Rising from my seat, I walk over to Loren, bend down and kiss the top of her head. I’d love nothing more than to feel her lips on mine, but the thought of that other dude’s saliva touching hers infuriates me beyond words.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” I whisper in her hair. Loren’s hands fidget, like she wants to reach out and touch me, but restrains herself. Laughing to myself, I stroll out the door and into the night, determined more than ever to fix this mess.
Chapter Five
Loren
Waking up after finally getting some sleep. Not that my brain wasn’t running a million miles per minute, I think the exhaustion finally caught up with me. Feeling well rested, I’m determined to make this day my bitch. Lots of stuff do to for the software campaign; enough to keep my mind concentrated on certain things while blocking out others.
Rolling over, the first thing I see is a good morning text from Nolan which brings a smile to my lips. As I giddily text him back, my happiness fades and guilt appears.
Jordan.
I owe it to him to at least hear his side of the story? Or am I falling into his trap yet again? I have no idea and there’s really nobody to talk to about it. If I call Cleo, she’s just going to bitch that I’m even letting Jordan breathe in my vicinity. I don’t really have any friends at work. Norah’s busy planning for the baby that’s due any day. My mom wouldn’t understand. Actually, no, she’d understand and take Jordan’s side, regardless of how wrong he was. She’s always had a soft spot for him. Sometimes, I think she likes him more than me. No, that’s silly, she’s my mom and she’d talk to me, but I really can’t listen to all of Jordan’s good qualities. I need someone impartial.
I’m pretty much on my own with this one. I’m going to have to wait and see how the cards fall. It’s too early to say I only want Nolan. I barely know the guy. What I do know is the amazing feelings he gives me and the exceptional way he treats me, but that’s about it. That’s what got me into trouble with Jordan in the first place. I fell for him hard and fast. I can’t make the same mistake with Nolan.
Now, my only question is do I tell Nolan about Jordan? Or do I keep that information to myself until I know if I’m going to for sure give Jordan a second chance?
Hell. This is going to be pure hell.
****
Working straight through the morning, I’m only alerted to the time of day when my stomach starts to growl. Checking the time, it’s after one and I haven’t eaten anything all day. Saving the document I’m working on and grabbing my purse, I walk out of my office and toward the elevators when Jordan steps in front of me, halting me in my tracks.
“What’s up?” I ask, trying to maneuver around him. I have too much to finish before I go home to have a conversation with him … let alone in the middle of the office where anyone in ear shot can hear.
“I was going to grab something to eat. Join me?” Tossing around the possibilities, I agree. How bad can it be? Two old friends chatting over a quick mid-day meal? Who the hell am I kidding? This can’t possibly go over well.
“Sure,” I respond, obviously a glutton for punishment.
The walk to the deli isn’t far, maybe a few blocks, and instead of Jordan wanting to get food and head back to the office, he insists that we sit there for our meal. Resigning to the fact that I’m not going to win this argument, I take my spot on the far side of the booth while Jordan slides in opposite me.
The setting is far from romantic; mostly busy business people taking a few moments for a break from a hectic day, the scent of cured meats filling the room, all of that followed by the two men sitting at the table behind us that don’t understand tact when applying cologne. As the waitress walks by, Jordan flags her down, like a true city boy would and orders both of us sandwiches, my favorite of course, and even careful to remind the server to ensure mine is without tomato. The man knows me far too well.
“So, how was your morning?” Jordan asks, starting some light conversation.
“Good. Busy. Yours?” I follow his lead, nothing too heavy; exactly what I can handle right about now.
“It’s alright. Pat’s been on my ass about proving my worth after being gone so long. I’m sure I can do it, but it doesn’t help that he’s my boss and kinda my dad. A little too much pressure.” And I remember this is exactly why he didn’t like working at this company. Growing up with Patrick as the only influential male in his life, Mr. Fletcher tends to hold Jordan to a different standard than everyone else. Expects more from him and most of the time, his expectations of Jordan are unreasonable, let alone realistic.
