“Since you love to talk so much, how about you tell me where your head’s at?” We’re back to Business Professional Jade.
“I don’t think you want to know where my head's at,boss.” I round the corner of the island, settling onto a stool, scooting closer to her so I’m bracketing her thighs with mine.
She steamrolls over my innuendo. “Stop trying to distract me. Better yet, stop trying to distract yourself by flirting with me.”
There she goes, seeing right through all my bluster again. I can’t explain why I feel the need to deflect my emotions and steer her away from seeing too closely. Maybe it’s pride; maybe it’s because she’s the last person I want to let down.
What would I even say? I have no explanation for what’s been happening to me.
With that in mind, I rely on the one thing that’s never failed me—my relentless and unwavering ability to chat my way out of any situation.
“But the colour your cheeks go when I flirt with you is so delicious, love.”
Her stare is icy. “What are you doing?”
I fear I severely miscalculated. “What do you mean?”
“You keep putting on this mask—this false bravado. Why?”
Jade grabs the sandwich package sitting in front of her, peels back the film, and takes half out before swirling her hand around, pointing the sandwich at me accusingly. The sharp look in her eyes in combination with the furrow between her brows is disturbingly cute. She’s got the heart of a lion and the face of a gazelle, and the dichotomy does weird things to my insides.
I contemplate lying, but it’s clear she won't believe me or let it go. I breathe in steadily, but the exhale has a slight wobble to it. “When the mask is on, I can pretend to be who they all expect me to be, who theywantme to be. They don’t want to see what it’s really like up here.” I tap the centre of my head. “The fans don’t want that. They want me to be untouchable—unobtainable. I’ll lose my luster and become a real human to them, not this mythical athlete. You don’t want that to happen, boss. It’s not good for optics.” Something flickers in her eyes, but it’s gone in a flash. It would seem I’m not the only one wearing a mask.
I toss another crisp in my mouth and give her an easy smile. The mask, even after this admission, feels impossible to remove.
“What if I just want you to be you?” Sincerity rings through her tone, clear and strong.
It’s a nice thought. A glorious thought, even, but the public's perception is everything when appealing to National scouts. They don’t want a flight risk. They want stability—to know that who they’re signing is worth the heavy price tag. I haven’t been that player in a long time.
I turn away from her, reaching into my fridge to pull out a beer and popping the top off with the ring on my index finger. I take a long swig, but I keep my eyes leveled on Jade as her gaze rakes over me. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours, Hellfire.”
She sits up straighter in her chair, placing the trash from her meal in the empty Tesco bag she brought it in.
Yeah, it’s not as easy to strip yourself bare before a person, is it?
“It’s getting late. I should get going.”
Arguing would be pointless. We’ve both pushed each other enough tonight, and even though everything in me wants her to stay, to keep letting her poke and prod just to have her around, it’s probably best for me to weather it alone. Try to maintain some semblance of dignity.
She walks to the door, me and Pebble hot on her heels. When we reach the front door, she twists and kneels, kissing my dog right between the eyes before standing once more.
For a moment we both stand there not knowing what to do or say. Should I hug her? I want to—fuck, do I want to. But we’ve been silent for too long, let the moment drag out, and now it’s a little like saying goodbye to a new friend you’re still getting to know, slightly awkward. Except Idoknow Jade, I think more than she wants to admit, and despite it being a rough day, month,year, her presence tonight did loosen some of the anxiety roiling through my chest. The persistent pressure was still there, but it felt lighter.
Taking a cautious step toward her, I lean forward. When she doesn’t immediately retreat, I get closer until I hear her breath hitch a little. I’m an inch away from her rosebud lips when I skirt to the right, placing a kiss to her soft cheek right above a small, delicate beauty mark.
I breathe in her warm, slightly sweet scent before pulling away. “You’re not heartless.”
She looks up at me, mere inches away. “No?”
“No.” My voice comes out rough. “Your heart is probably too big; it cares too much. You just don’t let the world see that. So, thank you.”
“For what?”
“For lettingmesee it.”
“The latest collectionis under performing. The content from the influencers we’ve hired hasn’t saturated as deeply as we would’ve hoped, and thelackof content coming from our founder isn’t helping.”
The not-so-subtle dig comes from the Chief Commercial Officer of Jaded. She’s a veritable hard ass, but she’s good at her job. It’s why I hired her, but right now I resent it. The problem is, she’s not wrong. My businesses rely on me and the content I put out to make sure we have consistent sell-through. It’s not enough to design the piece, source the material, double check the research team did their due diligence on the ethics behind whatever company we buy from, triple check the manufacturing company we’re using is up to code, have a hand in every step of the process, wear and test prototypes, provide feedback, test again, shoot ad campaigns, host events for launches, and probably ten other things I’m forgetting. I also have to film content for my socials that feels natural and organic, not like I’m selling them a product.
