Part 21 (1/2)
I shake my head no. I can't speak. Not yet. I definitely can't look at him. Finally I find my bra on the other side of the ottoman and I s.n.a.t.c.h it up. I turn my back to Jackson as I finish getting dressed.
”Emily,” he says. ”Are you okay? What's wrong?”
I can't stop the tears from coming, as much as I want to. I swipe my cheeks clear before turning back to him. He looks so confused, maybe even concerned. But it's part of his act. I know that now.
”I wasn't snooping,” I begin. ”Not that it matters, but I wasn't. Your laptop screen must lack a sleep mode or something because it was on, bright and s.h.i.+ny when I went to get some water.”
”What are you talking about? Come here. Sit down.”
”No. I saw it,” I say, and everything starts to bubble up at once, completely out of my control. ”I saw the email between you and your brothers and some lawyer guy. First son who gets to altar gets the company? What kind of sick s.h.i.+t is that, Jackson? You've just been using me this whole time as a way to take over your family business. How sick in the head are you?”
”Emily, wait,” he says. He's standing up now and stepping toward me. I step back.
”Stay away from me, Jackson.”
He raises his hands in surrender. ”I'm not...I won't touch you, Emily.”
”This has all been a lie,” I say. ”It's all bulls.h.i.+t. What, you thought I was dumb enough to go along with this? That you could woo me with your big house and private rooms and rooftop pools?” Tears stream down my face at the memories. All those things he did for me-that I thought he did for me. It was all a scam. ”That whole time you were just priming me to be your little wife. Did you think I'd be thankful to you for saving me from a life of middle-cla.s.s boredom? That you could appease me by writing a check to my cute little charity?”
”Emily, no. I swear. It's not like that at all. It never has been,” he says.
”So you've never thought of being with me as a way to win the seat at the top of the company?”
”No, not like that. Let me explain...it's complicated.”
”I was so blind. My first impression of you was that you were a complete a.s.shole and somehow I let myself forget that.” That day in his office he was so c.o.c.ky. He was toying with me even then. ”So what happened? You learned that you had to get married so thought of me? Some fresh, pliable girl for you to mold to your liking?”
”Emily, it wasn't like that at all. My feelings for you are genuine. I truly care about you. Please.” He takes another step toward me.
My voice quivers as I say, ”Don't you dare touch me.”
I hustle out of the room and across the house, so unnecessarily big, just like his ego. Jackson chases after me.
”I do care about you,” he says. ”Please listen to me. I know how that email looks but I don't care about any of that. I don't care what my a.s.shole father wanted. I only care about you.”
”I may have been nave once but my eyes are wide open now,” I say. ”I don't believe for one second that you don't care about your business. It's fine that you care about it-you should-but it's the only thing you care about and that's not okay. G.o.d, my family saw that within three minutes of meeting you. What took me so long?” I know what took me so long-I was swept up in those strong arms of his, those sensual kisses, those deft hands...
”Emily, I do care,” Jackson says, his eyes pleading-probably because he sees his beloved company slipping away. ”I've been falling for you. Please. Stay.”
I want to slap him for saying that. His desperation to save himself is as pathetic as it is transparent.
”You've just proven my point,” I say. I swing open the heavy oak door and practically run down Marlborough Street, away from Jackson and everything I let myself believe.
I throw myself back into school and work with renewed force. I have to keep my mind occupied-it's the only way I can survive. Natalie and I spend an evening studying our a.s.ses off for an upcoming exam. Afterward we hit up a pub in Brookline where I drink way too many beers. I don't even mind the old guys flirting with me. I laugh loudly, toss peanut sh.e.l.ls on the floor, and give two s.h.i.+ts about what happens tomorrow and zero s.h.i.+ts about what happened with Jackson. I go through the motions of being carefree.
But when I'm in bed at night, just before sleep takes hold of me, I see Jackson's face and I cry. I hate myself for it. I hate myself for missing him and feeling like I need him.