“He’ll ease up when he knows you’re staying. Are you staying?” The question slips past my lips before I have a chance to catch myself. Treading into personal waters is dangerous; the tide can pull you under at any time.
“I plan on it. Unless …” he pauses, looks up at me, his eyes sad and after a few moments of him reading me and me trying to understand what he’s thinking, his line of sight changes and a smile appears. “Thanks so much,” he says to the waitress who’s setting down our baskets.
Attempting to ignore the awkward tension building between us, I waste no time digging into my sandwich, picking off the tomatoes that somehow made their way onto my plate regardless of Jordan’s instructions. Making sure to keep my eyes on anything except Jordan, I risk a peek now and again, each time catching him looking at me with an expression I’m not familiar with.
“What?” I demand, taking another bite and swallowing it down quickly. “You keep watching me and it’s freaking me out.”
“You just look really beautiful today,” he compliments, shoving a fry in his mouth.
“Shut up.” Heat invades my cheeks. I don’t want his compliments to mean anything to me. I need to know his motives before I can allow myself to respond to him, but he knows ways around it. Even when we would fight, he would know the exact thing to say to open me back up again. The bad thing about being alone with Jordan is he can use all that knowledge he gathered from when we dated and the brief time we were married … and still together … against me.
“I’m just sayin’. You look gorgeous. I bet you didn’t even try.” That’s where he’s wrong. I did try. Yesterday. Today. I want him to realize what he lost when he walked out that door, but I also want him to still want me. How twisted am I? I’m giving myself whiplash.
Do I want him? Do I want him to leave? Would rolling around in the sheets with Jordan satisfy the craving for him that I’ve been dealing with for so long? Will being intimate with him make me want him more? Do I choose the boy who’s already broken me so deeply before or the sweet, kind and caring cowboy who I’m sure wouldn’t hurt me?
“Do you have any ideas for the software campaign?” I ask, changing the subject. I need more time. More time to figure out what the hell I’m doing before I make a mistake I could regret for the rest of my life. Or the decision that would give me the ending I’ve been dreaming of since I was a little girl.
“How do you know the owner? Joel?”
Shit.
“He’s a friend,” I respond, not wanting to give away any more than that. If I tell him I met Joel online, he’s going to ask about Nolan. Telling someone you met a guy online screams desperation.
“Just a friend?” Jordan pushes for more information.
“Yes. Just a friend. We email back and forth sometimes. Talk about TV shows. That’s pretty much it.”
“So, you’ve never slept with this friend?”
“What the hell? Do you think I’m some kind of whore? Out screwing different guys every day of the week? Is that how you see me?” I all but scream, trying to have some tact since we’re in a public setting, but not letting up that I’m infuriated with his line of questioning.
“I just asked a question, Lo. That’s all.”
“The answer’s no. I haven’t slept with him. Now can we please stop talking about my sex life or lack thereof. Please.”
“Lack thereof? Are you not gett
ing any, Loren?” My entire face, down my neck and onto my chest feels like it’s on fire. I’m probably a scorching shade of red right about now. Do I lie? Tell the truth? Ignore the question? That’s what I’ll do. Ignore it and it’ll go away.
“Software company. Any ideas?”
“Lots of em. But after you tell me. Who was the last man you were with?” God, this is so embarrassing. It shouldn’t be. Jordan’s seen every side of me, inside and out, and here I am scared to tell him about my last sexual partner.
“None of your business. Ideas?”
“Start by building their brand. Find new customers and a catchy marketing pitch to offer to Google and Bing. Start with small, independently owned computer shops and then branch into the chains. Last lover?”
“Great ideas,” I mutter, pulling out my notepad to write down his ideas. I have similar ones in the office, but on the off chance he said something I didn’t jot down earlier, I need to have all my ducks in a row. He’s not the only one trying to impress Mr. Fletcher.
“I’m about ready. You?” Tossing my napkin onto my nearly full basket of food, my stomach not able to accept much more. All these questions have me ready to vomit.
