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“I’m not sure exactly what it is Bree, but it’s obvious you have a history with Jordan. It was written all over the man. I have an extra room at my place if you wanted to talk about it?”
Her kindness floored me. I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Besides Drew, I really didn't have anyone to talk to.
I didn’t reappear at the exhibition for the rest of the night and Dalia covered my back perfectly. Ethan managed to negotiate an in-person appointment at the gallery instead. I didn't think I should be discussing my private business at work but considering he's bought a shit load of art from us, one could argue he's earned himself plenty of company time.
Dalia’s voice draws me back to the present.
“So, have you thought about how you want to handle things with Jordan going forward?”
I consider that for some time. “I think I should just let sleeping dogs lie because I'm so not going back there. The attraction is off the charts, so what happened was a knee-jerk reaction to eight years of unfinished business. But it's finished now." It has to be. The past is too painful.
"Maybe on your end. The man I saw yesterday was nowhere near finished. What if he wants to keep seeing you? And you said the connection is there still."
"Chemistry alone is not enough, there needs to be more than that.”
“Such as?”
I throw my hands up. “Well, trust for starters. Honesty. Mutual respect. And can he please not be related to the man who destroyed my family and indirectly contributed to the death of my father?”
"I get you," She nods in empathy. “So does that mean zero contact?”
“None whatsoever. I don't want to see or talk to him." In time he'll get the message leave me alone. "This dog is so on tranquilizers, I might as well lethally inject the sucker.”
“Savage.” Dalia chuckles.
Finally back at my apartment on Sunday afternoon, I take a relaxing bath and then decide to do some long-required housekeeping. The last four weeks have been a blur, with me having to dive right into the deep end, preparing for the gallery exhibition.
Most of my things are still in boxes as there’s barely been any time to spare. Work starts again tomorrow, and I want to get everything sorted before getting buried under preparations for the next exhibition.
I start with the boxes in the living room then move to cleaning the apartment obsessively. Anything to take my mind off yesterday. I’d been wary of turning my phone back on but then realized how ridiculous that was.
Even if Jordan gets my number, he’s not going to start calling like a besotted lover.
When you’re ready to talk, you will know where to find me.
He’s left the ball in my court so he won’t turn around and pursue me. I'm sure he's got better things to do.
Like protecting his precious family name from those seeking to smear it.
Meanwhile, I can grab the ball, set it on fire, and put it out with a gun.
I switch on the phone and leave it on the kitchen counter then return to my cleaning. Within a minute, it starts to ring. The sound pierces the silence of the apartment, making me jump in shock and apprehension.
I approach the phone like it’s a venomous reptile and peer into the screen.
It’s Drew.
He’s not called since I got to New York, I’ve been the one calling him. Could it be his famous sixth sense?
I pick up the phone. “Hi Drew!” I say with false cheer.
“Hey kiddo, how are you holding up after all of that excitement?”
I tense. We spoke a couple of days ago, why is he asking me that? Drew can be eerily perceptive “Okay? Why do you ask?”
“Because silly, you had an exhibition yesterday, and boy! I’m so proud of you that I could burst. I had Micky from down the street show me on some video, erm internet channel something… my, my, aren't you quite the New Yorker now.”
“Come on Drew, it was just an exhibition.” I smile, warmed by his praise.
