Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 115737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Maybe he’s right, but I didn’t refuse when he dragged me to his office. I didn’t say no or fight him off. Snatching moments with him here and there whenever I can is how it needs to be, and that was a moment. An amazing moment . . . until his wife turned up. ‘Where’s Stephanie?’ I ask quietly.
‘At her parents’.’ He pulls away from me and takes my hand, leading me into the kitchen. At her parents’? What happened to dinner with her husband?
‘Sit down,’ Jack orders gently, guiding me to a chair. I watch as he fills the kettle and boils it, finding his way around my kitchen with ease. As if he belongs here. With me.
He takes a seat and slides a cup of tea towards me. I smile my thanks, wrapping both palms around the mug.
‘Talk to me,’ he says gently.
‘What do you want me to say?’
‘Tell me what you’re thinking.’
I look away from him, trying to escape his probing, but he reaches across the table and takes my chin, forcing me back. When he gives me high, expectant eyebrows, I lamely shrug.
‘Annie, I understand that this is hard for you.’
‘Do you?’ I ask.
‘Of course I do. You’re a gorgeous, young, single woman. You could go out tonight and have your pick of the thousands of men out there.’
‘I don’t want any of the thousands of men out there,’ I admit quietly, spelling it out loud and clear.
‘You want me?’
I look at him carefully, wondering where he’s taking this. Is he asking me to demand he leave his wife right this minute? I can’t do that. Call me stupid, but he has to make that move himself. ‘I don’t understand where you’re going with this.’
‘Do you want me?’
‘Yes.’ I don’t hesitate.
Jack nods, relieved, and squeezes my hand. ‘I just needed to hear you say it again.’ He swallows, and I don’t like the deep breath he draws, like he’s psyching himself up to tell me something. ‘I didn’t want to burden you with every crappy detail of my shit, Annie, but I’m scared to death that you’re going to talk yourself into leaving me.’
Every crappy detail? I don’t like the sound of this. Besides, I know enough. ‘I think the less I know the better,’ I protest, desperate to keep my connection with his wife, his life beyond me, as limited as possible.
His face is pleading with me. ‘I need you to understand, Annie.’
This time I don’t protest, seeing his need plain and clear.
He sighs, slumping back in his chair. ‘I was doing so well building up my business. Stephanie’s father was one of my first clients, and I met her during the project.’ He shrugs. ‘She was nice enough. Her father was relentless in his attempts to get us together. He was a valuable client with a huge ego. Stephanie and I dated, and it wasn’t long before she started pushing for marriage. My business was the perfect excuse to put that off. I told her I wanted a more solid foundation, to get at break-even point. I was hoping to buy myself some time, because I didn’t know what I wanted. I wasn’t sure she was the right woman for me. Then her father offered up cash for investment and . . .’ He shakes his head. ‘Well, problem solved. I realise now how spineless I was. I’d be where I am now even without Stephanie’s father’s money. It all ran away with me.’ He smiles, but there’s a sad edge to it. It breaks my heart, for no other reason than he’s clearly full of regrets. I can’t help feeling like his saviour in a weird, fucked-up kind of way.
‘So you married her.’
He swallows and looks down into his mug. ‘I married her. I got caught up in the arrangements, convincing myself I was doing what was right. I knew I’d made a mistake only a few months later. I paid her father back the money he lent me, but it was too late to give his daughter back. Her temper, her controlling nature, her spending habits. My business became my escape. Escape from the suppression, control and . . .’ He drifts off and takes a deep breath. ‘And my wife. There’s no happy medium with her. There’s no bearable middle ground. She’s done . . .’
‘She’s done what?’ I press, not liking the internal battle he’s clearly having trying to tell me. ‘Tell me, Jack. She’s done what?’
He looks away, obviously gathering strength from somewhere. He looks beaten. ‘I didn’t want to give you the dirty details.’ He gives me his eyes again, and I see a million problems in them. A million woes. I know I’m going to hate what I hear.
He must read the questions in my eyes, because he continues without my prompt. ‘I’ve left her before.’