Page 113 of The Last Good Man

We’re not exclusive, and that’s the other problem.

We’re not even officially together, and that’s the bigger problem.

And then Jax… Oh, Jax.

Regardless of what he said to me and how much gravity he put into his words, our exchange was somelate nightrambling.

I’m not his woman, and he won’t be teaching me anything anytime soon.

If I call him, it would reek of desperation.

It would be so awkward that I’d want to go back in time and never make that call.

He wouldn’t answer, most likely. Perhaps he’s busy with his work, sleeping in, or fucking someone else.

He said he’d be watching me.

Yeah, right.

Like I have time to believehim.

Nothing is real anymore.

And I don’t have time for this.

Life is too short for uncertainty.

I need to find a man and be over with it. Or just give up on the idea.

It won’t be the end of the world.

Finally feeling in control, I take another sip of coffee and push out of my seat.

The sweat is gone, and I’m more comfortable when I shrug my blazer on. I walk to the bathroom to refresh my makeup and return when my phone rings.

My heels click clack impatiently as I veer toward my desk. I pick up my phone and stare at an unknown number.

It must be a client.

“Melody Hill speaking. Who is this?”

A bit of static comes my way, as if the phones struggle to connect.

“Um, hello…?” I murmur.

The answer comes right away.

“Hello.Bonjour. C’est moi, Emile.How are you?”

Uh…

“Emile?”

Emile, the French painter?

I thought I’d never hear from him again.

“Yes, dear. I’m sorry to call you so early. I didn’t wake you, did I?”hesays with a charming accent.

---