The Lover’s Game (No Exceptions #2)(8)
Author: J.C. Reed

“On the contrary, Jenna.” He stood up, all six-foot-something of him, and his blue eyes penetrated me with amusement. My skin tingled with anticipation. “Five weeks.”

“Five weeks what?” I asked, confused.

“Five weeks is all I can give you. After that, we’ll see what happens.”

In the distance, I could hear a clock ticking, reminding me that time was running out. I had to make a decision.

“I won’t disappoint you,” I said at last.

“Good.”

Grayson returned to his seat and folded his arms. “Send Thalia back in on your way out.”

I nodded, realizing this was my cue to leave. For some reason, I could sense that Grayson was irritated. I didn’t know whether it was because I wasn’t excited to do nude jobs or because he wasn’t pleased with my answers. For all I knew, the interview had taken more time than he had intended to give it. Whatever the case, I decided not to analyze the situation too much.

I sat up and straightened my dress. “Thank you for taking a chance on me. It means a lot to me.” I smiled and headed for the door, not waiting for his reply. From the corner of my eyes, I caught Grayson looking at my profile, his fingers rubbing his chin in thought. I wondered about his true impression of me, but even more so, I wondered what Jett would have said about my new job—if we were still together.

Chapter 5

“Woo-hoo,” Thalia shouted the moment we were alone. “You’re in.”

As I stepped out of the building, the cold air whipped my hair into my face. I had no clue how late it was, but after Thalia’s repeated, if not desperate, attempts to convince me to let her drive me home rather than take a taxi, I gave in. There was no sense in wasting money I didn’t have or in hurting her feelings after she had done so much for me already.

Throughout the drive to Brooklyn Heights, I absent-mindedly listened to Thalia’s recollection of all the jobs she had been booked for. I was physically present, but my mind was elsewhere.

It was clear to me that Jett’s home was no longer mine and that I had to break off our relationship as soon as possible. Lots of people end relationships over the phone these days, don’t they? To make sure he wouldn’t reply, I figured I could call at four a.m. or during the day when he was at the office. I had no idea what I’d say, but I figured being short and blunt—without causing any more unnecessary drama—was the best way to go. Something like, “It’s over. Don’t contact me again. Bye and good luck screwing the next idiot. Oh, and by the way, I quit.”

Scratch the last couple parts.

I had to make sure to let him know I was completely over him—without sounding spiteful or accusatory. To make sure, he didn’t come back for answers, I would simply proclaim, “It’s not you. It’s me,” in my most convincing tone, even though that wasn’t entirely true. Of course it was always about them.

But what about the gifts?

Unintentionally, I touched the diamond pendant around my neck, realizing that it wasn’t quite over until I returned the few gifts he had given me during our time together. Obviously, I couldn’t keep them from a moral standpoint, as well as due to the fact that they’d always act as painful reminders of all the good times we had spent together. Happy times that had been nothing but illusions, cobwebs of dreams and lies.

Leaving a phone message wasn’t good enough. I’d have to write him a brief note and include it in a parcel I’d send together with the necklace. And maybe—sometime in the future, when I felt stronger and over him—I’d leave him a message on his answering machine to ask for my meager belongings, maybe tell him to FedEx them to me.

Eventually, we reached Brooklyn Heights, and I asked Thalia to drop me off around the corner and farther down the street from where I used to live.

Although I would have liked to consider Thalia as a new friend, there was no need to let her know my exact address. Trust wasn’t easily built. While I liked her, I still had to build trust, not only to her but also to myself and to everyone around me. In the past few months, I had been more gullible than ever before. It had all been too easy to fall in love with Jett, to freely give my heart away, hoping for the best. I had been too quick to invite him into my bed and even quicker in my hopes to marry him.

Now I could see how stupid I had been and I wasn’t ready yet—if ever—to return to my old life, to be the old, naïve Brooke who believed in fairy tales. If anything, the whole lesson taught me to never again trust a sexy guy in a tailored suit, and particularly not one with eyes as smoldering as fire, a body that could turn on the heat, and a voice that would melt away any woman’s last inhibition.

As soon as we arrived, Thalia stopped the car. I said goodbye, then watched her drive away. For a few seconds, I stood under the street lamp, aware that I was alone on a deserted street in the middle of the night. I dreaded the imminent conversation with Sylvie almost as much I dreaded returning to an empty room in a tiny apartment, the meager surroundings I had lived in for many years before moving in with Jett. Deep down, I was afraid of returning to my old, lonely life.

My heart sank at the thought of that unknown future. Touching my stomach, I imagined my life without Jett. It was depressing to realize that I’d have to give birth alone to a child and raise her without a father. And how would I answer my baby’s questions about her father was when I couldn’t bear to ever see him again? Would I be able to cope? Work would keep me busy, but what would happen when I was alone—at home—in bed with nothing but my dark thoughts to keep me company? I could control those thoughts during the day, when I was busy, but I feared those moments of complete depression and utter humiliation at night, when my solitude would result in obsession and isolation, and all the questions and fears would come circling back. There was no doubt about the fact that, sooner or later, Jett would want to see me, if only to demand an explanation for my sudden disappearance and my avoidance of him—not because he cared, but because of his gigantic ego. I feared the moment when he’d appear in front of Sylvie’s door. What if I wasn’t strong enough to resist him? What if his words drew me back to him, because I was still not over him, and I allowed him to deceive me all over again?

I shuddered at the thought.

That can never happen, Stewart.

Never.

He had broken my heart in so many places I’d never be complete again. My heart still ached, and the image of them kissing would be forever etched in my mind. For the sake of my sanity, I had to stay away from him—if only I knew how.