“Chase,” I reply, my voice flat and devoid of any emotion, but inside, I’m freaking the hell out.
He looks exactly the same as I remember. Same muscular football build, same black hair neatly styled to keep the curls under control, and same rich coffee eyes. The only new thing is the pair of black reading glasses he’s wearing.
Tracy’s gaze bounces between us before she addresses Chase. “Do you need me to do anything?”
Coming out of our stare-off, he takes off his glasses and hands her the file he’s been holding. “Yes. Could you contact my father and cancel our lunch meeting? Tell him I’m swamped and will call him later.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sorry, where are my manners. Jordan, this is Tracy. She’s filling in for Paula while she’s on maternity leave.”
Paula had just started working for Summerfield Construction right before everything blew to shit between me and Chase, so I didn’t get a chance to know her that well.
Chase shifts uncomfortably but doesn’t make a move toward me. He must read the energy in the room and know if he tried to shake my hand or, God forbid, hug me, I’d throat punch him.
“Did you, uh, did you want to come on back?”
He doesn’t know why I’m here, and it’s making him nervous. Good.
I nod.
He tells Tracy, “Hold all calls, please.”
“Yes, sir,” she politely says again. Harper would love her manners.
Opening the door that leads to the back offices, he waits for me to follow. The glass-walled conference room is a new addition, but otherwise, the layout is the same. He guides me to the back room which used to be his father’s office. I can tell it’s Chase’s now as soon as we enter. Mr. Summerfield’s dark mahogany office furniture has been replaced with more modern glass and steel décor. Various baseballs, footballs, and basketballs encased in plexiglass boxes sit atop the bookshelves and the desk. Chase always had a thing for autographed sports memorabilia. Didn’t matter which sport.
Chase walks behind his desk but doesn’t take a seat. Instead, he shoves his hands deep inside his trouser pockets. I take a similar stance.
“I guess Mike told you I dropped by Mickey’s.”
“He did, but that’s not why I’m here.”
The sliver of hope on his face disappears. “Oh, then I guess you heard about me and…” He won’t say her name in front of me.
“I did. I’m not here about that either.”
He pulls his hands out of his pockets and swipes them through his hair. “Fuck, Jordan. I hate how awkward this feels. I hate what I did, and I’m so goddamn sorry.”
I don’t care how sorry he is. I didn’t come here for an apology. Too little, too late.
I spread my palms flat on the desk and lean in. Getting directly to the point so I can get the hell out of here, I tell him, “Stay away from Douglass.”
He flops backward into his chair. “What? How did…” he stammers in confusion.
“You will not talk to her. You will not look at her. You will not breathe her name. What you will do is stay the fuck away from her.”
Chase never did like confrontation. When push comes to shove, he shoves.
“What if that’s not what she wants? She’s a grown woman and can make her own decisions who she’s friends with,” he argues.
I couldn’t agree more, but our history and the bad blood between us prevents me from coming around to his logic.
“Not with you,” I reply, straightening up to my full height.
Chase stands back up as well, not succumbing to the power position of me looking down on him.
“I don’t know how many times I have to say I’m sorry, but I will, even if it takes the rest of my life. I’m so fucking incredibly sorry, Jordan. I’ll do anything to earn your forgiveness.”