“Sure am,” he follows my action, stands from the booth and extends his hand to me. Accepting it, even though I shouldn’t, his fingers clasp around my wrist, assisting me to stand. Reaching in my purse to grab my wallet, I’m too late when Jordan drops a twenty on the table and pulls me toward the exit.
Unable to have his hands on me, I quicken my pace, staying a few steps ahead of him. I’d much rather have him watching my ass than touching my arm, as weird as that sounds. Pushing my way through the turnstiles, I rush to the elevator banks, hoping to beat him by a longshot, but his legs carry him much quicker than I assumed. When the door slides open, Jordan moves in, holding it from closing on me as I slink my way inside, careful to not touch him in any way.
The doors close and it’s just Jordan and I alone inside. My heart rate accelerates and I now understand the whole tension builds in a small enclosure thing I see on TV and read in books. Wiping my sweaty palms on my skirt, I glance up and Jordan’s standing directly in front of me, his arm braced above my head on the glass behind me, only a mere inch or two from my face.
“Who was the last person you were with, Loren?” he asks, dipping his head into the valley between my neck and shoulders. My body involuntarily shivers at his action, my knees trembling in anticipation. He gently moves my blazer away from my shoulder, exposing the thin strap of the camisole underneath. With his fingers, he pushes that aside as well, leaving my skin exposed.
“Please stop,” I whisper, barely able to make a sound come from my mouth, worried I’ll moan in his ear. His lips press against the sensitive flesh just before his teeth graze the top of my shoulder.
“Just tell me. I want to know. I promise I won’t be upset.” Running his tongue over where his teeth just met my flesh, he already knows I’m putty in his hands. Again with the using tricks against me thing.
“You,” I moan as he gently sucks at my neck, my head falling to the side to give him better access.
A feral growl erupts from his throat. The hand that was against the mirror is suddenly fisted in my hair, him angling my head just millimeters from his lips.
“You haven’t been with anyone since me?” he asks in disbelief.
“It’s not like I haven’t wanted to. Dating’s kind of hard when you’re miserable most of the time,” I respond defensively. Damn him for riling me up. He’s doing this shit on purpose.
“Not even the guy you were with last night?”
“No,” I answer, embarrassed. He shouldn’t have known anything about Nolan. It’s not fair that one knows and the other doesn’t. It’s not a fair fight.
Fight? I’m letting Jordan in. What the hell am I doing?
His lips come down hard on mine, demanding. He nips at my bottom lip, his tongue running wild on the seam of my lips until I finally give in and part my lips. Hastily, he claws at my body, my hands acting on their own accord, find their way to his hair, holding him to me, kissing him back like I’ll never get to do it again. Greedily, my tongue battles with his for control, but I lose, and my body molds to his.
The bell above our heads chimes, indicating we’ve reached our floor. Just before the doors open, Jordan steps back, running his hands through his own hair, then smoothing down mine. Adjusting his pants, he steps out first. I wait a moment, having to press the button to keep the doors open, unsure if I’ll be able to walk. In all my life I’ve never been kissed like that. My knees feel like jello, my head spinning and my entire mouth cold, missing his warmth.
When I’m confident enough to walk through the lobby, I make a beeline for my office, avoiding eye contact with anyone on the way. Sitting down at my desk, I drop my purse in the bottom drawer and unlock my computer.
Work. I need work to keep me occupied. Distracted.
Checking to see if Mr. Fletcher has emailed me a budget yet, I open the program and see a waiting message from Jordan. As I’m getting ready to open it, my phone dings, pulling me off course. Opening the text first, it’s from Nolan.
Nolan: Busy later?
Me: Not sure. Text you later?
Nolan: Sounds good.
Not sure how to deal with that situation yet, I go back to work. Maybe Mr. Fletcher sent Jordan the budget first and he’s forwarding it to me. As I open the email without a subject line, my jaw drops, heart stops and the need to clench my thighs together is overwhelming.
Lo,
I’m coming for you.
Jordan
Fuck.
