"Ah, you answered. I was worried. Where are you?"
"My apartment." He glanced toward the open door leading to the other room. "We're working out the arrangement for the exhibit."
"Yes...the exhibit..." she paused and sighed. "I have been having my nightmares again. "
He frowned into the phone. How many nights had he held her because of the nightmares? Too many to count. He sank onto the edge of the bed and closed his eyes shut.
"Did you take your medication with you?" he asked out of habit, his heart heavy with all they had endured and all that they hid from the world.
"No, I forgot it. I didn't think I would need it," she whispered, her voice sounding sad and lonely.
"Do you need me to send it to you?"
"No, I just needed to hear your voice. I'll be fine. I tried to FaceTime you but you didn't answer. I thought maybe you had gone to Boston...to Jessica....You promised you wouldn't leave me, Jacques."
He gritted his teeth with annoyance before immediately hating himself for it. How long were they going to be in this dance? They both traveled independently, had their own lives, so why did she refuse to let go?
"Simone, this needs to stop," he said. "You and me, this relationship of ours, I can't do it anymore. I know you have other lovers. What happened between us—to us—happened three years ago."
"You said you loved me."
He fell back onto the bed and blinked at the ceiling. He had no recollection of telling her that, but she claimed he did.
"I would hate for the world to find out what happened in Thailand..." she said, using her dual edged sword that she used to both keep him and threaten him. That tragedy caused her nightmares, but also gave her the leverage she needed whenever he started pulling away. "I love you, bebe."
"Do you really, Simone? If you loved me, you wouldn't threaten me. I will go to your apartment and send the medication down in the morning."
"By the times it arrives, I will already be home. Forget it."
Silence connected them through the airwaves.
"Do you want to tell me about your nightmare?" Listening to her usually helped. He had more than a few of his own demons left over from that time in his life, yet one more reason he didn't know if he could ever forgive Jessica. Her leaving had set a chain of events in motion that had nearly destroyed him.
She did in her quiet voice, slipping into French as she cried on the other end of the phone. He listened, wiping away a tear from his own eye. The pain that bound them couldn't be erased or dismissed. He simply didn't know how to break it. When the conversation ended, he laid in the dark for a few minutes and listened to Carter and Kevin in the other room. No one knew why he had dropped off the face of the earth for a year. No one but Simone.
"Everything okay with Simone?" Kevin yelled from the other room.
He tossed his phone onto the unmade bed before joining his friends. "Simone is a survivor, she is fine as always."
"Why do you look so sad? Maybe you need to take the red eye to Boston to cheer yourself up." Kevin laughed at his own joke.
"Don't say it." Jacques pointed at him. "Stop now. We have the layout for the show decided, now let's focus on the Amazon trip. What do we need to do next, Carter? Aside from the three of us, will there be additional crewmembers? Do we have the proper permissions for traveling and filming there?"
He listened with a half-hearted interest. Carter had been right when he had said that Jessica had impacted every decision he'd made during the past five years. Finding out that she had returned threw him off-balance. The resentment and sense of abandonment he'd felt were now called into question. She'd gone back for him, had loved him enough to return, but what did that mean in the present tense? Would they even like each other today? They were different people. Those choices he had made after Italy had changed his soul. He doubted she could ever forgive him for all that he'd done, and he doubted he could ever forgive himself for being so weak.
* * *
Chapter Six
She spun around in her chair, enjoying the office with a door. After breakfast with the partners, she'd returned to find her cubicle packed up and moved to a small office with glass walls and a window. Associate partner, youngest in the firm's history. She allowed the title to roll through her mind.
She wanted to call Jacques and rub it in his face, him with all of his questions about being happy and satisfied. She looked out of her window at the city stretching toward Cambridge and smiled. Damn, she'd wanted this for so long she could barely believe she had it.
