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I immediately wish I hadn’t.
My chest tightens while I read what’s been posted.
Stories about my mother being a hooker.
Stories about me being a bitch who doesn’t help her family. A bitch who would rather see her mother sell her body to pay her bills.
Stories about the awful drug addiction my mother now has, thanks to having to sell her body.
If only they knew the truth of which one of us had to sell her body to pay bills. It sure as hell wasn’t my mother.
And then there’s the post Thomas has made about our marriage. He’s lied about our sex life, saying that I pressured him into having threesomes. He’s also said I cheated on him numerous times. On top of all that, he said he hopes Jameson knows just who he married and that I’ll probably cheat on him too.
I never looked at or touched another man while married to Thomas. He, on the other hand, cheated on me with at least five women. I discovered this after I left him, and I suspect there were more than five women. I’ve left all that behind me. I’ve worked hard on rebuilding myself after spiraling into a dark place after my divorce. I’m in a good place now, but damn, this gossip is bad news.
It could harm my chance at getting my company back.
Taking a deep breath, I go in search of coffee and Jameson. I doubt he’s going to be happy about this.
He’s standing at the island when I join him in the kitchen. All suited up in a blue suit, ready for the day. Although, he’s not quite fully ready because his hair isn’t pulled back into that god-awful man bun yet.
My brows pull in as I look at his hair. “Did you cut your hair?” I don’t recall it looking any different last night, but now that it’s out, it seems shorter than when I last saw him wear it out.
He looks at me, and yes, there’s something different today. “Yes.”
Jameson’s hair used to fall just below his shoulders. Now, it doesn’t quite touch his shoulders. He has thick, wavy hair, though, so there’s still a lot of it, and I’m sure he’ll still wear it in a bun. But there’s no denying I like it this length.
I especially like it when he runs his fingers through it to keep it off his face like he does now while watching me.
Holy hot ovary.
Thankfully, he moves along with the conversation and asks, “Would you like coffee?”
Right.
Coffee.
Food.
The matter at hand.
I hold my phone up. “Clearly you haven’t seen the news this morning.” At his frown, I add, “If you had, you wouldn’t be offering to make me coffee.” It’s bad enough having to deal with the bullshit my ex is spreading about me but having to do that on Jameson’s watch is going to be painful. He won’t be happy with the spotlight on us in this way.
“I’ve seen it.”
I stare at him, confused, as he reaches for a mug. “And?” He seems so unaffected by it. Not at all what I was expecting.
“And what?”
“Jesus, Jameson. My ex-husband has done a tell-all about our sex life with particular emphasis on the threesomes I supposedly used to demand from him, and the cheating I supposedly did. And here you are acting like nothing even happened. I mean, what is Bill going to make of this? Surely that’s of concern to you.”
He holds up the mug he just pulled out of the cupboard. “I presume you want coffee?”
Who is this man?
He looks like Jameson and moves like Jameson, but he doesn’t speak Jameson’s language. The asshole language, that is.
I sensed a change in him at dinner last night. We actually had a conversation in which I didn’t want to take a knife to him. He listened to me when I told his family a little about my work. He asked me questions like he was interested in the answers. And then he shared that story with me about his mom trying to line up dates for him.
