Page 143 of Failure to Match

How dare he?

HowdareJackson put the weight of those words on me knowing he’d never truly own them?

“Come back to me, Jamie.”

Why? So in twelve months when I was desperately in love with him and he was thoroughly bored of me I could cry and beg him for the same thing?

A hundred million bucks said he wouldn’t do it. He’d let me go and I’d have to put all the pieces of myself back together sohow dare he?

I could barely breathe on the car ride back. I was antsy, restless, jittery. It didn’t help that we were crawling through traffic.

What should have been a ten-minute ride took ten years off my life. Impatience clawed at my sanity, and I had to actively stop myself from ripping the car door open in the middle of the road. I was convinced walking would be faster.

My bones were itching by the time we turned onto Jackson’s street, and I was out of the car before it’d come to a complete stop. I ripped through the lobby and bounced on my heels as I waited for the longest, slowest elevator ride of my life to end.

I was in such a fucking hurry that I didn’t even see him.

My legs were moving before the chrome doors had fully opened, and I would have smashed headfirst into Jackson’s chest had he not captured me in his arms before it happened.

“Come back to me, Jamie.”

His lips smashed to mine, setting my whole world on fire. I snaked my arms around his neck and fisted his hair, our tongues colliding as he carried me inside. Doors flew open, they banged shut. His hold on me was savage, his kisses starved, merciless, almost… angry.

No, not almost. He was definitely angry.

Furious, from the feel of it.

The moment it clicked, he released me. I hit the cushion with a gasp, my stomach lurching from the unexpected drop. It took a few seconds for the blurry reds, warm chocolates, and bright colors of my surroundings to come into focus. There was only one place on his end of the penthouse that wasn’t all right angles and sterilized shades of grey.

The library.

My jaw snapped shut when I met Jackson’s seething, icy glare. He was towering over the couch I’d been dumped on, waiting for me to explain myself.

Shit.

Before I could even sit up (let alone string together a valid excuse), Jackson was on the couch, pulling my thigh over his lap until I was straddling him. His grip was unforgiving as he pinned my hips to his, and I had to keep a hand on his chest to allow an inch of necessary distance between our faces.

“How was your date?” His jaw ticked, barely prying open enough to allow the question.

“It was a business meeting.”

“Are you going to see him again?”

“Potentially. For work.” Was that really what he wanted to talk about? I felt like there was a much more pressing topic we needed to discuss. “How did you find out about... this?”

“Molly couldn’t take the guilt. You’re not hopelessly in love with him, then?”

“It was a business dinner.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

I sighed. “No, Jackson. I did not fall hopelessly in love with Daniel Omori over the two-hour business meeting we had where we talked about business.”

His withering glare thawed just a touch, some of the tension in his shoulders easing.

“Come back to me, Jamie.”

“Shouldn’t we be discussing how much trouble I’m in?” I asked.

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