All Who Dream (Letting Go) (33 page)

With every click Reagan was breaking his
trust, which in turn, was breaking her heart. When her job was finished, her
breathing was rapid. Tears streaked her cheeks as she closed his laptop. It was
finished, in every sense of the word. She texted the number that Chaz had given
her—and prayed she had done enough.

I turned
the page and was greeted with the words
The
End
. I lifted my phone, checking the time so I could text Jackson, but as I
held the cell, Jackson texted me.

Jackson:
You still awake?

Me:
You are evil.

The phone
rang. I answered it immediately.

“What’s
your problem? Not enough kissing scenes?”

“No! Not
even close!”
I mock-yelled.

He
laughed. “Oh, I’m so glad I texted. I was afraid you went to bed already. I
just got in for the night.”

“Jackson
you wrote a horrible cliffhanger.”

“Makes
you want to read the next book, huh?”

He had me
there. Yes. Marketing-wise he was smart, but he was also a little evil.

“So…where
are you?” I tested, changing the subject.

He sighed
deeply. “I’m…in D.C.”

I don’t
know what I was expecting, but I was surprised nonetheless.

“You
sound tired—how was your day?” I snuggled down into my covers.

“Well,
let’s see…the last three minutes have been good,” he said coolly. “But yes, I
am tired.”

I heard
him yawn and instantly I wished
I
there with him.
Just talking to him sent my heart rate into an erratic rhythm.
Would be the first of many late night phone calls to come in our future? Was
this what our relationship would look like?
Calls and texts at
the day’s end?

“Do you
want me to let you go, so you can rest?” I asked reluctantly.

“Not a
chance. You’re the only redemption to my entire day.”

I smiled.
“Glad I can help you salvage the last few minutes of it.”

I heard
some soft shuffling sounds in the background and figured Jackson was climbing
into bed. My cheeks flushed hot at the thought.

“I should
be back tomorrow evening. I have another meeting here in the morning, so I’ll
plan on meeting you at the office tomorrow afternoon if you’re still there.”

I
furrowed my brows in concern. “Jackson, you’re okay, right?”

“Yes, sweetheart.”
He sighed. “I’m okay.”

It was
nearly two in the morning when we hung up, sleepy delirium finally cutting our
conversation off. I had never seen the hours tick away so fast. I could have
talked to him till morning…I couldn’t wait to see him again.

I fell
asleep instantly; grateful that tomorrow evening would be closer when I awoke.

It was almost noon when
Pippy
came into my tiny workspace and announced that I needed a new
email server—one solely purposed for my fans and readers. Apparently, logging
into my personal email account was no longer kosher. I stared up at her,
confirming that I was indeed seeing
stress
on her face, a look I wasn’t accustomed to from her in the slightest.

“Hey—what’s
going on? Can I help you with something?”

“I have a
few things I need to get done before Jackson gets back, so I wrote down what
you need to do to get it all set up under Pinkerton’s domain. Here is the info
from the IT department. Can you do it for me?”

“Sure,
Pip. Anything else—you seem a bit out of sorts.”

“I’m
fine—there’s just a lot happening today is all,” she said, her smile not quite
reaching her eyes.

“Oh…okay.
Well, let me know if I can help with anything else.”

She
nodded, gave me a quick hug and exited.

Weird.

I stared
down at the note
Pippy
had given me and logged into
my email—something I hadn’t done in about week. My mouth hung open as I saw the
chaos before me.

So.
Many.
Emails.

Most of
them were a carbon-copy of comments that were left on my latest blog post—The
Forward—but many were direct, personal emails written to me. I gulped,
scrolling through them, reading each subject line. I understood Jackson’s warnings
now about reviews…some were wonderful, some less-than-kind, but others were
just straight-up nasty.

I felt a
slight pull at my conscience, remembering the promise I had made to Jackson
about not reading commentaries…but I had promised that prior to our meeting
with the PR department. That promise I had kept. There was no such promise on
the horizon now.

