Maybe he was on to something? Maybe I’m just a romantic fool?
Does he have feelings for Chloe? Who cares? He’s an asshole.
I need to cut this out. Stop thinking about him. He’s a self-absorbed player who sleeps with whoever he wants, whenever he wants. I look around my shitty apartment, and sadness fills me. If he liked me, it wouldn’t matter where we were—he would want to spend time with me regardless. But he couldn’t get out of here quick enough.
My mind goes over our fight this morning.
“Nobody treats me as bad as you do, Emily.”
“Because you pay them. Good thing you’ve got lots of money, Jameson. You’re going to need it. Nobody would put up with your shit for free.”
“That’s a low blow.”
Did I go too far? Was it a low blow? Probably, but what does he expect? And I can’t believe that nobody treats him as badly as I do. If he treats other women the way he treats me, surely they wouldn’t put up with it? Nobody is that stupid . . . are they?
“I’m not looking for a relationship.”
I punch the pillow on my lap in disgust. Six words have never made me feel so cheap.
Monday morning, I ride in the elevator to the top floor. We scheduled this meeting last week so that I could meet the private investigator, but it’s the last thing I want to do now.
I want to forget Jameson Miles, forget I ever met beautiful Jim . . . or Jay, or whatever the heck I’m supposed to call him. I’ve come to the realization that they’re a package deal, and unfortunately, I can’t have Jim without Jameson, even though it’s only Jim I want. So I’m doing what’s best for me. I’m cutting ties; I’m not falling into the pattern of sleeping with Jameson without strings in the hope that I get a glimpse of Jim every now and then.
It would be easy . . . too easy.
But I already know my poor heart couldn’t take it. I’m not wired for casual sex.
It’s just not who I am.
I’m going to be professional and try to concentrate on my job. If I didn’t have to see him, it would be so much easier, but it is what it is. I need to learn to deal with it. He’s not going anywhere, and I really want this job.
Damn it, Emily, why do you always take the hard way? Why do you always fall for the wrong guy? The last man had no motivation, and this man has too much. Both men didn’t care enough to go the extra mile for me. Maybe my expectations are too high from my book boyfriends in my romance novels—maybe Jameson was right on that one. But damn it, I want the fucking fairy tale for once.
The elevator door opens, and I walk out and through reception. “Good morning, Emily,” Sammia says.
“Morning.” I smile.
“Just go through to his office.”
“Thanks.” I walk down the corridor and knock on his door.
“Come in,” his deep voice calls.
I close my eyes and brace myself. I drop my shoulders and open the door. I stop on the spot. Shit.
The room is full of men.
“Come in,” Jameson says, devoid of emotion. “Take a seat.”
“Thanks.” I drop nervously into the seat near the end of the large rectangular table.
Jameson sits at the head, and Tristan, Elliot, Christopher, and an older man are on Jameson’s left. Then there are another six men I have never seen before.
Jameson’s eyes hold mine. “This is Emily Foster,” he introduces me.
“Hello,” the men all say.
I smile awkwardly as I look around the table.