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It's been eight years. He's since traveled across the world, must have had many experiences, and changed a lot as a person. He’s a self-made billionaire for God's sake, no doubt has had countless other women. There’s a good chance I don’t ring a bell.
After that fateful summer, Jordan dropped off the radar. It wasn't until four years later when Acercraft started trending as the fastest-growing online gaming platform that I found out through social media that Jordan was the brain behind it. I also discovered he'd enlisted in the US Army.
Which proves that I was nothing more than a diversion. Because Jordan did none of those things he told me he'd do. He did not go to Yale, and certainly didn't go on to work in his family’s oil and gas business. To think I’d changed my plans for college and started applying to UConn and Yale so I could be near him while he'd been selling me a dream.
I was such a fool.
I just hope he didn’t recognize me.
Jordan hasn't looked my way all evening. He's seen me I’m sure, just as everyone has, but I know when Jordan is looking at me. I recall how it feels to have his eyes on me- like a sweet, tingly fire licking under my skin, and I haven't felt that all night. So, yes, he might indeed not remember me. The notion of that both relieves and depresses me.
What could he be doing here anyway? It looks like he might be friends with Grant and the other attractive guy in glasses. And he was speaking to Dennis and Christina as if he knows them. Sweet baby Jesus, is he one of the regulars here too?
It's no use trying to recall if his name was on Dalia's list of frequent attendees because my brain is all fogged over. But surely I would have noticed his name? Does this mean he'll be attending exhibitions now? God, I hope not. I fight off a wave of panic. I love my job and wouldn't want to have to quit just to avoid the man.
“And you think it’s big enough to hide in if fate decides to cross those paths again?”
"Wish you could see me now Drew."He was right. It hasn't even been four weeks yet. There’s something to be said for superstition.
The door opens and I look up. And suck in a gasp.
Jordan steps into the office and stands a few feet away.
“Bree.” His voice is as deep and gravelly as I remember.
His tall, large frame appears to take up all the room in the small office. My heart rate, which had been slowing, picks up again. Thankfully he doesn’t come any closer.
“Can I help you?” My voice is a panicked squeak. The last time I spoke to him, he was my fiancé. Who was abandoning me when I needed him most. Dad had just been arrested for fraud and the first thing Jordan did was to cut ties with me in a bid to protect the Farrington name.
“Well,” he seems lost for words but recovers quickly enough. “Grant tells me you started here only about a month ago. Kickass exhibition there. Great turnout and engagement. Well done.”
He sounds like he genuinely means that. “Thank you. I have a wonderful team and most of the structure was already in place so it was a lot of autopiloting really." I'm very proud of how steady my voice is.
“I'm sure Ethan will want to talk to you about setting up a few gigs in Manhattan. He's Grant’s older brother and my business partner,” he explains.
“Oh, I see.” Maybe I can persuade Chad to blacklist Grant. “Yes, he asked me earlier if I did any freelance work. I do, well, I did, before moving here. We’ll see. Depends on how much time I’m able to carve out with the gallery here.”
“Of course,” he says. "Take your time."
This would have to take the cake for the most awkward conversation in my life. Has anyone seen a giant, pink elephant stomping around the room yet? We're playing chicken here.
He’s quiet for a bit then suddenly says, “Talk to me, Bree.” It's too dim to see his eyes but the weight of his stare feels like flames licking away at my skin. Oh yes, the Jordan stare. I can't stay here. I need to leave this room.
“And say what?” It comes out sharper than I intended.
“I don’t know, anything. Are you okay for starters?” My heart squeezes at his gentle, coaxing tone but I resist the urge to offer anything more than cold civility.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I say, rubbing the throbbing point on the back of my neck.
"You looked like you needed a breather. The exhibition is going amazingly well but maybe it was too much stress too soon?"
The word 'stress' coming out of his mouth trigger memories of exactly how he took care of me when I was stressed. Which was a lot back then because I was about to finish high school and trying to juggle schoolwork and college interviews. He'd start with a foot rub and move onto a full body massage, by the end of which I'd be trembling with need, then he would… I violently yank my addled brain off the path of destruction.
“I'm not stressed at all I'm great. I just needed...” My mind goes blank. I try again, wracking my brain for the excuse I gave for leaving. “I really need, um, yes, a brochure. For the glass artist.”
I just needed space away from you. That's the reason why I left. It’d be nice if you’d just let me be for a minute.
My whole body is trembling with the effort I’m putting into appearing unaffected. I simply cannot deal with Jordan right now. The dam holding back all the anger and desire is so damn close to collapsing I can hear the creaks and groans.
