina. It wasn’t pretty. A lovely elderly woman using a walker passed her on her run yesterday, but it didn’t matter. She may be the slowest runner on the planet, but she’d finish that damn race on her own.
She pulled her hair into a ponytail and turned to her friend. “I’m going to try and run all six point two miles today. Are you good to hold down the fort for a little while?”
“A little while? Georgie, I went on a run with you two days ago. You run a twenty-two-minute mile.”
Georgie frowned. “Is that bad?”
Becca shook her head. “Not if you’re a turtle.”
“Well, it’s almost the end of June. I’ll try to be back before Thanksgiving. How does that sound?” she asked, opening the door.
Becca chuckled. “I’ll be sure to save you some turkey.”
Georgie left her bookshop and inhaled the fresh air. It was a gorgeous Colorado day with the majestic mountains to the west and the Tennyson business district bustling with friends and families out perusing the shops and eateries. She and Mr. Tuesday, who had no qualms with her running speed, thank you very much, headed toward the park.
She’d never admit it to Becca or Irene, but she’d picked this time on purpose. She knew Jordan’s schedule and made sure to take her runs when he was training a client at Deacon CrossFit. And she didn’t dare run past the gym for two good reasons.
One, if she ran into Deacon, she might punch the arrogant asshat square in his meathead mouth. And two, as much as she’d like to say that she carried the same vitriol for Jordan, she didn’t. In fact, instead of forgetting the sole resident of Asshattery, she missed him more each day.
And here’s what really stung. She had no one to blame but herself for her broken heart. She’d abandoned her Own the Eights principles, and in the throes of the crazy Battle of the Blogs competition, she’d lost her bearings and allowed her attraction to Jordan to knock her off course.
But one thing still remained. Bills. Many, many past-due bills.
She pushed the thought aside and continued down the street when a car honked a few sharp beeps, then pulled up alongside her.
Jeez! She might be slow, but it wasn’t like she was holding up traffic! She was on the sidewalk, for Pete’s sake!
She glanced over just as the back seat’s dark tinted window rolled down.
“Georgiana! Pumpkin!”
Not even Michael Bolton could save her from the judgmental eye of Lorraine Vanderdinkle.
“What is it, Mom?” she asked, trying to speed up.
Oh, who was she kidding? This was her maximum pace.
“I’d like to speak to my daughter. I’ve sent you several emails, pumpkin.”
“I’m not doing emails right now.”
“Isn’t that all your generation does? Eyes glued to a smartphone,” her mother replied.
“I’m taking a break.”
“To take up power walking?”
“I’m running, Mom.”
“Pumpkin, that’s not running.”
She glanced at the car. “I could sprint. There’s a bakery not far from here, and we both know my legs can really move when they’re headed toward a doughnut shop.”
A chorus of honks broke out behind the town car and her mother shook her head.
“Mrs. Vanderdinkle, would you like me to pull over? We’re holding up traffic,” came the measured voice of her driver.
“Georgiana! Will you please stop power walking so we can have a civilized conversation? I don’t appreciate having to holler out of a car window.”
A stream of angry Denverites edged up the road behind her mother’s car, and Georgie gestured to a cluster of benches on the periphery of the park. “Okay. Take the next right. We can sit over there and talk.”
Why couldn’t her mother just spend the summer in the Mediterranean or the Maldives or anywhere with a Chanel within a ten-mile radius?
“Well, isn’t this nice,” Lorraine said, spreading a Hermes scarf on the bench before taking a seat.
Georgie hooked Mr. Tuesday’s leash to the arm of the bench, then
glanced at her mother.
“What’s going on, Mom?”
The socialite folded her hands in her lap. “You haven’t posted in days. I was starting to get worried.”
Georgie stared at the least computer literate human on the planet. “Are you talking about my blog? The blog you can’t even remember the name of?”
Her mother sat back and dusted imaginary crumbs off her linen pants. “You know he’d be proud of you.”
