Page 40 of An Eye For Illusion

He isn’t harmless to my heart, and he isn’t harmless to my pride. I shouldn’t care that he sent my assistant flowers, but I do. I care more than what’s reasonable. I care enough to have my heart racing while standing here in the hallway leading to my penthouse. I care enough to talk so loudly that I’ve likely drawn the attention of my neighbors, and I couldn’t care less about that part.

This tells me that I care too damn much, and I need to stop. I wanted him to kiss me, dammit! I wish I could slap myself silly right now because that’s exactly how I feel, like a silly little girl waiting for her crush to tell her that he likes her.

“There was a misunderstanding with the florist.” That’s all he says, and it only brings more questions.

“So, you didn’t mean to send her flowers?” I ask with obvious nonsensical hope in my voice and my heart.

He finally drops his hands and takes a step toward me, but I step back toward my door, not so subtly telling him to stop right where he is.

“No, I meant to send them, but it wasn’t supposed to be anything like that.”

My patience is waning. Either he sent her flowers, or he didn’t. I place my hand on my hip and tap the toe of my four-inch heel as I wait for him to continue.

He rushes to explain. “The arrangement was supposed to be small and tasteful that said, ‘sorry your boss sucks.’ Instead, they sent a giant, extravagant, and not to mention fucking expensive arrangement that said, ‘I’d like to screw you.’”

Once he finishes, his shoulders drop in relief, like that explains everything so perfectly. Like there shouldn’t be any cause for me to be upset at him now. My brain sticks on one part of his admission, and surprisingly, it pierces so deeply that I struggle to catch my breath.

Sorry your boss sucks.

I’m more than done with this conversation, with this day, and with Colin fucking Brooks. To think that moments ago I wanted this man to kiss me… that I wanted to feel his body pin mine against this wall while he ravished me right here where anyone could walk by.

Screw him and screw this.

“Yes, well, in that case… Unless you’re here because you actually did your fucking job and found something, I’m going to call it a night,” I say stiffly. The hurt and rage bubbles under my skin and threatens to spew out.

I need to get into my apartment so I can properly cuss this man to Timbuktu. I refuse to do it here, in front of him and where everyone can hear. I refuse to let him see me this upset. He doesn’t get the satisfaction of knowing how deep his words cut or how much I fear they’re true.

This man gets no part of me. Not now, and not ever.

His eyes go wide as if he’s just now realizing what he said. “Jade, I didn’t mean it like that. It was supposed to be a joke…”

“If you’ll excuse me. Don’t call me or show up at my apartment unannounced unless you have something, Mr. Brooks. That was the deal you were so adamant about, wasn’t it? Have a good evening.”

I unlock the door, walk into my foyer, and slam the door behind me before he has the chance to respond. I leave him standing there, dumbfounded and wounded just like he deserves.

“Who the hell does he think he is?” I ask again for probably the tenth time tonight, but Bridge doesn’t seem to mind.

“One stupid, stupid, boy, Jade.”

“Pfft. That doesn’t give him the right to pretend to nearly kiss me and then say that when he finally does, I’ll be his before going on to say that I’m such a terrible boss he thought it was necessary to send my assistant flowers to apologize!” My rant is going just as strong as it was when Bridge first got here thirty minutes ago.

She’s all caught up on what went down last night outside my apartment door and all about the flowers sent to Heather.

She winces for the third time. It doesn’t get any better no matter how many times I say it out loud. It hurts just as much as it did last night, maybe even worse because I’ve had all night and day to stew on it.

She chews on her bottom lip a second before she speaks. “I’m trying to figure out why he felt compelled to do something like that. I don’t know him, but it seems like more than a joke…”

She leaves her last statement hanging, waiting for me to explain why he’d think that, but I don’t know if I can in a way that will discredit him. That might be why I’m so damn angry. Because he might have a damn point. However, my pride won’t let me admit that to anyone, even Bridge.

I shrug. “I don’t know why he thinks that.” I go to pour myself another glass of white wine as I grab a spicy tuna roll from the platter in front of us.

We almost always eat in the living room instead of the dining room. It’s cozier in here and far less stuffy than the formal dining room that can seat twenty.

I roll my eyes a little at how ridiculous it seems to have a room like that when I almost never host parties, let alone anything so big that a thirty-foot table with twenty seats would be needed.

“You have no idea why the man would get the impression Heather is a little stressed and a lot over worked?” Bridge presses.

I drop my chopsticks and turn my gaze on her. “I may have high expectations a lot of people may fall short of, but that doesn’t make me a terrible boss. It’s unfair of him to make that kind of judgement when he doesn’t even know me,” I say, unable to disguise the hurt in my voice.

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