Page 31 of Burn With Me

“You fucking bitch!” Lenni cries out as she jumps up to grab a bunch of napkins from a nearby table. Quickly, she unrolls the silverware and hands them over one by one to help soak up the mess.

Rebecca cackles, and some of the other women across the room join in, watching as Lenni and I attempt to dry me off.

“Ladies! What is going on here?” Carmella’s sharp tone cuts through the empty restaurant.

Everyone goes silent as she looks from Lenni and me to Rebecca, then to the other women. “Ginny, why don’t you take the rest of the day off? Go home and clean yourself up. Rebecca, you’re fired.”

Lenni starts to laugh as Rebecca stammers, “B-but, Carmela! It was anaccident! I swear!”

Our boss doesn’t spare her a second glance as she turns to head back to her office. Rebecca’s eyes find mine again as she spits out, “You’re going to regret this! Jackson doesn’t care about you! You aren’t anything special! He’ll grow tired of you, eventually. A man like that can’t be pleased by only one woman.”

Huffing, she turns and storms out. The other females all glare at me as they loudly whisper to each other while I continue wiping myself off.

“My place is closer. You can shower there before you go home if you want,” Lenni offers.

Nodding my head, I tell her, “Yeah, that would be great. Thank you. Do you mind if I borrow some clothes, too?”

“Of course not. Mi casa es su casa,” she says. “You know the code.”

As I leave, I’m grateful I have such a wonderful friend who lives nearby. It would take forever to go back to my apartment and shower, and then there’s the possibility of running into Chris before I left again.

Because home is not where I’ll be spending the afternoon.

Jackson Tailor is about to get a piece of my mind.

After showering at Lenni’s, I quickly dry my hair and throw it into a messy bun on top of my head before changing into a pair of light-wash skinny jeans and a dusty blue oversized knit sweater that keeps falling off my shoulder. I don't care about looking good. I’ll just be going to Jackson’s home to yell at him.

Finding the address on Google is easy, but I figure it will be harder to actually getinthe building—let alone up to the penthouse.

Turns out I’m wrong.

As I get out of my cab, staring up at the gigantic building with mirrored windows as I walk to the door, there’s an older woman with a bunch of grocery bags in her arms who gets there at the same time as me. The doorman, who is shutting the door of a black town car, rushes over to open it for her, but I beat him to it.

“Thank you, young lady. Who might you be here to see?” he asks.

“Yes, thank you,” the lady echoes him.

At the same time, I reply, “Jackson Tailor.”

They share a look, and my eyes bounce back and forth between them as they share a smile.

“Well, Miss Claudia here can you take you on up,” he says, ushering me in behind the woman named Claudia as he waits for the elevator doors to open. The lobby of the building looks more expensive than the mini-mansion I grew up in. The black and gold floors shine as though they’ve just been waxed. There are geometric sculptures throughout the floor plan, matching the gold design of the flooring. A desk made of cream and tawny marbling is home to a concierge, the light from the giant dripping light fixture casting a warm glow over the space.

Once the elevator arrives, the doorman reaches in andswipes his card, hitting the button with PH etched into it. “Have a nice day, ladies.”

As the doors shut, Claudia looks at me, and I reach out, gesturing for her to hand me a few bags. “Here, let me help you.”

“Does Mr. Jackson know you are coming to see him?” she asks as she hands two over. Her accent reminds me of Dorota fromGossip Girl.

“No. It’s a surprise,” I say sheepishly as I examine the boxed-in area that’s taking me to the devil's lair. Even it’s opulent, and now I feel like I should have put more effort into my appearance.

Claudia looks at me as another soft ding signals that we’re passing another floor. She openly gives me a once-over before smiling and saying, “Mr. Jackson will be pleasantly surprised, I’m sure.”

I think it’s a compliment.

When we arrive at the top, I’m not prepared for what I walk into.

Claudia moves with purpose into the large open space while I follow slowly and take everything in. When I thought about Jackson’s home, I assumed it would be all broody and masculine. Grey marble and deep-toned walls. Low lights and dark floors.

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