Chapter 23 Jess #2
It’s the least he deserves for shutting me out. One minute he’s saying the kids and I are his main priority, the next he’s telling me it’s complicated? Why am I still working for this asshole when he keeps giving me the cold shoulder?
I have to say, at least Taro never gave me mixed signals, and I respect him for that.
I heave open the door into the apartment block, my heels echoing through the marble lobby as I find the elevators.
I hit the button for the ninety-second floor and exhale a weighty breath.
My pulse thumps in my neck, making breathing difficult.
I glance at myself in the mirror and see that my cheeks are bright red, like tomatoes.
There’s a very thin line between anger and lust, I realize, as I compare the symptoms. There’s barely any difference between the two.
My blood boils the same. My cheeks burn red.
Even my pussy is throbbing. I don’t quite understand the science behind that.
The elevator dings as I reach the ninety-second floor. I slide the key into the lock, huffing. And stall. Why is the door already unlocked?
Maybe some of the guards Nadir hired have access to the place, keeping an eye on everything.
I walk inside, shrugging the question off.
Everything’s spotless. The cushions are arranged on the couch the same way.
The drapes are drawn. The kitchen cabinets are all shut.
If someone had broken in and was looking to steal, their first target would be the wine fridge, which is fully stocked when I open it.
I run my finger over the impressive selection. It would be so wrong to crack open a bottle without asking. But who gives a fuck? Nadir doesn’t.
I find the most expensive-looking bottle, walk it over to the kitchen countertop, and pop the cork.
Hell yeah. Wine for one. That always used to be my favorite thing to do on the weekends after I put the kids to bed.
Turn on the TV and enjoy some alone time.
Binge-watching episodes of Friends on the couch was the closest I ever got to a vacation…
I narrow my eyes. Nadir is now forcing me to go on a vacation. I should take it.
But I’m also not done proving him wrong. I always wanted to be worth something to him. For a second there, I thought I did mean something.
I can handle Taro. And I can handle Nadir…I think.
I spend the next two minutes opening and closing kitchen cabinets, searching for a wineglass. I find everything but. Spare flatware. Fine bone china plates—those can’t be worth more than Nadir’s net worth.
Screw the glass.
I carry the bottle over to the couch, sprawling out.
The flatscreen TV mounted on a wall doesn’t have a physical remote control.
There’s an app; Nadir showed me how to use it once.
Unfortunately, I don’t even remember the app’s name.
I was too busy freaking out about his thigh touching mine to remember anything he said.
I’ll have to give Friends a miss tonight. But I don’t mind. I have wine.
I cough at the strength when I accidently swallow too much, but the warm burn it leaves down my throat makes it all worth it.
I shut my eyes and lean back into the couch, cradling the bottle in my hands. This all began because I wanted to afford a weekend nanny. I wanted a break, and I thought money would give me that.
But money doesn’t equal freedom.
I have less freedom than I did before I started working at Sterling.
Which makes me wonder if working for Nadir is really worth it? I enjoy building portfolios, but I don’t like how history’s repeating itself.
I fell for the wrong man once, and now it’s costing me my life.
Nadir gives me everything with his body. But when it comes to speaking, he gives me breadcrumbs. And I’m tired of savoring each one. My spirits rise every time he gives me the tiniest bit of attention. And I can’t go on like this when I have three children to raise.
I can’t stick around and wait for him to make up his mind. I’m not risking my children’s lives when he could still be planning to steal them away.
I couldn’t afford to stay in Miami before, but I have the funds now to buy something out there for a little while.
I want to be by the beach, away from here. I want to hear waves crash on the shore, and I want my kids laughing freely, playing on the beach, building sandcastles. Doing kid stuff. The salty air fixed my problems before. It can heal me again.
Maybe it’s time for me to let go of wanting to be proved wrong by Nadir.
I down more wine, slamming the bottle on the coffee table.
God, this stuff is strong. I feel my center of gravity changing as I reach for my phone. I stare hard at the screen, focusing my vision, but all I see are black spots as the alcohol threads through me.
One side of my body is heavier than the other. Before I know it, I’m crashing into the couch, losing my vision again. But my phone is still in my hand. Way to go.
I unlock it after several wrong attempts and find my messages. Nadir and his business can suck it. I’m not falling for his games. I’m ending things before he beats me. Because he will.
Me: I quit the job.
I hit send and take a celebratory sip of wine, feeling very proud of myself. How’s that for having some agency? Being strung around is fun for a while. But it always ends in rejection, so what’s the point?
I may as well end the game before it ends me.
My phone pings with a text message from Nadir.
Nadir: You don’t mean that.
Me: Try me.
Nadir: Call me.
Hearing footsteps, I turn to look over my shoulder, confused. Nadir is back already?
I blink twice, focusing my vision. There’s a man walking through the kitchen wearing black. His face is blurry. I can’t work out his features.
I stand up. Terrible mistake. I did that way too fast, and now I have a head rush.
I grip the couch arm, waiting for the dizzy spell to pass. My head spins from too much wine. I really wasn’t expecting half a bottle of it to hit me so fast. And so hard.
By the time I regain my focus, it’s too late. The man from the kitchen has found his way to me. And this dude is not Nadir. He’s wearing a black balaclava, his entire face covered. But I know it’s not him. This guy is way too skinny. Half the size of Nadir in weight and height.
My heart beats like crazy in my chest.
Especially when he raises a gloved hand into the air. He closes the hand into a fist, and everything unfolds in slow motion as he drives the fist my way.
White-hot pain tears through me.
And then everything goes black.