by Ivy Carter
“Yes, of course,” I say, even as I think to myself that it is all just a bunch of fluff. But I’m here and I’m being pleasant.
“So it’d be okay if we reached out to you about the mentorship?”
Shit, what did I just agree to? I have to squash this immediately. “Jules, I love the programs you’re working on. Very innovative, really preparing the future entrepreneurs of America. My schedule is very tight—I had to move several meetings around in order to attend today’s luncheon, which I’m happy to do.”
Jules smiles and holds up her hand. “Say no more. I’m sorry, I just get rolling when I talk about the fund. Still, if there’s someone at Croft International—a little lower down the food chain—who would like to be a mentor to some of our kids, we’d be happy to set that up.”
“Of course,” I say amicably.
Jules looks around the room—maybe for more conversation since I’m not helping her out. I can be good at this sort of cocktail-party talk, but once again I’m off my game.
“Oh, look,” Jules says, spotting someone in the crowd. “It’s Emily. You know Emily—obviously you know Emily.” She grins. “She’s the reason you’re here, after all.”
“Excuse me?” I say, taken aback by her blatant assumption.
“Emily is the one who talked you into donating in the first place,” Jules reminds me, her brow creasing. “You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for her.”
My eyes dart around the room, searching her out. I spot her across the room, talking pleasantly to two ladies.
“How could I forget Emily Brown?” I say, watching her. It’s almost as if she can feel my eyes on her. She turns slightly and our eyes meet. We both freeze for a moment. I can feel my heart picking up speed. It’s the first time I’ve seen her in so long, and the urge to plow my way through the room to reach her is real.
She’s every inch as beautiful as she was at dinner, and in my fantasies. The hunter green cocktail dress she wears makes her eyes glow, and the way her lips are parted as she watches me, makes me swallow hard.
“I should call her over,” Jules says, raising her hand to get Emily’s attention, but Emily is already looking away from us.
She glances down at the floor as her hair falls in her face. She’s so pretty but…then someone appears beside her.
Some guy. When he puts his arm around her waist she jumps slightly but seems to relax when she sees who it is. I feel my chest tightening and my stomach burning like it’s filling with acid.
He says something to her that makes her smile. If I’d taken a glass of wine or water I’d crush it in my hand right now.
Jules is still babbling. “…Emily has really been working hard in bringing in new donors like yourself. She’s a real asset to the team…”
Meanwhile, Emily and this guy begin to move through the room, together. The anger is rising up through my throat as Jules goes on and on about Emily. Meanwhile I feel as though I’m about to explode, even if my expression hasn’t chanced an iota.
I glance at my watch and tell Jules, “You know, I’ll just pop over there quickly and say hello to her,” I tell Jules, not wanting to bother waiting for a second longer.
Emily is so close but she’s moving away now, perhaps on purpose.
I start toward her, politely nudging my way through the crowd with Jules close at my heels, damn her.
Emily sees me, and there’s a panicked look in her eyes. The closer I get to her the more quickly she moves toward the exit. I’ve got Jules following me and Emily has that guy stalking her.
What is his deal? Why won’t he leave her alone?
Emily moves out of the room and is absorbed by the crowd moving like cows into the ballroom. I slow down.
“That was strange,” Jules says. “I swore she saw us. Let’s head into the ballroom and find your table.” She waves off Emily. “We’ll catch up with her later.”
How will I sit through this hell of a luncheon knowing Emily is in the same room? Sure, the room is probably the size of a hockey rink but she’s here, and I have to speak to her. I don’t know yet what I’ll say, but one thing is for sure—I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind.
And I need to know who the hell that guy is that she’s with.
Emily
Are you kidding me?
What is he doing here? I knew it was a possibility but I also know enough about Jackson Croft to know that charity luncheons are not his thing.
As soon as I spotted him my heart dropped to the floor, and I immediately tried to move across the room, getting as far away from him as possible.
Is he here to torment me? I’m finally moving on from the humiliation of getting dumped by a guy after one date—and it wasn’t even a real date! And he has to show up here, and when I’m with Brent.
Although I’m still not sure I’m here with Brent, but we arrived together and are sitting together so as far as Jackson Croft knows, I’m with Brent.
God, I went on one maybe-but-not-really date with Jackson and now I’m on the same with Brent. I’m a twenty-three-year-old grad student at one of the country’s top universities and I can’t figure out when I’m on a date with a guy and when we’re just eating food at the same table.
Pathetic.
More pathetic still is the fact that I’d much rather be on a maybe kind of date with Jackson, then a definite date with Brent—and I hate that I feel this way.
Brent and I are seated in the back of the room, which is just fine with me. The further away from Jackson Croft I am, the better. Only the big donors and top people in CEF will be sitting with him, up front near the stage for an afternoon of speeches, photos and back-clapping awards. I take a little solace in knowing Jackson will be absolutely miserable during the entire lunch. Wait until he sees the video of the children. He’ll really be miserable.