Sitting through Brent's cla.s.s is a different kind of h.e.l.l. At least Natalie is next to me, but even she can't s.h.i.+eld me from the looks I get from other cla.s.smates-the disgust of some of the women, the salacious interest from some of the guys. I'm repulsed by the whole thing.
”Let's think about examples due of process in public schools,” Brent says from the front of the cla.s.s. It's been a long week of trying to be okay, and I'm tired. It's been raining and cold and everyone is coming down with colds. There's a general miserableness to the room that's felt by everyone, I think. Today it's not just me. ”What steps must be taken before any punishment is handed out when a student is suspected of wrongdoing?”
No one speaks up, so I raise my hand just to get the discussion moved on so we can get out of here. I want to get to the cafe and warm up with a hot tea and bagel.
”No one?” Brent says. ”I'll give you a hint-there are two things that must happen.” I keep my hand raised; he keeps ignoring me. ”If these steps aren't followed any conviction can be overturned so you better know this.” Someone yawns loudly. Brent sighs. ”You must first-”
”h.e.l.lo,” I say, pretty much surprising myself and everyone in the cla.s.s-including Brent. ”I know the answer. I've been raising my hand.” And we never raise our hands-we normally just speak out.
”The Fourth and Fifth Amendments, people,” Brent says. ”Concerning-”
”Privacy and fundamental fairness,” I interrupt. Even from four rows back I can see Brent tighten his jaw. ”The Fourth Amendment concerns itself with privacy issues and the Fifth Amendment gives the accused the right to heard. Ironic, huh?
”I don't appreciate you speaking out of turn,” Brent says, and d.a.m.n if he isn't b.a.l.l.sy. Well, guess what? My b.a.l.l.s are bigger.
”You don't get to ignore me and spread rumors about me. Rumors, everyone. All lies,” I say, looking around the cla.s.s. People had been staring at me, but now a few look away-the guilty. ”The only thing I did to Brent was turn him down when he tried to get physical with me. Which, by the way, was pretty scary. I hope you ladies never have to experience having a guy shove himself on you. I should report you to Professor Stanwick,” I say, looking back to Brent. He doesn't look p.i.s.sed anyone-he looks scared. He should be.
I think about storming out of cla.s.s. There's only ten minutes left. But in that moment I decide staying will make Brent more uncomfortable. So I don't move, and watch as he clumsily tries to get back on track with his boring-a.s.s lecture. He dismisses us five minutes early. No one looks at him as they shuffle out the door. With a gut-full of confidence and Natalie by my side, I stop by him on my way out.
”I mean it,” I say to him. His eyes flash at me before continuing to shuffle papers into his canvas bag. ”I will report you for mistreatment if you don't stop hara.s.sing me,” That word seems to catch his attention-hara.s.sing. As it should. ”You're lucky I haven't done it yet but I'm not afraid to.”
As I walk out the door I hear Natalie say, ”Yeah, you spineless jackhole.”
Once we're down the hall I turn to her and laugh. ”What is a spineless jackhole?”
”I don't know,” she laughs. ”It was the first thing of.”
”I'm using it from now on,” I say. ”Thanks for hanging around.”
”Of course,” she says.
I don't know if it's because I'm angry with the way things turned out with Jackson, or sad or surprised or what, but there's something in me that says, No more messing around. If I want to get something done, I'm doing it. I can be professional, but I also don't have the energy to deal with any nonsense.
Later I'm sitting in a meeting at the office, listening as junior members of the development team talk about their frustration with not getting meetings with prospects.
”They won't respond,” says Amanda, who was recently promoted from administrative a.s.sistant. ”I've sent two emails and gotten nothing back. I don't want to be pushy about.”
Amanda is smart but this is frustrating. I know I'm only part time but I do far more work than many of the full-time employees.
”Who is this?” I ask.
”The senior VP over at Chase,” she says.
”Sonja Atkins?” I ask.
I feel the room's eyes turn on me-yeah, I know who our prospects are. Everyone here should. Amanda says yes, it's Sonja.
I lean forward. ”What's her number? Let's call her now.”