"Knock, knock," Miranda Jenkins stood in the doorway, her face beaming with approval, black hair cut into a pixie cut that flattered the sharp angles of her face. "The receptionist told me you were back here. Wow. I sense a promotion?"
The paintings. Great. With a sigh, she nodded. "Associate partner."
"Congratulations." Miranda sank into the chair opposite the desk and tapped her fingers on the arms, her brown eyes snapping with mischief. "Did Marc tell you I'd be stopping by?"
"He may have mentioned something about it," she hedged.
"Jacques Sinclair...who would have thought you'd be involved with a man like that? Sexy. Fascinating. You're a woman with secrets, Jessica. I love it."
Unable to meet Miranda's gaze, she busied herself with organizing the top of her desk. Now that she had a project of her own, she didn't have time for small talk. "Marc told me that you want to include my paintings in Jacques' show, but that's not going to work for me. Art is my hobby, that's all. Nothing more. I don't think it's a good idea."
"Marc got to you before I could, didn't he?" She frowned and shook her head. Although she was Marc's sister, they couldn't be more opposite in personalities. Miranda was intense, driven, passionate about everything. Energy zapped off of her like lighting charging the air. "I never should have told him about the showing."
"There is no showing, Miranda." She paid close attention to the placement of her computer's mouse. "I wish Jacques the best, but I'm not going to be a part of it."
"Let me have four. Only four. They won't be for sale." Miranda crossed her leather booted legs and grinned. Fingers still tapped on the arms of the chair. "You're already the centerpiece of the show. I thought I recognized the girl in the pictures, but then I thought it was just an uncanny—"
"Okay, stop." She rubbed her fingers against her forehead. Centerpiece? "I really can't do this, or talk about it, or anything right now, Miranda. I just moved in to this office, had a breakfast meeting with the partners this morning, need to revise some sketches, have another meeting in twenty minutes...I can't."
"Three, give me three. What harm can it do? Think of the sensation of you two pairing up again for the showing, the media will love it. I could get a lot of traction out of that."
"God, no." Marc's words about making a fool of herself whispered through her mind. "Why would that be traction? What media?"
"It's his one and only showing...he's in demand." Miranda leaned forward, her intensity causing Jessica to lean back in her chair despite the desk separating them. "This is a big deal, I can't believe I landed him. I still can't believe he considered Boston over New York. Don't you know what a force he is in the art world? He and his sister, both. Their talent is through the roof. Be a part of it, Jessie. I'll leave room in the layout, give you until Thursday to decide. Think of the opportunity this could be for you."
She swallowed and looked away. "I have a meeting..."
"His photographs are breathtaking. You're stunning. The two of you must have—"
"I really need to get ready for my meeting." She stood abruptly and forced a smile. "I appreciate your interest, but I can't show my paintings. I'm trying to be taken seriously here."
"He told me that you sold paintings in Italy. I know about them, know that the gallery owner wanted more of your work, too. If you can show in Italy, why not in your hometown of Boston? People here love supporting local talent." Miranda frowned again, not moving to stand. "I don't
understand why you can't be taken seriously as an architect if you're—"
"I can't be affiliated with Jacques or his photographs. I saw his book, I know what kind of pictures are there." Her entire body shook with restraint. "Marc said it himself, it could ruin me."
Miranda clenched her jaw and stood. "Marc isn't one to talk about ruining reputations. You'd be wise not to listen to him. You don't know him as well as you think you do."
"About the artwork, the answer is no."
Miranda dropped a gleaming advertisement for Jacques' showing on the desk. "Four paintings, that's it. You two together hosting the show. Invite your partners. They'll be impressed. I didn't get where I am by luck, Jessie. I know what I'm doing. I'll expect them on Thursday."
"I thought you said three paintings."
"Three it is! I knew you'd be smart about this." Miranda winked in that arrogant way her brother did, must be a family trait.
When she'd left, Jessica sank back into her chair, gaze lingering on the door. It didn't do much to have a door if people still showed up out of nowhere whenever it suited them. Gritting her teeth, she forced her attention back on the work. She had to meet with the engineers and couldn't screw up these numbers.
