Authors: Elizabeth Finn
My gaze drops from hers. “I don’t want to jeopardize your internship.” But of course I have! “I just can’t stop with you. I’m sorry.” My eyes finally find hers again, and the emotion behind her eyes is everything I feel: sadness, defeat, emptiness, and dread. But it doesn’t really matter what pain this realization causes either of us at the moment. Her safety is still front and center in my mind. “Regardless, I want to tell Foster what happened with Mark today. I’m serious.”
“No! Tell him what? If you tell him, he’ll call Trigg’s, and they’ll ask Mark about it. Do you think there would be anything stopping Mark from outing you at that point? Outing me? We can’t hide what Mark saw today, and if we talk to Foster about this … No way!”
She’s once more incredulous, but so am I. “I don’t trust him, and I can’t stand thinking you could have been there alone, and frankly, that’s what scares me the most! I don’t know what kind of man Mark is. I’ve never seen him behave in the way he did with you during the pitch, and I’ve worked with him on and off for years. I just don’t know what to think of him at this point. He’s an asshole, I know that much, and I want Foster to know. You can’t pretend this didn’t happen, Adeline, in some misplaced desire to protect me.” She’s shaking her head, refusing, and she’s adamant. I finally give up the argument.
“I should go.” Her words hurt. This isn’t what I want. Mark has held a mirror in front of our little relationship, tossed a bit of fuel on our flirtation with trouble, and we now have a very real threat hanging over our heads, but I’m not ready to end things with her. I’m not sure I ever will be. I want her too completely, too emotionally, too intensely, and she’s pulling the rug out from under me. I don’t want to jeopardize her internship; it’s the last thing in the world I would want to do, and her decision to distance herself is a smart decision, but I can’t deny she feels so fucking right to me.
“Fine.” It isn’t what I want to say, but I have to respect her decision, even if I hate it. She’s being smart, and I’m being pathetic and reckless. I’m not upset with her in the least, but my next comment surely comes out sounding resentful and mocking. “So be it, and since we won’t be fucking anymore, your last couple months here promise to be great.” I’m muttering, but seeing the hurt in her eyes, I soften and apologize. I’m not finished with her; I can’t be finished with her. But I’ll give her the space she wants until she can bear it no longer. She desires me just as intensely as I desire her. I’ll wait until she can’t wait any longer for me.
We’re silent on the ride to my place, and once we arrive he walks me to the door in silence. I’m not upset with him, and he isn’t upset with me either, but it’s uncomfortable, depressing. But I can’t stand the idea of him losing his job and destroying his career because of me. I was accusatory when I reminded him just how casual he likes to keep things. It’s not my lifestyle; it’s his. I would throw myself into his world, his life, his bed without a moment’s hesitation. I’m smitten: utterly, pathetically, taken by him, and the idea of being with him but not
with
him is painful to consider. I want him as much as I want this life I’ve worked so hard to achieve.
When I enter alone, he turns back to his car. I’m heartbroken for no reason whatsoever. It was my choice. I challenged him on our little arrangement. I made it clear I not only didn’t appreciate being the Jezebel in his life but he was also equally being my … Jezeman… Call it what you will, but our relationship has just as many threats to my future as it does to his. I made sure to remind him of this fact, and now I’m paying the price; I’m getting everything I told him I wanted. But this isn’t what I want at all. I don’t want to be alone in my pathetic apartment where he spent so much time pleasuring me only one day before. I don’t want to be in my bed alone, with him in his own. I want to be with him, but as I abundantly made clear, we won’t be indulging in our secret little affair anymore.
The night has closed in and darkness is all that can be seen from the windows of my apartment. I feel safe in my home; far more so than I did earlier outside the Market Street Condos, but it’s depressing all the same. Tonight was the first time I was in his home since our first night together. That first night he touched in need and desperation as much as I wanted in desperation. Nothing like my quick and unwanted escape from him tonight. I wanted to stay, and could I have stowed my worry and anxiety I would be with him right now. He wanted me to be there. He wanted me. I pushed him away.
