Except for when whenever Jack speaks. During those moments, I chime in, if only to be the devil’s advocate at every point he makes. Why? Habit, I guess. Even if I no longer hate him like I thought I did a year ago, old habits die hard.
“We need to highlight and expand the mocktail menu,” Jack mutters while staring down at the notes on his tablet.
“On it,” Weston replies, and I scoff loudly.
“Yeah, because people love to pay premium prices for fancy juice.”
Jack’s eyes lift coldly up to mine. “This is the time of year when people try to quit drinking. Not to mention with our two-drink limit, this gives them more options.”
“The mocktail menu sells well actually,” Weston says from the other side of the table, but Jack doesn’t avert his glare from my face.
This is the third or fourth time during the meeting that I’ve argued with him, and while I try to settle his mood with a sly smirk, his frown doesn’t budge. I’m starting to think I didn’t provide any actual help to this meeting.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Why am I being obstinate on purpose?
Phoenix thankfully breaks the silence with a point about membership numbers, and Jack finally looks away.
As we’re all packing up our things at the end, he stops me from leaving the room. “Is that absolutely necessary?” he asks, slamming his laptop closed.
“What are you talking about?”
“Your constant need to disagree with me on everything. Even when I know you don’t believe your own arguments. Why are you so insistent on being the thorn in my side? In everyone’s sides.”
I scoff as I turn my back on him. “Come on, Jack. I’m adding a little flavor to your life. Without me…it would be boring.”
Expecting him to laugh it off, I’m shocked when I feel his hand land heavily on my shoulder. Spinning me around, he glares angrily in my face.
“We could just be friends, you know. We could actually be a fucking team.”
My eyes narrow. “We are a team.”
“No, we’re not,” he argues. “Because no matter how muchI support you, you simply can’t find it in yourself to support me. Onanything. And I’m getting really fucking sick of it. I thought we turned over a new leaf when we reopened the club. I thought we were finally on the same team. But I don’t think we are. I don’t think you even want that.”
I stand silently in a stupor as I let his words wash over me, wondering where the fuck they’re coming from. Finally, Jack lets out a despondent sigh.
“Julian, what is it that stops you from giving back what people give to you, huh?”
I fake a laugh, pulling away from his grasp. “You’re being too fucking serious. I was just having a laugh.”
“Well, I’m not,” he mutters angrily. “This is me telling you I’m about to pull the rug. If things don’t change and this partnership isn’t fifty-fifty, then I’m going to suggest a restructuring.”
I flinch as if he’s just slapped me. “What is that supposed to mean?”
He hoists his bag over his shoulder. “It means…I don’t think you and I should be partners anymore.” As he moves to the door, I feel the heavy weight of his words settling on my chest like a vise. And just before he leaves, he turns back toward me and adds, “In fact, I don’t know if you should be anyone’s partner.”
And with that, he disappears.
I’m left alone in the conference room, reeling from an ice-cold dose of the truth. Do I really make a bad partner? How could I even deny it? When have I ever truly partnered with Jack? We did work together well when we renovated the club last year, but that was hardly a partnership. We were both scrambling to save our own asses. And that was a short collaboration. Since then, we’ve been at each other’s throats again.
After everyone leaves for the night, I do my usual routine of heading down to the lower level. The club is busy tonight. Everywhere I turn, I see a wristband adorning the members’ wrists, which means the plan is working.
There’s a table of single women in one booth, each wearing a red band on their wrist, which means they’re all here to have fun and shouldn’t have to worry about anyone bothering them. Most of the people on the dance floor are fully clothed. This is typical for weekend nights when the crowd is newer and younger.
The regulars usually file in earlier in the evening and on weekdays. They aren’t as shy about having open sex on the dance floor in front of everyone else. They’re a bit more seasoned.
Out of habit, I walk toward the dark back corner of the club where the free use wall is located. That urge to use it is gone. If by some lovely miracle, Freya or Archer were tied to it, that would be a different case altogether.
“Bonsoir, Julian.” A sweet voice catches my attention, and I spin around to find Élodie standing behind me.
