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Not my sister.
Not my ex-husband.
Millions of strangers around the world might follow me, but they don’t love me. Not the way I want to be loved.
“Adeline,” Jameson says, his voice firm, but smoothed around the edges.
“Don’t,” I say, my voice cracking. “Just leave it.”
I hear his suit rustle against the seat before I feel his hand against my cheek.
He turns my face to him. When he sees the tears tracking down my face, he curses. “You can’t keep doing this.”
I wipe my tears. All my fight is gone. Now, I just want to curl into a ball and hide from the world. “There’s nothing else Icando.”
He scowls. “You’re not a quitter. Don’t start that shit now.”
And just like that, his words and the way he says them, fire me up. That is, after all, Jameson’s superpower. Firing me up. “Don’t say shit like that to me when you know nothing about the situation.”
“I know all I need to know about the situation. People like your sister don’t stop. All they do is come knocking faster, sooner, all the fucking time. And just because she’s your sister, doesn’t mean you should say yes. Your family should be the last people on earth who use you like that.”
He’s right. I know he is. But this is something I’ve struggled with since I first started earning money.
I feel guilty that I make so much money while Sabrina and Mom have nothing.
It doesn’t matter that they do nothing to help themselves.
It doesn’t matter that I know I worked my ass off to get where I am.
It doesn’t matter that I know this isn’t down to luck.
I give, and give, and give, and still, it doesn’t change anything.
I love my sister, but she doesn’t love me.
She pretends to, but really, she hates me for having “boobs and an ass that bring in cash and men”, her words, not mine. I want her to be happy, and I want her to love me. Unfortunately, I rely on money to help me get those things because she doesn’t allow me into her life any other way.
I don’t want to tell Jameson he’s right. I never want to utter those words to him. So, instead, I say, “I’m taking care of it. You don’t need to concern yourself about me in this way.”
He looks at me like he doesn’t know what to do with me. He does that for what feels like a long time. Finally, he says, “Stop giving her money. She’s a grown woman. She can look after herself.”
Thankfully, Max pulls up outside my office and I’m spared more of this conversation.
Jameson and I do our daily dance of pretending to be in love when he helps me out of the car and brushes a kiss across my cheek. Today, though, he settles his arm around my waist and doesn’t let me go as soon as he’s finished with his kiss.
Keeping his face close to mine, he says, “You deserve to be treated better than how Sabrina is treating you.” His eyes search mine for the longest minute. “Don’t ever forget that.”
He may as well have kissed me because his words bewilder me as much as a kiss from him does.
Letting me go, he strides back to his door, and with one last glance, he gets in the car.
I’m unsure which part of all this does it, but I suspect it’s that last glance he gives, that he never gives, that tips me over the edge.
Jameson Fox just rearranged the inside of my brain and I’m not sure I want to put things back where they were.
14
Jameson
