Beloved (Toni Morrison Trilogy #1)(53)

I’ve been home for a week and haven’t accomplished a damn thing. The song for the Raven Cosmetics commercial is no longer legal to use. The approval I obtained beforehand expired, and now the music company is dragging their feet. Then Taylor told me the partners met yesterday about who would be given the promotion. It was a fifty-fifty split between Elle and me. So much for me being a shoo-in for the promotion once I landed the Raven account. They plan to wait until we both finish with our current clients to make a decision.

Jackson and I haven’t seen each other since he dropped me off after our trip. We’ve talked a few times on the phone about what he needs to do to get ready for the launch and we made plans for this weekend. But he’s not happy about the ad delay. Plus, Neil’s been calling again. Worse than all that, though, is how I have to go for the reading of my father’s will in three weeks. I keep trying to push it to the depths of my mind, but it keeps creeping up at the most inopportune times. In my life, when it rains it doesn’t just pour, no—it’s a full-on monsoon.

I grab my journal and decide to write again. It’s therapeutic and helps me get my thoughts together. I’ve been so busy that I haven’t really had much time lately. I miss it—I miss watching my heart bleed onto the paper.

I put the pen down when I hear a loud voice. “Biffle, time for a drink.” Ashton stalks toward me holding a bottle in her hand.

“Good.” I shrug and decide not to fight her this time. “I need one.” Or four.

“I’m not sure what to do with this attitude,” she says with a cat-ate-the-canary grin. “Usually I have to threaten you. By the way, just-f*cked is a better look for you. Maybe you should call him and get that taken care of. We need to make sure frumpy, nasty Cat stays away.”

I groan and roll my eyes. She’s been pushing me to go to him, to not let him get away. I’m not sure why she’s so up my ass about it. “I don’t feel like calling him. I feel like having my best friend pour me a shot and get me drunk.”

“Well now that I can do. I’ve got bubblegum vodka or whipped. What’s your poison?”

“Whipped, baby!”

We grab some shot glasses and get comfy on the couch, laughing about the new doctor in Ashton’s lab. He’s been hitting on her and my crazy friend is feeding it.

“Well he’s ugly as all hell, but if he wants to keep buying me dinner, I’m not an idiot.”

“Ashton! That’s just so … so … wrong.” I slap her arm.

“Maybe I’ll tell him I’m a lesbian.” She shrugs, laughing, and hooks her arms around me. “Wanna make out?”

“Oh good God. Get off me, jackass.”

We’ve been drinking for a few hours. Ashton has analyzed my trip in great detail. I think she’s falling in love with Jackson. It’s kinda funny. We laugh and swoon, only stopping to refill our shot glasses. I know I’m three sheets to the wind since I can’t feel my tongue anymore.

“Ash, I gotta pee.” I practically fall off the couch and laugh as I try to stand straight. I’m completely shit-faced. I make my way to the bathroom and back by the grace of God. When I get to the living room, my eyes go wide. Either I’m hallucinating or Jackson is sitting on my couch.

“Catherine, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” He smiles as he gets up and walks over to me. When he leans down to kiss me, I quickly put my hand up to his mouth before he can touch my lips. “You can’t kiss me,” I whisper and look around. I’m still not sure it’s really him. Maybe my mind conjured him up.

“Oh, why not?” He stares at me with one brow raised and that cocky smile I love so much. Awww, fake Jackson even makes the same gestures.

“Well, imaginary Jackson, I’ll tell you.” I lean in real close and somehow get the words out between giggles. “I like a boy and I don’t think I should kiss you.” Ashton is laughing hysterically and I join her, although I’m not sure why we’re laughing.

“Imaginary, huh? And tell me, baby, what’s this boy’s name?” He leans close and places his hand on the back of my head, pulling me against his chest. I lean into him and take a deep breath. Imaginary Jackson even smells the same.

“He’s not really a boy. He’s all man, if you know what I mean.” I slur the words and giggle.

“How much have you had to drink?”

“Ohhh, you know, six or eight. I can’t remember.” I close my eyes and rest against his strong, hard chest. My mind is a beautiful place right now. “How did you know where I was?”

Ashton speaks first. “I think you’re cut off. Jackson is really here and you are gonna hate yourself tomorrow.”

Imaginary Jackson pulls us to the couch, where I sink into him further.

“Nuh uh,” I retort, drifting to sleep.

Next thing I know, strong hands are cupping my cheeks and lifting my face. My lashes flutter open and I’m staring into Jackson’s—or imaginary Jackson’s—gorgeous turquoise eyes. Damn he’s hot. I so want to break off a piece of that again. He continues to gaze with a fierce intensity—it almost sobers me. Fuck! He’s here!

And I’m drunk—really drunk.

His deep voice breaks through my alcohol fog. “Hi there.”