At eleven o’clock at night, I haven’t heard from Jameson, and I am sick with worry, literally.
I’ve thrown up twice. I decide to call him one last time . . . where is he?
With shaky fingers, I dial his number, and it rings and then goes to voice mail.
He’s declined the call. My heart sinks, and my eyes fill with tears.
“This is Jameson Miles; leave a message,” the recorded message plays.
“Hello.” I pause. “Jay,” I whisper. “Baby.” I get a lump in my throat. “I’m sorry for lying. I was trying to find out about the case, and then he kissed me and . . .” My voice trails off. “I know how this looks, but you have to believe me. I don’t even like Jake as a friend; you know that.” I walk to the window and stare out over the traffic. “I’m going out of my mind here . . . I love you.” I stay silent, unsure what to say. “Don’t let them poison your mind, Jay. You’re the only person who knows what we have,” I whisper through tears. “Come home to me, where you belong.” I pause, hoping that I’m getting through to him. “I don’t even want to hang up . . . I need you. Please come over . . . I’m begging.”
The other end stays deathly silent, and I screw up my face in pain.
“I love you,” I whisper. The beep sounds, and I am cut off. I throw the phone onto the lounge and begin to cry.
What the hell is happening?
With my heart in my throat, I walk into the Miles Media building. It’s eight thirty in the morning, and I’m coming to work.
Jay didn’t call me back last night, and I can’t say that I blame him.
I cried myself to sleep . . . well, I didn’t really sleep, so I don’t think it counts. I’ve got this sick lead ball in my stomach, and it won’t go away.
I have no one to blame for this fucking mess but myself. I lied to my love, and it backfired, and now he thinks the worst. So I’m here today to do the best job that I can of making it up to him.
He’s hurt . . . I know he is.
My poor man seemingly has the whole world against him, and I’m so worried about him. How much stress can a man take before he cracks?
I get into the elevator and swipe my security card to the top floors, and a red light comes up. I frown. No. I swipe it again, and the red light flickers again.
“No, Jay . . . don’t do this,” I whisper through tears. “Don’t you fucking lock me out.”
I swipe it again; the red light flickers once more. “You son of a bitch,” I whisper angrily. I hit the fortieth-floor button, and the green light appears. My heart begins to hammer hard in my chest. He’s blocked my access to his floor.
I take out my phone and text him.
Are you serious?
You can’t even talk to me?
The elevator doors open, and I stride out onto my floor as I try to calm my anger down.
I know he’s got a lot going on, but he knows this is hurting me, and he doesn’t seem to care.
Is this how he works? He’s just going to cut me from his life without even letting me explain? I sit at my desk and stare into space. My leg bounces in anger . . . what do I do? How do I make him understand that this is all a misunderstanding if he won’t even talk to me?
A group of girls walk out of the elevator and begin to walk down the corridor, and then they all stop on the spot when they see me, as if shocked. I stare at them, and they exchange looks and then smirk to each other. “Hi.” One of them fakes a smile.
“Hi,” I reply. I turn and switch on my computer. Great. Now I’m the office gossip as well—can this fucking situation get any worse?
“Yay, you’re here,” Molly’s familiar voice sounds from behind me.
I swing in my chair toward her, and her face falls when she sees mine. “Oh, baby,” she whispers as she puts her arms around me. “Are you all right?”
“He’s blocked my access to his floor,” I whisper against her shoulder.
“What?” she whispers as she fixes my hair. “He’s just . . .” She hesitates. “God, I don’t even know what to say, Em.”