105
I’m tense as I sit in the office waiting for Jake. He hasn’t called or texted me all weekend, and I’ve been too afraid to contact him. Apart from after our time on his boat, we’ve never gone this long without contact, and it has me overly touchy and emotional. My nerves are eating away at me. Already I’ve snapped at two receptionists for the most minor things when coming through the floor to the office.
I recheck my watch.
When Rosalie takes up residence in her office area outside of mine, I realize it’s after nine, and Jake still hasn’t shown up; he’s rarely late. I’m tense and on edge, and I’ve no idea what we’ll even say to each other. All I’ve thought about all weekend is what we have done. How it felt to have him kiss and touch me that way, what it felt like to let Jake have sex with me. It brought me to tears over and over.
Despite everything that I thought when it first happened, I can’t deny that the memory is bittersweet. I felt alive, cherished, sexy, and wanton, all in one go, and his touch is the only touch I can ever trust, the only touch I ever want to feel.
Sarah has gotten to me. We had another long talk the following day, turning my way of thinking and showed me that I haven’t anything to lose and everything to gain. I realized that my parents set me up for feelings of insecurity and worthlessness in my mind, fear of rejection, and a warped version of life. Sarah convinced me that it is only in my head that I am not loveable, that only I am convinced I am not worthwhile enough to be loved by Jake.
I’ve lingered over the memory of sex with Jake so many times; I see it every time I close my eyes, remembering how he feels, smells, and kisses, and I just want him to come in so we can talk properly. I want to run into his arms and have him take all this pain away. I’ve already resigned myself to the fact that I need to be honest with him, finally, about my past, as much of it as I can bear. I need to tell him that I’m scared about how I feel about him because I don’t know where it will lead, about the chaos in my head when I seem cold and distant. I need him to understand me truly.
I know one thing for sure: I love him hopelessly after all of this. And I need to tell him that.
It’s expanding inside me so quickly now that I can’t deny it; I’ll self-implode. Despite how he feels about me and his obsession with casual sex and a stream of women, I need to tell him how I really feel. No matter the outcome. No matter his response. Sarah was right about that; I need to take a chance and be brave, allow him to tell me if there is hope.
***
Jake walks in with a man in tow, and I take a sharp breath at his mere appearance; he’s in a dark gray shirt left open at the collar, a dark jacket with matching pants, and his shades. His face has a little more stubble than usual, but he looks flawless in every way, a seductive, calm, confident heartthrob, and it causes my heart to constrict painfully. His eyes are concealed with Ray-Bans as they walk by me through the office.
I long to reach out and touch him as he passes. He keeps his distance, throwing me a tight smile and saying nothing, just heads with his friend into his own office and shuts the door. I feel sick. I just want to be alone with him to talk, a chance to explain, apologize, and win back my Jake in any small way that I can.
I want to know what’s happening with Marissa. How he feels about it, what the future holds for her, and him.
I sit at my desk and fidget with everything within reach, but I don’t care. I don’t have the strength to be PA Emma anymore. I’m listless, tense, and emotional, and I’ve fallen to pieces so many times in the past two days that I could cry right in front of everyone, and it wouldn’t matter. I need him.
My hair falls forward into my face so many times as I shift about that I start regretting this haircut.
Why did I ever change it?
I smile sadly as I ponder it; my hair is just another sign that I had been letting go, taking away a piece of my armor, oblivious to the fact at the time. It was another small change pushed on me by Jake’s looming presence. I remove my fingers from my hair (I’d been tangling them absent-mindedly in my locks), and I straighten my back to pull myself together. This is sheer agony; my nerves are everywhere, my mind anywhere but work.
Finally, his visitor leaves, waving me a passing goodbye with a friendly smile. I sit with bated breath, wondering if I should just walk in and try to talk to him, but my courage fails me. I don’t have to ponder over it for long as my switchboard lights up, and he asks me to come into his office.
I hold my breath, my nerves reeling as I get up, palms sweaty, stomach fluttering, and slowly make my way in, pushing the heavy door closed behind me once I’m inside, unable to take my eyes off him. He has taken off his shades and jacket; he’s too good to be real. But he’s avoiding looking at me. He’s looking at his laptop, concentrating and typing.
I crave for him to glance at me and smile in his usual way, Hollywood handsome, but he doesn’t. He finally looks up darkly and indicates I should take a seat, all Mr. Business Carrero, devoid of all friendliness, acting ultra-cool toward me.
I can sense the tension already. I do as I’m told, still unable to tear my eyes from him, my body trembling, waiting for some sign of how this will play out. Something doesn’t feel right, and my inner fears start churning low down.
“Emma, this isn’t easy for me to say.” He gazes at me for a long moment; darkness is in his eyes, but his face is closed off, giving nothing away. He shifts in his seat, so he’s sitting taller, and closes his laptop slowly, watching me as intently as I’m watching him. I hold my breath, my nerves peaking. “We can’t work together anymore; too much has happened for this to work.” He sounds so cold and unaffected by the words he’s just stabbed me with.
I gasp sharply as though I’ve been struck, shaking my head impulsively as I take in what he’s just said. I never saw this coming, and my insides drop with the gravity of how bad this is.
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