My gaze meets Jack’s. "Leave," I say, placing my hand on my hip.
"Samantha," Jack says as he glances over my shoulder into the living room of the condominium we shared a mere twenty-four hours ago.
"I'm not talking to you, ever."
"Where are the flowers I left you? Did you get the ones I sent to your work?"
"Just stop, Jack. I almost had to go to the emergency room from anaphylactic shock from so many flowers."
"Then maybe you'll like this better?" he asks as he pulls my ring from the pocket of his sports jacket. It wouldn't kill him to wear jeans and a t-shirt, but he rarely does.
My skin itches with irritation as I cross my arms over my breasts. "No."
"You can't throw us away. Not now. Not so close to our wedding. We have plans and people traveling. People who made reservations. You can't ruin it for everyone."
"Shedidn't, asshole."
My scowl turns to a smile at the sound of Marshal's voice.
Jack turns, coming nearly chest to chest with Marshal, who too has changed from work clothes into something more comfortable. I take a moment to appreciate the way his biceps flex under the tight Under Armour material of his shirt.
"This isn't any of your business, Michaels," Jack says. "Get lost."
I step back and before Jack realizes what happens, Marshal is inside, leaving Jack still on the outside looking in.
"Obviously," Marshal says, "Sami disagrees."
Jack's jaw tightens. "You know, I allowed the friendship thing between the two of you, but don't put your nose where it doesn't belong. Samantha is my fiancée."
“Youallowed,” I repeat his word. “Well, I have news for you. I didn’t need nor do I appreciate your permission. You sure as shit didn’t ask for mine before you screwed your intern, and as for the title of fiancée, that’s no longer accurate. And one more thing,Ididn't ruin anything.Youdid. You're the reason the wedding's off."
I look up at Marshal.
My heart flutters as he runs his hand through his hair and shines one of his cockiest grins.
Flutters.
Really?
It's like I'm fifteen again, and I'm just seeing my best friend for the whole package that he is. And boy oh boy, what a package.
"Really, man," Marshal says, "thanks."
Jack shakes his head. "What? Why are you thanking me?"
"For showing your true colors. For helping Sami see the light."
Jack pulls his gaze away from Marshal and brings it back to me. He scans my body. "Change into something appropriate and we’ll go to dinner. We can work this out."
I look down at my green concert tank top and holey jeans. "I like what I'm wearing and" —I lift my left hand— "what I'm not wearing."
"Samantha."
His tone is one that says he isn't happy. I stand taller. "Can't."
"Why not?"
Marshal's arm encircles my waist. "She has plans."