Beast (18 page)

As I round the corner, slogging it towards the main entrance to my building, I notice a shady figure loitering in the shadows.

That sobers me up real quick.

All my senses go on alert as I duck behind an old shipping container and peer around the bend. My vision is still blurry, but as the silhouette paces to and fro in front of the door, I’m able to make out jeans. And a dark sweater. Coffee-brown hair is pulled high on her head and she’s muttering to herself as she moves back and forth, back and forth.

“Jasmine.”

She startles, dropping her phone as she pivots around to look at me. “Liam. What are you doing here?”

I struggle to maintain my balance as I plod towards her. “I live here. Why are
you
here? It’s not safe for you to be wandering around alone in an industrial yard at night.”

She looks at me and tears spring to her eyes. “I miss you…” She says it so softly that I question whether I heard her right, but the look on her face tells me that I did.

She looks so pretty, so vulnerable. I reach out and draw my finger along her bottom lip. I just need to be touching her right now.

My mind flashes back to all the things she said about wanting to give Chess a fair chance to win her heart. I know that he’s a better choice for her than I am. I have to put my own desires on the backburner and do what’s best for her.

“I can’t cross that line with you, Jasmine,” I say, my voice thick and hoarse.

“I know,” she whispers, sadly with cloudy eyes. Her bottom lip quivers. “But do you
want
to? Answer that,” she pleads. “For my sanity, tell me I’m not imagining the fire between us. Do you
want
to cross the line, Liam?”

I should tell her ‘yes’. Tell her that I want to obliterate the fucking line, destroy it. But I can’t leave the door open, not even a crack because if I do, a part of her will keep holding out for me.

My stomach feels like a rollercoaster, flipping and wheeling and swirling inside of me when I say, “No. There’s no fire between us, Jasmine. Sorry. I just want you as a friend.”

Ruthie rolls a small lock of my hair around the hot curling iron and stares at my reflection in the mirror. “You
could
look more excited, y’know,” she says teasingly.

I glance up from my lap and my eyes meet hers. “I’m excited,” I say but she doesn’t look convinced.

She sighs as she sets the curling iron down on the dressing table and grabs the can of hairspray next to it. “This is about Liam, isn’t it?” she asks sympathetically.  She leans down so that she’s looking me in the eye. “Jazz – he’s a jerk, okay? If he doesn’t realize how great you are, if he’d rather play games than just be honest with you, he’s a jerk. That’s not your fault.”

“I know that,” I say softly.
But it still hurts
.

She sits on the edge of the dresser and scoops up her glass of white wine. “Look – We’re about to go to this ostentatious benefit gala tonight looking absolutely posh, escorted by the two most handsome men in the city. We’re gonna talk, we’re gonna laugh, we’re gonna eat some tiny, expensive hors d’oeuvres and we’re not gonna talk about Liam once all night. Okay?”

I give her a small laugh. “Okay…”

Silence falls over us as my friend picks up the curling iron and goes back to fussing over my hair.

I may have agreed not to talk about Liam, but that certainly doesn’t mean that he isn’t wrecking havoc in my brain. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking when I went over to his place last night. He’s made it clear to me that he doesn’t want a relationship with me, still I showed up at his place desperate and unannounced and what did I get? A metaphorical punch in the gut. It killed me – seeing him stumbling home drunk well past midnight, some other woman’s perfume clinging to his skin, hearing him tell me that he doesn’t feel the connection between us.

Tears press heavily against my eyelids, threatening to pour down my face and ruin the makeup that Ruthie worked over half an hour to apply.

“Hey sweetie,” Ruthie singsongs. “Don’t tell me you’re crying. Don’t cry.” She’s panicking just a little bit.

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” I say with a flick of my wrist, waving her away.

She pulls my curled and sprayed mane off of my face and clips it back with bobby pins. “I know that it’s hard, but you should really try and open yourself up to Chess some more. He won’t hurt you the way Liam has.”

I swallow hard as I lean forward and grab a tissue out of the box on the table. “Maybe you’re right,” I say exhaling harshly. I did promise myself that I’d give Chess a fair shot. I haven’t done that, but I owe it to my poor, battered heart to try
.

Ruthie steps back from the mirror and admires her handiwork. “You look like a million bucks, Jazz,” she says enthusiastically as she unplugs the curling iron and cleans up the mess of elastics and bobby pins and hair pomades from the table. She tucks everything into her large canvas bag as she heads towards my front door. “Now,
I’ve
gotta go get ready.”

“Thanks, Ruthie,” I say as she pulls the door open. “For everything.”