I
scrolled on.

One in
specific caught my eye—a name I could almost feel as I read it—
like
salt to an open wound.

Divina
.

I clicked on it, heat filling my body as I read her words.

Angela,

As I’m sure you already know
,
I have received a bit of flack regarding our interview.
Though I will not apologize for my accurate research or for my resourcefulness
in gathering it, there are those who feel you may have been a tad blindsided by
my eager approach. If you would like a rematch—just say the word.

We will make the necessary
adjustments to get you onto our Friday show if you respond by Monday. If not, I
hope you enjoy Texas. I’ll be sure to comfort Jackson in your absence.

Divina

I clicked out of my email immediately, and pushed back against my chair,
crossing my arms over my chest.
Over my
dead body would she comfort
Jackson.
I furrowed my
brow.
Okay, maybe the crime novels were
getting to me a bit more than I thought.

I seethed as I looked at the date. She had written it last Thursday.
Had no one read this? Had
Pippy
responded and forgot to tell me?
No, the email
had been unmarked. It hadn’t been read. A lot of these hadn’t been read, I
noticed.
Pippy
was simply too busy to keep up with
all of these—I could understand why.

I clicked into another unread email, bracing myself after reading the
subject line:

Sick Publicity Stunt

Angie,

I am embarrassed to say that prior
to the latest information about your domestic violence scam, I was a big fan.
In fact, I got many of my single mom friends to follow your blog. We thought
you stood for the same things that we did. We thought raising our kids to be
moral, upright citizens, even when lacking a fatherly figure, was the ultimate
goal—one you shared. We were wrong. I am disgusted by the helplessness you
displayed during your interview and by The Forward for your new book which
followed only days later.

Is this some sort of sick game
you’re trying to play to make money? I thought you were better than that.
Creating some sort of false reality for fame is both twisted and wrong. You
should be ashamed of yourself.

Not a fan,

Felicity Cornwell

The words sank sharp hooks into me. Progressing like a slow-moving train
wreck, I was compelled to continue reading email after email.

Though the good emails far outweighed the bad, I just keep clicking onto
them, absorbing each word like a dagger to my heart.
Divina
had done this. She had created this mess and though I knew her offer had to be
self-serving, I quickly felt the need for justice—for a chance to speak and not
be railroaded by some exotic, long-legged witch of a woman.

Before I fully realized what I was doing, I clicked back into
Divina’s
email…and responded with fury.

Divina
,

Friday is perfect. I’ll be there.
Just tell me when.

Angie

The second I hit send nausea rolled through me and sweat coated my palms.
I reached for my necklace—gone.
Loss on top of loss.
I
felt even sicker.

Could I really do it? Did I even have
a chance up against her?

Then I had another thought:
What
would Jackson say?
Should I have asked permission—I wasn’t sure how all
that worked. I was unfamiliar to the strength of my anger, and I was grateful
for that fact. I did crazy things when I was angry. My last decision was proof
of that.

But I wouldn’t take the challenge back.

Not now.

She may be my Goliath—a freakishly pretty Goliath—but I wouldn’t stand
down. Not this time. This time I’d take my slingshot with me.

I
would
have the last word.

Just
after six Jackson tapped on the door of Sally Miller’s office. We’d been going
over my latest revisions for the past couple of hours, and I was beyond
relieved to see him—until I remembered what I had agreed to in regard to
Divina’s
show. I swallowed the brick of guilt and smiled.
His face reflected his usual stoic demeanor of professionalism as he looked at
me. His eyes looked tired, yet I could still see some warmth in them—a tiny
sparkle I’d seen up close several times now.

“May I
see you in my office when you’re done here, Miss Flores?” he asked.

“Sure,” I
said, nodding.

He shut the
door, and I felt my face heat from the inside out. Sally did a double take from
me to the door, but then quickly went back to her correction overview. After
another painfully slow thirty-minutes
I was able to leave.
My feet could not move fast enough.

