If Tiff was surprised, I couldn’t tell. Maybe she already suspected. “You don’t sound too happy about that.”
I wasn’t.
I wanted to be. I wanted to be over the moon about it. And there were times where I could just about burst with how much I was feeling, but there was always a dark cloud attached. Like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Or reality to kick in.
My only real experience with love had been Brad, whose particular brand of cynicism had made me question every opinion I had until I didn’t trust my instincts anymore. Until I’d relied on him.
It always started with an innocent, “are you sure?” Or a “trust me.” And I had. For a while, it had been nice. I felt looked after, like he had my best interests at heart.
But when I had stopped wanting to follow him, he got angry. Then he left. And I spent a year relearning who I was and what I wanted.
I wasn’t about to give that up again.
Somedays,I wanted to quit this wonderful job. Not enough to actually do it, but just enough that I would daydream about storming into David’s office and loudly announcing it.
To be fair, it wasn’t David who was making me miserable. It was this damn venue owner who just would not come to the table on this damn catering issue. He’d gone back and forth about agreeing to let us use our own at least three times since last Friday, and I wanted to scream. And it was only a Tuesday. It was going to be a hell of a long week.
I needed a holiday. Or a back rub.
I settled for some fresh air and a coffee from the shop down the street. It didn’t help. I knew I’d have to be back on the phone with the guy as soon as I got back in the office, but it was better than nothing.
On my way back, my phone buzzed, and it did more to allay my mood than the coffee ever could. Jackson was quickly becoming my own happiness drug, which was as exciting as it was daunting.
I just couldn’t seem to get enough of him. And for some unknown reason, he felt the same way about me. For however long this lasted, I was going to make the most of it.
It was relatively early by my standards when he knocked on my door that night. I had opened a bottle of wine as soon as I’d come home from work, utterly drained after going another round with the venue douche, as I’d come to call him, and I was near the end of my first glass when Jackson arrived.
It had only been two days since I’d last seen him, but damn, was he a sight for sore eyes.
And when he offered me that back rub I needed, I wondered how devastated I would be if—when—this all fell apart.
22
Jackson
Never say nothing happens on a Tuesday.
It was instinct now to check the number before answering my cell, even more so when it was an unknown number, but sometimes Bryson or Naomi had an assistant call if something was urgent. I wasn’t about to save everyone’s number on my phone, so I took the chance it was work-related and picked up.
“Jackson Ward.”
“Jackson, Addison Michaels.”
My thoughts short-circuited. Since I’d heard the news about the role, I’d been pestering Terry with ideas for how to get another audience with Addison. I’d reached out to anyone I thought might help, although most had said good luck in the kind of tone that did not instill confidence.
I tried not to sound too surprised. “Mr. Michaels, it’s good to hear from you.”
“Addison, please. I’m sure you know why I’m calling.”
Most likely to tell me to back off, but now that I had him on the phone, I wasn’t going to miss the opportunity for one more pitch. “I heard you’d decided on someone for Parker.”
“I had. They didn’t work out, so I’m taking a chance on someone else. We would have formalized it sooner but working with the studio has been a circus. Still, we’re on track now, I hope. Filming is slated to start in the summer, so I’ll need an answer fairly soon.”
Well, that confirmed it. Straight from Addison’s mouth, the part was gone.
“Of course.”
“I must say, it’s been difficult to make a decision until now. There’s been a lot of interest in this role in particular. But I’m sure you were aware of that.”
