He’s a senator?
Senator Chess Davidson. Hell – President Chess Davidson.
I can see the excitement on Ruthie’s face from over Michael’s shoulder. “Jazz is an associate in the renewable energy department at Cartwright Moretti Stevenson,” she announces. “She’s 26…and single.”
Chess glances at Ruthie and one side of his mouth lifts into a charming grin. “Is that so?” he says with a small chuckle. Ruthie nods vigorously. “Well, if that’s the case –” his hand goes into the inside pocket of his tuxedo. “—I’m gonna have to take you for lunch next time I’m in the city.”
A wave of hesitation rises into my throat. He cocks his head to the side and his blue eyes narrow a touch. He’s gorgeous and he’s charismatic, but I feel uncertain.
It’s Liam. It’s got to be. On some unconscious level, it’s Liam that makes me hesitate. No – I won’t let that jerk ruin my fun. I gave him two chances and he blew both of them. I’ve got to move on with my life. “Okay,” I say quietly. I place my hand in his and feel him slide his card against my palm.
“It was lovely meeting you tonight, Jasmine,” Chess says still wearing that winning smile, his hand still gripping mine.
“Likewise,” I say as I quickly purse my lips to bite back my grin.
He brings my knuckles to his lips and deposits a lingering kiss before tossing me a wink. His eyes shift to Michael. “Let’s go talk politics, shall we?” he says slapping Michael on the shoulder and leading him away.
Ruthie grabs my hand and wiggles it discreetly. She leans into my ear. “Oh my god, Jazz. He’s the party’s shoo-in for candidate for president…and he’s totally into you."
Chapter 13
“So, this is the hole that you’ve dug out for yourself?” I glance up just as the door swings open and my father ambles into my office, leaning hard into his chrome walking stick.
Fuck – last person I want to see right now.
Wallace Cartwright is one of the founding partners of this law firm. He and his partners, Michaelo Moretti and James Stevenson, built it from the ground up over 30 years ago and today it is one of New York City’s preeminent business law firms. It’s his proudest accomplishment. Might as well be since he never took pride in his family.
I bite back the urge to snarl at him. “Dad,” I say forcing a pleasant tone as I push to my feet.
“Why did you request this decrepit, piece-of-shit office, Liam?” He shuffles right up to my desk, standing eye-to-eye with me instead of taking a seat. “There’s a suite on the 7th floor designated specifically for the firm’s managing partner. It’s the office Michael Moretti occupied before he left and you became managing partner. So, why the hell is there a scrawny, little no-name first-year associate sitting in that $3000 Herman Miller executive chair on the 7th floor while you rot away in this tiny broom closet?”
“You came all the way here to berate me about the office I selected?” My father retired from the practice of law a few months ago. Now, he spends his days pouring over law journals and drinking scotch in his study. I guess he has time to kill.
He glowers knocking his walking stick against the table. “You’d better tell me that this has nothing to do with that PTSD nonsense. You came back from Afghanistan four years ago. Yes, you got injured. But life goes on. Get over it.”
“Get over it?” I seethe. I can’t believe my fucking ears. My father has always been a jerk but I guess that’s to be expected after 35 years of being married to my frigid, off-putting mother. Still, I’d expect him to have a little more tact when talking about what I experienced in combat. I’m a veteran, for crying out loud. A patriot. And I can’t even get some respect from my own father?
And he’s not done yet. “You’re a coward, Liam. Always have been.” He says, watching me in disgust.
“You need to leave,” I say, my voice cracking to reveal the rage I’m feeling.
He shakes his head. “A fucking coward…” he laments.
“Leave. Now!” I slam my fist into my desk causing my penholder to tip over the side and fall to the ground.
My father ambles towards the door, yanking it open. He turns and gives me one final look. “Sometimes, I’m ashamed to call you a Cartwright.”
I pick up my stapler and hurl it at the door just as he slams it shut.
As I slump back into my chair, my father’s words echo in my head. Is he right? Am I just a coward?
Maybe I am. Maybe I am afraid. Maybe that’s why I spent my weekend alone, battling the guilt and the regret that I’m so familiar with instead of going out and finding Jasmine and finding a way to make her forgive me. One thing’s for sure though; now that I know how much I’ve hurt her, those feelings are amplified exponentially. Rejecting her is a son-of-a-bitch especially since all I want to do is wrap her up in my arms and never let her go.
But I don’t even come close to being worthy of her. I can’t give her the things she deserves.
Keeping my distance from her kills me. Pretending that she’s not everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman tears me to shreds. But it’s the right thing to do. Some people are toxic; they just aren’t meant to have anyone.
I am one of those people.
So, I accept the loneliness. It wraps around me like a dark, heavy cloak and I don’t fight it. I just let it consume me. Because that’s my fate.