I knocked
twice and then entered Jackson’s office, turning around fully to close the door.
But before I could face the inside of his office again, he was there, walking
me backward in quick succession until my back pressed against the wall. I
gasped as his hands gripped my hips and then slid up my waist to the back of my
ribcage, sending shivers of desire up my spine. As his fingers reached the nape
of my neck, his mouth crashed into mine, my hands flat against his chest as my
legs fought to remain standing.

Though
kissing Jackson was at the top of my most-enjoyable-things-to-do list, this
kiss was different. It was rushed, desperate…lost. I tilted my head back in
order to catch my breath; he in turn kissed my jaw, then the spot below my ear,
then the pulse at my neck.

“Jackson-”
I whimpered.

“Hmm?”

“Jackson—
stop
.”

Immediately,
he stopped and placed both his hands on the wall on either side of me,
breathing intensely. I stared at him, wishing I could take back my soft
command, but I knew something wasn’t right.
He
wasn’t quite right.

I touched
his face gently with my hand, careful not to rouse any more desire between us.
My suspicion was confirmed when he looked away. He never avoided my eyes.

“Tell
me,” I said, quietly.

Muscles
in his jaw twitched as his breathing normalized, but he didn’t respond.

“Jackson—
please
. What’s
going on?”

He pushed
himself off the wall, turning to rake his hands through his hair and then down
his face. His suit coat was already off—lying on his office chair. He stood
staring out his massive window in a green dress shirt and slacks. As much as
I’d like to believe this unfamiliar tension was about my upcoming departure
next Sunday, I knew that wasn’t the case.

I stayed
where I was, back against the wall, until finally he sighed.
A
heart wrenching sound of defeat.

“You
won’t understand, Angie. I don’t even know if I understand anymore.”

I was
confused. No, I was more than confused.

“Then
help me understand. Maybe it will help you, too.”

He
turned, eyes roaming my face as if he was contemplating what I had just said.

“Have you
ever made a decision, claiming it was for one reason, believing it was the
right thing to do when you made it, but all along there was another motivation
behind it?” He was looking out the window again as I walked toward him.
“A selfish one.”

I had no
idea what he was talking about—no reference point. But his torment was
tangible. I ached for him in this moment. He was raw, worn, and tired. I put my
hand on his shoulder.

“Jackson,
you are
not
selfish.”

He turned
sharply, eyes suddenly focused. “I have
always
been selfish. Have you not listened to a thing I’ve said? I am not like you,
Angie. I’m not good-natured. I’m not gentle or tender or consistently kind. I
am
selfish!”

“That’s
not how I see you,” I said, firmly.

He shook
his head and exhaled loudly, running his hand down his face and over the scruff
on his jawline face. A full minute passed as we stood at an impasse. I could be
stubborn too. I was shocked that Jackson was the first to bend.

He
relaxed his shoulders, which in turn relaxed the strain in his face.

“I
shouldn’t be venting here, or to you. Forgive me?”

His tone
was sincere, and that fact grieved me more than I cared to accept. That he
didn’t feel he could vent to me, hurt. But this wasn’t about my feelings. It
was about him. I tried to pull that perspective into view. Touching his arm
again, he wrapped his hand around mine and gave me a faint smile.

“I’m here
for you when you need me,” I said.

He pulled
me in, his arms around me tight, as he planted a kiss on top of my head.

“I know,”
he said.

Yet
somehow, I wasn’t really sure he did.

The
tension in the office on Tuesday was nearly insufferable. At first I thought it
was just
Pippy
and Jackson who were acting off, but
unfortunately they seemed to set the atmosphere for the entire building.
Jackson made it clear that he didn’t want to talk about the company at dinner
last night, which for the moment was good considering it probably wasn’t the
best time for me to bring up my impromptu decision regarding
Divina
.