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“It means, where the fuck is this coming from? You’ve never given a shit before if we’ve flirted with your women, so why all of a sudden is it a problem?”
The irritation spreading throughout me is making me fucking jumpy, like I just want to punch something to get some of this fucked up energy out of me. He’s right, but he’s so wrong, too. “I never gave a shit before because those women weren’t my women – they were just women. Presley’s mine. So back the fuck off, okay?”
He puts his hands up defensively. “Sorry, man. You’ve gotta know I don’t mean anything by it though, right? You and me are like brothers; I’d never take something of yours.”
I listen to his words, and I know he means them, but I’m still agitated. Blowing out a long breath, I rub the back of my neck and say, “Fuck, I’m sorry. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me lately. I’m all over the place with this shit.”
Hunter and West laugh at the same time, and West enlightens me with his thoughts on the matter. “Dude, you’ve turned into a possessive motherfucker. Hell, I can’t even recall a time when you’ve chased a woman for anything, let alone gone back for seconds and thirds.”
My phone rings and I answer it while mentally agreeing with what West just said. He’s right on the money – I have turned into a possessive motherfucker.
“Jett, you got a minute?” It’s Doug, my financial advisor.
“Sure,” I say while putting my hand over the phone and mouthing to the guys that it’s Doug and I’ll be a minute.
West grins and yells out, “Tell him I’m ready to get hooked up with some shares like yours.”
Doug has the magic touch when it comes to shares, and West has just dumped his guy due to lack of performance. I nod and leave the room to find a quiet spot.
“Got some bad news for you, man,” Doug starts the conversation with an opener no one ever wants to hear. Particularly not when it concerns money.
“How much is this gonna hurt?”
“There’s no easy way to say it . . . your portfolio has taken a hit today at a loss of around thirty percent.”
My gut drops and I sink into a chair. Hunching over, I place my elbows on my legs and rest my head in my hands. He’s knocked the wind out of me and I take a moment to get my breathing back under control.
Fuck.
“Jett? You there?” Doug’s voice is full of concern. I can only imagine how much he hates making these kinds of calls.
“Yeah.” My thoughts are all over the place and I can’t form any other words while I battle through trying to rebalance myself.
“The market took a dive today so you need to have a think about what you want to do with your shares and I’m concerned this is just the beginning. Check your emails – I’ve just sent through some info for you to read through. Let me know as soon as possible which shares you want to hold onto, okay?”
Jesus, as if I don’t have enough other shit to deal with, but that’s life for you – one day you’re sitting pretty, and the next it all goes to hell. “I’ll let you know,” I agree and hang up.
I sit and process everything he’s said and after reading through his email, I’m even more fuc
king confused so I text him and organise to meet and discuss this tonight. That fucking share portfolio is all I have and most of my cash is tied up in it. I need to sort this out fast because there’s no way I’m losing the money I’ve worked damn hard for over the past ten years.
* * *
I knock on Presley’s door and wait for her to answer it. Fuck, it’s been a long day, and all I want is to hold her in my arms and forget everything that’s happened. I spent three hours with Doug tonight, going over my share portfolio, and I’m wiped.
She takes about five minutes to answer the door and when she does, she stands in front of me in her Keith Urban t-shirt with an annoyed glare on her face. “It’s late, Jett.” Even her words are laced with annoyance.
“Sorry, sweetheart, but I needed to see you.” I step into her house and pull her into my arms.
When her arms don’t come around me but rather hang limply at her side, I let her go and frown. “Are you that pissed that I came over late?”
“No, I’m pissed because you said you’d be here sometime just after six and I waited for you, but you didn’t show up, and then you sent me a text at seven thirty to say you weren’t coming.” Ice clings to her words and I can see her getting more worked up as she goes. “A fucking text! A fucking hour and a half late.”
Fuck, I’m an asshole, and she has every right to be mad at me.
I’m so far out of my comfort zone here; relationships and me do not go hand in hand.
I open my mouth to respond but she’s already turned and walked away from me so I close the front door and follow her into the kitchen.
