Chapter 23
GREGORY
The last thing I needed was the man I’d trust with my life, the only man I’d trust with my life, going behind my back.
The door to the apartment opens, pushing the remnants of a crystal brandy glass across the hardwood floor. The floor lights break the darkness of the lounge.
‘Greg?’ Jackson shouts, panicked.
Then he sees me, sitting in the black, leather chair where I’ve been since I left the office, the remaining half decanter of brandy on the glass-top table next to me.
‘Are you hurt?’ he asks, assessing the broken glass at his feet and the hole I’ve punched in the plastered wall.
I turn to face the city and take a swig of liquor. ‘I told you not to take her.’
Jackson takes a brandy glass from the kitchen, fills it and takes a seat on the sofa. He leans forwards, resting his elbows on his knees, and drinks.
‘You going to fire me for the second time in three days?’
‘I ought to.’
‘Lara asked me to take her to Scarlett.’
‘And I told you not to.’
He sighs and rubs a hand across his face. ‘We’re both trying to help you.’
‘I don’t pay you to make my fucking decisions for me.’
‘No, but you do pay me to watch your blindside.’
‘Scarlett isn’t my blindside, Jackson; she’s all I can fucking think about.’
It’s true. I don’t know when it happened but every time I close my eyes, I see her perfect face, those captivating, green eyes with the lightest tinge of brown.
Exquisite. The way two cute half-moons crease at the sides of her beautiful, soft lips when she smiles.
The innocence of that perfect fucking giggle, so alluring, it could come close to infiltrating my iron heart.
And in contract to it all her razor-sharp mind. Her quiet strength. Her levelness.
‘That’s exactly why she’s your blindside.’
I put down my glass and pull both hands through my hair, walking to the window to look down over the city.
‘How was she?’
‘A mess.’
‘I’ve really fucked up.’ I’ll never see the way her lean body moves again.
Her immaculate, naked flesh, like silk to touch.
The scent of her perfume like nothing I’ve smelled on anyone before: dumfounding.
The way she questions herself, not knowing just how devastating those curves are when she’s moving over me.
The way she literally questions me about everything else.
‘You didn’t know he’d go after her, Greg.’
‘I’ve put her in danger. She’ll never see me again and I don’t fucking blame her.’
Jackson moves to stand beside me and takes a swig of brandy, looking straight ahead at the bruising night. ‘Does it matter?’
‘What kind of question is that?’
‘A legitimate one.’
I push my hands into my trouser pockets and watch Jackson’s faint reflection in the glass pane.
‘Is she just another one? Do you want her because you can’t buy her? Or do you care about her? If she’s just another notch on the bed post, Greg, then be fair to her and let her go. She’s been through enough.’
‘And what if she’s not? What if she’s different?’
‘Then you’ve got to do what you seem incapable of doing. You’ve got to let her in.’
I thump the window with the side of my fist and let it rest there above my head.
‘You have to stop letting the past dictate your life.’
I don’t know how.
Jackson refills his own glass then tops up mine. ‘Let’s end this. Let’s end it for good. My way this time.’
I move back to my seat and gulp half the brandy in my glass. ‘Find him.’