4. Mandy

My head felt too heavy, too bogged down with whatever the hell had just happened.

All I could do was stare at the clock and watch the second hand move, listening to the seconds tick away. That was somehow louder in my mind than the words coming from Harry's mouth, though the incessant clicking of Jackson's pen one chair over managed to seep through the fog plaguing my ears.

I could still feel the warmth in my cheeks from what had happened in his office—the embarrassment of being caught without my shirt, the anger from his threats, the disappointment that ran far too deep within myself for agreeing to all of this.

It didn't help that I could feel the little bit of warmth from his skin still on the fabric of the shirt he'd lent me.

That I could smell his cologne.

The same cologne that he wore during university.

"So, if we're in agreement," Harry said, the words slowly filtering in through the fog. "Then we'll be in charge of the communal spaces, the offices, and the executive rooms. You'd like them all to be uniform in design, correct? So it's all cohesive?"

"Yes," Jackson responded. The word almost sounded biting, as if he'd prefer it were me up there with the clicker and pointer.

"Do you have a color and design scheme?"

"Colors should match the company's logo and branding, which I've included in the paperwork I have here for you. Design scheme: think minimal but sleek, futuristic but not tacky. We're a tech company, so it should feel like a tech company." Jackson lifted the briefcase he'd walked in with onto the table and opened it. He pulled two stacks of alligator-clipped papers and slid them across the desk. "You'll find all of the details in there from color to design to building plans and layouts. You two will also be given express permission to be on site from security so you can see it for yourselves."

Harry took the stack of papers and flipped through them quickly, scanning each sheet with his eyes. "This is more than enough information," he chuckled. "Normally our clients don't give us this much."

"I like to be thorough."

I shouldn't have taken this contract. Even though he was thorough, even though it would be fairly easy for us with the amount of specification he had, this was a horrible idea from the start. I doubted his threats held any actual venom behind them, though based on our last interaction before today, hurting me seemed fairly high on his list of things he enjoyed doing. But I'd never known him to be vindictive.

It was a new low for him if that was his plan.

Being this close to him again, his scent on the shirt I was wearing, brought up too many memories of the past.

Back in New York.

All those nights at the arcade, all our time spent studying side-by-side in the library, him reading over his engineering textbooks as I poured over my interior design ones. Late-night coffees, the occasional party…

Our last night together.

I hated thinking about that night.

I'd given fucking all of myself to him.

I'd let him in.

I'd slept with him.

Given him my v-card.

I had agreed to be exclusive, whatever that meant in college. I'd done it even though I knew better. I'd seen firsthand, time and time again, my mom getting fucked over by men she slept with, dated or married. All but my dad. But men like my dad were few and far between, and I didn't stand a chance of finding one as good as he was.

I definitely wouldn't find it in Jackson.

"Is that everything?" I asked, directing my gaze at Harry rather than to Jackson.

"I believe so, yes. For now anyway." Jackson sighed, leaning back in the creaky leather chair he was sitting in. "I would appreciate it if you two could keep me updated during the beginning stages."

"Of course, Mr. Big," Harry said. He gathered the paperwork in front of him and stuffed it into his bag. "We'll be in touch."

I stood before he dismissed us, feeling like a disobedient child getting out of their desk chair before the bell rang. I didn't want to stay a moment longer—I did not want to be around him, his cockiness or his moodiness. He stopped me before I'd even reached the door.

"Miranda," he said. I hated when he used my full name. Actually, I hated when anyoneused my full name. "I'd like my shirt back at the earliest convenience."

I dug my fingers into the sleeve of the shirt, gripping it to keep myself from swearing at him. "No problem, Mr. Big."

————

As I drove along route seven, my windows down and the stereo on, I had two options: Take the next left and head back to the office, force myself to be a person for the rest of the day, and have to talk to Harry about everything that happened while wearing Jackson's shirt. Or I could take a right instead, head home, and go for a run, allowing every single annoying thought in my mind to be stomped out with each step.

Option two sounded much better.

At the red light, I pulled up Harry's number from my contacts on my Audi's screen.

"What's up?" He asked through the speakers. "Couldn't wait til we got back to the office to chat?"

"I'm going home," I stated blandly, switching across lanes to the far right. "Can you handle the rest of today's work on your own?"

"Oh. Is this because of the meeting?"

"I don't want to talk about the meeting, Harry."

"Okay, then. Sure. I'll handle it. But don't dwell on him, okay? He's an asshole," he said. I could hear the clicking of his turn signal through the phone and it was grating on my ears. "I'll handle as many interactions for you as you need."

"Thanks, Harry," I sighed. "I'll see you tomorrow."

————

Jackson's shirt was on the floor before the door had even shut behind me. I wanted it as far away as fucking possible. The temptation to burn it itched at the back of my mind.

You can do this.

No, I can't. This was a horrible idea, a horrific, terrible, awful idea. My eyes burned as if I'd spent the last two hours crying, which I probably would have if no one else had been around. I was thirty-one years old, for God"s sake. Why did I still become so easily upset about a guy who broke my heart ten years ago? I should be stronger than this. Harder.

And why is he even in Boulder to begin with?

He's not from here. If I remembered correctly, and I absolutely did, he's from Chicago. Mr. Big-shot could've moved his business anywhere. Silicon Valley was the perfect place for tech millionaires and billionaires so why not there?

Why here?

Why me?

Ugh.

I slipped on the first pair of leggings I could find and changed my bralette to a sports bra, heading out of the house before I could think about anything else. I needed to run, I needed to clear my head.

I ran to the park first, my empty stomach already screaming at me to go back home and eat. I never ran when I was hungry, I knew better. But I hadn't been able to bring myself to eat anything earlier, not with that dreaded meeting hanging over my head. Every attempt nearly made me vomit.

Each step on the pavement made me feel a little bit better, even if I knew it wouldn't last. Every slap of my sneakers on the concrete chased away the bad, helping me to wade my way out of the fog, turning night to day in my mind. I knew I could do it, I would figure out a way through. I just had to keep running.

What Jackson and I had was good, great, even, before he fucked it all up. We could be friends again I suppose, if we both wanted to. No, we couldn't. I swatted the idea away before it fully fledged. What I want is revenge.

Revenge. Now therewas an idea.

Things began to become even more clear. If I was going to do this, if I was going to work with him for the foreseeable future and have to listen to him and heed his orders, I was going to make it as hard as possible for him in ways he couldn't imagine.

He'd told me too many times what his weakness was when it came to women—short skirts and long hair. He went absolutely fucking mental when I'd show up to our dates with barely anything covering my ass, and my usual, unruly tresses sleek and silky. I could use that to my advantage. He hated to be teased. My thoughts were becoming diabolical.

My ankles and my knees began to hurt, and as the sweat began to pour down my back from the intense afternoon sun, I knew how I could fuck him over. He didn't get to hurt me then show back up ten years later as if it was totally normal and try to destroy me all over again.

I would make every second a living hell for him.

I would show him who the real boss was.