Page 35 of What Happens In Vegas: Jessa & Jaxon
Antonio laughs. “Did you die though? My schemes work out in the end.”
Kamal crosses his arms. “I’m with Jaxon. Your ideas are insane ninety percent of the time.”
“And the other ten percent?” Antonio challenges, replacing the figurine carefully.
“Revolutionary,” Kamal admits reluctantly. “But this is my sister, not a product launch.”
I take a deep breath, already regretting my next words. “What’s your brilliant idea?”
Jessa
My phone vibrates inmy bag as I wait for Jasmine to exit the dressing room. Principal Watkins’s name flashes on the screen, and my heart seizes in my chest. It’s been exactly one week since the interview and alternating between hope and anxiety, with thoughts of Jaxon intruding every time I try to focus on anything else.
“I need to take this,” I tell Meesha, moving toward the dressing room’s entrance.
“Ms. Mitchell,” Principal Watkins’s warm voice fills my ear. “I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”
“Not at all,” I reply.
“I wanted to personally let you know that after careful consideration, the school board has unanimously decided to offer you the position of vice principal at Winter Bay Elementary.”
The world seems to slow around me. The boutique’s music fades into the background as Principal Watkins continues talking about start dates and transitional meetings, but I canbarely process the details. I made it. After years of working toward this goal, I actually made it.
“Thank you,” I manage to say, though my voice is thick with emotion. “I’m honored. Truly.”
As I end the call, promising to return the signed paperwork, an overwhelming urge washes over me. Before I can second-guess myself, my fingers are scrolling to Jaxon’s name in my contacts.
It’s been ten days since he left. Ten days of making lists in my head about why this is for the best, why we wouldn’t work, why I’m better off alone. Ten days of lying to myself, and failing miserably at pretending I don’t miss him.
But in this moment of triumph, he’s the person I want to share it with first. Not my friends waiting inside, not my brother, not even my parents—but Jaxon.
But would he answer?
The doubt paralyzes me just long enough for Jasmine to call out for me.
“Jessa! Is this dress too much for Kamal’s party?” Jasmine asks, twirling once when I reenter the dressing room.
I tuck my phone away, pulse quickening at the thought of Saturday’s confrontation. Three days until I face Jaxon, who’ll probably look unfairly gorgeous in one of those tailored suits at my brother’s birthday bash.
Antonio insisted on throwing the party with only three days’ notice, claiming thirty deserved something special. Forcing my thoughts on Jasmine, I focus on what she’s wearing.
The dress is a deep burgundy cocktail-length sheath that hugs her figure with a tasteful slit and off-shoulder neckline. She looks stunning, and will fit what Antonio described as a “sophisticated but chill” gathering.
“I like it,” I tell her.
We’ve been at this boutique for over two hours now, champagne glasses in hand (courtesy of the boutique’s excellentcustomer service), watching Jasmine’s parade of potential party outfits. Meesha and I found our dresses within the first twenty minutes.
I selected an emerald cocktail dress that hit just above the knee, and Meesha chose a sophisticated plum wrap dress. Jasmine’s selection process has turned into an afternoon-long saga when she is typically the one who walks into a store, selects perfect items, while Meesha and I are still browsing the first rack.
“This the one,” Meesha says, her verdict carrying weight as our resident fashion expert.
I approach Jasmine and check the fit, tugging on the back. My mind circles back to how Jaxon and how much I miss him.
“Ouch!” Jasmine flinches, her hands flying protectively to her chest.
“Did I hurt you? I’m sorry.” I pull back immediately. “Is the fabric scratchy?”
“My breasts are too tender for all that pulling,” Jasmine explains.