My time with Jordan has been a confidence builder. He’s been an emotional boost I never imagined he could be. I am far more confident than I was entering Foster’s on my first day, and I owe that to him. He’s given me courage and on far more than a professional level. This beautiful man, who has no business indulging in the student help, as Mark described it, has made me feel as beautiful as he. I’m not, and yet to him I am. There is no question in my mind. But now that relationship is over, and I’m alone.
The cold abandon has set in, and I’m responsible for it—me alone. He would never hurt me, wound me, sadden me in any way. I can’t say how it is I’ve come to know him so very well, but I trust with no remaining doubt this man fights for me, and as painful as that is right now, it’s always for my protection, and I’m responsible for ending it.
I lie alone in the middle of my bed, thinking over and over about this long and draining day. I’ve had more than my fair share of them lately, and this one was as challenging as any, but I surely didn’t imagine it ending in this way—alone and lonely in my bed.
On my way to work the next day, my mother calls my cell phone. She announces she and my father will be visiting me the next week. As excited as I am to see them, I’m also nervous. My life has been run through a blender since I last saw them, and I can’t help but wonder if it will show on my face or in my demeanor somehow. When she asks if they’ll be able to see the project I’m working on and have given them regular updates about, I stall. It means having a conversation with Jordan I’m not really comfortable having at the moment. Of course we’ll be working together as usual, but I haven’t quite wrapped my head around working with him in this new platonic fashion. It’s not as if we’ve been together more than a few times, and yet there was a closeness, a friendship that meant something to me that is suddenly gone. I’m worried enough about working with him, let alone asking if my parents can visit our worksite. I give the noncommittal response of, “I’ll check and see if we can do that.”
But I’m hardly being genuine, and as my mom starts saying her good-byes, she tosses in a quick, “Are you okay, dear?” I assure her I am—just another small deception to add to the pile. They’re only going to be in town for one night on their way to visit my aunt in Washington, D.C., so I really should be making more of an effort to comply with their wishes, but I’m so frigidly worried about the Jordan front.
When I log on to my computer, I’m met with an instant message from Jordan asking if I’d like to go to lunch. I manage to lie twice in one sentence when I respond I’m not taking lunch. First lie: of course I’d like to go to lunch with him. I’d like to do a million things with this man, and lunch is the least of them but still a very enjoyable thing. Second lie: I have no reason not to take a lunch, and given the fact I have to eat, and quite frankly enjoy eating a good deal, I will without doubt be taking some sort of lunch. Jordan finishes the conversation by saying we have no reason to go to the job site today as there will be no contractors there until the drywall finishers return the next day to complete the bedroom we had so much fun in yesterday. At least he’s making it easy to avoid him.
When Bridget stops by my desk to see if I want to run to the little café around the corner for lunch, I agree. I’m hit with an instant pang of guilt, having already told Jordan I wasn’t going to lunch, but it was nothing more than a deflection, a bold-faced lie. I want to have lunch with Bridget, not nearly as much as I’d like to have lunch with Jordan, but I don’t have any reason to refuse her. She’s quirky, she makes me laugh, and she’s one of the few people at Foster’s who is just as much of a nerd as I.
We walk the short distance to the café and grab a table. Murphy’s Law deciding to bitch slap me for my deceit, Jordan walks in with a few of the other principals a few minutes later. I want to slink to the floor beneath our booth, but I sit, staring as he moves with his group to a table no more than five feet away from ours. He catches sight of me within moments, and with a clenched jaw he takes a seat that allows him a position where he can keep his eyes trained on me the whole time, and he does just that. I catch him watching me every time I dare to glance his way. He’s studying me, but not glaring at me. I deserve it, and yet he is calm.
When Bridget and I are finally finished with lunch and ready to leave, I ask for the check, but the young waitress blushes quickly as she informs me the gentleman two tables over has taken care of our check for us, and then she clears our plates with one final comment. “He’s really quite handsome, isn’t he?” Yes, he is.
I follow Bridget from the table, and she stops to thank Jordan for picking up our tab. I do the same, trying very hard to sound casual. His eyes are holding mine, refusing to look away, and as I utter my thanks he comments, “My pleasure. Glad you decided to take a lunch, Adeline.” I blush at his words as my eyes widen and flit from his, but he’s not done speaking. “I need you in my office at two o’clock to discuss the Market Street project.” I nod quickly before escaping from their table.
