“I can’t. You see, I’ve finally worked it out. And I need you to listen to me so that we can sort this mess out.”
I stare out the window.
“I mean, how can we fix this if you won’t speak to me?”
“We won’t. That’s the point,” I mutter dryly.
“Don’t say that, FB.”
I glare at him as a glow of red covers the sky . . . don’t fight; don’t give him the satisfaction.
He smiles sweetly, totally oblivious to my rage. “It’s so good to see you.”
I roll my eyes and look back out the window . . . don’t talk to him . . . not one word . . . don’t give in to him.
“God . . . I’ve missed you, Em,” he whispers.
Something inside of me breaks.
“You don’t get to say that,” I snap.
“But it’s true.”
“Shut up, Jameson. The time for talking is over.” The bus pulls up to my stop, and I get up and brush past him. He runs after me as I storm up the pavement.
“I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”
I keep walking.
“I’ll wait out here all night.”
I keep walking.
“Em, come on,” he sighs.
I keep walking.
“How can you be so cold?” he demands.
I turn like the devil himself. “Don’t you dare call me cold, you hypocrite. You’re the only fucking cold one here.”
“There she is.” He smiles as if proud of himself for getting me to say something.
My face falls at my own weakness. “Jameson,” I whisper.
“Babe.” He grabs my two hands in his. “Please talk to me. I miss you, and I know you miss me too. I need to make this right between us; we can make it through this.”
Tears well in my eyes at his touch, and I’m angry with myself for letting him get this close. “I can’t.” I brush past him.
“Please, Em,” he calls from behind me. “I’ll beg.”
I keep walking.
“Do you want me to get on my knees right here? Because I will.”
I keep walking, and he runs up behind me. “Tell me how to make this right? Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
I turn to him. “Move on . . . I have.”
His face falls. “Okay . . . I deserved that.”
“I didn’t.” I push through tears as I brush past him and keep walking.
“I know, Em,” he calls. “I’m so sorry. That guy . . . that guy was crazy to let you go. I was out of my fucking head.”
I get to my building, and he comes up behind me as I open the door with my key. He slides his arm around my waist from behind and pulls me close. “Please,” he murmurs into my hair. “I love you.”
I close my eyes in pain at the feel of his touch . . . I miss him.
I pull out of his grip. “Don’t touch me,” I spit. “What makes you think you can come back here and say that?”
His eyes search mine. “Because you love me . . . and two wrongs don’t make a right. If you don’t let me make this right between us out of stubbornness, which is a real possibility . . .” He pauses as he tries to get the wording right. “We will both regret it forever; you know we will.”
I stare at him for a moment as his words roll around in my head. I turn and walk into my building and close the door behind me. He watches me through the glass.
I hit the elevator button, and the doors open straightaway. I dive in and hit the buttons to close the doors as my tears well in my eyes.
Bastard.
I walk out of my building right at eight o’clock in the morning. I haven’t slept much, and I keep seeing Jameson’s sad face when I left him last night. I hate that I care about him. His words kept playing over and over in my head all night. I hate that he said them. I hate that they made sense.
“Because you love me . . . and two wrongs don’t make a right. If you don’t let me make this right between us out of stubbornness, which is a real possibility . . . we will both regret it forever; you know we will.”
God, what a mess.
“Good morning,” I hear a chirpy voice from behind me.
Jameson is standing beside my door in his navy suit, looking all dapper and not at all discouraged like he should be.
“What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you.” He smiles as he takes my gym bag from me and puts it over his shoulder. “Are we catching the bus today?”
I look at him deadpan. “I’m catching the bus. What you’re doing . . . I have no idea.”
“I’m following you around until you agree to have dinner with me.”
“It’s not happening, Jameson.”
“Okay,” he says as he begins to walk to the bus stop. “I’ll just be following you around for forever, then.” I stare at him, and he gives me a slow, sexy smile. “You look beautiful today.”
“Stop it.”
“No.”
I walk to the bus stop with him beside me. I’m staying silent, and he is jabbering.
“Did you run this morning?” he asks. “I did.”
I stare at him.
“I’m actually quite fit at the moment—all this heartache has me running at record speed,” he continues.
That makes two of us . . . I keep my mouth tightly closed. I don’t want him to know that I’ve been angry running too.
We catch the bus. I’m silent, and he’s carrying on like we are long-lost best friends.
“Do you want to go camping this weekend?” he asks as he opens his paper.
“No. I’m going to my parents this weekend,” I reply flatly.
“Oh.” His face falls. “Well, that’s going to be uncomfortable.”
“What is?”
“When I follow you to your parents.”