Brent and I find our table in the back. It’s near a pillar that partially obscures the stage and near the swinging kitchen door where wait staff is knocking through in rapid pace. Do I care? Not a bit. I’m getting a free meal and distance from the city’s biggest egomaniac.
Brent has pulled my chair out and is waiting for me to sit. I want to see what table Jackson is at so I know what area to avoid, but Brent is just standing there, waiting. It’s a little annoying but I smile and sit down, thanking him as I do.
“This is nice,” Brent says. “It’s almost like having a private table.”
It’s sweet that he’s making what’s more like an exile into something positive. I can see Jackson moving around, shaking hands with Jules by his side. He’s looking around the room and he better not be looking for me.
Why he would be, I have no idea but I don’t want to talk to the guy. Not today, not ever…Even though there seems to be a spot in the center of my chest that throbs every time I so much as look at him out of the corner of my eye.
“Maybe one day after class we could go get lunch for real,” Brent says. “Off the clock, you know?”
“Uh huh,” I say, watching the room. We begin eating our salads, which were already placed at the tables before we came into the room. It’s thin and soggy but I keep moving my fork from my plate to my mouth with no thought.
“Hello, Emily,” a voice says above me. That voice. The only voice I don’t want to hear.
The voice I can’t forget.
I look up and see him, Jackson, standing behind my chair looking obnoxiously dapper in his suit and tie, his hair perfectly combed back. The better to show off that face of his, gorgeous strong jaw and mesmerizing eyes. Damn him. He’s so annoying.
“Hello, Mr. Croft,” I say in what I hope to be a sufficiently icy tone of voice. I hardly look at him, no more than the initial glance.
He lets out a chuckle. “Surely by now you can call me Jackson,” he says. What does that mean, “by now”? Does he think because he gave me the best orgasm of my life that means I have to act familiar with him?
“It’s been a while. I wanted to talk with you.”
“Thank you for coming to the event,” I say, because there are a couple other people at the table, and they’re beginning to watch us curiously—including Brent. “We’re so happy to have your support.”
“I’m happy to give it,” Jackson says, his voice as cool as ever. It’s maddening. How can he be so steely? Is there nothing inside his soul? And again—why is he here? Why is he talking to me? “Looks like a pretty full house. That must make you happy. A big success for the children and all…”
That’s it. I can’t take it, especially if he’s going to start giving lip service to the actual needy children of Boston. What a condescending asshole.
I get up from my chair, and jerk my head toward the nearby pillar and stand on the opposite side of it, away from the prying eyes and ears of my table.
“What is wrong with you?” I say.
“Emily,” Jackson says, pulling back at my dramatic opening. “I wanted to say—”
“Nothing,” I snap. “You don’t get to say anything to me. You had the chance, the day after that dinner. But what did I get? A big fat dose of silence.”
“It’s not so simple—”
“Don’t you dare give me lame excuses either. I don’t care. Okay? About you or what happened between us or anything.” I start to leave but decide I’m not done, turning back to him. “You know what? You can’t treat people like that. You think you’re so much better than everyone else and that you have some right to treat people like crap. I’m glad you donated the money but I regret going out to dinner with you. You were just scamming me so you could use me up for one night and then discard me. You’re disgusting, Jackson Croft.”
With that, I push past him, getting the hell out of that room. I am not going to cry, but I might need to scream into a pillow or something.
I punch through the ballroom door. I go to the end of the hallway and around the corner, near the elevator for the hotel offices. I hear the doors of the ballroom click shut and I hope it’s not Jackson coming to look for me. It’d be just like him to want to get in the last word.
So I’m surprised when it’s Brent who rounds the corner, looking for me.
“Hey,” he says in a voice that sounds more like he’s talking with a child than an adult. “You okay, sweetie?” He puts his hands on my arms and rubs them up and down, as if I’m cold. I’m not, I’m heated up and wish he’d stop. I nudge my arm and he releases me.
“Not particularly,” I mumble.
“What was that all about back there?”
I don’t want him to know about my brief history with Jackson so I just say, “It was nothing.”
“Did he say something to do? Something he shouldn’t have?”
“No,” I say. Brent is leaning in so close to me, trying to get me to look in his eyes but I don’t want to. I just need a moment think. “I just thanked him for his donation and then I started to not feel well so I came out here. It was nothing.”
“It didn’t look like nothing,” he says in a gentle voice, like he’s trying to get a frightened cat out from under the bed. “I hope you know that you can tell me if something’s wrong.”
“Seriously, Brent,” I say. “It was nothing.” I force a smile, hoping it’ll be enough for him to back off. He’s wearing cologne, too much, and the smell is making me feel like I’m going to choke. “Let’s go back in there. Really. I’m better now.”
“Hey, now, slow down,” Brent says. He touches my arms again, holding them on either side. “It is nice and quiet back here.” He tucks my hair behind my ear.
“Brent…” I begin. This is the last thing I need.
“Shhh,” he says, his breath hitting my face. “Hey, it’s going to be okay.”
I take a deep breath, closing my eyes and truly trying to calm myself. I feel penned in, trapped.
“God, you’re gorgeous.” He puts his fingertips under my chin and leans in, his lips aiming for mine.
