Page 90 of Work with Me

“Sugar, being vulnerable doesn’t make you weak. Acting like a woman who has feelings doesn’t make you weak. Weakness is hiding yourself away from hurt. Never taking risks to get something you want. You took a risk. It didn’t work out this time. But next time, it might. And I don’t want you to miss that.”

Goddamn motherly wisdom.

31

ALICIA

I snatcheda fortifying glass of champagne off a waiter’s tray as I strode into the lobby of the Synergy Austin office on the first of December. The winter darkness outside the large windows reflected the blackness inside my heart.

I scanned the room. Normally, I wouldn’t have attended a client’s launch party. As a contractor, I was supposed to do my job unobtrusively, expecting nothing other than a paycheck. But after I’d refused every one of his lunch invitations over the past two weeks, Tyler had begged me to come, saying he needed to tell me something in person. So here I was.

I’ll be honest: I was looking for closure, too. I’d finally be able to confront Jackson Jones and tell him what I thought of his lack of emotional intelligence.

He wasn’t there in the lobby, and neither was Tyler. Still sipping my champagne, I walked upstairs.

I found Amit and Kevin near the balcony doors. After a few minutes of small talk about their new projects and the hospital gig I’d been working on, I excused myself to continue my prowl.

Cooper Fallon was standing near our old work area. They’d reconfigured it from its former U-shape, and now the desks were all bunched together. Someone else sat there now.

I owed Cooper thanks for the very nice testimonial he’d sent me about a week after my last day at Synergy. It’d been like him: cold, detached, and professional. But the same day I’d added it to my website, I’d gotten three calls from potential clients.

I caught his eye, and a change came over his expression: a flash of surprise, followed by narrow-eyed suspicion. What the hell?

I needed another glass of champagne before I could brave a conversation with him. I headed toward the kitchen, where I found a fresh glass, but no Jackson. Where was he? What right did he have to stay away, to hide from me? He should’ve at least had the balls to show up and give me my closure.

I stalked along the fronts of the offices, glancing inside each one. I wouldn’t have put it past Jackson to have found some new coworker to seduce and to be making out in one of them, the dog.

Not that I cared. What Jackson Jones did wasn’t my business anymore.

Since my breakdown at Tiannah’s, I’d been my pre-Jackson, buttoned-up, professional self. But I’d learned a thing or two from working at Synergy, and I’d implemented a few stylistic changes. I accepted the happy hour invitations. I’d even gone to a fundraiser for the hospital I was working for. One of the administrators I’d met had a kid with ADHD, and we’d shared stories. We were going to lunch the following week.

I was warm. Friendly. And still professional.

Too bad I hadn’t found that balance at Synergy. If I had, maybe I wouldn’t have gotten my heart broken. I wouldn’t be wandering the halls like some suit-wearing Miss Havisham, looking for lost love.He’ddone that to me.He’dreduced me to this seething, champagne-clutching, tunnel-vision version of myself. I should’ve been enjoying myself at this swanky party, secretly patting myself on the back for my contributions to the project, chatting up other potential clients. Jackson had to be here somewhere, hands in his jeans pockets, rocking on the toes of those ridiculous boots, soaking up praise and adulation.

I glanced back toward the stairs and caught a glimpse of tousled, sandy-brown hair. Tyler. I strode that direction. He was going to tell me where Jackson was, and then I was going to get my damned closure.

* * *

JACKSON

“Fuck,”I muttered when the error flashed again on my screen. Somehow, I’d managed to forget everything I knew about coding. That or, like Pavlov’s dogs, I’d been conditioned to code when I smelled Earl Grey tea, and without it, I was lost.

Maybe I could ask Marlee to make me a cup to set on my desk, and it’d reset my brain so I could code again.

Like she’d read my mind, she tapped gently on the door. She never used to walk on eggshells around me. When I was bad-boy Jackson, she’d pushed and pulled me until I did the right thing. Most of the time. But even Marlee couldn’t handle model-programmer Jackson, who showed up at my sixth-floor office at 8 A.M. to code, kept my head down, and went straight back to my lonely apartment when the cleaning staff arrived late at night.

And managed to produce nothing but crappy code.

It didn’t matter so much. Cooper had assigned me a couple programmers to “clean me up.” Their code, while clunky and uninspired, at least functioned, error-free. It wasn’t anything like the elegant program I’d produced with Alicia.

I’d never write code like that again.

Alicia. What was she doing right now? Probably kicking ass on her hospital project. And hating me.

“Jackson?” Marlee poked her head in.

“Yeah?” I peered at my screen. The error message hadn’t gone anywhere.

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