“Hi,” he answers, monotone.
“What’s going on?” I whisper. “Jay. I can’t believe the lies. He kissed me once, and I slapped him across the face. I promise you that I’m not seeing that slimeball.”
He stays silent.
A sense of dread fills me. Why is he so quiet? “Jay.”
“You didn’t think to tell me about this?”
“It only happened last night.”
“You said you were with fucking Molly!” he screams.
My eyes fill with tears at the sound of his anger. “I know I did, but he said he had some information about the case, and I knew you wouldn’t want me to meet him alone.”
“I wonder fucking why?” he bellows.
I screw up my face. “Don’t be angry with me,” I whisper. “That picture is . . .” I shake my head as I try to articulate what it is that I want to say. “It’s taken out of context, I promise you.”
“I have to go. Stay out of sight. I don’t need to worry about you
too.”
“What?” I stammer.
“I’m too busy.”
“Don’t go,” I plead. “Jay, we need to talk about this. I’ll come to your office now.”
“Don’t you dare,” he sneers.
My eyes widen. “What do you mean?”
“There are a million and fucking one people in my office right now, and I don’t have the fucking time to deal with your shit,” he growls.
I cringe . . . God, I’ve never heard him so angry. “Will I see you tonight?” I whisper.
“Goodbye, Emily.” The line goes dead.
I drop to the couch and stare at the wall . . . a sick sense of dread begins to sink in . . . he believes it.
Holy fuck.
Eight o’clock that evening
I sit on the lounge and listen to the sound of a movie as it plays on the television.
I can’t watch the news. I had to turn it off. It’s going on and on about the evidence building against Jameson and the embezzlement case.
My mind is miles away. Jameson hasn’t called me back all day, and I don’t know what’s going on over there at Miles Media, but I know it’s a media circus.
I’m torn between giving him the space that he needs and running to him as fast as I can. I’ve decided that I’m going to do as he asked and just stay here and sit tight. He will call me as soon as he can. I know he will, and he’s right—me being out and about will only add fuel to the fire. He really doesn’t need to worry about me, too, at the moment.
The magnitude of the situation has finally sunk in. What’s going to happen if they can’t find out who transferred that money?
How long can Jameson deal with this type of pressure?
With a lump in my throat I begin to pace. My carpet must be nearly threadbare after today’s pacing activities. I can’t remember ever being this stressed.