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He smiles and picks up his sandwich. We eat silently, but it’s clear he has a lot on his mind.
“We’ve been fighting a lot,” he says, once we’re done eating. “One minute it’s all good, and the next, I’m walking home, miserable as hell.”
I keep silent, not sure what to say to that. Some useless platitude? Everybody fights?
“When she makes a big deal about the little things,” Brett continues. “I just feel like maybe she really wants me gone. We’ve been together for four years, Rach. It’s scary. I know I want to spend the rest of my life with her. I know I love her more than anything in the world, but what if deep down she feels trapped and it’s my fault.”
I’ve never seen anything to make me think that Laurie feels trapped and I rush to reassure him of that. “I can bet she doesn’t feel that way, Brett.” I sigh. “Why not tell her how you really feel? Your fears and everything. You love each other, you can work through it.”
He nods gratefully. “You’re right. I will. I’ll talk to her.”
I smile, but deep inside, I feel like a hypocrite. I haven’t been able to apply the same principle in my life. I haven’t been able to tell Landon how I feel, but here I am doling out advice.
We say goodbye outside the deli, and I wade through the lunch hour body traffic towards my office, truly hoping that Laurie and Brett would work it out so things can go back to the way they were.
At least the way they had been before I met Landon.
I want you, and I’m not going to walk away from this.
My mind fills with images of last night and need courses through me. I struggle against the memories, pushing into the Gilt lobby and practically bumping into Jack.
“Whoa,” he holds out a hand to steady me, and somehow I end up being pressed against his body in the most awkward hug ever. It’s clear that he doesn’t feel that way about it, as there’s a teasing grin on his face. “What’s the hurry beautiful?”
“Nothing,” I return his smile, stepping back so he has to let me go. My face is still flushed from all the carnal images of Landon that had been rolling through my mind only moments before. “Just escaping my demons.”
Jack arches a brow. “Your rich, handsome prince not slaying them for you?”
I ignore the dig. My ‘Prince’ is the demon I’m trying to escape anyway. “I gotta get to work.”
“Hey,” he sounds conciliatory. “Last night was great. It was good to catch up.”
I give him a small smile. “Yea.”
“So…” There’s a hopeful look on his face, “still coming tonight?”
To see his mother. I nod. “I already said yes. Just tell me when.”
“Whenever you get off work.” He pauses. “I really appreciate this. It means a lot.”
Don’t let it mean too much. I start to say, but I shrug and let it go. “It’s no bother, really.” Every moment I spend busy with something, anything at all, is a moment that I don’t think about Landon.
I get off work later than usual, but Jack is waiting for me at the reception on our floor when I finally leave the office. We take the elevator down together, sharing it with a group of interns who can’t stop looking at him. On the ground floor lobby, Chelsea is having a conversation with one of the downstairs receptionists. She sees me with Jack and her eyes widen. “What. The. Hell,” she mouths slowly.
I shrug, and she wags a finger at me.
Outside, Jack hails a cab. During the short journey, he’s mostly silent, and I assume that he’s nervous.
His mother has an apartment in Gramercy Park. The doorman eyes Jack suspiciously while checking his name on the visitor’s list, then he directs us to the elevator, which soon deposits us in a thickly carpeted vestibule. There are four doors with gold-lettered apartment numbers, and one of them opens just as we exit the elevator. The woman in the doorway is petite, her black hair held up in a ballet bun, which brings the elegant angles of her face into focus. Her eyes are gray, like Jack’s, and very sharp. She’s dressed all in black, the only color, a hint of red lipstick.
Her eyes lose their sharpness as they settle eagerly on Jack, roaming from his hair to his shoes, almost as if she needs to reassure herself that he’s really there. Then she lets out a breath and her glance flicks towards me.
“I see you brought a buffer,” she says with a small chuckle.
“Hello mother,” I’m surprised at how subdued Jack sounds.
She ignores him. “Who are you?”
“Rachel Foster,” Jack says before I can respond. “We work together at Gilt. Rachel, my mother. Gertrude Weyland.”
