Found in Us (Lost 2)

I hung up.

There's not much I can do better than Serena. I never could. She moved in with my parents and me in San Francisco when I started high school. Her sister had died, and her parents decided she needed a change of scenery. I liked her from the beginning and was determined she would be the sister I never had. Which is exactly what she became. I adored everything about her, from her guarded nature to her British accent. I had had a fascination for that accent forever. My mom had grown up in England, where she and Serena's mom had been best friends, then moved overseas after high school. When I was little, I used to ask my mom to explain things in her British accent; other than a few odd phrases, nothing much stuck. I was too old to ask Serena to do the same thing without looking ridiculous, but I was content listening to her. My parents adored her as much as I did, and Dad never missed an opportunity to tell me I should be more like her. She was smarter, more focused, more organized, harder working . . . simply more than me. I was the party girl. The irresponsible one.

I shake my head, trying to focus on my next task: talking to the gallery. There is no point remembering any of that now; I managed to get a job with no one's help, and I should be proud of that. Hell, I am proud. No one had to put in a good word for me. It's not one of the big museums in London; on the contrary, it's a small museum specializing in art from the nineteenth century. But still . . . I'm so proud every time I read my name on my office door: Jessica Haydn. My mom could not believe it. Not that I blame her—when I was a student the only jobs I seemed to be able to get on my own were the ones where the only thing that mattered were good looks—the occasional promoter or hostess job.

Well, I didn't get this one because of my looks.

Chapter Three

Parker

"The appointment with the ambassador is in one hour, Mr. Blakesley," my secretary's voice resounds through the speaker.

"I know, Olive. Have a car prepared for me in fifteen minutes."

Leaning back in my chair, I glance at the report in front of me for two seconds before closing it. This is useless. Useless. My brother left this company in shambles, and nothing I do will get it out of the deep shit it's in.

Interim CEO.

What the hell was I thinking, taking this position? I have a million other things I could be doing. I had to find someone to care for and manage my regular business activities, since this barely leaves me any time to do anything else. I loathe this company, and it's common knowledge that every single person in it loathes me.

No wonder, a voice nags at the back of my mind. Whose fault is it that your brother ruined it?

Mine. Which is how I ended up sitting on this bloody chair in the first place. I rise from it, stretching my legs on the way to the large window overlooking the business district. I fix the loose cufflink on my left sleeve until it looks perfect on my shirt. I've been wearing dress shirts for so long they're like a second skin now. Something that has everyone convinced I'm the perfect gentleman.

Apart from Jessica.

She saw right through me from the beginning. I don't know what tipped her off, but she's more right than she suspects. I'm not a gentleman. I'm just very good at pretending I am. Except when I'm around her. I realized the very first time I saw her that I wouldn't be able to keep my shit together if I was around her for long. One indicator that self-control around her would be a damn chore was my body's reaction to hers. Her clothing was hugging her curves in all the right places, highlighting her luscious hips and full breasts. I wanted to rip off every single piece of clothing right then and there, in the middle of the damn club.

But the other indicator was even more worrying. The moment she started talking to me, I was glued to her words, transfixed. I don't even remember half the things she was saying, just the way she made me feel. Life poured off her, radiating a warmth and energy I had never seen in anyone before. I couldn't get enough of her—I spent the entire night watching her, while she was dancing with some bloke she'd picked up there. Something about her mystified me, and I was dazed and bothered by it at the same time. That contradictory feeling followed me for a long time—it still does.

I was used to keeping people at an arm’s length, especially women. I had learned the hard way that the only way to keep people from hurting, deserting, or betraying me was by not letting them get too close. It was a lesson my mother taught me when she chucked me out of our house.

But by God, just being in the same room with Jessica made me want to get to know her. From the little I learned about her from Serena and James, I knew she and I were opposites. She was impulsive and chaotic. I liked order and control.

Still, I couldn’t bring myself to look away from her, so I watched her from a distance for most of the evening. Until that guy put his hands where he wasn’t supposed to and Jessica was desperately trying to get away from him.

“Take your hands off her,” I said once I reached them. When the bloke didn’t budge, I put my hand firmly on his shoulder and pushed him away. He looked disoriented, and by the stench coming off him, it was clear he had enough alcohol in his system not to discern between a woman saying yes or no. His eyes narrowed when he met mine, and then widened in recognition, probably remembering that Jessica had talked to me earlier in the night.

“This is none of your business,” he slurred.

“I believe she made it clear she doesn’t want you to touch her.”

“That still doesn’t make it your business.”

“I’m making it my business,” I said, loud enough that not even the deafening music could cover my words. I stepped between them, and Jessica mouthed thank you as I pulled her away from him. I was still looking at her when I felt his fist collide with the left side of my face.

Jessica shrieked, stepping back, tugging at my sleeve.

“You coward,” I hissed. “You’re lucky you sucker-punched me.”

“You think I can’t take you in a fair fight?”

“I know you can’t.”

&n

bsp; And he didn’t. I proved that with less than two strikes. Before long, the whole club was in chaos, and Jessica came out of the whole thing with a broken leg. Jessica was a bundle of chaos. And still, I kept seeking her. I had a good excuse too. What with her accident, she was confined to the hospital and then her apartment for the better part of every day, and incapacitated to do certain things. My excuse for dropping by several times a week was to help her out.