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We’re leaving? Already? I want to ask him, but I don’t dare. I don’t want to ask him anything ever again. Disappearing through the floor would be really good right about now. I don’t want to talk to him. Don’t want to see him. My face is still flaming, I can feel it. I’m blushing from my neck all the way up into my hairline. I want to curl up in a ball in the corner and hide from the world. I’ve never felt more stupid, or more embarrassed, in my life. Seeing pictures of me vomiting in the gutter on the front page of all the newspapers has nothing on this.
I get back into bed, still totally mortified. Maybe if I go back to sleep, I’ll wake up tomorrow, back in my own bed at home, and find out this is nothing but a dream?
“Jade?” Jaxon calls, then raps sharply on the door. Trust him to come along and burst my hopes. “Don’t be embarrassed,” he calls through the door. I hold the covers up to my chin, wanting to hide. Hopefully he’s too much of a gentleman to come in uninvited. He might be a brute, but I know Richard will have done his due diligence: Jaxon will come highly recommended, and all his references will say he’s a gentleman. Richard wouldn’t have hired him otherwise.
I don’t answer. What am I meant to say? That I’m not embarrassed? That I am? There’s no point lying—we both know I am. And I’m not sure that I want to justify my emotions out loud.
“I’ve seen women wearing far less than what you’re wearing, it’s not a big deal.”
Why does it not surprise me that he’s a player?
“Not helping!” I call back. It’s the first thing I’ve said to him all morning, and I can feel his smirk through the door. “I don’t want to know about your many dalliances with other women!”
Even through the door, I can hear the rumble of his laughter. “What makes you think there have been many dalliances?”
“Are you telling me that there haven’t been?” I ask, not loosening the tight grip I have on my blankets even a tiny bit, just in case.
“I’m not telling you anything, little girl.” He sounds stern, but I can hear the amusement in his tone. “Now hurry up and get dressed.” His heavy footsteps fade away, and slowly, I slide thecovers back and slip from the bed. Once again, he’s confused me with his mix of stern and soft, caring and indifference.
I take my time getting ready, showering, and dressing leisurely. I’m in no rush to face him, and although I have questions—lots of questions—they can wait until my shame has died down.
When I finally do venture out to the dining/kitchenette area, Jaxon is waiting.
“What do you want to eat?” he asks. “We don’t have to be at the airport for a few hours, so there’s plenty of time.”
Food is the last thing on my mind. I feel sick. Not from a flu or anything, but I’m a jumble of nerves, an anxious mess. I shake my head.
“Where are we going? I don’t want to go anywhere.”
“I’m getting you out of the city.”
“Do I get a say in this?”
“No.” He shakes his head as he speaks, and his steady gaze holds mine. He doesn’t waver at all. He’s actually arrogant enough to think I’m just going to go along with his demands, to just accept whatever he says.Asshole.
“Why not? I don’t want to go. I want to sight see. I want to explore Auckland, I want to go shopping, to the night clubs, the casino… there’s so much I want to do here!”
Mr. Asshole shakes his head again. “I don’t care what you want to do. I’m getting you out of the city, away from temptation.”
Temptation? What kind of temptation? How much trouble does he think I can get myself into all alone in a strange city?
“But why?” I know I’m whining. I know I sound like a spoiled child on the verge of a tantrum because she can’t get her own way, but I don’t care. I hate this feeling. I hate being so helpless, so powerless. So voiceless. Like I don’t matter. “Why don’t you care about what I want?”
The scarily stern expression he fixes me with chills me right to my bones. “I’m not getting paid to care about what you want,” he growls. “I’m getting paid to sort you out, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
I’m not getting paid to care about what you want.Why do those words hurt so much? Why do I care what he thinks of me? Why do I want him to like me? Why does it break my heart that he doesn’t? Obviously that kiss and comfort in the plane bathroom were all for show. It clearly didn’t mean anything.
He hardens his expression and steels his voice even more, and moves closer to me, standing just in front of me, so close we’re almost touching.
“Richard told me that you sleep all day, party all night. You have no purpose. You’re unemployable and on a fast track to jail.” His tone is so judgmental. Condescending. Like he fully believes he’s better than me. But it’s not his tone that affects me the most, it’s his words. They almost break me. I hate that Richard told him that. It’s true, but it’s also nobody’s business.
“Is that all he said?” My voice cracks as I try to keep my emotions under control.
“No.” Jaxon shakes his head, and his features soften as he doesn’t quite smile, but definitely relaxes his face into an expression of approval. “He also said you’re the most kind-hearted, generous person he’s ever met. He told me how muchyou love animals, and always stick up for anyone worse off than yourself. He told me that when you were little, you demanded he lift you up onto his shoulders so you could rescue a butterfly from a spider web.”
His words make me smile. “I remember.”
He grins. “He told me you have so many good qualities. It’s obvious he loves you, Jade. His love for you shone in his eyes when he was talking. Hate me if you must, but don’t hate him. He blames himself and your father for your behaviour; he told me that, too. He said you’ve been directionless ever since your mother died and he knows it’s not your fault. He knows that in your father’s grief, he threw himself into his work and left you to your own devices.”
