Haze (19 page)

God, I was being so overdramatic and overly serious. Or maybe I wasn't. I couldn't decide—and that was scary as hell.

Take a break.
It was all I had. Let it rest until the deal is done and then see what happens. I would tell Jack tomorrow.

I fell asleep more terrified than I ever had been in my life.

***

Sam was cool-headed the next morning. He actually apologized for being so harsh the previous day, blaming it on his futile attempt to kick caffeine cold turkey. Today, he was holding a cup of coffee and everyone around him couldn't have been happier about it.

And he noticed the flowers in the trash. I guess my symbolic efforts had been successful. "Did you even figure out who those were from?" he asked solemnly after bringing them up.

"Nope. The mystery died with those beautiful flowers. I'm not concerned anymore. I don't have time for that in my life right now."

He let out a laugh that was distinctly
Sam
. "God, that's so weird. I wish somebody would anonymously send
me
stuff."

Honestly, he seemed to be quite pleased that I was treating the matter as closed. "You just wait," I said.

Sam joked around with me all morning, quite possibly more than he ever had before. Everything was something to be made fun of, whether it was a person, or a process, or something other than those two things.

"You're on fire, Sam," I said before I left for lunch. "Did you get good news today or something?" I guess it was actually possible that Jack had already wrapped it up last night—but it seemed unlikely. If that was the case, it sure would make my day a lot easier.

"Nothing. That guy is pissing me off. He won't return my calls. I'm trying not to worry about it."

"Yeah, that's for the best," I said, knowing that I really didn't know anything.

I headed to a coffee shop and just got a spinach and feta croissant. I ate and sipped coffee as I prepared to call Jack. I wanted to get this part over with as quickly as possible, like ripping off a band-aid instead of coping with the agony of a slow, hair-tugging removal.

The call initiated, I sat in silence, my stomach doing back flips. Why was I so worried? I just wanted some space until the deal was over. It would be better for both of us because obviously he wasn't working out the hard details while we were in bed together. Oh God, I wanted
that
really badly...

Jack picked up after several rings, his voice far more gruff than it usually was. "Hi, Effie," he said immediately.

"Jack, what's up?" I asked as a primer.

"I literally just got out of the studio like an hour ago. I'm totally fucking exhausted."

"What the hell happened?" I was still concerned even though I felt like I was pointing a loaded gun directly at his beautiful face.

"We had limited studio time and things just went over. This place is great, but it's always overbooked. I'm sorry I wasn't around for lunch. Shit, I need a nap." His sentences were coming out in short, random bursts.

Well, my plan had been thwarted before I could even give it a good shot. "That's rough."

"Do you want to do dinner or something? I'll call you after I wake up."

"Maybe," I said. "I've got some stuff to take care of." I was only sort of lying.

"Oh yeah? Anything cool?" he asked.

"Jesse's girlfriend was going to stop by and watch a movie. I don't even know what movie, but
she's
pretty cool." Now I was actually lying and it made me feel awful. "She wants to meet you."

"Okay, no big deal. And that would be fine. We can go on a double date or something."

I laughed. "They can't afford the places we go."

"It'll be my treat," he said predictably. It was
predictably
in the best possible way, however. Nothing to actually complain about. "But I'm barely awake, so I'll catch you later, okay? Have a good day, Effie."

"You too, Jack." The call ended unsuccessfully. The good news? I still had almost an entire rich, buttery croissant left.

The day passed slowly, but that was nothing new. Time never moved at regular speed—and it
especially
didn't move faster when something questionable lurked at the end of the day. I just wanted to say it and be done with it, to cope with the consequences associated with my decision.

Jack's return call came right before I arrived home, so I stood out front of the apartment building to deliver the potentially fatal blow.

"How was your nap?"

"It was fine. I had the worst dreams though. I was running from something I couldn't see, but it wouldn't stop chasing me. I'm not even sure how I knew it was chasing me. I could feel it, I guess."

"So you were glad to wake up?" I asked.

"Something like that. I'm hungry. Do you want to meet somewhere?"
Here we go...

"Jack," I said in my lead in, "I'm worried about all of this. I'm paranoid about my job and Sam and all that."

"It's okay, Effie," he said. "Just relax." His voice was reassuring even though I was trying to distance myself from his wonderful clutches. "Lexy just keeps getting more offers. It's tough. I've never gotten so much attention for a new artist before." He obviously wasn't aware of where I was headed with the conversation.

"I think we should slow down a bit," I said. I was biting my lip as I spoke. "I think we should take a break, at least until the deal is over." I tasted blood. The evening had cooled off significantly from the day, but I felt like I was in an oven.
Stress.

He fell silent. My heart started pounding like a locomotive. "Jack?"

"Effie, you know I can't—" He trailed off. "You know it'll be okay."

"Sam is super stressed out. He was talking about his divorce and everything else."

"Sam?
Divorced?
" he asked suddenly. I didn't pay much attention to it.

I gulped. "I like this so much," I confessed. "I don't want to mess it up. But I want my job, too. I don't like lying to Sam about it."

"Tell him to shut his damn mouth then! You have nothing to do with the deal."

"I've tried, Jack! He won't leave me alone. I feel like somehow
he knows
." It made me miserable that I was doing this based on hunches alone. But what other options did I have when my boss kept interrogating me every time he felt like it? I couldn't just run away.

