Page 19 of Jameson Fox

The kitchen has marble floors, countertops, and backsplashes. It’s all white and natural oak, which surprised me. I imagined Jameson’s home to be filled with grays and darker, masculine colors rather than the light and airy feel of white. His bedroom and office have some darker tones, but mostly the penthouse is made up of a lot of white. And while I love the feel he’s created, I’d personally add a whole lot more color if this was my penthouse. That’s the beauty of white; splashes of color can add so much more personality than what Jameson’s home has.

Sitting at the breakfast bar that overlooks Central Park, I say, “Have you seen the news this morning?”

“I’ve seen it.” He brings my coffee over before going back to the island.

I look at him while taking a sip of my drink. “And?” Surely he’s not as calm about this as he appears. Neither of us need the attention the story about my mother will bring.

His phone sounds with a text and he glances down to read it. He then proceeds to reply to it before looking back up at me and saying, “I doubt this story will last even one news cycle, Adeline. I wouldn’t give it any of your attention.” He then goes back to his phone, doing what he does best, dismissing me.

I calmly take another long sip of coffee before placing my mug down and moving off the stool. Walking to the island, I stand across from Jameson. “I’ve changed my mind about educating you on how to be a better person. This thing you do where you dismiss me needs to stop. If it doesn’t, I can’t be held accountable for my actions.”

That fucking bored look of his makes an appearance. “I’m not dismissing you. I listened to what you said and then gave you my best assessment of the situation.”

My eyes widen. “Did you just? Well, let me tell you whatmybest assessment of the situation is: I’m the one out of the two of us with more social media and tabloid lies experience, so I think I’m the one who knows more about how this situation may go. I don’t think it’ll blow over in one news cycle.”

“Even if it doesn’t, it’s trash talk that isn’t worthy of your focus.”

“Honestly, you have no idea.”This conversationisn’t worthy of my damn focus. I’m saved from it when Lara, my social media manager, texts me.

Lara: I’m at the office. How long until you’ll be in?

Lara is one of the most hardworking members of my team. She’s worked with me for two years, and in that time her work has done more for my brand growth than many of the things I’ve tried. I’m convinced she wakes up with her phone in her hand and her brain already kicked into high gear after formulating new strategies in her sleep.

Adeline: I’ll leave now. See you soon.

I glance up at Jameson. “I’m heading into the office now to strategize with my social media manager. She’ll likely want to book a shoot with us to get a range of images to use in her campaigns, and she’ll likely want that to happen today or tomorrow. I hope you have some free time or are able to make some. We’ll need about an hour.” I look at my phone as a couple more texts come in from Lara before meeting Jameson’s gaze again. “I think she’ll probably want photos taken here.” Another round of texts hit my phone, causing me to mutter, “Shit, I have to go” before striding out of the kitchen to gather my laptop and purse from the bedroom.

I’m applying lipstick in the bedroom when Jameson joins me. “We’re not doing a photo shoot,” he says, using the tone that conveys he won’t be entering into a discussion over this.

I use the tone that conveys I will be. “We are. You get to choose whether it will happen today or tomorrow.” God knows where I’ll find time today, but if he chooses today, I’ll make it happen.

“Married couples don’t fucking do photo shoots for social media, Adeline.”

I finish with my lips and look at him. “And this is why your take on anything to do with social media is incorrect. You don’t know how the machine works. I do, and this is exactly what married couples in the spotlight do. More to the point, it’s whatIdo, and since you are now involved with me, it’s also whatyoudo.”

“Perhaps it’s time for you to alter what you do.” His phone buzzes with a text and after checking it, he says, “Max has the car ready.”

When he sweeps his arm to the side for me to exit the bedroom ahead of him, like he’s coming with me, I frown. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He utters this question like mine was the dumbest question ever asked.

I refrain from locating a knife to stab him with. Instead, I say, “We don’t need to drive to work together.”

“No, but we are.”

“Jameson,” I start, but his phone rings and he takes the call, striding out of the bedroom.

I stare after him, willing myself not to follow him and tell him what I think of the way he engages with me or what I think of the fact he expects us to share the drive to work.

During our engagement period, we negotiated how to handle certain aspects of our marriage. Jameson insisted I give up my driver and use his. He told me Bill would expect that. This was just one thing we negotiated, but it was one thing that took months for me to compromise on.

In the end, I agreed to begin the marriage this way, but I made it clear I reserved the right to change my mind if it didn’t work for me. What I did not make clear enough was that I intended on traveling to work each day by myself. Jameson and I will have to spend enough time together at night and on weekends; we certainly don’t need to spend any unnecessary time together.

I grab my laptop and purse and make my way out to the elevator. Jameson is nowhere in sight when I step into it, but a few minutes later, I find him in the car, still on the phone.

His eyes come to mine as I slide into my seat. “I’ll see you soon,” he says into the phone before ending the call. Then, to me, he says, “You’re ready to go?”

I nod without saying any of the things I want to say to him. Instead, I simply say, “Yes.”

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