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The words sliced through her like blades. Her distress wound a path from gut to chest to throat and she swallowed hard to force it back. She’d always known she wasn’t slick enough for Jack’s world where he hurtled along at the speed of light, forever chasing some textbook vision of excellence.
“Sorry I can’t move fast enough for you.”
He laughed, short and bitter. “Oh, you moved pretty fast in that bar, Lili. And you were certainly no slowpoke when you came to my hotel room after the taping. Seems you’re happy to take risks for certain things, like sex, but when shit gets real, up go the walls and out come the excuses.”
“We’re not all as sure as you, Jack. Not everyone comes out of the womb with a fully-formed plan for world domination.”
He leaned in close, his mouth hard as his gaze. “At least, I’m not afraid of admitting what I want. What I need. I’m not going to beg, Lili. Either you’re in or you’re out.”
“How could I refuse such an attractive offer?”
“That’s right, smart mouth. Make a joke.” A half-sneer curled his lips. “Whatever you need to keep it simple. I’m coming on too strong and you can’t stand to be pushed. Or you’re making this huge sacrifice so I won’t be forced to rip anyone’s head off and ruin my career. Let’s just go with one of those, shall we? Either way, you come off looking pretty good.”
His vicious grip on the steering wheel drew her dizzy gaze to the pale knuckles of those strong, blunt hands. She didn’t have to look to know his jaw was set in a hard line, his lips thinned to invisibility.
“Jack, you want too much,” she said to the window.
“And you don’t want enough.” He spoke, not with rancor, but with a tired resignation that sent a bolt of alarm through her chest. He had reached an impregnable wall and no longer had the energy to break through. Those well-crafted defenses of hers were too entrenched, those bone-deep fears impossible to overcome. And the worse part was that she knew it and couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
“Did we ever have a chance, Lili? Did you ever see a future for us or was I always meant to be the good-time guy to make you feel wanted, a stopgap to go with the half-life you’re living? Well, go find someone else to use because I deserve better than that. I deserve more than you’re willing to give.”
She felt as though her heart and lungs were about to fly apart. He was right. She could never be the woman he deserved. Fumbling, it took her a moment to find the door handle, never mind that she was looking right at it.
“I need to get out,” she gasped, but it didn’t open until she heard the click of the lock. It would be stupid to read anything into that, such as Jack releasing her from her bond to him.
Really stupid.
With the door slam, she expected him to drive away, and it took her a moment to realize he was waiting for her to get inside her apartment. Protecting her to the end. Once sequestered, she gasped and hauled in oxygen to the heart she could feel blackening with hurt.
When it didn’t help, she realized the muscle was damaged beyond repair.
Thirty-Eight
“Jack, wake up.”
He jolted and almost fell over because his left side had decided to stay in the land of Nod.
Apparently, a Mack truck had run over his head, then backed up to finish the job. And he was drooling. Bloody brilliant. He peered up and Jules peered down, her face pale and concerned. Huh, there’s a switch. She was worried about him for a change.
Then he realized the incongruity of their positions. She stood over him, and he was puddled on the floor of his new restaurant kitchen. Stiffness had snarled his back muscles into a slab of frozen beef. Par for the course when you fall asleep with your back to a refrigerator door.
“How did you get in?” he croaked while he swiped at his mouth. He strained to lift his head. Any more than an inch would require coffee or a crane.
“You left the door open, idiot. I called your mobile but you didn’t answer.”
“Because I was asleep.” His head snapped back and a painful wince answered. “So you walked into an empty restaurant in a dodgy neighborhood on the off chance I’d be here?”
“Don’t worry. The sprog kicks up whenever it suspects danger. Like baby spidey senses or something.” Bending over, she extracted a quarter-full bottle of Johnnie Walker from his hand, subbed it with a cup of coffee, and looked around. “You’ve been busy.”
He followed her gaze. Pots begat pots, skillets had birthed skillets. All the countertops bore evidence of last night’s surge of creativity-slash-destruction.
“I was trying to get something right.”
She squinted. “Did you?”
“I don’t know.” The entire night had been spent on one thing: the risotto from the taping.
It wouldn’t make an appearance on his new menu, but he was determined to perfect it or die trying. After pan number fourteen—or was it fifteen?—his numbed taste buds won over his judgment and he packed it in. That’s when his friend Johnnie Walker stopped by for a confab.
