I draw in a breath, and concentrate on Jack’s face, doing my best to purge every thought of Landon from my mind. Someday, I tell myself. I’ll look at his face and feel as little as I feel right now with Jack. I’ll look at him and be unable to remember the intensity of the emotions now raging inside me.
It’s very unlikely, and there is a sense of loss at the thought of letting go of my feelings for Landon, but what choice do I have?
Jack is looking at me, waiting for a response.
I sigh. “Jack.” My voice is gentle. “You have to let it go.”
“Because of him?”
“Yes, and also because of you. I got over you Jack, let it go.”
He draws in a sharp breath. “I’m trying to.”
We’re both silent. It starts to feel uncomfortable, and I begin to think that maybe I should leave.
“My mother’s back in town,” Jack says.
“Really?” I give him a concerned glance. I’ve never met his mother, but I know who she is. Gertrude Weyland wrote a novel in her early twenties, which, more than thirty years later, had never gone out of print. After that one book, she stopped writing and went to work in publishing. She’s been living in London working as an editor with one of the big publishing companies. All through my years of knowing Jack, he hardly ever mentioned her. From the few times he did, I got the feeling that they didn’t have a good relationship, but I never pressed for the details.
“Is she staying?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he frowns. “I haven’t seen her.”
He doesn’t look like he wants to either. “Will you?” I ask, wondering how bad their relationship must be for him to be so hesitant. I’ve always been able to take my relationship with my parents for granted. I’ve never had cause to doubt their love and unwavering support. It’s hard for me to understand anyone not being able to enjoy the same kind of relationship with their parents.
Jack shrugs. “I have to.” He downs his drink and signals for a waiter. “Will you come with?”
“Me?” I shake my head in surprise. “Why?”
He sighs. “She and I…” he shakes his head, and there’s no sign of the easy charm that’s usually a part of his every word and expression. “It would be great to have someone else there.”
I pause to think. A few months ago I would have been excited, both at the thought of meeting Gertrude Weyland, and by the fact that she was Jack’s mother. I’d love to meet the woman, but with Jack? I’m not sure.
However, considering it against the bleak hours I have stretched out in front of me, filled with the memories of Landon that I can’t escape, it doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.
I sigh. “When?”
“Tomorrow evening.” He looks grateful. “Or the day after. I’ve stayed away this long. What’s a few more days?”
WE spend the rest of the evening talking about stuff from the office. To my relief, Jack doesn’t venture back into the territory of exploring his feelings for me, whatever they are. It’s almost like old times, except somehow, it’s obvious that we both have a lot on our minds.
When I’m ready to leave, Jack helps me find a cab. In the rearview mirror, I see him standing on the curb watching the cab silently, and the image makes me inexplicably sad.
My phone vibrates, and I fish it out of my bag. There is an alert is for one of my many reminders, and also two missed calls, from Landon.
My breath catches. I stare at his name on the screen, my stomach knotting hard. First his appearance this morning, and now phone calls. It all points to one thing, that he’s as reluctant to let me go as he was when he convinced me to go with him to San Francisco.
The thought is as alarming as it is exciting. A wave of anticipation and expectation floods over my skin, almost sexual in the effect it has on me. I close my eyes and lock the screen before tossing the phone back into my bag, and searching for other things to crowd my head with. Work, even Jack. Everything is safer than thinking about Landon.
The cabbie leaves me outside my apartment building, and a couple of people walk past me, talking and laughing, probably on their way to one of the many clubs on the next street. One of the guys whistles at me, but I ignore him and he goes back to laughing with his friends. I’m about to head for the doors when something catches my attention across the tree-lined street.
The silver Jaguar is parked directly opposite from where I’m standing. The same spot Landon parked the night he came over and called me from his car. A tremor moves slowly up my spine, especially when the pleasurable memories from that night flood my head. It could be anyone, I tell myself, my eyes still on the familiar car. There were probably hundreds of silver jaguars in my neighborhood alone.
But it is Landon.
I watch him step out of the car, his unmistakable lithe form circling around it until he’s standing directly opposite me on the other side of the street. He’s wearing a dark sweatshirt and jeans. At first glance, apart from his searing hotness, he doesn’t look much different from any of the new grads in my neighborhood. But when he moves, there’s something in the way he carries himself, something that points to the fact that beyond the wavy dark-gold hair, the beautifully sculpted face, and the sexy frame, there’s the enigmatic and powerful man beneath, the billionaire owner of the Swanson Court hotels.
What does he want now?