“Of course, Jasmine. I’ve got your back,” she says with a wink as she slides into the hallway. She turns and gives me a big hug. “So, the limousine will pick up me and Michael first, then it will stop by Chess’s hotel before coming up here to pick you up and get us all to the gala. You’ll be ready by 8:15, right?”

“Right,” I assure her before I swing the door closed. “See ya at 8:15, Ruths.”

I’m parked across the street between a pickup truck and an SUV. My visor is pulled down, obscuring my face. I watch as Ruth hurries out of Jasmine’s building and jumps into a car idling on the curb. I wait till it’s out of sight before I slink off of the bike, dart across the street and pick the lock to the main entrance.

My heart pounds against my chest as I steal up the four flights of stairs to her apartment. I double-check the apartment number that Luce had scribbled onto a tiny, yellow Post-It earlier on when I’d asked her to find me Jasmine’s complete address. I quickly thump my fist into her door so I don’t chicken out and go home. It takes her a while to answer, but when that door finally swings open, she takes my breath away.

She’s in a black, low-cut dress with a huge gold buckle at the waist and a long slit up the side. The fabric molds to her body, reminding me of every curve and every bend of her delectable frame. Black heels make her four inches taller and golden bangles ornament her wrists. Her head is tilted to the side and her hands are frozen mid-air, a gold hoop earring poised to be slipped onto her ear.

I can’t stomach the thought that
he
gets to have this tonight.

Her hands drop to her sides and she frowns. “Liam.”

That’s when I realize that my damn mouth is hanging open. I snap it shut and run my hand against my scarred cheek.

“Can I help you?” She folds her arms across her chest and eyes me with a cocked brow.

“Jasmine…You look…”

“Yes – I look great. Fabulous, actually,” she snaps. “Now, why are you here?”

I hate seeing her this way. Angry, cautious, defensive. That’s not who she is. I’ve made her this way.

“Let me come in,” I say weakly. “I need to talk to you.”

She glares at me. “I’m actually on my way out. I’m running late.”

I give her a pointed look. “Jasmine. Five minutes.” I’m not backing down. I guess she can read it in my eyes because eventually, she rolls her eyes and steps aside, letting me into her apartment.

But she doesn’t move to sit at the kitchen table or on the couch. She just stands in the small foyer, waiting for me to speak.

That’s okay. I don’t need a Cuban cigar and a drink of bourbon, for god’s sake. I just need a few moments of her time.

“I know about Chess,” I say.

Her nose twists up. “You know about Chess?”

“He has secrets, Jasmine. He hasn’t been genuine.”

Shadow has finally been able to find the bombshell that I’ve been hoping for. Chester Davidson is a douchebag and he doesn’t deserve my Jasmine.

I reach into my jacket for the folder that Shadow prepared for me. But Jasmine rushes forward, shoving me with all her might. My body barely budges but stunned, I lose my grip on the folder. It slips from my hand and falls to the floor, pictures and sheets of paper fluttering about before landing at our feet.

I gape at the fiery little woman in front of me. “Why are you doing this?” she shrieks hysterically. “You just keep fucking with my head, Liam. You’re trying to drive me crazy. I’ve moved on. I love Chess now. You need to leave me alone.”

Her words are a round of ammunition emptied straight into my heart. But when I look at her, when I really study her face, I see that she’s not telling the truth.

“You’re lying again,” I say simply.

“You need to stop calling me a liar.” She’s offended and her tone doesn’t hide it.

I inch closer to her, dropping my face to hers. “When you stop lying to me, I’ll stop calling you a liar.”

She opens her mouth, probably to spew some weak excuse but I shut her up. “YOU DON’T LOVE HIM!” I roar. My hand cradles the back of her head and I press my lips into hers. She softens, melting into my touch. Then my voice drops low. “Not the way you love me…”

She looks away, her eyes full of tears. “I’m marrying him, Liam. In two weeks,” she announces, her voice cracking.

That’s when I look down and notice the modest diamond on her ring finger. Shocked, I stumble backwards through the open door.

“I’ll take a leave of absence from the law firm and I’ll go on the campaign trail with him.”

“I won’t allow it.” The words come out much weaker than I intended. “I’m the managing partner of the firm. I won’t let you take a leave of absence to be with that asshole.”

She sighs, clearly exasperated, too tired to fight. “What are you gonna do, huh? Fire me? Fine, then. I’ll quit.”

“He’s been playing with you, Jasmine. Why are you doing this? Why would you marry him?” I hate how pathetic I sound, but I’m desperate. I don’t want to lose her forever.

A tear rolls down her cheek. “Because you haven’t given me a reason not to.” She closes the door softly, leaving me a fool standing out in the hallway.