I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to cry. Wanting to cry.
And not being able to manage even one fucking tear.
Not even that, I think. Even that one small thing—the release of tears—and I can’t manage it.
“He’s locked me up tight,” I say, opening my eyes and meeting hers. “A chain. I want a chain.”
“No.” Her face is as fierce as her voice. “No, don’t you dare look at it that way. You could let it go. But the resort means a lot to you. And so you’re using him. You,” she repeats, pressing her fingertip against my shoulder. “You are using him. Using him to get what you want.”
“The resort,” I say. “I want the resort. And I’m taking steps.”
“Fuck yeah, you are. Just like you took the idea to Stark in the first place. You’re doing what you need to do to get the job done. Your job.”
“Yeah,” I say, liking the way she thinks. “But my job is going to keep me pretty much attached to Jackson’s hip. Tonight,” I say. “And then tomorrow, too.”
Her brows lift. “Expecting an all-nighter, are you?”
I lick my lips. “Considering Jackson’s terms, don’t you think I should be?”
She winces. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. And that wasn’t what I meant anyway.” I pause for dramatic effect. “We’re having after-lunch cocktails with Nikki and Damien tomorrow afternoon. At their house. In Malibu.”
“Seriously?”
“Nikki called as I was driving over. She’d already asked Jackson. Just casual food and drinks, she said. A welcome to the project thing. And it’s exactly what I should have expected, because that’s the nature of this job. I’m the project manager and our schedule is tight. We’re going to be working together pretty intimately.” I exhale, because the truth is that when I factor in Jackson’s ultimatum, there aren’t going to be many moments between now and the completion of the project when I’m not right there at Jackson’s side.
“Attached at the hip,” I repeat. “So I really want that chain.”
“No way, Syl.”
“Dammit, Cass,” I begin, because she knows me. She knows I need this.
But before I can get on a roll, she holds up a hand. “You need to own it, babe. Like I said, you’re the one using him. Your resort. Your project. So I won’t give you a chain. But I will give you a flame.”
“A flame?”
The smile that blooms on her face is just a little bit crooked. “Out of the frying pan, babe,” she says.
I laugh. I can’t help it. “And into the fire?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
I draw in a breath, then nod. “Yeah,” I say. “I think I can live with that.”
ten
In the end, Cass and I blow off both the drinks and the shopping. I can only mix so much Jackson and alcohol and still feel safe. And although I could use a costume to hide behind, right now, I figure I can always rely on the tiny but brilliant flame that now flickers at the side of my left breast.
So when Zee called Cass and invited her over to spend the evening watching television on the couch, I didn’t mind the parting.
Now, it’s not even six and I’m already home, and as I ride the elevator up to my third-floor condo, I’m glad of the extra time. Jackson said he’d arrive by eight. That gives me two hours to chill. And to maybe, hopefully, find some peace with my decision.
I tap my code onto the keypad, hear the familiar whirr of the locks, and then push the door open. Despite the mountains of moving boxes that mar the landscape of my living room, my mood immediately shifts for the better. The condo is tiny but it’s all mine. Well, mine and the bank’s.
Damien had given me a bonus along with the project manager position, and I’d taken the leap and dived head-first into the wonderful and wacky world of home ownership. Now I own seven hundred square feet above retail space on Santa Monica’s Third Street Promenade. And while the access to shopping is definitely a perk¸ the best part is the view.
The entire back wall works like a garage door. Down, it is a wall of glass panels that provide a view. Rolled up, it provides more living space by opening onto a balcony that looks out over the streets and the ocean beyond. And, of course, a really great breeze.
I press the button beside the front door and grin like an idiot as the mechanism kicks into gear and my back wall begins to roll up.
After that, though, I just stand there, a little at loose ends.