Bully, that's what Miranda Jenkins was, a bully in black designer clothes.
She went to the meeting, determined to embrace this achievement in her life even if no one else would. To hell with everyone and their chatter about Italy, paintings, passion, and Jacques Sinclair.
"We want Marc to work with you on this," Charlie said once she'd presented her changes.
Sighing, she tapped her fingers on the surface of the table. "Why? I think we have a good team lined up as it is."
Charlie cleared his throat and looked at the other two partners who quietly exited the room, leaving them alone. "You're an associate partner now, Jessica, so I trust you can remain professional about this."
"Of course I can." She stopped tapping the table.
"There are rumors about Marc Jenkins and his inappropriate behavior with some of the staff during off hours. None of the other partners want to work with him, to be frank. We allowed him to pitch because Sincore asked for him specifically, apparently he had some family connections there. We know you two are close. Do you think he can work with you without it being a problem?"
"Why would there be a problem?" Blindsided by the news that there had been trouble brewing for Marc at the firm, she cursed herself for working so hard and ignoring company gossip.
"You're technically his supervisor." Charlie watched her closely for any reaction.
She nodded at the news and allowed herself to think before responding.
"We will tell him tomorrow, that won't be your responsibility. Sanders will be the one to tell him that he is being reallocated to your team."
"Reallocated," she repeated the word, knowing it meant a lot more than what the definition implied. One partner rejected Marc's work and she was his last shot at the firm. Swallowing the concern over her friend, she forced herself to think like a boss. "I am confident Marc and I can work together. I'm happy to have him on my team."
"Good." Charlie smiled and gathered the papers in front of him into a pile. "I knew we could count on you to be a team player."
Everything that Marc had warned her about concerning reputation and fallout echoed in her mind. Little did he know his own reputation was getting him screwed. Maybe being labeled Boston's Most Eligible Bachelor in Boston Magazine had worked against him after all. Well, that and his cocky attitude.
Back in her office, she made a point of standing in front of the window and soaking it up. This was hers, all hers. She reveled in satisfaction. No way in hell she'd jeopardize it.
She sat back at her desk and poured her energy into the work in front of her. Her hands trembled, causing her to toss out yet another sketch. Fine-tuning the Sincore project, tweaking, and she couldn't draw a straight line. Figures. Damn nerves. Marc's words echoed in her mind..."you'll make a fool of yourself."
How often had she heard that as a kid? Whenever she'd done anything creative or achieved any success, the threat of making a fool of herself would come up. Not now. Look at how far she'd come. There was nothing foolish about any of it.
The pressure was on to start construction by next month. The last architecture firm who'd had this contract had lost it due to incompetence, which had already put the clients behind schedule. She'd promised the moon now she needed to deliver. She didn't have time for petty distractions like gallery exhibits and ex-lovers appearing out of the blue.
“Fancy clothes and short hair. No more curls. I never imagined. Jacques was right...what a tragedy.”
Jessica looked up from the sketches in front of her and dropped her pencil to the floor. Ava Sinclair stood in her office wearing a smile that screamed trouble. She needed to check the office policy on deadbolts.
"Ava," she said the name as if verifying to herself that she wasn't dreaming.
“Can you escape this place for an hour or two? I flew up a few days early.” Ava stood next to the desk looking sleek in a tailored white linen three-piece suit.
“Early?” She blinked, unable to process that Ava Sinclair stood in her office.
“For Jacques’ gallery exhibit. He's arriving later today, but I hadn't planned on coming up until Thursday. When I heard about what happened between the two of you on Friday, I had to come up to supervise.” Ava stepped around her to look at the sketch filling the desk. “You and I aren’t so different, are we?”
She'd fulfilled her quota of handling friends' sisters for the day.
