Page 43 of A Lot to Unpack
I was sort of hoping he would have the contract with him – maybe in a bag or a briefcase – or lying on top of the bar where I could simply snatch it up. Ha. Chance would be a fine thing. No sign of anything though. I’m sure he mentioned somethingearlier about not needing me because he was having a meeting tonight. I suppose it’s true, he has met someone, but I’m not so sure how businessy it looks.
It doesn’t help that his meeting is with an absolutely beautiful woman. She’s tall, elegantly dressed, with glossy black hair. Her eyes are sparkly and her teeth are perfect, and the way she throws her head back when she laughs could be kind of dorky, except she’s making it work for her.
But it doesn’t mean it’s a date, and not a business meeting, just because she’s beautiful, right? Just because they’re drinking cocktails, in the evening, laughing at each other’s jokes – I’m not jealous, I’m curious.
Okay… maybe I’m a little bit jealous. Everyone wishes they had someone, right? Someone good though, obviously.
I’m not spying on him for Paige, I’m looking for my in, to switch the contracts. The chink in his armour. When he takes his eye off the ball. An opportunity – like him dropping his keycard or leaving his jacket just far enough away from him that I can grab it, see if his keycard might be in there.
And yet…
I find myself squinting, trying to read their body language, guessing at what they’re saying.
Oh… my… God, Jordan, you’re so strong and so funny…
And rich too, baby, wanna get out of here?
I mean, I’m only guessing (or maybe projecting, if we’re being honest) and Jordan doesn’t even sound or talk like that, but that’s how it looks from where I’m sitting. Well – hiding, anyway.
She leans in. Flashes a smile. Her hand brushes Jordan’s wrist as she laughs.
Okay. She’s definitely flirting. That’s what I’d do – if trapping myself in a revolving door or assaulting him at an ice rink failed, anyway.
Is Jordan… is he leaning back? Is that him pulling away or just reclining in a way that says: hop on my lap, baby.
Again, that isn’t how he sounds or talks.
If I’m jealous of anything it’s because, going off what Paige said, Jordan is a bit of a dog. Any woman, any time, sounds like his type. And, again, not jealous (I’ll keep saying it until you believe me), but he can hardly look at me. My very presence in New York annoys him. He wants nothing to do with me. How am I repulsing, by all accounts, the UK’s number one top shagger? Am I unattractive? Forgettable? Am I too annoying? What is it about me that has made him look at me and instantly dismiss me?
Maybe I seem needy? Clingy, even, I am trying to get close to him – and I suppose I am spying on him right now, which is a bit intense. Perhaps if I back off, play hard to get? Not to get him to shag me, just to get him to trust me, enough for me to swap the contracts.
It’s hard not to wonder what Ben thought of me, in the end. There must have been something missing, for him to do what he did, but even when I rumbled him, it wasn’t like he wanted things to be over; he wanted us to stay together. I wonder if he would have promised never to do it again, or tried to talk me into opening up our relationship or something. One thing I do know for sure is that, if we had stayed together, I would probably be stalking him right now, because there’s no way I ever would have trusted him again.
Jordan laughs again and I flinch, snapping out of the pity party I was about to throw for myself. The woman is smiling, sipping her drink slowly, eyes locked on his face. He smiles back, and it’s hard to tell but…
Shit!
As I lean forward to get a better look I push the plant too far. A branch reaches out and swipes a glass off a table, causing it to smash.
I quickly dart out of the way, behind a wall. I think I might have got away with that one.
I wait for a few seconds – maybe even a minute – before I slowly emerge from my hiding place. Luckily they’re back to their conversation, which gives me time to get out of here. I think it’s probably best to call time on… whatever this is. It’s not helping.
I’ll leave him to his business meeting, or his date, or his whatever – what do I care what it is? Because unless it’s the kinda thing where everyone puts their contracts in a fruit bowl and picks a different one out, it’s not going to help me.
17
Suddenly it makes sense, why they call it the city that never sleeps, because while it may be dark outside now, it seems no less alive out there.
I’m standing at my hotel window, looking down at the street below, watching cars and people, everyone going about their business. I suppose it’s busy everywhere, in the run-up to Christmas – but isn’t it funny how some places just seem more festive? London and New York always feel so alive with festive cheer, but a big part of that is the dark evenings that allow the festive lights to shine brighter, and the freezing cold weather that makes the hot chocolate hit different.
My phone buzzes on the table in front of me. I grab it quickly, worried it might be Paige checking up on me again. I don’t know how many messages I’ve had from her already, asking if it’s done. I must have really, really oversold myself in my interview, if she thinks I could have made the switch already.
Ooh, it’s a WorkM8 notification, from MrLoveByte…
MrLoveByte
The truth? Okay. Matcher’s not unethical. Not in theory. But people are. They lie, they cheat, they ghost. They use the app for all sorts of things it wasn’t built for. Same as anything in life, don’t you think?