Jack started to talk, but then cut himself off. I waited, fully aware that the next move was all his.

"Please, Effie. Why do this now? I can't just rush this process. I mean, you probably have some idea of how much shit goes on behind the scenes in this business." There was an ice-cold desperation in his voice, a sound that was both controlled and chaotic. He was struggling to keep himself together. "Did I
do
something, Effie? Is it about my ex? What I said the other day? Did I come on too strong?"

"No, no—"

"I'm so sorry," he said. "I told you, I never told anyone that before. I never should have made you—"

"Jack, please. It's fine. I care about you. I needed to hear that." I was being totally honest. "It's nothing you did, I swear. Just my own stupid issues. You have to believe me."

A spell of awkward silence overtook us both. "I can't rush this," he said again, more to himself than to me. I could tell he was having one hell of an internal battle, his pure creative desires versus
us
. Who would win?

"I understand. You don't need to justify it. I need some time to think."

"Effie, I don't want any games. Please. I meant everything I said. I want
you
."

God, I wanted to say it back so badly. Just hearing the weakness in his voice brought me back to last Saturday and how he had saved me from Timothy's clutches and broken down in the aftermath. It was so open and exposed, so undeniably human. I wanted that in a man, and Jack was forcing me to realize it.

But I needed to stick to my plan, mostly for my own good. I needed to re-assemble my sanity into something that was functional again, something useable. Maybe I wouldn't be able to take it. Or maybe I would. Maybe it would be
months
before I saw him again...

That thought definitely scared me.
No, no, no...

"No games, I promise. Everything is as I said it is. No hidden motives, nothing. And no gifts this time, please. That already worked once, and I don't know if I could handle the surprise again."

He laughed; a good sign, given the intensity of the situation. "Okay, I won't do it."

"Keep in touch," I said. It sounded pathetic, but it still felt necessary. "And don't just sign with the label because of this. That would upset me even more, if you sacrificed what you care so much about."

"Sure. Effie, everything will be all right, okay?" I wasn't sure why he was re-assuring me after I had initiated all of this. I would have expected the reverse. I never knew with him sometimes...

"Yeah, Jack. It will." I spoke with unknown, bizarre certainty that crept up from some unfamiliar part of me.

We hung up simultaneously, neither of us knowing the next time we'd see the other. Was that really a good thing?

I didn't know, but I wanted to. Desperately. I wanted to know how the story ended.

It wasn't that I wanted to predict every step of the way. Predictability was safe, but overrated. Jack had been an
accident
, a beautiful accident—a big part of why things had been so good.

Our introduction was silly, contrived, yet memorable. Our first "date" was a roller coaster ride, a poignant, dirty little thing that spit me out, messy haired, at the end of the tunnel feeling used and manipulated, feelings that were a product of my own irrational urge to be
better than that
.

Who was I to judge that kind of moment? Was it really
below me
to go with the flow and feel good?

Yeah, the girl showed up, but so what? My gut reaction had been both inappropriate and appropriate. And yeah, I believed Jack. The woman did seem a little crazy, even if I only knew her for seconds. And their past didn't matter—that's why it was the
past
and not the present.

Why did I want to deny myself that experience, my body's primal response to his touch? Why was it so easy to chastise the girl that goes home with the guy she just met at the bar? Sometimes, you just know, right?

I wasn't advocating full on promiscuity, but why was it so "wrong" to move fast, to fully accept the repercussions of your decisions and (responsibly!) enjoy each moment to the fullest? It was more like a defense mechanism than anything else. That was clear to me the more I analyzed the feeling.

And defense had nothing to do with
going after what you wanted
. If you really feel something, why should you sit still and just wait for things to happen, especially when you could
make them happen
yourself?

Everyone has probably had that experience where they said hi to someone and then were on the brink of
best friends
an hour later. Shit, I kind of felt that way about Jack—and the fact that I did made me all the more uncomfortable with my self-imposed break and its potential repercussions.

"Effie, what the hell are you doing out here by yourself?"

My mind immediately assumed it was Jack, even though the voice didn't match at all. It was Jesse.

I laughed. "God, you scared me!"

"You're on the rough streets of Astoria. Be careful."

"Do you have any wine left?" I asked.

"As a matter of fact, I do. Rough day?"

I thought the somber look on my face probably gave it away. "Do you really need to ask that?"

"No, I don't. Come on."

We headed inside, where wine awaited.

Chapter 11

"I can't believe you did it," Jesse said. In front of us were two nearly empty bottles of wine and the remains of a pizza. It had been that sort of evening, no doubt. I had to watch out before I became a real alcoholic.

I was a little tipsy by that point, so my response was more enthusiastic than I had planned. "Why the hell would you say that? It was your idea." I gave him an evil smile.

"Effie, I hope you're not pinning this on me. I just wanted to outline the options available to you. When you gain five pounds because you're sitting on the couch eating a pint of Ben & Jerry's every night while you watch
romcoms, don't come crying to me." He laughed, the prick.

"
Dammit, Jesse! Why did you have to mention ice cream? Does that party store down the street have it?" I couldn't stop thinking about it after he said it. "And shut up! I'm not going to do that
every night
. Only tonight."

Jesse gave me one of those award-winning, future-CEO smiles. "I think they do," he said. "It's two dollars more than at the supermarket, though. Drunk people are always willing to pay more."