“Have I proved to be too exciting for you?”
“You’ve reminded me that I’m not invincible. There are situations I won’t be able to survive.”
He looks intrigued. “Say more.”
“Not today,” I say, turning towards the door. “I’ll see you first thing Monday morning, boss.”
He nods. “If you need some help in the kitchen—”
“I won’t,” I say quickly. “I prefer to work alone.”
“The last few years must have been tough for you then.”
“I’m not picky when it comes to paying my rent,” I shrug. “The catering company paid well, and having a roof over my head was more important than my personal preferences. Not that you would understand that struggle.”
“I understand struggle far more than you could imagine, kotyonok,” he murmurs.
That pet name does what it always does to me: sends a ripple down my spine of alternating heat and cold. It’s possessive and tender at the same time. Like an optical illusion that won’t quite fall in line.
“Maybe, but I no longer have any desire to understand you.”
He raises his eyebrows and stares at me for a moment longer, as if he’s trying to memorize my face. Then he leans forward and whispers in my ear, “Very convincing, Jessa. But it still needs some work. You can practice resisting me for the next three months.”
He leaves, closing the door behind him.
And I stand there, staring after him long after he’s left.
Eventually, I collapse onto the sofa and curse my poor judgment, my traitorous feelings, my fickle, idiotic heart. Despite my best impression of indifference, he can still see right through me.
Could he tell that my feelings for him go so much deeper than they should?
Could he tell that signing that contract sent a wave of electricity coursing through every nerve?
Could he tell that he alone has encompassed my thoughts and my dreams for the last few days?
I go to the fridge and grab some mandarins that I bought almost a week ago. I make a juice and add a fresh twist of lemon. It reminds me of Chris, oddly enough.
I bartended at a shitty little dive during my sophomore year of college. I had my heart set on this gorgeous teal blender I’d seen in a Williams & Sonoma window display. Although, when Chris asked why I was working in such a dump, I told him that I was saving up for some kickass black leather boots. The truth felt too embarrassing. Still does, honestly.
I pick up my phone and dial his number. He answers almost immediately, as though he’s been staring at his phone waiting for my call.
“Jessa?” he asks nervously.
“Hi. You free?”
“For you, always.”
I smile. He used to answer my calls the same way in college. It does make me wonder if my judgment is clouded where Chris is concerned. Is Freya right? Has he had feelings for me this whole time and I just never noticed?
“I… um… I wanted to tell you something.”
Unlike the boots and blender situation, I owe him the truth this time around. He kept Anton’s phone with him this entire time, regardless of the danger it put him in. And he did it willingly. Because he is always there to help me, even when I don’t want it or ask for it or think I need it.
“Is it about the phone?” Chris asks urgently. “Did he show up? Did you give it back? Is he finally gonna leave you alone?”
The moment the questions burst out of him, I realize how badly he wants this to be over for me. How do I possibly explain to him that a very big part of me is terrified of never seeing Anton again?
“Jessa?”