Maybe Later(47)

“Excuse me?” I ask. My nostrils flare as I hear my last name. Calm down, it’s not an uncommon last name.

Her eyes open wide. “Nothing. I was saying names I shouldn’t be saying. They’re private.”

“Your clients?” I take a wild guess.

I look back at her tapping feet and recognize the foot. Amy fucking Walker’s foot.





Chapter Twenty-Three





Jack


“Yes,” she answers whispering. All the color in her face is completely gone. “Please, I beg you.” She takes a deep breath. “Forget about what I just said. That’s super confidential. Oh fuck, I’m going to get sued,” she mumbles

She’s hyperventilating and there’s moisture in her eyes like she feels the entire world is about to explode because she made a mistake, a big mistake. She’s not allowed to mention my last name. Ever. My last name, I repeat.

She is fucking Amy Walker.

Is it that she thinks she’s in trouble or she realized that I caught her playing me? I run a hand through my hair, boiling with fury. I clench my jaw so tight, it hurts. I’m so fucking mad at her and myself. How did I fucking fall for this?

I’m getting her fucking fired. But before that, I decide to play along. She likes mind games, well mine is going to be even better, sweetheart.

“Have you ever traveled?” I ask drily, knowing she’s afraid of long trips.

“Not lately,” she answers blinking twice.

“But you travel?”

She plays with the bottom of her lip, the color in her face still gone. She looks lost.

“Are you okay?” I feel conflicted because she’s pale and looks sick.

She shakes her head. “I have a rule, I have boundaries.” She places her napkin on top of the table. “I can’t lose my company. It’s all I have. But here you are making me lose that line I have between my personal life and my professional career.”

Did I create this problem? No! This is on you, Emmeline or is it Amy Walker? You’re the one who must’ve tracked me down and decided to play with me. Anger spirals from the pit of my stomach.

“I swear I never lose my shit the way I am right now,” she continues her voice filled with anguish. “I hate trusting people.”

“Why?”

Why should I even listen to you? You’re a liar who’s been playing me. I’m just waiting for your next move to defeat you. I know your kind Emmeline, or is it Amy? You’re just like Vivian.

“It makes me vulnerable.”

“Who do you think would be more upset, Everhart or Spearman?” I jab her with my question.

Her jaw tenses. Did I piss you off, sweetheart? I’m going to show you what happens when you start threatening the big boys.

“Which one of them would fuck me over spilling their names?” she snorts. “Well, that’s cruel of you to ask. Does it matter? Obviously, you don’t understand the gravity. I’m so stupid. It’s obvious that this isn’t going to work for us.”

She picks up her purse. “What I do is important to me. I help others. Some are CEOs, but I also do pro bono work for non-profit companies. My goal is to help people and be successful. What I do, my job is my entire life. I’m devoted to my mission. There are few things that affect me but losing what I created is definitely one of them.”

Emmeline gives me a sad smile that pulls at my heartstrings. It reminds me of the distracted woman in the book store who lives in her own world. How can you do this to me, Emmeline? Or is it fucking Amy?

I stop and think about Amy, who would be gloating if she met me. Wouldn’t she? If this woman knew I was Jackson Spearman, we’d be having a different conversation. I exhale a groan, unable to keep the simmering anger down.

She laughs hysterically and touches the empty glass of wine. “I don’t even have the excuse of being drunk. See I told you I shouldn’t have come. I was talking to someone earlier…”

There’s a long pause, as she looks around the restaurant. “It doesn’t matter.”

She pulls out her wallet.

“I have no attachments to anyone but Sushi and Ramen—well and my best friends. Anyway, I was asked if I had a boyfriend or a girlfriend or a significant other. I joked about having one of each. He said it made sense since I’m a handful.”

A groan accompanies an eye roll.

“And he’s right, I am.”

“Well at least I know you’re single,” I say casually, trying to gauge if this is a prank or she’s truthfully concerned about what I can do to her company.

“So, after you were told that you were a handful, you wrote me off?” I ask and study her.

The anger that whipped through me earlier, like a storm, simmers down from a hurricane to a tropical storm. Trusting someone is so fucking hard. How can I believe that this isn’t an act?

She gives me a sharp nod, focusing on the almost empty glass of wine in front of her.

“You don’t strike me as a person who cares what others say,” I say.

“Usually, I don’t, but for some reason, his opinion mattered,” she says, opening her wallet.

“He’s a fucking idiot,” I tell her.

I bite back the harsh words on the tip of my tongue. I’m not furious, but I’m definitely annoyed with the situations. Mostly, because I can’t understand it. Frowning, I watch her taking some cash out of her wallet. I ask, “Why did you accept my invitation after all?”