Page 22 of Miss Understood

I clutch my purse tighter and flip my hair over my shoulder. “No, why?”

“Your heels give you away, dear,” Mateo cuts in, his eyes dropping to my skyscraper pumps. “‘The higher the heels, the better the mood.’”

That’s the problem with working with the same people for years—they know me and my mantras a little too well. Here I thought I was being subtle, and apparently I couldn’t be more obvious.

“Oh, Lucey, doll.” Mateo starts digging around in his bag. “I forgot to give this to you.”

He hands over a folded bar napkin with a number scribbled on it. From the corner of my eye, I see Jesse is looking at it as well.

“That hot AF bartender tracked me down before I left and asked that I pass it along to you. Apparently he was disappointed you bailed without saying goodbye.” Mateo gives a forced pouty face and then laughs. “Probably wanted to get it in while you were in town. His loss.”

“Oh” is all I say, folding up the napkin and dipping it into my pocket.

Waves of tension crest off Jesse’s body, and I wonder if I’m the only one in the elevator being dragged out to sea by them. Mateo seems unfazed as he taps through his social media apps.

Shifting on my heels with an already foggy head, I realize Jesse and I are only inches apart. Even on these stilts for shoes, he’s still a whole head taller than me, and with his eyes fixed ahead, his energy still manages to spill downward.

It’s been a full day since we got back from Vegas, and he hasn’t called—which shouldn’t surprise me since I kicked him out of my hotel room the second I figured out what happened. But part of me still expected him to, even if I hadn’t called him either.

My body and mind have been in a tug-of-war. While my hormones have been begging me to consummate our marriage and explore everything I saw in that hotel room, my brain knows better than to let it happen.

This marriage is a mistake.

Up until two days ago, I was certain Jesse hated me as much as I hated him.

Hatedhim? I can’t figure out what is present tense, and what’s past.

Is it my imagination, or are the walls on this moving box closing in?

“Found him.” Mateo flips his phone around and shows me the bartender’s Instagram page. Apparently, Mateo is not letting this bartender thing go, regardless of the fact that he lives in an entirely different state. “Those green eyes are downright illegal. And, oh, my God, is that a tongue ring?” Mateo’s eyes go wide. “You kissed him, right? Because damn girl, imagine how that would feel on your—”

“That’s enough,” Jesse says firmly, and his usual calm demeanor is replaced by a hard glare.

“Sorry, man.” Mateo slides his phone back into his pocket. “Just messing around. Gonna take some time to get used to the fact that she’s your girl now.”

Both our heads snap in Mateo’s direction.

Your girl.

From the heat in Jesse’s gaze, there’s no way I misheard it. My hopes that everyone blacked out and forgot what happened fade as Mateo’s face stretches with a wide grin.

Everything around me seems to get fuzzy, and I get that sinking feeling in my gut, like when something really good or really bad is about to happen. Time slows down, and the elevator stops at our floor. Jesse’s eyes meet mine, and there’s an equal mix of rage and confusion boiling in those dark orbs. And just as I open my mouth to explain, or argue, or curse the world out, the doors to the elevator slide open, and my greatest fear plays out ahead of us.

“Congratulations!” a chorus erupts.

Mateo’s clapping draws my attention, and when I look at him, he smiles wide. “No better way to celebrate the happy couple than with cake.”

What has Mateo done?

A Just Marriedbanner hangs from the ceiling, and the entire office is standing in the office entry way, cheering.

I don’t realize my jaw is wide open until Jesse grabs my hand and it grounds me back in place.

Time catches up, and next thing I know, we’re moving. Jesse tugs me behind him, out of the elevator and directly into the mass of bodies. At first, I think he must be in on it, but when people try to stop us and talk, he moves straight past.

Mateo knowing was bad, but this is a million times worse. A roomful of people who feared me days ago are now probably convinced I’ve only gotten this far because I’m screwing Jesse Davis.

“Jesse,” I say, but he only squeezes my hand in response.

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