Page 87 of Work with Me

Still, I managed to get dressed before Noah came home from school, and I even made spaghetti for dinner.

Thursday after I walked back from the bus stop, I scooped up Tigger and curled around him on my bed. What had I done wrong? Had I been bad at sex? I’d gotten weird for a while, hiding inside his duvet. And then I’d said all those things that made me sound not at all like the Wonder Woman persona I’d tried so hard to project. Maybe he’d decided I wasn’t worth the effort.

I probably wasn’t.

Tigger kneaded my scalp, running his claws through my hair and reminding me of Jackson’s shampoo-massage in his shower. He’d been so tender, so caring. Had he been putting me on? Pretending?

That line he’d used about never letting himself be with someone he respected, until me, had destroyed my defenses. But that’s all it had been: a line. Had he used the same one on that intern? Maybe he used it on everyone he wanted to sleep with.

I wasn’t special. Not to Jackson Jones. If I were, he’d have kept his promise.

Gently, I lifted Tigger off my pillow and wrapped it around my head. I let loose a scream—muffled by the feathers—and another, and another until I was hoarse. Maybe a tear escaped. Or maybe two. My pillow soaked them up, and no one was the wiser.

I hid under my bedspread well into the afternoon. At last, I dragged myself into the shower and was reasonably normal-looking by the time Noah walked inside.

I found some fish sticks and tater tots in the freezer for dinner. Esmy bit her lip but didn’t say anything.

Finally, on Friday, I looked at the bags under my eyes from my second sleepless night and decided I needed help.

Tiannah answered her door with Tavon on her hip. “You look like you need a margarita.”

“It’s ten-thirty in the morning.”

“A mimosa, then. Come on, we’re going out.”

While Tiannah buckled Tavon into his car seat, I picked Cheerios out of her minivan’s footwell.

She peeked over my shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Orlando and the kids wash my car every Saturday. He’ll get those.”

Tiannah had Orlando, who loved her enough to vacuum Cheerios out of her car. With his scalp massage on Monday, Jackson had fooled me into thinking he cared about me. Yet he couldn’t even be bothered to answer my text.

A tear plunked onto the leather seat. Another followed it. Then a sob so violent I had to lean my hands on the car door to keep from collapsing right there onto the sticky seat.

“Oh, no, honey, what’s the matter?” Tiannah rubbed my back.

“It’s just—just—Jackson.”

The side door rolled back, and a few seconds later, Tiannah gently turned me away from the van. “Come on. Let’s go back inside.”

We sat on her couch while Tavon banged away at a toy musical keyboard.

“Tell me about it,” she said.

I wiped the tears off my face with the crumpled tissue she pulled from her jeans pocket. “So, Monday, after the end-of-project review with Cooper Fallon, we were supposed to meet the team at a restaurant for dinner. But instead, Jackson and I went back to his place.”

Her eyebrows rose. “And?”

“We, ah”—I glanced at Tavon—“we went to bed.”

“Girl…” She shook her head. “All right, how was it?”

“Good. I thought. And then I felt…weird.”

“Weird? You mean physically?”

“No. Too exposed, you know?”

“Vulnerable. Okay.”

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