“Hey, wait,” I say, pulling back as much as I can when I’m backed against the wall. “Brent, come on. I mean, I'm sorry. I don’t mean…I mean you’re a really nice guy and all.”
“Don’t give me that. I know I'm a nice guy. A really nice guy.” He closes the space between us again and says, “I can be a really nice guy to you in more ways than one.”
If that’s supposed to be sultry talk then I just can’t. I don’t want this from Brent.
“Brent, can we just go back to the table?” I say. He doesn’t move so I put my hand on his chest to nudge him back but he grabs my wrist and holds me in place.
“Come on,” he says. “Don’t be such a prude.” He tries to kiss me again but I turn my head, his mouth landing on my ear. “Goddamn it, stop it. Come on, relax.”
My fight or flight responses are hitting max level. I need to get away from this guy. What has happened? How did he turn so quickly?
“I’m serious, Brent. Let go of me.” Part of me wants to scream, but I don’t want to cause a scene—I just want to get the hell out of here and away from him.
“You’ve been in my office more than any other student and now you’re going to tell me to let go? Emily, don’t be that girl.” He tightens his grip and then pushes his body up against mine, pinning me to the wall.
“Stop it, Brent,” I say, the panic in my voice rising.
His face is a tight, angry ball of madness like I’ve never seen. Squirrely little Brent is scaring the hell out of me.
I have the absurd thought that maybe I’m misreading him. And he’s my T.A.—I could get in trouble or at the very least, he can make my life in class hell.
But his grip is not loosening and the more I struggle the tighter he holds and the more frightened I become. Tears are forming in my eyes because shit I can’t believe this is happening.
I have to get away from him. Why won’t he stop?
“Let go of her,” a deep, ferociously growling voice commands. I look over and see Jackson, looking as tightly wound as a ship’s knot, his hands balled into fists at his side, his eyes blazing anger at Brent. “Don’t make me say it again.”
Brent steps back slowly, but the look on his face says that he’s nervous. He was not expecting Jackson Croft to appear. “Hey, man. We were having a moment here, if you don’t mind.”
“I do mind,” Jackson says, keeping his eyes level on Brent. “And I told you to step away from her. Now.”
Brent’s eyes dart from me to Jackson. He straightens his back and says, “Look. Everything’s fine. Why don’t you go back inside and enjoy the lunch?”
With long, stalking strides, Jackson moves toward Brent, who takes a couple of steps back, his palms up in front of him, bracing for impact. But Jackson doesn’t actually lay a finger on him. He leans in close to Brent and says, “If you ever touch or even bother Emily again, I will not think twice about breaking every single bone in that wormy little body of yours. Do we understand each other?”
Brent doesn’t move. The guy is drained of color and totally paralyzed by fear.
Jackson shakes his head slightly, then speaks again. “Tell me you understand or there’s going to be a real problem.”
“I…I understand,” Brent stutters.
“Good. Now get the hell out of my sight.”
Brent immediately starts walking, looking as if his buttocks are clenched, half waddling, half speed-walking down the hall. He shoots one nervous glance back at Jackson and then starts running.
Soon he’s gone.
I fall back against the wall and cover my face with my hands. Holy crap, what just happened?
“Emily,” Jackson says, his voice now soft. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
I shake my head no.
“It’s okay,” Jackson says. His hands lightly touch my shoulders.
“It’s not okay,” I say.
He drops his hands. “You’re right,” he says. “It’s not.”
“Goddamn it,” I say. My hands are shaking, my insides are boiling, and my brain is scrambled. “What t
he hell was that? I never even…why did he…”
“It’s not your fault,” he says. “And I’ll gladly go hunt him down right now and really take care of him, if you’d like.”
I shake my head and give a muted laugh. “I think you scared him enough,” I say. I try to gather myself by taking a deep breath. Finally I look up at him. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I was invited,” he says.
“What are you doing to me?” I clarify.
Jackson runs his hands through his hair—a move I’m already seeing as a tick he does when he’s thinking. He leans his shoulder against the wall next to me. My back is still against it and although he’s so close to me, I’m not looking at him directly.
“I mean, it’s fine,” I say. “We had one dinner and that was it. You’re not legally required to ever speak to me after that. But why did you have to show up here? Because I know you hate this stuff and if it really was important to your precious business then you would have sent someone more junior to do the whole photo op thing. So why?” I look over at him. “Why are you doing this?”
“Emily.” He says my name so softly. He drops his head against the wall. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Finally I do turn my head to look at him. I’m shocked he said these words. I’m even more shocked at the tone of his voice—so unlike him. So vulnerable. So real.
His eyes meet mine, and I’ve never seen such sweetness from a man looking at me. And it’s Jackson Croft, of all people. The serial business crusher. He moves his hand as if he’s going to touch me, but stops short. “I tried to forget, but it’s impossible. I finally realized I couldn’t stay away from you any longer. When I got the invitation, I used it as my chance to see you. I don’t know what you’ve done to me,” he says with a smile, “but it’s deep, and it’s bad.”