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If things go well with Jessie and Nic, I’ll pass it on to him. But I don’t expect this to go well.
I used to imagine myself in control, moving the pieces around the chessboard because that put me above it. It kept me safe. It didn’t hurt to be unloved when love was never the goal. When I used people first.
This is something new, and it’s incredibly uncomfortable.
The shame of what I tried to do weighs down on me, but I walk up to the stoop of the beautiful Upper West Side brownstone—Nic and Jessie’s new house, according to Lauren—and ring the bell.
Nic opens the door, clearly surprised to see me. And uncomfortable. “Ashley. I didn’t know you were in New York.”
“Just got in,” I say, trying to sound bright. “Can I talk to you and Jessie for a few minutes?”
He ushers me in and calls out to Jessie after shutting the door. “Want a drink?” he asks me, leading me to the kitchen. Their house is stunning. Fully renovated sometime in the last decade, white walls hung with beautiful artwork that looks like Jessie’s, it’s warm and welcoming. I sit at the dining room table, trying to get my nerves under control. I have no idea how Jessie is going to take this, and I desperately hope this doesn’t devolve into a hair-pulling brawl.
Nic pours me a glass of wine and goes back to cooking dinner. It smells divine.
“So,” he says carefully, then swears and vigorously stirs a pot on the stove. I glance at him and he’s rigid. He hasn’t made eye contact with me once since he let me in.
He knows. Timothy must have told him after he met with me in LA.
Fuck.
Jessie comes into the room, her auburn hair in a ponytail, and a streak of green paint on her cheek. She smiles widely and I know Timothy didn’t tell her. “Ashley! How are you doing?”
“I tried to seduce your husband on your wedding day,” I blurt out. “But my assistant sent Gabe to the room instead of Nic. I’m taking this to the press, and I want you both to be prepared.”
Jessie’s eyes go absurdly wide, then stormy. She takes a few steps toward me and pauses as her brow furrows. For a long moment, she stares at me. Without a word, she grabs the bottle of wine from the island and sinks into a chair a safe distance from me at the table.
She takes a swig from the bottle, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and abruptly bursts into laughter. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Nic brings her a glass, kissing her on the top of the head and glaring at me.
“I’m sorry,” I say to her, then turn to Nic as he retreats into the kitchen. “I’m sorry, Nic. I thought I was in love. I wasn’t.”
“It wouldn’t have worked,” Nic says, lifting a steaming pot from the stove and bringing it to the sink. “I love Jessie.”
“I know. I was messed up and I…I thought we had some kind of understanding. That we got each other.”
“We barely know each other,” Nic points out, draining pasta.
He’s angry.
I glance at Jessie. She’s looking at me like she’s puzzling it all out.
I’d rather deal with Nic’s anger.
“I know,” I say to him. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any feelings for you, I promise I’ll never try to interfere—”
“Then what are you doing here?” he snaps.
“You love Gabriel Sinclair,” Jessie says quietly. “That’s why you want to take this to the press, isn’t it? Because they’re shredding him to pieces.”
My throat closes, so I nod.
“They’ll shred you to pieces.”
Again, I nod.
Jessie stands. “How long until dinner?”
