I order another coffee as I wait. It’s 8:15 a.m., and I know she hasn’t started work yet. I also know that she would have her phone on her and is purposely ignoring my texts.
Fuck this. I dial her number, and it rings . . . I close my eyes as I wait.
It rings and then declines.
Fuck. She hit reject.
I text her.
Answer your phone or I’m coming over there.
My text doesn’t go through . . . huh? I call again, and the call won’t connect. What’s going on? I try again . . . nothing. For ten minutes, I continue to try to get through. I can’t. What’s going on?
I type into Google, “Why can’t I text or call someone?” The answer bounces back that cuts to the bone.
“You’ve been blocked.”
She blocked my number?What the fuck?
Anger surges through me; nobody has ever blocked me before. Not in business or personal . . . and never a woman.
She really doesn’t want to be friends with me . . . in any shape or form.
My heart sinks. How the hell did I fuck this up so badly?
I stare at the Miles Media building through the window, and the thought of going there today and playing the facade that everything’s okay is just too much.
I text Tristan.
I’m taking the day off.
See you tomorrow.
I sit and finish my coffee, and a song comes on—“Bad Liar” by Imagine Dragons.
I listen . . . Tristan just called me a bad liar, and ironically, the lyrics ring true. With a sad damnation to hell, I drag myself out of the café and into a cab.
“Where to?” the cab driver asks.
“Park Avenue.”
The cab pulls out into the traffic, and I put my headphones in, hit Spotify, and listen to the song again.
“Bad Liar” . . . my new anthem.
I flick through the travel images on Google. I’m going to take a skiing trip.
Switzerland, I think.
I need to get away. New York is just too small . . . or suffocating . . . or life threatening . . . or something that I just can’t quite put my finger on. Either way, I’m getting the hell out of here.
She blocked me.
I might work from London for a while . . . yeah, I could do that. Would make sense.
And I would get to spend more time with Elliot and Christopher. My heart drops as I remember someone else who lives in London. I’d be closer to Claudia, and I broke her heart the other day again too.
She wanted me back, and I told her that I don’t think I ever loved her . . . she got angry, and basically, it’s a fucked-up situation all around.
No, I can’t work out of London . . . too complicated. Scratch that idea.
How long will I go to Switzerland for? I go over the dates. Maybe a month?
Hmm . . . I bring up my work diary and begin to go through it. I’m owed a lot of holidays, and I guess I may as well take some.
My security phone goes off, and I answer. “Hello.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Miles. Mrs. Miles is here in the foyer to see you.”
I close my eyes. Shit. “Yes, thank you. Please let her in.”
Moments later the elevator doors open, and my mother steps out. Her face lights up when she sees me. “Hello, darling.”
“Hi, Mom.”
She takes me into her arms and holds me close for a moment as if sensing something is off.
“What are you doing here?” I smile as I pull out of her arms.
“I should ask you the same thing,” she replies as she follows me and sits down on the couch.
“I just . . .” I pause as I try to articulate my lie. “I just need some time off after all that embezzlement shit.”
Her eyes hold mine. “Good, I’m glad.”
“Can I get you anything?” I stand, uncomfortable lying to her.
“Some tea, please, darling.”
I walk into the kitchen and begin to make her tea. I take out her fine china pink-and-gold teapot and cup, the one she always drinks from when she’s here. She follows me and sits at the kitchen counter.
“Did Tristan send you?” I ask with my back to her.
“He’s worried about you.”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. What’s going on with Emily?”
“Nothing.”
“Why not?”
“Emily and I aren’t together anymore.”
“Because?”
I keep making the tea.
“Look at me, Jameson.”
I drag my eyes to hers.
“Why aren’t you with Emily anymore?” she asks.
“Emily deserves better.”
She watches me.
“Ferrara.” I frown as I get my wording right. “I don’t want this life for her.”
“You don’t want her being with a workaholic, you mean?”
I shrug as I pass her the cup of tea.