And the truth is, I’m scared of her. I’m scared of loving her. I’m scared of the work I’d have to do on myself just to be worthy of her. I’d have to face my demons, look them straight in the eye. I don’t have the strength to do that. Maybe my father’s right. Maybe I am just a coward.
I can’t be the man in her life. But I have to find a way to be close. I’ve got to be her friend. That’s a reasonable compromise. A comfortable balance between the intimacy that I’m craving and the distance that’s truly best for her.
I pad over to my door and slip a finger between the slats of the venetian blinds obscuring my office from the rest of the suite. I can see her across the hall sitting at her desk, as beautiful as always. Her hair is clipped back away from her gorgeous face. Her eyes are focused intently on the screen of her computer. She nibbles on the edge of what appears to be an energy bar before taking a gulp from a slim red can.
Is that her lunch? It can’t be.
She works herself ragged, starting long before 9:00 a.m. and going till the wee hours of the morning. The least she can do is eat right.
I immediately call down to the café on the building’s ground floor and order the soup of the day together with a small chef’s salad. I also order a bottle of water and a chicken sandwich. I request that the food be delivered to my office.
Moments later, there’s a knock at the door and my assistant, Luce, creeps in, wordlessly depositing the food on the edge of my desk before quickly turning to leave. The poor girl is terrified of me. She tiptoes around me and she startles ever time I call her name. I bet that she’s secretly hoping to be reassigned to another lawyer instead of having to work with the “beast”. But I don’t have the time to feel bad about that right now. I have to get Jasmine’s lunch to her.
What the hell am I doing?
I can’t just waltz into Jasmine’s office and demand that she eat a proper meal. After the way I treated her a few days ago, she probably wants nothing to do with me. And rightfully so. I was a damned asshole. I didn’t mean a word of it but she doesn’t know that.
But then again, I did say that I wanted to be friends. And friends do buy lunch for their friends, right?
Man up, Cartwright. Just go in there and sit down with her. It’s a goddamned sandwich. Stop being a pussy.
My leg bounces nervously under my desk as I sit there contemplating what to do. After a few minutes of internal back and forth, I scribble a quick note onto the back of a recycled envelope and slip it into the paper bag. I call Luce into my office and ask her to deliver the lunch to Jasmine. I ignore the curious look she gives me as I shove the food towards her and
tip my head in the direction of Jasmine’s office.
From my chair, I can see Luce handing the bag to Jasmine and explaining to her that I sent her lunch. Jasmine’s eyes narrow as Luce shrugs, turns on her heels and returns to her desk outside of my office.
Within a matter of seconds, Jasmine stomps across the hall, drops the paper bag on my desk and marches out without uttering a single word. With a sigh, I get up, take the food and follow her into her own office.
“What? You prefer turkey?” I can hear the smirk in my own voice as I try to make light of the situation. My heart thunders against my ribcage despite my best efforts at remaining cool.
She sits at her desk and glares at me. “Is this all some big joke to you?” she says in a hushed tone.
I give her a pointed look. “You’re my friend. I bought you lunch. Simple.” I put the paper bag on her desk.
“Screw lunch, Liam.” Her eyes are glassy like she might cry. “You fucked me two years ago and never called. Then you fucked me again last week and threw some bullshit at me about being friends. Now you think that you can just buy me lunch and all is forgiven?”
I stand there with my hands digging deep into my pockets and I stare at her. She’s beautiful when she’s angry. Dark, brown eyes narrowed and challenging. Full lips red and pouting. Nostrils flaring ever-so-slightly.
“I don’t want it,” Jasmine says defiantly with a stomp of her foot. It’s messed up that all I can think about is how much I want to be inside of her right now, feeling her anger squeezing and pulsing around me, feeling her coming undone in my arms, feeling her as she forgives me.
“You’ve been working hard. You need to eat,” I say gruffly as I take a step forward.
“What do you care?” she whispers bitterly.
Seeing the pain in Jasmine’s eyes each time she looks at me makes me wonder if all this is in vain. I’m doing the right thing by keeping my hands off of her but she’s hurting anyway. God – I wish I could be the man she deserves.
“Jasmine,” I warn in a terse voice. “Eat.” I turn on my heel and leave, my heart aching to know I’ve caused her so much pain. I give her a final glance over my shoulder. “And for the record, I do care.”
Chapter 14
It’s a jerk chicken Caesar salad today.
I push my laptop aside and make room in the middle of my desk for the takeout container. I peel off the lid and the aroma of Caribbean spices fills my office causing my mouth to water and my stomach to rumble. I pluck up a slice of chicken with my fingers and pop it into my mouth.
Utterly delicious.
Yesterday, it was a pita with chickpeas, veggies and hummus. I really enjoyed that. It was a small artisanal pizza the day before.
Liam’s been sending me lunch every day this week. His secretary wordlessly drops it on the corner of my desk and moseys out of my office before I can protest. And to be honest, most days, I’m too hungry to refuse it.
There’s always a note at the bottom of the bag, scribbled onto Post-It paper or on the back of an old envelope.