Jesus! She wasn’t ready for that. Her parents had divorced when she was young, and she’d grown up knowing two very different lives. One of opulence and wealth with her mother after she’d remarried Howard and one of cozy simplicity when she’d spend the non-pageant weekends with her literature-loving mechanic father. The father, who, on one beautiful summer day, much like today, had pulled over to help a family having car trouble, only to be killed instantly by a distracted driver.
Georgie stared at a point beyond her mother’s shoulder. “Why would you say that?”
Her mother’s features softened. “The bookstore, pumpkin. You were always your father’s daughter. I knew our pageant days were close to being over when I’d find you in the event center bathrooms, hiding in a stall with your nose in one of the books your father left you.”
Georgie frowned. “What are you talking about? All his books were donated to the public library.”
Her mother shook her head. “Not all of them.”
“What do you mean?”
“Pumpkin, after your father died, I brought you that box of books he’d left you. After that, I could barely get you to practice your runway walk, let alone try and improve your poise. Even now, good gracious! Shoulders back, Georgiana. A lady doesn’t have to sit like a troll.”
Georgie sat back, completely stunned. “Hold on. That wrapped box of books, the one with Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice, and the Harry Potter Series. Those were from Dad?”
“I thought I told you,” her mother replied, looking genuinely confused.
Georgie thought back to that awful day. “No, I figured…I don’t know what I figured. I just thought that you’d got them from somewhere to try and cheer me up.”
“You thought I’d try and cheer you up with books?” her mother asked with a coy smile. “Your father passed away a week before your birthday. Those books were his gift to you.”
“Those books have become really important to me over the years,” she said, envisioning her trifecta, her confidants. Sure, they weren’t real, but they’d become a guiding force in her life. The voice of reason, always cheering her on.
Had her father known this? Had he hoped that the heroines in these novels would inspire her to be her own woman? Did some benevolent twist of fate send her those books, days after his death, at the exact moment she needed the steadying hand and the reassurance her father had always provided?
Her mother smiled. “I’m sure that would make your father very happy. You two shared so many common interests. I tried to find something for us with pageants, but well, you turned out to be a bigger fan of doughnuts and Dostoyevsky. Did I say that correctly?”
Georgie nodded. “Yeah, you pronounced it perfectly.”
A gentle breeze picked up, and silence stretched between the women.
“You know, I did love your father very much when we were younger. I was completely crazy for him back in high school. He was everything in our tiny town—handsome and smart,” her mom said with a faraway look in her eyes.
Her mother rarely discussed her father, and Georgie quickly decided to take this rare opening to ask a question she’d been mulling over for years.
“I never understood what happened between you two. It wasn’t like you guys fought or were cruel to one another, at least, not in front of me,” she said, watching her mother closely and saw her not as the socialite caricature she’d pegged her as, but a woman, as complex and as nuanced as any other.
They’d always talked at each other. Today, they were actually talking to each other.
Her mother sat back and folded her hands in her lap. “We were so young, and we didn’t know ourselves, not yet. And then you came along. You were such a beautiful baby. We killed it in the baby pageants.”
Georgie cocked her head to the side and bit back a smile.
“You don’t remember, but we did,” her mother said with a sly grin before her expression grew pensive. “Your father and I had a different view of what we wanted our lives to look like. He was content with his books and fixing cars, and I had always dreamed about traveling and living well. Sometimes, two people can love each other but still not be right for each other.”
Love each other but still not be right for each other.
Her mother must have caught wind about the blowout at the gala.
Georgie fiddled with the hem of her running shorts. She hadn’t gotten online, so she had no idea how much of the exchange Barry had caught on camera, except for the part when she’d turned to him and spouted out how she never wanted to see Jordan again. She’d spoken those harsh words straight into his camera.
Did the whole world know of her humiliation? She’d told Becca and Irene she didn’t want any information about the blog or the contest, but surely, they would have made her listen if she were the laughingstock of the internet.
She stared at the ground. “Is that why you’re here? You want me to understand that Jordan and I are too different to ever be happy together?”
