Chapter 11
CARI
The office feels strange this morning, like it’s holding its breath. Or maybe that’s just me.
I’ve spent the entire weekend replaying Friday night in my head—how Jett stayed with me, how he made sure I was safe. It was unexpected, and it left me with a warmth that lingers with me even now. I tell myself it didn’t mean anything, that any boss would do that, and yet, I’m not sure that’s true. I can’t imagine Dex or Zach doing that for their assistants. I chastise myself for being delusional and making this mean something it isn’t.
Eliana and Bianca are coming back later this evening. They called me last night to gush about their weekend. It was everything I imagined it would be: a cozy cabin, a fireplace and a hot tub outside. The four of them had a ball.
I wished Eliana were here this morning, just because I needed to talk to her about this gnawing feeling. I felt anxious about coming to work, and Eliana would have steadied my errant thoughts and given me some confidence.
Still, I’m here now and haven’t seen him yet. He’s in his office with the door closed. It’s a blessing, but I wonder if he’s also hiding from me. I sigh, trying to focus on my work. But it’s when I’m at the copier, waiting for it to spit out the last page, that I hear his voice.
“Cari.”
I jump slightly and turn, feeling a tightness in every muscle. Jett leans against the doorway of his office. He looks like he hasn’t slept much, his tie slightly askew, his hair tousled in that perfectly imperfect way that probably takes no effort at all. He walks toward my desk with a casual confidence, his expression unreadable.
“Yes?” I move to sit back at my desk, hands poised over the keyboard and ready to take notes. Look busy. Find another focus other than that chiseled face and those hypnotic eyes.
I look up at him.
“Can you pick up something for me on your lunch break?” he asks.
Butterflies skate along my insides, and then stop. I was expecting him to be … different . Warmer, maybe. After all, this is the same man who stayed by my side while I was at my worst. The same man who brought me water and sat vigil like he cared. But his tone is clipped, his gaze sharp, like none of that ever happened.
“Of course.” I struggle to keep my tone neutral. “What do you need?”
“Lingerie.” He says it without a hint of hesitation.
For a moment, I’m not sure I heard right. “I’m sorry?”
“Lingerie,” he repeats, casually. Maddeningly. “For Dina. Something from La Perla. Get something special—something she’ll like.”
The words hit me like a bucket of cold water. I struggle to keep my expression neutral. He’s never asked me to pick something out before. He always selects the item himself then has me collect it. “Okay,” I manage to say, and start typing something. I need to distract myself because he doesn’t seem to notice—or care—that I’m caught off guard. But then, for the briefest moment, I look up again, because he hasn’t moved. His eyes meet mine, and hold. I feel the world tilt on its side. And for a heartbeat, I think he’s about to say something more. Something that would explain this sudden coldness.
Just as quickly, the moment passes, and his walls slam down again. “Don’t take too long.” He straightens his tie. “If you’re busy, you can take a late lunch, but I need it done today.”
I blink at him, my hands tightening around the edge of my desk. “I’m in the middle of typing up the agenda for your meeting with your father this afternoon,” I say, my voice sharper than I intend.
“Fine.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Do it after that, then.”
He turns and walks away.
“And you haven’t told me her size, or her favorite color,” I call out, now that my brain manages to process the weight of his request.
He turns around, and his gaze is hard as stone. Almost like … like he’s annoyed at me. For Friday night. For making him be with me and take care of me.
I didn’t ask for that.
My chest feels tight, the warmth I’d been carrying since then is replaced by something colder, heavier.
“Y-you never ask me to pick anything,” I say. “She’s your girlfriend. You should pick the item for her. I’ll go and collect it.”
He retreats into his office, shutting the door behind him, and I wonder if any of that night was real. The concern, the kindness, the way he stayed with me when I needed someone the most? Or was it just a fleeting moment of decency he regrets now?
I try to focus on the screen in front of me. Whatever Friday night was, it’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about it. Maybe he wants to forget it happened altogether.
A few seconds later, I get an email from him, with a link to an item he’s picked. It’s a burgundy bra and panties set, similar to the one Rory gave me.