But why he’s suddenly expecting me to be a “sharer” when I’ve never been one is confusing as hell.
Didn’t seem to mind oversharing last Thursday night.
My grip on the fork tightens before I deliberately loosen it. I’ve purposefully avoided thinking on that dinner. On what drove me to intervene in the first place. On why I sat down at that table across from the woman who not just witnessed my humiliation but was an active participant in it. Hell, she played postman and hand delivered it.
Even now, nearly two weeks later, I still can’t answer the whys and whats.
Can’t explain what the hell possessed me to mention my past, my mother.
“She would’ve adored your earrings.”
Damn. I give my head a mental shake. It’s the truth, but why the fuck I found the need to share that withher, a nameless woman I should resent, I have no goddamn idea.
And it bothers me that I don’t. Bothers me that I confided in her of all peopleandthat I still don’t know her name.
I don’t like unknowns. Too much of that shit in a lifetime will spoil your appetite for it. And this woman falls into that category.
My cock takes this moment to jerk in complaint against my thigh. Translation:I don’t give a fuck. Who needs a name with a mouth and ass like that?
My dick. Such a gentleman. But it doesn’t rule me. Never has. Not even with Val.
“Yes, I care,” I say, breaking off another piece of egg.
Jordan snorts. “Liar.”
“I care because this breakup could potentially damage the connections I’ve made through her. Not the least of those connections being with her father. I can only hope he has gotten to where he is today by being able to separate his personal life from business.”
Calvin Summers is CEO of one of the largest media groups in the western United States. Cable, telecommunications, production companies—some of the most well-known names in the industry fall under Columbine Media. As an entertainment lawyer, I would be an idiot not to be concerned about losing the influence and references he can throw my way as he’s done in the past months while I dated his daughter.
So yes, I care.
“Also, I’m on the short list being considered for partner. I’ve been busting my ass for this, and it would make me the youngest associate to make partner in the firm’s thirty-year history. I want this. What Idon’twant is my personal life interfering and fucking it up.”
Jordan, again, arches a pierced eyebrow. “So you only give a damn about how this affects your career. Wow. That’s cold.” He shakes his head. “What the hell kind of relationship did you two have, anyway?”
One where we understood each other and what we wanted. No, we weren’t some couple out of a ridiculous romance movie—thank God. We were better. No messy, inconvenient feelings involved to distract me or, worse, have me dependent on her. Just straightforward logic, plans, and reason. That she didn’t inspire anything more than admiration, respect, and lust made her the ideal future corporate and social wife. It’s what made her perfect for me.
“We had one based on common goals and mutual respect.”
Jordan stares at me, blinks. Then he throws his head back and roars with laughter, drawing more than a few curious glances our way. And phone cameras.
Shit.
He might be used to ending up on Facebook and Instagram from fans’ videos, but I’m not, and I have no desire to do so now.
“Can you keep it down, dammit?” I snap, leaning across the table. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”
“So? Jesus, Cyrus, I swear—sometimes you act like you’re fucking seventy-three instead of thirty-three. Although ...” He narrows his eyes, tapping a black-painted nail against his bottom lip. “Coach Fowler must be pushing his midsixties, and last time I stayed with him and Miss Pam, I promise you I heard them getting it in one night—”
“Stop right there.” I throw up a hand, palm out, shaking my head. Hard. “No way in hell I want to hear about the sexual proclivities of your old college basketball coach and his wife.”
“You sure?” Jordan grins. “The sounds those two were making gave me hope for when I hit that age.”
“Stop. Talking.”
He shrugs. “The point is you just described a business associate or a partner in a goddamn escape room, not a girlfriend or a lover.” He resumes eating, shoving more chicken and waffles into his mouth. “Where’s the mention of passion, affection, love, for Christ’s sake?”
Now it’s my turn to stare.