“So, you ended it with her . . . for her?”
I purse my lips as I remain silent.
“Well that proves it, Jameson.”
“Proves what?”
“That she’s the one.”
I frown.
“You know, ever since you were a tiny little boy, you’ve done this.”
“Done what?” What is she talking about?
“When you were very little, maybe three or four years old, you used to have this little pale-blue pickup truck.”
I listen.
“You loved it. It fit in the palm of your hand, and you always carried it around. It was your pride and joy.”
I smile softly.
“The thing is, Tristan loved it too. He had his own, but yours was the special one. And even though you loved that truck with all of your heart, the moment that Tristan got upset about anything . . . you would give it to him. You couldn’t stand seeing him upset, and you felt responsible to make him happy.”
I frown.
“As you grew up, I watched you do this many times, Jameson, with many things. To the outside world you were aloof and cold, but for the ones you loved, you would do anything to make them happy. You have more heart than sense.”
My eyes hold hers.
“Why do you think that Emily wouldn’t be happy with you?”
I stare at her for a moment as a clusterfuck of emotion runs through me. “Because eventually, I’m going to let her down,” I whisper.
Her face softens. “Jameson darling, how? By working too hard? By being too honorable to your family business?”
I close my eyes.
“I’m in love with a man just like you, Jameson. You know him well, your father. He, like you, is a workaholic.”
“How . . . ?” I frown. “I don’t know how to do both, Mom.”
“Then work it out.”
I stare at her.
“Emily loves you, Jameson, not your money . . . or your company. She loves you . . . just you.”
I drop my head.
“Stop being so damn selfless, and do what you want to do.”
“I don’t know what that is anymore,” I whisper.
“Oh, nonsense,” she snaps. “Tell me something. If you were on a deserted island, who would you want by your side?”
“Emily,” I whisper without hesitation.
“Being in love is like being on a deserted island, Jameson. You focus on them and them only, and you make everything else fit around that person.”
I inhale deeply.
“If you don’t want to travel into the future with her, don’t. But don’t you dare pull away from your own happiness to protect her.”
I clench my jaw as I listen.
“How one man can be so ruthless in business and so giving to those he loves, I will never understand . . . but, the fact that your father is your carbon copy, I know it’s possible.” She cups my face in her hand. “The man I love and the man that the world knows are two very different men . . . and that’s just how I like it. I like that I’m the only one who gets his softness.”
I smile softly.
“I am your father’s world, Jameson; he made it work around the company. Never once have I felt neglected or unloved. I have always come first to him.”
I stare at her as her words roll around in my head.
“The man that Emily loves and the one that you think you are are two very different men. You need to allow yourself to be who you are with Emily and be the Jameson Miles that the world knows. It’s not one or the other like you think it is. The fact that you have put Emily’s happiness ahead of your own cements that she is the one who has been chosen for you.”
“She won’t speak to me,” I whisper.
She stands. “Then make her listen.” She takes me into her arms. “Go and get your love, and grab her with both hands . . . and never let her go.” She kisses me on the cheek and, without another word, leaves my apartment.
My mother’s words ring home, loud and clear.
You need to allow yourself to be who you are with Emily and be the Jameson Miles that the world knows. It’s not one or the other like you think it is.
It’s five o’clock in the morning, and I lie and stare at the ceiling of my living room from my couch. I’m still fully dressed in the clothes I wore yesterday. I haven’t slept all night.
My mother’s words keep going over and over in my head.
She thinks that I can be both the man that Emily wants and the man that I need to be.
As I see it, I have three options. The first is to walk away from Miles Media so that I can be a man worth being with. The second is to let Emily leave my life forever. My stomach twists as I imagine living my life without her.
The third is to try to be both . . . is it truly possible to live as two men?
I stand, and for the first time in a long time, I have crystal-clear clarity.
Fuck this.
I’m going to try, and if I can’t make it work, I will leave Miles Media.
