Page 8 of Grace

“Wither—”

“I don’t even know your name. Your name—your first name. Idoknow your street name, though. I guess that boundary is safe. Am I a joke to you? Fucking with me like that fulfilled some sick need to get back at me for that first conversation inBrown Barista?” I switched weight on my hips when hit with a revelation. “Have you done this before? You and Juggy plotting on unsuspecting wealthy women?”

He grunted, brushing his palms down his face. “Say less.”

“No problem. Please leave.”

“Don’t do this, Witherspoon.”

“You’ve done it. You kept doing it each day before last Saturday when you had the opportunity to tell me the truth about who you are. You should have at least told me you were a liar.”

“I’ve never lied to you.”

And that was probably the most painful part. “By omission, you lied over and over and over again.”

“What can I do short of telling you what I was planning to on Sunday morning before you stormed out?”

“You can start by apologizing.”

“For what? Not knowing my P.O. was gonna show up at my crib that morning, fuckin’ up my time with you? Or for the damn incompetent electrician, who couldn’t get the smoke detector’s wiring right the first time and had to come back that morning? Do you see how crazy that sounds? Witherspoon, I swear, I was going to tell you about my house, about my complicated life. I really was.”

“I had to sleep with you for that? In order to get to know basic facts about you, I had to sleep with you?”

“That ain’t what I’m saying at all. Clearly, something had been building between us all this time—or most of it. I didn’t expect it. I let shit get out of control and for that, Iamsorry.”

I blinked at his audaciousness. “Youlet things get out of control? Soyouwere the only person developmentally capable of avoiding this fuckery?” The shit was insulting.

“That’s not what I’m saying either. Can we just talk?”

“I don’t have time. It’s not a good day for me,” I answered honestly, even though I had no interest in talking to Jas ever again. My eyes closed, once again swallowing back my emotions. “I thought you were cute. Simple, smart, uncomplicated…and a departure from what I knew.” I shook my head, dismissing what was now the memories of my old feelings for him. “Anyway… It doesn’t matter now.”

Jas scoffed, appearing offended. “So, I’m cute and fuckable being broke, but having a few dollars makes me less attractive?”

“Actually, you having me staying in the fucking pissy projects, thinking you lived there while having Cynthia’s dry Humpty Dumpty ass at your lakeside estate makes you less attractive.”

Jas’ jaw collapsed. Quickly, he caught himself and tightened it. “I can explain that, too.”

I turned for my desk. I really had to go. “Another time, maybe.”

Jas broke my stride, handing me a small envelope. “Could you read this and call me tonight?”

That was it. I was over Jas and his time in my presence was up. Before I could tell him, a knock sounded at my door. Jas pushed the envelope into my hands as the door opened and my father’s burly frame peered inside.

“You said the meeting with the township was in twenty-two minutes. That was twenty-seven minutes ago.” Then his attention met Jas’ presence. My father’s eyes narrowed and he stood straight.

Quickly glancing away, I found Jas widening his stance, chin lifting slightly higher, but he didn’t speak. Suddenly, there was a spark of aggression in the room. The atmosphere was instantly heightened by stark masculinity I’d never seen from either man. My father silently picked Jas apart, starting from his scuffedTimberlandconstruction boots, hoodie, vest, and wildly coiled hair. His chin lowered, eyes remained on Jas, whose head cocked to the side. Testosteronic energies were warring in real time. It made me want to either pick a side or run for safety.

My father plucked a brow. “Am I needed in here?”

I swallowed hard, eyes rolled behind my lids. “No, sir.” I cleared my throat. “This meeting was adjourned before it got started. My gaze lifted to Jas, whose expression softened on me.

After hitting me with a leveling glare, he droned, “Please read it and call me.” Then he was off, promenading past my father with great aplomb.

Jas made it out of the office when my father asked, expression tight, “Do you know him?”

“Not in a million years. Let’s go.” I grabbed the file needed for the meeting after depositing the envelope Jas gave me into my purse, stored in a drawer.

Then I rounded my father’s imposing frame to leave the office.

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