“You are not coming to my parents,” I scoff.
“Watch me.” His eyes dance with mischief. “You won’t talk to me; I’m going to keep following you until you do.”
“I don’t want you to follow me. In fact, I don’t want anything to do with you.”
“No need to be snarky,” he says casually as he turns the page of his paper. “It’s unbecoming.”
I glare at him. “You know what’s unbecoming?” I whisper angrily. “Jerks who break girls’ hearts and think that they can snap their fingers and get her back at the drop of a hat.”
He smirks down at me. “Yes, I have to agree. Although if they are meant to be together, and he was under the impression that he was doing the right thing by her at the time . . .”
“Oh, please,” I huff. “Can you hear yourself?”
“Have dinner with me tonight.”
“No.”
The bus pulls up at my stop, and he stands and grabs my gym bag and puts it back over his shoulder. I watch him walk up the aisle of the bus to get off, and I smile to myself. Has he ever caught a bus before?
Idiot.
We walk up the road in silence, and I turn and catch sight of the limo parked across the street. Alan is leaning up against it, and he smiles and waves over at me.
“Alan knows you’re here?” I whisper in mortification.
“Everyone knows I’m here,” he says casually as he hands my bag over. “It’s no secret that I want you back. I have stated my intentions loud and clear.”
I stare at him.
“See you this afternoon.”
“Jameson,” I sigh.
“I’m not giving up on us, Em . . . ever.” He smiles softly. “We were made for each other.”
I scratch my head in frustration.
“Have a nice day.” He watches me with his hands in his pockets, keeping a safe distance.
“Bye.” I turn and walk into my building. My phone beeps a text. It’s from an unknown number.
Have a good day.
This is my burner phone
in case of an emergency.
Jameson. He’s got another phone, one that I haven’t blocked.
I get into the elevator and find myself smirking at the ground.
Stop it. . . he’s an asshole . . . never forget that.
It’s three o’clock, and I’m finishing a report for publication this week. I love this job. I mean, not as much as I loved Miles Media, but that ship has sailed—may as well make the most of it. The staff are all really friendly and nice and have welcomed me with open arms.
“Delivery for Emily Foster,” I hear.
I look up and see a man walking through the floor with a white box. What the hell?
“Oh, she’s in that office over there,” I hear someone say.
He knocks on my door. “Are you Emily Foster?”
“Yes.”
“I have a delivery for you.” He hands over the white box.
I take it from him. “Thank you.”
“Um.” He smirks, shuffling awkwardly in place. “It’s from the Kung Fu Panda.”
“What?”
“I was told to tell you that the Kung Fu Panda sent it.”
I try to hide my smile and fail miserably. “Thank you.” He leaves, and I open the box to find a huge caramel cheesecake and a small white card.
Cheesecake for my cheesecake.
xoxoxo
I close the box and smirk. He’s an idiot, and I’m not a cheesecake . . . if he thinks he can weasel his way back into my good book by being cute, he has another thing coming.
Kung Fu Panda . . . where the hell does he get this shit?
A girl from the office next door pops her head around the corner. “What’s that?”
“Cheesecake, want some?”
“Hell yeah, I’ll get the plates.” She disappears to the kitchen.
I stare at my phone for a moment. Should I text him and say thank you?
No, this is why he did it—to get a reaction. He knows I’ve got good manners and would never receive a gift without thanking him. He’ll be waiting for my call.
Well, too bad for the stupid Kung Fu Panda. More fool him.
He created this beast; he can live with my rudeness. He’s in the freezer.
At six o’clock in the evening, I make my way downstairs. I may have fixed my hair and applied some lipstick . . . not that I’ll ever admit to it.
I walk out of the building and out onto the street to see Jameson standing and leaning up against the wall. He’s wearing his gray suit, the one that I love. His dark hair hangs over his forehead, and his chiseled jaw does things to my insides. He smiles broadly and pushes off the wall when he sees me coming. How long has he been standing there? “Good afternoon, Ms. Foster.”
“I didn’t know that you knew kung fu,” I say as I walk past him.
“Oh, I do,” he says as he falls into step behind me. “There are a lot of things about me that you don’t know. Did I tell you that I’m becoming an extreme sportist?”
I keep silent as I walk. It’s hard to keep a straight face when he’s in this mood.
“Yes, I thought I might start hiking up mountains and camping there and stuff. Making fire with my bare hands and whatnot.”
I smirk as I walk in front of him, unable to help it. “Really?”
“Uh-huh. You see, I’m becoming one with nature.”
“You. One with nature. I’d like to see that,” I mutter dryly.