Your hair looks nice today…Have a great afternoon…Green looks good on you…I’m sorry I hurt you…
That last one got me a bit choked up.
Have I forgiven him? Hell no. He’s a jerk and he’s got a prominent spot on my hit list. But the food he sends me is a definite step up from what I’m used to having for lunch, that is, a granola bar, chips and an energy drink and any other junk dispensed by the vending machines in the staff room.
And I’m starting to look forward to the notes, too.
I lick my fingers and grab the plastic fork from the bottom of the paper bag. I dig in greedily. In a matter of minutes, I’ve devoured the whole thing and polished it off with the bottle of mango juice that came with the meal. I wipe my mouth with a napkin and slump back in my chair.
That was so good.
I look across the hallway and notice a small opening between two of the slats of his blinds. He’s watching me. How fucking annoying.
I don’t get this guy. I can’t read him. One minute he’s breaking my heart, the next minute he’s virtually stalking me. But at this point, I don’t care what’s on his agenda. I’m keeping my distance and I’m protecting my heart.
I rise out of my chair, glaring at the space in his blinds as I slam the door shut.
Chapter 15
I watch as Luce deposits the brown paper bag on the corner of Jasmine’s desk. The two women exchange sheepish glances as they’ve been doing ever since I started having lunch delivered to Jasmine daily. She works hard and she neglects to take care of herself. And as the man that’s crazy about her, the least I can do is make sure that she’s eats everyday.
At first, she looked reluctant as Luce would deliver the food, but now, two weeks later, she actually seems eager to look into the bag everyday and find out what I’ve ordered her. I enjoy picking out what she’ll eat and what restaurant to order from. And I love the face she makes when she bites into something delicious for the first time. I love seeing her lick her fingers after a delectable meal. I love the way she slumps back in her chair and takes a minute to relax when she’s done eating.
And the best part is, she doesn’t slam the door shut anymore when she catches me peeping at her.
It looks like we’re making progress.
I probably shouldn’t push it, but I’m dying to actually eat with her today. To sit across the table from her and watch her lips move as she chews, to see her eyes light up as she tells me a silly story.
I should just go eat with her. Right?...No – I can’t. I’ve got to keep her at arm’s length…Or, maybe I should just stop being a coward and go eat with her. What’s so hard about that?
And so goes the back and forth in my head.
The battle is still going strong in my mind when a bit of commotion picks up in the hallway. I glance out the blinds and see a small group of secretaries ushering a tall, suited man down the hallway. He basks in the attention and wears a self-important grin as he carries an obnoxiously-large bouquet of flowers in his hands. The women look like they’re about to collectively swoon.
My chest clenches tight as I watch him enter Jasmine’s office.
Chapter 16
“Chess!”
The handsome, charming New York state-senator-slash-presidential-candidate is the last person I expected to see when I glanced up from my computer screen. And the gigantic bouquet he’s holding is even more unexpected.
He steps into my office and he’s taller and more handsome than I remember, with his dreamy blond hair brushed back off of his forehead, his clean-shaven chiseled face and those penetrating blue eyes.
“Jasmine – you look absolutely…I can’t even find words,” he gushes as he stretches the flowers out to me.
I rise on unsteady feet to take the bouquet from him and set it on the small shelf near the window. “Thank you,” I blush, glancing down at my simple white blouse. I discreetly brush away oatmeal crumbs from the energy bar I ate earlier.
“I hope the flowers are okay,” he says nodding his chin in the direction of the bouquet. “I didn’t know what flowers you like so I got you jasmines. Y’know, ‘cause your name is ‘Jasmine’.”
That gets me to giggle. “Well, that was very sweet of you.”
He takes my hand and places a kiss on my knuckles. “Sweet gesture for a sweet girl.”
I bite back a smile. This guy is an expert at flattery. Even his over-the-top, cheesy delivery works. “Wh-what are you doing here?” Saying that I feel flustered and taken off-guard by his visit is an understatement.
He flashes me that 1000-megawatt grin. “Told you I’d take you to lunch next time I was in the city.” He says it so matter-of-factly like showing up at my job unannounced in the middle of the day to whisk me off to lunch is the most ordinary thing in the world.
“I just – I didn’t expect that you actually meant it,” I say. With my track record – a.k.a. Liam Cartwright – I’ve learned not to get my h
opes up because some guys make promises they have no intention of keeping. “And I have so much work to do...” I’m overwhelmed just glancing at the to-do list jotted down onto a small sheet of yellow paper stuck to the corner of my computer screen.
“Well, I was in town and I decided to drop by –” He stops midsentence and gives me a forthright look. “Oh, hell – I’m lying. I just couldn’t stop thinking about your pretty smile so I moved around some campaign events and drove into Manhattan to see you.”
A wave of heat courses over my entire body. “You postponed campaign events and drove to Manhattan just to see me?”
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