Page 74 of Burn With Me

“I wouldn’t, huh? Well, here’s something I understand, Jackson. I understand that you better tell her the truth, orIwill. How about that? Is that somethingyouunderstand?” He shifts his head so that he’s in my line of vision.

Pushing out of my chair, I start to leave. He’s not going to bully me into telling her. I’ll tell her when I’m damn good and ready—whenshe’sready.

“I don’t even recognize you anymore!” he yells after me.

Yeah, I don’t recognize myself either, old man.

The afternoon bleeds into the evening. After leaving the office, I walked around to clear my head and ended up back at my place, not feeling any better than I had when I left earlier that afternoon.

My email has been going off all afternoon with new counteroffers drafted by companies we’ve nearly closed deals with. News articles highlighting our loss are being blasted all over the internet. Losing the deal with WhirlTech hit harder than I initially realized. While that particular company isn’t a significant loss, the fact that wedidlose them is causing other companies to think they can drive up their stakes, knowing we aren’t going to want to lose multiple deals at once.

How the fuck did I let this happen?

Ginny’s been consuming all my time and attention, that’s how.

Sighing, I dial Tripp’s number while pouring myself a finger of scotch, tossing it back as the phone rings.

And rings. And rings.

“Come on, Tripp. I know you’re notthatmad at me. Pick up your phone.” Leaving him a voicemail, I pour myself another.

And another. And another.

Even Ginny doesn’t answer when I call her instead.

“Why would she?” I ask myself out loud. “Apparently, you weren’t that impressive. It’s not like she’s been begging for more.”

Throwing back another drink, I slam the glass back down on the counter.

Whywould she throw herself at her stranger? Okay, he makes her feel comfortable, but she fuckedme.

Was I really not good enough?

Anger starts to build the more I think about it. The thought of her laughing—of mistaking me choking on my drink asmelaughing. It makes me want to throw my fucking glass at the wall.

She’s different.

Yeah, she’s different, alright. She made me wait an entire month to sleep with her and then laughed about it with another man.

I’m losing deals because of her. Fucking up left and right.

Still, I’m not good enough.

It wasn’t enough for her.

Whyis it never enough?

And why is no one ever here formewhen I need them?

Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror that hangs on the wall by the entryway, I pause in my quickly spiraling soliloquy. The glass in my hand is nearly full, the liquid about to slosh over the side.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” I whisper to my reflection. “You are who you are. You’re JacksonfuckingTailor. You don’t needher.You don’t needanyone.”

And I certainly don’t need to drink away my fucking sorrows alone.

Bemelman’s has been quiet all night, but it’s exactly what I need.

Dinner for one.

---