Page 36 of Under the Mistletoe
I swallow roughly, feeling uncomfortable around him for the first time ever. Something in his eyes has me a little unsure.
“He’s my boss,” is all I say.
He blows out a breath, rolling his shoulders back. “I saw a few cameras outside, thought what they were saying in the article must be true.”
I wave it off. “It was a work dinner blown well out of proportion.”
As I look out the front windows of the store, sure enough, on the other side of the road, two guys sit with large lenses hanging around their necks, waiting for their shot. I turn, looking at Uncle Bobby, who watches me before looking outside and then back to me again. His frown is instant.
“I can take you home after your shift if you like. Make sure you’re safe,” Jimmy offers, his usual pleasant smile back on his face, and I blanch, not feeling comfortable around him on my own anymore.
“I’ve got her.” Uncle Bobby speaks up, and Jimmy tenses again.
“Oh sure, no problem.” Jimmy's jaw tightens.
“Um, Jimmy, we’re good friends, right?” I start to broach the issue, and his eyes flick to me. I need to spell it out. I need to create some distance.
“Friends… yeah… of course.” His words don’t sound convincing.
“It’s just that… I mean, you call a lot.” My tone is hushed, not wanting Uncle Bobby to know exactly how often he calls.
“Yeah, I know, but I haven’t seen you on the train lately… Are you taking a different one to work now?”
“I have a work car now, Jimmy. So I’m never on the train anymore.”
His brow pinches. “You drive?”
“I have a company car pick me up and drop me off each day. It’s convenient, and I can work easily while I commute.” I don’t tell him that my boss organized it all just so he could ensure I was warm and safe. Protected.
“Well, maybe we need to start meeting up for lunch on Saturdays? You know, catch up, since I don’t see you every day now?”
I swallow. “Jimmy, I don’t think that’s a good idea…” I’m tentative, watching him carefully. His jaw tics.
“Oh… I mean, that’s what friends do, right? Hang out, chat, go for lunch…” He looks at me pointedly as a few customers come in.
“I’m sorry, I’ve gotta get back to it.” I nod toward the boxes at my feet. There aren’t as many as previous weekends, business now slowing for the winter, but still, there’s a few for me to get through.
“Yeah, sure, we’ll have lunch next week, then?” he pushes, still not getting it.
I’m about to tell him no, to clarify my position on things, to ensure he understands, but he’s already walking out the door. I watch him go and wonder if he’s just lonely. Just a guy who needs a friend. That’s what I’ve always thought. But Shelley’s words ring in my ear. He’s a lawyer in the city. He has lots of contacts, colleagues, and friends.
“Never trusted that guy…” Uncle Bob looks at me with a lifted eyebrow. My stomach twists. I’m not sure I trust him either.
15
Donovan
We arrived in Lake Placid mere minutes ago, and now, as the car drives through the streets, I'm getting a headache from stress. What’s meant to be a quick day trip in my private jet for a conference, has soon become a test of my self-control.
Sitting on the jet together in close quarters was stifling. Jessica sat angled toward the window, her floral scent teasing me. Her notebook was open, pen poised, but she didn’t write a single word. I sat across from her, my jacket off, cuffs rolled to my elbows, watching her with the kind of focus that turned oxygen heavy.
So I gave her the gift I organized for her. Knowing it was her first flight and wanting to ensure she had something to take her mind off it in case it was turbulent. A book about vintage fashion from Paris in the fifties that I found in a rare book shop in the West Village, through a contact of mine.
When she opened it, I could tell she was surprised, lost for words, and somewhat oblivious to the few small bumps we encountered, as she spent the rest of the flight flicking through the pages.
As she devoured the pages, our knees brushed, and I itched to pull her to me, especially seeing her look at me like I hung the moon for her. My need to have her look at me like that often has me already thinking about what else I can get for her. It’s almost as intense as the need I have to keep her safe. I know the media have been following her ever since our dinner at Fiorella, and I have already talked to my security team about it. For the first time ever, I’m focused on someone else entirely. It makes me question whether I’ve been cruising through life all too easily. Never having the need or responsibility to look out for someone else. Only having to worry about myself.
Bentley’s words from our lunch meeting filter through my brain on rapid fire. Knowing what I want and what I should do are two completely different things. The pressure to do what’s right almost suffocates me.
