“I’ve tried explaining all of that,” with a raised voice, he interrupts me. “Letting you leave Palmers back then is the biggest regret of my fucking life, and I can’t . . . I’ve not stopped thinking about you all week.”
“Fuck off, Jack. Let’s just stick to business, not your usual bullshit. I’ll work with you on this because . . .” I pause, shrug and let out a sigh. “Because of the networking and connections it might create. That’s it, if it’s anything other than business, stay the fuck away from me.”
“No.” He gets right in my face as he grits the word out between his teeth. I take a step back.
“I won’t stay the fuck away. I did that before, and I’ve spent eighteen years regretting it. Fight me all you like on this, but we’re gonna have that talk, and you’re gonna fucking listen to what I have to say!”
Emotion and confusion bubble through me in equal measure. Before I can process my feelings, a voice calls out, “Well, hey stranger, I’ve been trying to reach you all week.”
Jack’s chin drops to his chest, and his shoulders slump as he stands before me with his hands on his hips. The click of heels sounds on the bare concrete floor, and I take a deep breath in through my nose as I watch him turn around. Bracing myself, I look past him to the tall, slim, and of course, stunning blonde approaching us.
Fuck her. Fuck him. And fuck my luck!
* * *
“What are you doing here?”Jack asks the blonde, his voice neither gentle nor inviting. She stops her movements towards us and tilts her head to the side. Her eyes dart to me, looking me up and down before she pulls her shoulders back, straightening her posture and entire frame.
She both registers and then assesses me in a split second for what I am, the competition. Am I though? No, I’m not that. I’m anything but that. But even as I play out the mental debate in my head, I know I want him. I can’t have him, but I still want him, I can’t change that. I’ve tried for years, but I’ll never put myself through that again. But fuck girl code. She’s pissed me off by making assumptions and looking at me like I’m shit on her shoe. So, I give her a smile that lets her know it’s game on before taking her by surprise and striking first . . . with venom! Confusingherand undoubtedly pissing off Jack Motherfucking Cole.
“Hey, I’m Scarlett from Ilahi home wear and designs. You must be Jude. Jack’s told me so much about you.” I step forward as I speak, holding out my hand as Jack makes a choking sound from beside me.
“It’s Jules,” she responds with a tilt of her chin.
I give her a look. It could be a smile, it could be the face I pull when I swallow semen, I’ll admit to nothing.
“Jules, right,” keeping the smile/gag/sneer on my lips as her cold hand slides into mine and we shake.
“I thought you would’ve called.” Her comment is directed at Jack as I take in her Helen Kaminski rain mac in black. I know the brand because I have the same coat in plum. With her blonde hair, brown eyes, and fair complexion, she should’ve gone with the camel and paired it with a brown or tan scarf, the black’s too harsh and washes her out, but I keep that observation to myself.
“I’ve . . . It’s been pretty full-on here . . .”
“I thought we were going to choose the interiors together . . .”
A physical pain hits my chest and belly at that comment, and I know I need to get out of here.
“Jules, I, we need . . .” Jack flails.
“I only knew you were here finalising things because I called into the office and Milly told me.”
I watch their to and fro, observing Jack’s eyes narrow at the mention of Milly.
“Milly told you I was here?”
“Yeah. Why? Is that a problem?”
“Yeah, it kinda is, Jules . . .”
“Why? I understand you’ve been busy, that’s why I haven’t called the last couple of days. I didn’t think catching up with you here would be such a problem, especially as you’re meeting with the designer. We’re supposed to be deciding those things together, remember?”
I swing from feeling sorry for the poor girl and how desperate she sounds, to pissed off at her demands and assumptions as I listen. But when her eyes dart to me, hurt and desperation apparent, regardless of the emotions currently rioting through me, I can’t do it. I’m just a sucker, and the girl code kicks in. I don’t know her, so I can’t make the call as to whether I like the woman, but I’m not a bitch. He’s hers, not mine, and I won’t be the bad person. I’ve no hold over him, nor do I ever plan to have.
“I’m gonna go next door to the restaurant. There are a couple of things I need to measure,” I hold up my tape and announce.
Without making eye contact with either of them, I awkwardly walk through the bar and into the restaurant.
I wander around the shell of a room, attempting to focus on how it’ll look after fit-out and not the conversation happening next door.
I fail.