Bridget eyes me curiously on the walk back to our office, and she spends a good deal of time contemplating something before speaking again. “Is everything going okay with Jordan? He’s never really worked with an intern before … I’m just curious. He can be a bit … intense.” She has no idea. I shrug, saying everything’s fine, but my mind is still focused on him. He watched me so carefully, so intently, and his gaze did nothing but remind me just how much I’ve given up by pushing him away. I want him with a pain that is hard to stomach, and when I get back to my desk I spend the next two hours focusing on anything at all but him. I fail, and come two o’clock I’m nearly shaking in nervousness and a good deal of anticipation.
*
She’s terrified of being near me, and as she takes the chair across from me at my desk, I want to approach her, touch her, hold her, assure her she shouldn’t feel this way with me, but I can’t do that anymore. It was her choice, and I respect it. I hate it, but she was right to put a stop to it. What do you even call a few amazing days of fucking? A relationship? Hardly, but with her, it felt very much like that.
She struggles to look at me for more than a moment, so I do my best to move our meeting along quickly, hating that I’m working to separate myself from her just to make her more comfortable. I want her comfortable with me, not ready to jump out of her skin at my presence.
We review the inventory orders she’ll be placing for our project that afternoon. There has been a significant change in the lighting fixtures we’ll be using on the project after a last-minute meeting with Trigg that morning. They loved Adeline’s choice of original vintage fixtures from a now-demolished Chicago railroad station. They were expensive, and if the budget got tight, I knew they’d be one of the first items to go, and so it was. I don’t like a fake knockoff fixture in a building of this caliber, but it’s not my decision, nor is it Adeline’s.
I give her the item details for the cheaper fixtures she’ll be ordering instead, and as her face registers her disappointment at their choice, I reassure her. “You’re not always going to get what you want on a project, but I agree. The fixtures you chose were perfect for the job, and I made sure they understood our disagreement. They’re trying to cut costs, and they’re using one of your elements to do it. I’m sorry.”
Her face shows a flash of appreciation at my words, though she has yet to say a word to me in her damn nervousness. She’s antsy and looks as though she’s ready to flee, but I’m not passing up this opportunity to bridge the gap between us. “Adeline, I’m sorry about last night. I’m sorry if you felt I was taking advantage of you. I certainly didn’t mean to or want to, but…”
“No. I don’t think that at all. I’ve never felt that way.” She’s struggling to find the conviction of her words. She’s struggling to get past her discomfort with me, knowing she has to respond … and eventually, she does. “I just don’t want to see either of us ruin our careers for something that’s not going anywhere anyway.” Now it’s my turn to shut down. Her words are more than a mirror in front of my face. They’re sobering.
I made it clear I wasn’t interested in a relationship with her, and she took me at my word. What did I expect? But a relationship is exactly what I want with her. It’s a risk to both of us, given her current position at Foster’s, but it won’t always be that way. She’ll graduate, her time here will be done, and I want to be there when that happens, but that’s apparently not at all what she wants.
If those words aren’t enough, she leaves me ready to break apart with her next. “I’m moving back to Iowa once I graduate.” She’s watching me, looking for a reaction, and like the asshole I am, I give her nothing. Inside it’s as if my world is ending, but from her perspective she sees only my stone-hard exterior. “I haven’t found a job yet in Chicago. No one wants a recent college grad. They want experience I don’t have. Chicago’s just too competitive for someone fresh out of school … and I was offered a position at a small firm in Des Moines. I figure if I start back home, someday I’ll have the experience larger firms in larger cities are looking for.” It’s like she owes me an explanation. Her nervousness, her discomfort with me is there, but she keeps stumbling over her words to explain.
She wouldn’t be the first graduate to realize just how competitive this market is, but she’s selling herself short. She’s making excuses. She landed our coveted internship for a reason, and to think there will be no firms in Chicago interested in the Foster’s intern is ridiculous. Hell, my recommendation alone should get her more than enough interviews to find something. She’s given up, and I can’t help but think it may have something to do with me. This project has been hard on her. She’s been tormented by a pathetic freak of a man, Vera has treated her like dirt every last chance she’s gotten, and hell, I was hardly kind when she first started here. Though these thoughts are whirling around in my head, I still say nothing.