Chapter Six
Loren
For the rest of the work week I go out of my way to avoid Jordan, to the point where I don’t even open his emails, whether they’re work related or not, I don’t know. On Friday, I finally have to communicate with him about the project we’re working on together. Gathering my detailed notes, I walk down to his office where he and Patrick are sitting around his desk and it appears they’re having a personal meeting.
“Afternoon, gentlemen,” I announce, knocking softly on the door jamb. “If you’re busy, I can come back later.”
Mr. Fletcher rises from his seat, waving me into the office. “Not at all. We were just playing catch up. I’ll let you get back to work,” he says to Jordan, extending his hand, which Jordan takes and shakes up and down a few times.
“I’ll come by for dinner this weekend. Tell Marilyn I could really go for some of her meatloaf,” Jordan says. Smiling at the thought of his sort of stepmother, it reminds me of the times we would go to Patrick and Marilyn’s for dinners and Marilyn would always tease us about giving her grandchildren and buying the house down the street. Jordan and I both agreed we would never move that close to his family, but the thought of being wanted in such a close vicinity was endearing.
“I’ll tell her. You should come by, too, Loren. I know it would make Marilyn happy to see you. It’s been such a long time,” he wistfully says. When Jordan and I told him we were dating, he was happy—a proud father of sorts. He was pretty broken up when Jordan left. Lucky for me, I didn’t have to tell Mr. Fletcher why I needed some time away from work to sort through my issues, yet he enforced a mandatory week vacation.
“I’m not sure if I have plans or not. I’ll let you know,” I smile, stepping around him to take his now vacant seat. As Mr. Fletcher’s leaving the office, I notice him turn back to Jordan and I, shaking his head, smiling and muttering something to himself. If I had to place a bet on what I think he said, it would be something along the lines of, “Those kids are made for each other.” But I can’t be sure nor do I really want to speculate.
For the next hour and a half, right up until the end of the day, Jordan and I analyze every piece of data we’ve acquired and try to piece together a plan. Thankfully, the conversation has remained professional, Jordan honoring his promise to not let whatever is or isn’t going on with us affect o
ur work.
“What about viral marketing?” I offer.
“For a software company? You think it could work?”
“Maybe … maybe not,” I answer, not sure of the approach, but with the over-saturation of traditional print ads, accompanies with the influx of companies using social media for marketing.
“Think about it. We’re marketing this product to people who have a computer, use the internet, surf various sites and want or need a better protection for their device. What better way to get people to know Destined Software than to make some kind of video and see if it we can set it viral?”
“You’re pretty smart, Snowflake.”
“No.” Slamming my notebook closed, I stand from his desk and angrily walk to the door.
“Loren, I’m sorry. It just slipped. We have some other stuff to go over. Can you please come back over here?”
“Dammit Jordan, we were doing so good. Getting shit accomplished and making progress. Then you go and say something stupid.” The truth is, what he did was stupid, but it’s my own emotions that have me so riled up. I’ve not heard that name since before he left. I was his snowflake. It was something special between us. Jordan would say that no two snowflakes were alike. That they couldn’t be compared to anything else; each one majestic and perfect as it landed, almost as if it had a predetermined destination. Fate. I was his snowflake, created in the heavens and falling directly onto him.
“I apologize. It won’t happen again,” he reiterates, his tone turning colder and he straightens his back and wipes any look of the carefree Jordan I fell in love with away, replaced by his cool, professional demeanor.
“I think we’re done for the day. We’ll start fresh again on Monday. Have a good weekend.” Turning around, I correct my posture as well and stride to my own office, slouching as soon as I step through the threshold of my safety net.
After I quickly check my email, ensure my voicemail is empty and nothing else requires my immediate attention, I shove a few files in my bag and walk out the door. Making my way through reception without being flagged down to put any fires out, I press the down button at the elevator and patiently wait, that is until I hear Jordan’s voice from somewhere in the office saying his goodbyes, most likely headed in my direction. Hitting the button a few more times, as if that’s going to tell the elevator that I’m in a rush and would it arrive faster, it finally dings and the doors slowly open.
Claim 2: Volume Two Page 3