“What do you mean?” She swallowed the apprehension closing her throat. She hadn't seen this woman in years, yet Ava acted like showing up at the office was an every day occurrence. "What did you hear happened between us on Friday?"
Considering Jacques' new propensity for revealing his soul to anyone who asked, she wondered how many details he'd confided to his sister.
“We both sketch for a living, don’t we? I design dresses, you design buildings. The same, see? Here.” She shoved Jessica’s bag into her lap and motioned for her to stand. “We must go before someone stops you.”
“I’m not in prison. Just give me a minute to tell my assistant where I’m going.” Legs wobbled when she stood. This Belgian invasion of her life was taking a toll on her nervous system.
“Well, well, who’s your friend, Mori?” Marc asked, leaning against the doorframe. His eyes scanned Ava from her golden hair to the designer shoes. "Wait...I remember you. You're the Frenchman's sister."
“We're Belgian and, yes, I remember you as well.” Ava squinted at him.
“We’re on our way out. I’ll catch up with you later.” She linked her arm through Ava’s and steered her away.
“You work with him?” Ava looked over her shoulder at Marc.
“Yes.”
“And what else do you do with him? Is it true? Are you involved with him of all people? The man is nasty.” Emerald eyes focused on hers with the same intensity Jacques’s possessed.
“Don't judge him based on his bad behavior when he visited me in Italy.”
“Are you and he lovers?”
“Can we save the personal questions until we’re someplace a little less conspicuous?” Ignoring Ava’s raised eyebrows, she told Alex that she would be out for a late lunch.
“Mmm, an assistant, office, short hair, suit...I see why Jacques was storming around acting like you'd died.”
“He sure has a lot of opinions. Died, huh? Does he realize how insulting that is or is that somehow slipping through the translation?” She tugged Ava toward the elevator. She stabbed the down button with her thumb. “Maybe we should take the stairs.”
“I am in no hurry.” Ava smiled. “You’re successful then?”
"So they tell me. Associate partner, which means I have a lot of work to do, yet everyone seems to think they can just barge in and take over my life today."
"So high str
ung, you need to relax."
Nerves jittered. Again, she ground her thumb against the down button on the elevator. After Marc's reaction about Jacques last night, the last person he needed to meet was Jacques' sister. She chewed the inside of her lip. A week ago her life had been simple and routine. Safe. Predictable. She missed it already.
She met Ava's gaze once they'd stepped onto the elevator. Ava knew things about her, secrets revealed over wine and pasta. What did she know now?
“Jacques told me about seeing you.”
“So you said.” Be casual, aloof, cool.
“He stormed around his apartment, acted like a maniac.” Ava rolled her eyes upward. “That’s when I knew I had to see you for myself.”
“Why is that?” She averted her gaze, unable to relax.
“You know why."
“I have no idea why. So many reasons...hard to pick just one.” She blushed, suddenly wondering exactly how much detail Jacques had gone into about their encounter.
“I suppose so...things are complicated between the two of you...”
"An understatement."
"The chemistry between you two has always been electrifying."
"I can't believe he told you about that." Her face burned. She stared at the descending numbers and gritted her teeth together. She needed to find him and tell him to shut the fuck up. "It was a one time thing, a mistake, he called it."
"Really?" A satisfied smile spread across Ava's face. "But the passion..."
"My God, what's wrong with him? Why does he feel the need to tell everyone he sees about every detail of our lives? He's ruining everything." Tap, tap, went her foot against the floor of the elevator. "Why is he suddenly Mr. Reporter? I'm not doing it, by the way. I know what he's up to."
Ava shifted her Gucci bag from one arm to the other and leaned her shoulder against the wall. "You need to do it."
"Him and his big ideas. No way. Not happening. Is that really why you're here? To twist my arm into cooperating with him? You've wasted a trip."
"You both are so dramatic, everything is black and white, so extreme." Ava laughed, the sound eliciting an answering smile on Jessica's lips. "The sex must be amazing."