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Thelittle howl he gives me tells me we’re on the same page aboutOperationGetSelenaBack.
chaptersixty-eight
Two weeks. Probably less. Probably a lot less…
selena
Thebakery kitchen is in its usual chaos the next morning.Ispend so much time putting out fires that it’s two o’clock beforeIknow it.AndI’mhoping and praying thatJacksonis over whatever nonsense he got into his head last night about us going on a date and is just going to let this go.Hecan let the media and the public think whatever he wants them to.Thathe dumped me for being too clingy, or too normal, or too boring.Ihonestly don’t care anymore.
Jacksonwas always going to be the only one who came out of this fake break-up unscathed.Thatwas never going to happen for me.I’vegot one night of crying into my satin pillowcase down, andI’mready to get the rest of them over with untilIfeel nothing at the name…
“Selena!JacksonWatersis here to see you!”Liamcalls out like an unnecessarily loud foghorn from ten feet away.
Okay, so we’re definitely not at the point where the nameJacksonWatersmeans nothing to me.ButsinceIdidn’t burst into tears at hearing his name screamed at me,I’mtaking that as progress.
“Thanks.Canyou tell him to wait up front and thatI’llbe out in a minute?”Iask from behind a row of cooling racks, where thankfullyJacksoncan’t see me.
I’mgoing to be more than a minute ifIhave anything to say about it.Morelike a solid half hour, at least.Maybeeven forty-five minutes.
“Sure.”Liamlooks almost as confused asIfeel.AndIcan only imagine howJacksonlooks right now.HowdareIkeep the greatJacksonWaterswaiting?Well, he’d better get used to it.Becausehe’s going to be waiting a lot for the next two weeks until the contract is over.
Itake my sweet time finishing the inventory of all our dry goods because that order needs to be put in by the end of the day.ThenImake my way over to the makeshift officeIcreated in the corner of our designated space out of a few shower curtains hanging from the ducting above.It’snot much, butIhave a four-foot high bookshelf with a laptop on it as a makeshift standing desk and a stool for whenIcan’t take another minute of standing.Therest of the staff andIall put our personal stuff on the bookshelf and use this little area to change in and out of our work clothes.Itcan’t be bigger than three feet by three feet.
Actually, that’s exactly how big it is, becauseIhad to measure the bookshelf to make sure it would fit before buying it fromIKEA.Iput it together all by myself the first weekIrented this space.Thiskitchen has so many memories wrapped up in it.Allthe excitement of starting something new.Thegrowing pains as we struggled in those first few months.Thenthe joy of finding our footing and wonderful repeat customers who ordered from us again and again.Tearsthreaten to fall whenIthink about leaving this place, butI’vealready cried more than enough in the last twenty-four hours to last me a lifetime.
Asmuch asIhate it,Ineed to make myself presentable.IfI’mwithJacksonthis afternoon, then there’s a chance someone could take my picture.AndI’mvain enough not to want to be photographed next to two-timeAmerica’ssexiest man in my flour-stained yoga pants and aLadycakest-shirt.
Afterundoing my apron,Itoss it in the laundry bin and then pull the shower curtains tightly closed around me.Ipull my t-shirt up and over my head.I’lltake that home to wash myself.Whenmy head is around my knees asIpush down my yoga pants,Ifeel a rush of air on my back.AndthenIsee black boots through my legs.Veryexpensive black boots are right in front of my face.Themetal shower curtain rings jangle on the ducts above my head.
“Don’tlet me interrupt you,”Jackson’svoice says above me.
Well,I’vehad a shit day, soIguess one more orgasm for the road isn’t the worst idea.Itug my pants and socks off, and then stand up slowly, my eyes raking over his jeans and black t-shirt untilI’mfacing him, wearing only a matching forest green bra and panties set he bought me.Straighteningmy shoulders and arching my back, making myself as tall as possible,Istand there eyeing him, waiting for him to make the first move.
Hisjaw clenches.Buthe doesn’t move.
NeitherdoI.
“Getdressed,Selena.Wehave an appointment in twenty minutes,”Jacksonsays before grimacing.Actuallygrimacing.Whatthe hell is going on here?
“Whatappointment?”Iask, narrowing my eyes up at him.
“You’llfind out when you get dressed.”
“WhatifIdon’t want to?”DoIknow thatI’macting like a small child?Yes.AnddoIcare?Absolutelynot. “WhatifIwant to go like this?”
Jacksonleans forward.Hereaches out his hand to drag his knuckles down my chest, but doesn’t quite make contact with my skin. “Nothappening.Getdressed,Selena.”
“Whatever,”Itell him, rolling my eyes.
Turningaway from him,Idig in my shoulder bag for theA-line floral dressIbrought with me this morning.Mybag is on the bottom shelf, so my ass is up in the air whileIrifle under my makeup bag and hair brush and sandals, and all the other crap that accumulates at the bottom of my enormous work purse.WhenIdo mySundaynight clean-out,Iam always astonished by how much stuff ends up in there in only seven days.
“Selena,”Jacksonbarks at me.
Idon’t like that tone at all.Idon’t know why this is all pissingJacksonoff so much, butI’menjoying myself way, way too much to stop.Idon’t want him here, andIhave no intention of just going along with whatever he wants.Notanymore.
Assholesdeserve ass jiggles.Ishake my ass for a good thirty seconds, as close to his face as my short legs will get me.
ThenIplace my sandals on the ground and finally pull my dress out.Iturn around soI’mfacingJacksonagain asIunzip it and then step into it, pulling the wide straps up over my shoulders.Thezipper’s at the back, and whileIcan, and do, manage to zip it up all by myself, why wouldIdo that whenIhave myfake-boyfriend here to assist?So,Iturn around again to point the zipper in his direction.
