Now #2
She’s one of those people who let the smallest amount of power go to their head, and she’s been a pain to work with.
I’m tempted to pass the project on to Cynthia, but she’s got her own workload to handle.
And it’s my biggest project to date, which remains exciting despite how difficult Mrs. Carter has been.
“I’ll work on it some more,” I say with a professional smile. “Should we look into the garden? The landscaper sent me a few options. They’ll need to start working on it soon, before winter sets in.”
“Yes, sure.”
Those are a hit in comparison, and she actually struggles to pick one, loving all three options. Maybe I should ask them to design the kitchen. It would likely save me days of work.
“Well then, that’s all for today,” I say when she’s settled on one. Of course, it wasn’t the one I tried to veer her toward. “I’ll let you know when I have new plans for your kitchen.”
“Thank you.”
She doesn’t move to stand up, visibly wanting something. Before I can ask her what it is, she leans in a little to say, “Can I ask you a question?”
Here we go …
It’s been a little over two months since I got back to Colorado.
For a few weeks, I felt like a circus attraction, from journalists knocking on my door to strangers stopping me in the street.
Even my friends didn’t know how to handle it, treating me differently than they did before.
Eventually, though, things died down. People assumed Jax and I weren’t back together after all, and that day we were spotted together was just another one of Jackson’s flings—with an ex, this time.
It’s the first time I’m seeing Mrs. Carter in person, though. I do my best not to deal with her like this because I’m always worried I’ll let my frustration show, somehow. But she insisted on coming in today, which I wasn’t sure why. Seems like she wanted some intel.
“Sure,” I say, pretending I have no idea where this is going.
“Is it true? What they say about you and the driver?”
I take in a deep breath, never parting from my rigid smile. “It is,” I confirm. There’s no point in denying it.
Her eyes light up with excitement. “Is that why you were away this summer?”
“It is, yes. Sorry about the delays.”
“It’s fine. The contractor wasn’t available, anyway. Did you follow him around all summer?”
An idea sprouts in my mind. “Uh, yes. He also took me to his house in Italy. Absolutely gorgeous, renovated by a famous European architect. You should have seen his kitchen …”
“Was it beautiful?”
“It was flawless. Come to think of it, the arrangement would work perfectly for yours.”
“Really?”
“Would you like me to show you?”
“Yes, please!”
I take one of the plans I gave her earlier and flip it to the blank side.
With a ballpoint pen that was on the table, I begin drawing, explaining everything to her as I go.
This is absolutely not the kitchen Jackson has in Tuscany.
But his fierce protection of his private life means there are likely no pictures of it online, so she’ll never realize.
Just like she won’t realize this is exactly the same kitchen arrangement as the second one I created for her.
It’s not like Jax’s kitchen would fit into her budget, anyway.
To my delight, the deception pays off, and she approves the plans. We even shake on it.
I accompany her to the door, glad that our hour together wasn’t a complete waste of time. Then, once she’s off, I walk to Cynthia’s door. I lean into its frame with a proud smile, waiting for her to look up from her screen.
“So? How did it go?” she asks when she does.
“Pretty well, actually. She’s okay with the way I reworked the bedroom, and she chose what she wanted for the backyard. And she also approved the kitchen plans.”
“About damn time.”
“I know. I was starting to think she’d have a full house built with no kitchen.”
“Yeah, me too. Good job, Vivi.”
I pretend to polish my nails on my shoulders and blow on them. “Thank you, thank you.”
“I’m almost done too. If you give me ten minutes to figure this out, we can walk out together.”
“Sure. Do you want some help?”
“Honestly, a fresh pair of eyes might help. I’ve been staring at this for so long, it’s making less and less sense.”
I walk in and go around her desk to look at her screen. “What’s the problem?” I ask.
“This bathroom here. The client wants it closer to the children’s bedrooms, but there are the stairs right there. And we can’t move them, because then it messes with the ground floor, which is already approved and ready to go.”
“Hmm … what’s this?”
“Laundry room.”
“And it can’t be the bathroom?”
“Too small. They want a bath and a shower.”
“Of course they do … What if you expand the laundry room into their walk-in, make it the bathroom, and reduce the original bathroom here to make up for the lost storage space with a huge closet?”
She looks at the screen intently, considering it. “It could work. I’ll need to check with them, but a well-organized wardrobe here can definitely make up for the lost space in the walk-in.”
“Yeah. They even get two places to put their things. He could get the closet, she gets the walk-in.”
“I’ll try to sell them on it, yes.”
She makes quick work of the changes and saves the project under a different number. “And just like that, it’s officially the weekend,” she lets out, turning her computer off.
“So, it’s not just me. This week was particularly long, right?”
“It’s because it’s getting cold. I had to scrape ice off my windshield this morning, and it’s not even November yet.”
“But almost.”
We walk together out of the office, and she locks up behind us before activating the alarm on the pad by the door. “Are you coming on Sunday?”
I wince. Everyone’s gathering at the sports bar to watch Jackson race in Mexico.
Ever since I’ve returned, I’ve tried to stay away from all that.
It’s hard enough without it. We’ve exchanged a few brief texts, but nothing more.
I reach out to him after every race, congratulating him.
But I’ve said nothing about how he’s been driving angry.
He’s taking risks, being aggressive, making snappy decisions …
I’m not the only one to have noticed, but I might be the only one knowing why he’s driving like that.
I broke his heart again, even though it was never my intention. I still mean what I said. I’ll return to him when I’ve decided. Good or bad, I’ll let him know. But for now, I’m trying to return to normalcy, so I’m sure my head is in the right place to make such an important decision.
It’s strange how quickly I slipped back into this life.
Like the version of me that spent weeks in Europe, following Jackson around the world, never truly existed.
Every morning, I wake up, go to the firm, answer emails, revise blueprints, eat lunch with Cynthia, and then head back home in the evening. It’s normal. Predictable. Small.
Everything Jackson’s life isn’t.
His weeks are airports, and cameras, and race weekends. It’s millions of people constantly competing for a piece of him. It’s strangers dissecting everything he says, does, wears, touches … Reporters waiting outside hotels, fans crowding barriers, headlines made from one wrong facial expression …
Jackson belongs to the world in a way I never fully understood before. Not really. Even back in Formula 2, when things first fell apart between us, he wasn’t this. He was rising, promising, and famous within motorsports. Now, he’s something else entirely.
He isn’t just my sun anymore. He becomes the gravitational focus of any room he walks into. It’s like everything revolves around him. And I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering whether I’m embarrassing him somehow by not fitting into that polished world properly.