Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
“There’s no but. If I suddenly become part of your PR team, it’ll just make things worse for me. People will think you own me, Jack. And yeah, sure, maybe I like when you say stuff like that, or call me your woman, or make me feel like that in private. But not like this.”
He grits his teeth. “These are professionals.”
“You’re acting like my father,” I snap. “Just take no for an answer.”
He flinches, realization dawning on his face. The coldness drains away. He looks lost, boyish. “I am?” he says.
I nod, softening a little. “You have to let me do this my way.”
He steps forward and takes my hand. When he pulls me close, it’s like none of our problems exist. He presses his lips against mine. We sink into the passion for blissful moments, then his cell phone rings.
He steps back, cold and distant again. “That’ll be the team,” he says. “I have to take this. I have to go. I’ll probably be a ghost for a while.”
“What are you going to do?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he says, sighing. “Whatever it takes to protect you.”
“No, Jack,” I say fiercely. “You focus on your company. I’ll focus on mine.”
“I’m not sure I can do that, baby,” he says, and it sounds realer this time, more intimate. His cell phone keeps blaring.
“You have to try. If we’re ever going to have a future.”
“Do you still think there’s a chance?” he asks gruffly.
“Don’t you?” I reply, hurt.
He surges forward, kisses me again. I throw my arms around him, hold tight, wishing it were as simple as just this.
“Of course I do,” he groans passionately. “Even if it means burning my company to the ground.”
“Don’t say that,” I hiss. “I can’t make that same promise.”
He steps back, jaw clenched tighter than I’ve ever seen it. Which is saying a lot. “Call me if you need anything,” he says. “Otherwise, I’ll be in some meeting somewhere. We still need to hit our creative deadline for the Cove too.”
“You can do it,” I whisper, voice breaking.
“I hope you’re right.”
He answers his phone, turns, and strides out of my apartment.
I wrap my arms around my middle, feeling lonely. I’ve been alone for a long time, but I’ve never felt this way before. It’s hypocritical, maybe, because I’m the one who told him I need to handle this by myself.
I turn and find the nearest picture of Noah, a framed photo on the wall of him, Mara, and me, standing beside a glistening lake. “Can I do this?” I murmur.
I imagine him beaming at me, like before he got sick. “You can do anything, Dakky.”
“Anything from Jackson?” Mara asks later that afternoon. It’s an hour before my stream usually starts. She raced over directly after work.
“Only this,” I tell her, showing her my phone.
His text reads,
Jack: I’ve decided I’m not doing anything until you make your move. You were right, beautiful. I refuse to be like your father. I’m not in control here. You are.
“Your response is a little cold,” Mara comments.
“Maybe,” I say, nodding. “Maybe it is. But it’s true, isn’t it?”
I wrote
Dakota: Do what you have to do. Protect your company and I’ll protect mine.
“I don’t know, hon,” Mara says quietly. “I think you care about him more than that message would indicate, honestly.”
She’s right. Her words hit me hard. But at the same time, I’ve got to be mature about this.
“I have to focus on this stream,” I say. “I can’t think about anything else.”
“Okay, but—”
“Please don’t tell me to breathe again,” I snap.
She looks hurt. Probably because I’m being a bitch. I rush across my living room and pull her into a hug.
“I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that.”
“It’s okay.”
“No.” I look into her eyes. “It’s not.”
She smiles, squeezing my hand. “So, what’s the plan?”
“I need to get ahead of this,” I tell her. “If I miss even one stream, the trolls will smell blood in the water. That’s what they want, these losers online, these lowlifes who think being with a man, choosing a man, means I’m either a whore or some silly brainwashed victim. I need to make the world understand, I chose this, for better or for worse.”
“Till death do you part?” Mara says, a teasing note in her voice.
I flash her a look, but she doesn’t let her smile falter. There’s something lighthearted in her gaze, like none of this is a big deal, that has me laughing hysterically. She laughs with me, asking in the chaos of it, “What are we even laughing at?”
“Nothing.” I gasp for air. “Everything?”
Once we’ve recovered, Mara helps me choose my outfit for the stream. “This is important,” I say. “If I dress too provocatively, they’ll think I want to be known for my body, not my personality and my gameplay. I mean, Mara, I’m great at the game.”