I’m getting my girl back.
She comes first.
Chapter 25
Emily
I close down my computer and pack up my desk and make my way to the elevator. I’m one of the last to leave the office. It’s been a long day, but I achieved a lot. It’s the weirdest thing—blocking Jameson yesterday was the most satisfying thing I’ve done since I murdered his roses.
In some kind of sick and twisted way, being mean to him is releasing some of my anger. Hurting him is like the best kind of therapy. I must really be messed up at the moment; either that, or payback is just surprisingly satisfying. I watched the movie John Wick last night, and I smiled the whole way through it . . . that in itself says a lot about my current headspace.
I take the elevator and walk out onto the street. It’s dark and cold, and I pull my heavy coat around my shoulders for protection.
“Emily,” I hear a voice from behind me.
I stop on the spot . . . shit. Jameson . . . what’s he doing here? I put my head down and keep walking.
“Emily,” he repeats.
I spin toward him. “What, Jameson?” I snap.
“Can I talk to you?”
“No. Go away.” I turn away from him and start to storm to my bus stop.
He follows me as I walk. “I just want five minutes of your time.”
I stay silent.
He runs to catch up with me. “I know I fucked up . . . bad.”
I glare at him as I imagine punching his stupid, handsome face. I get a vision of his head snapping back as I connect the hit.
“Please,” he stammers as he runs after me. “I need to explain why.”
“I’m not interested.” I march forward.
He follows me for a while longer as if not sure what to say. “I’m going to follow you until you talk to me. Can we get a drink or something?”
“No.”
“Dinner?”
“Go. Away. Jameson.”
“I’m not leaving you,” he stammers as he runs to keep up with me.
“You already did. Get out of my face.”
He runs in front of me and walks backward facing me. “I mean, I’m not leaving you again . . . ever.”
“Then it’s going to be a one-sided relationship because I want nothing to do with you. Ever again.”
His face falls. “Don’t say that.”
A man runs into him as he walks backward. “Watch out,” the man snaps as he brushes past.
“I just want ten minutes of your time,” he stammers.
“No.” We arrive at my bus stop, and I stand in line. He stands next to me.
“Alan can come and get us, you know?” He looks at the long line of people. “We don’t have to catch the bus.”
I glare at him, unimpressed. Spoiled brat.
He smiles. “You’re still gorgeous when you’re angry . . . you know that?” he says loudly, and other people in the bus line begin to look over.
Red steam shoots from my ears at him making a scene. “Jameson, go the fuck home,” I whisper angrily.
“No.” He folds his arms in front of him like a petulant teenager. “I’m not leaving without you.”
People around us are all watching. I take out my Kindle and open it . . . anything to block him out.
“What are you reading?”
I remain silent as I pretend to read.
Damn him. . . he thinks he can turn up here and demand to see me . . . he can kiss my ass.
“I’m reading a good book at the moment,” he continues.
I keep reading.
“It’s called . . .” He pauses as he thinks for a moment. “It’s called ‘how to get your girl back after a midlife crisis.’”
The girls behind me snicker.
I twist my lips to try and hide my amusement. Don’t get fucking cute now, asshole.
“Chapter one is called ‘bus duty,’” he continues.
I bite the inside of my cheek.
“Yes, it says to follow her to the bus stop and keep talking aimlessly until she gets sick of the sound of your voice and has to talk to you . . . even if that first word is shut up . . . that’s something, right?”
I flick the page of my Kindle over as I stop myself from playing into his hands and saying the words shut up. The girls behind me snicker again. I glare at my Kindle. I won’t be surprised if the screen breaks under the pressure.
“What does chapter two say?” the girl behind me asks as the bus arrives and pulls to a stop. I jump on.
“Get on the bus,” I hear him say from behind me.
I walk on and take a window seat at the back, and he comes and sits beside me.
Are you kidding me?
“This is a great seat,” he whispers. “I like it.”
“Stop talking to me,” I growl.