Her mother laughed her million-dollar tinkling trill. “No, I’m here because I think that you and Jordan Marks love each other.”
Wait, what?
Georgie’s jaw dropped. “Why would you say that? You met him once, and we hadn’t told anyone about us.”
A knowing look sparked in her mother’s eyes. “The ladies in my Pilates class are following your blog contest. They showed me the video of your recent foray into aqua adventure pageants.”
Georgie’s brow knit together. Aqua adventure pageants? Then it hit her. “Oh sh—” she half cursed, but her mother raised a hand.
“No, profanity, pumpkin!”
Georgie could feel the hot blush creeping up her neck. “Mom, if I even thought for a second that you were reading my blog and would see that footage, I would have warned you.”
“Warned me? Why would you have done that?” she asked.
Georgie cringed. “Because it was a wet T-shirt contest at a bar that got broadcast across the globe.”
Her mother waved her off. “No, no! I was actually quite pleased to see you on the stage. Your foot placement was perfect. Your makeup was spot on. Minus the fact that your breasts were on display, your posture rivaled that of a Russian ballerina. I don’t know if I’ve ever been prouder.”
Georgie continued to scan the ground, searching for a sinkhole to swallow her up and save her from this conversation. But the earth didn’t move. Thanks a lot, planet!
Georgie sighed. “What would make you think that Jordan and I love each other?”
Her mother’s coy expression was back. “That wasn’t the only video I watched. You helped that man hold a goat, and then he was there to catch you when you fell off that stage,” she added.
Georgie shook her head. “None of that matters now.”
“And then, there was the gala video,” her mother said, pressing on in true Lorraine Vanderdinkle fashion. “Those two men bidding on you! It was thrilling. And the look on Jordan’s face. Pumpkin, that man cares for you deeply.”
Georgie tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “I thought so, too. But I was wrong.”
“Well, the whole CityBeat website is buzzing about the two of you. Neither of you have posted anything since that day. And the last video was a snippet of you saying you never wanted to see Jordan again. Everyone wants to know what happened.”
What happened? Her world came crashing down around her in the space of two minutes. That’s what happened.
She met her mother’s gaze. “I overheard a conversation where Jordan had
the chance to let someone very important to him know that he cared for me, and he failed.” She shook her head. “No, not just failed. He sold me out. All the things he’d said, like how he cared for me and how he wanted to be with me, they were all lies. He only cares for himself.”
Her mother leaned in. “You didn’t see his face after you turned away from him.”
“Mom, I don’t want to know—”
“We’re not always the best version of ourselves,” her mother said, cutting her off. “I tried to make you into something you weren’t. I dragged you to pageants all over the country. And for years, you indulged me when I should have been taking you to the library or wherever book people go. At the time, I did what I thought was best for us, but I wasn’t thinking about us. I was thinking about myself, thinking about how I didn’t want to end up like my mother, scrubbing floors and cleaning houses. I wanted you to have the life of a princess, and that clouded my ability to take into account what you wanted.”
Looking at her mother, you’d never know that she’d come from nothing. And then she thought of Jordan and that drawer filled with straws.
“I’m proud of who you are, Georgiana,” her mother continued, breaking into her thoughts.
Georgie shook her head. “You don’t have to say that, Mom.”
“Why not? I’m proud of the woman you’ve become. I read all your blog posts. And while I may beg to differ on your view of minimal makeup use because a woman always needs to have her lips and eyes accentuated. I did read all the comments. You’ve helped many people, pumpkin.”
“Then you get it,” she said, holding her mother’s gaze.
Her mother nodded. “I understand that you value character.”
“I do.”
“And kindness.”
“Yes.”
“And integrity.”
“Absolutely.”
Her mother paused. “What about forgiveness? Could you forgive me for all the pageant years?”
This threw her for a loop. “Of course, Mom,” she answered.
Her mother patted her hand. “Sometimes, we make the wrong choice. That doesn’t always mean we care any less. Has he tried to contact you?”
Own the Eights: Own the Eights: Book One Page 17