Emilia was helping me forget, at least for a little while.
Chapter 28
April
The doorbell rang at oh dark hundred. Naturally, Sid was already awake, quietly puttering around the apartment while I moaned and rolled over to face the wall, hoping to forget I was still alive.
That persistent ache in my chest, that feeling of loss and rejection, it was still there like a giant hole that could very well take ages to heal. And my eyes were sore from crying all day yesterday. I’d checked my text messages constantly. Nothing from him. Nothing.
I’d also checked social media against Sid’s advice. Tons of people had tagged me in their unflattering posts and tweets, of course. How thoughtful of them.
Jordan’s profile displayed a picture he’d taken in Times Square yesterday, mentioning his excitement for the impending IPO. But that was it. I had no other inkling of what was going on with him and I couldn’t exactly ask Susan for an update, since I was now persona non grata at Draco.
She’d be back at her desk today. It was Monday morning, business as usual, at the company. It wasn’t like I could sneak into the office and clean out my desk. Maybe Mia would take pity on me and do it when she got back from New York City tomorrow. As soon as I found some shred of dignity, I’d email and ask her.
My mind continued to race, even though I willed it to shut the fuck up. I wished I could fall back asleep, since I hadn’t been able to even close my eyes before one a.m. I was exhausted enough to sleep until noon, if I could just fall back to sleep. I stuffed my pillow over my head with a groan. Sid was speaking to someone at the front door, but they were quiet enough that I could muffle out the sound with my pillow.
A few minutes later, just as I was trying to turn off my thoughts so I could doze in blissful oblivion, Sid came back into the bedroom and sat down at the edge of my bed.
“Go away,” I mumbled from under my pillow.
She tugged at the pillow and I clutched it tighter to my face.
“Sid! Do you really want me to tear you a new one? Please let me sleep.”
“But I want to talk to you,” came the reply. Not Sid’s voice. A man’s voice. Not my dad.
I froze, my heart thumping wildly at the base of my throat. I was certain I was having audible hallucinations. Could a person hallucinate a voice?
The weight on the bed shifted as if he was turning toward me. He tugged the pillow again, and this time I allowed it to be removed from my face. He set it down by my leg and turned to look at me, his face serious. His hazel eyes scoured my features. He was taking in my puffy eyes ringed with dark circles, the chafed skin around my nose where I’d frequently blown it. I’d seen myself in the mirror the night before. I knew how bad the damage was. And it was probably even worse this morning with the additional swelling that troubled sleep had brought.
I looked at him, my eyes widening then flying to the clock on the dresser. It was five thirty in the morning and Jordan was dressed in rumpled clothing—like he’d slept in his clothes. I sat up to face him.
“What are you doing here? The stock exchange opens at six.”
“I came here to watch the opening with you. Can you livestream it to your TV?”
My jaw dropped. “Why the hell aren’t you in New York?”
“Because I didn’t want to be in New York. I wanted to be here. With you.”
I rubbed my forehead, looking down. “I don’t understand. You’re supposed to be on the platform with the other officers so you all can ring the opening bell.”
“Well...I’m not.”
I pushed myself out of bed and stood, crossing my arms across my chest. I was wearing a short, thin nightie because it had been a warm night. Jordan’s eyes slid over me like a warm caress. I got goose bumps just from the touch of his gaze. Which pissed me off. I was supposed to be mad at him. I was supposed to hate him.
It was five forty. “I’ll be right back.”
In the bathroom, I brushed my teeth, splashed cold water on my face and found a thin robe to slip over my shoulders. Quickly determining that I had no time for an emergency makeup session, I stiffened my spine and went back into the bedroom. He’d grabbed my laptop off my desk and had it sitting on the bed, unopened. I blinked.
“Can we watch the livestream? It’s almost nine there. The bell rings in ten minutes.”
With a shrug, I settled beside him on the bed—not too close, since I still wasn’t sure what the hell he was doing here—and leaned against the wall. Jordan scooted next to me so he could look closely at the screen. I keyed in my password and quickly closed the social media and news sites I’d been using to track my name smeared across the whole world, along with pictures of my ass and tattoo. Jordan didn’t react to those as I opened a new browser window and typed a Google search to get the livestream for the NYSE. By the time this was all accomplished, we were five minutes from the opening of the floor and the ringing of the bell.