6. Mandy

The repeated sound of my heels clicking against the drought-ridden sidewalk was the only thing keeping me sane as I walked to The Buff. Jackson had sent me an email, cc'ing Harry, requesting our presence at one of the nicest cafes in Boulder. He'd said he wanted to "talk business," but it felt a lot more like he just wanted to get under my skin.

I hated that it was working.

I'd enacted my plan, though, and I'd be damned if I let it fail. Harry would be exceptionally confused why I'd shown up in a short skirt with my long hair down considering my usual business attire was slacks and a blouse with my hair in my everyday bun. I would explain it away later.

I plucked my phone from the front pocket of my purse as I stood outside the doors of the cafe. I didn't want to go in alone. I texted Harry.

I'm here. Where are you?

I stared at the screen for what felt like minutes as I waited for Harry's three little dots to dance across the bottom of the screen.

Shit, I didn't tell you, did I? I was… how do I put this nicely? Uninvited.

I couldn't believe it. Jackson. He wouldn't.

But then again, he did force me to meet with him alone first. What was stopping him from doing that exact same thing again?

I slipped my phone back into my bag as I stepped through the sliding glass doors of The Buff. I'd never been there before, not by choice, but because it was notoriously difficult to book a table. It appeared its reputation held true as I made eye contact with the hostess at the podium, her eyes narrowing as she looked me up and down.

"We don't take walk-ins," she sneered, leaning forward on her soapbox. "You're welcome to call and try to book a table though I know reservations are full for several months ."

The temptation to roll my eyes was stronger than when I had to speak with Jackson, and that was saying something. "I'm meeting someone who I'm positive is already here."

Her brows furrowed as she looked me up and down once again. "We don't have anyone expecting company."

"The reservation should be under Jackson Big," I said, keeping my voice as level as I possibly could.

A flash of surprise cut through her glare and I followed her gaze as she turned her head to the side. Not too far off in the distance, a lonely Jackson sat at a private table, the rest of the seating around him empty. If it's this hard to get a reservation, what the fuck did he do to empty half of the restaurant?

Jackson looked up from his menu, likely feeling the weight of eyes on him. Within seconds he was on his feet walking toward us, his composure and professional demeanor waning as I caught him glancing down at my exposed thighs not once, not twice, but three times.

"Mr. Big, is this who you were expecting?" The hostess asked, the pen between her fingers twirling aimlessly. "She doesn't match the description?—"

"Yes, it is," he answered, cutting her off with an edge to his tone. He stopped before me, clad in an all-black business suit with a matching black button-up shirt. His dark hair was pushed away from his forehead, highlighting every obnoxiously gorgeous, angular line of his face. Time had only been kind to him. "Hello, Miranda."

My lip twitched upward in a sneer at my full name. "Hello, Mr. Big."

"I said… fuck it. It's fine. Come on." He turned on one foot, not even waiting for me as he started walking back toward his table. I followed, cursing myself for every step, every click of my heels.

He didn't even pull my chair out for me.

He sat before I did, every movement precise, keeping his eyes forward as much as he could. That will only get harder with me sitting across from you.

"Why did you uninvite Harry?" I asked, unable to stop it from coming out of my mouth. It was all I could think about since I saw Harry's text. Well, that, and Jackson's jawline. Fucking annoyingly unreal.

He sighed as he leaned forward on the table, his chin resting perfectly against his joined hands. "I figured it would be best for us to discuss some aspects of our working arrangement alone. Do you have a problem with that?"

I watched as his eyes lingered on my lips, my curls, my neck. Then lower, to my collarbone and chest. "I have a problem with you inviting him and then rescinding your invite."

"I didn't think you'd come if he wasn't invited." The words came so easily, so simply for him. I hated it. What did I ever see in this asshole? "I would argue that my assumption was correct. Wouldn't you?"

"I would argue that that's entirely manipulative and rude," I snapped back.

"Not incorrect, though."

"Did you bring me here solely to prove your theory correct or do we actually have things to discuss, Jackson?" I asked, shifting slightly in my chair and pressing my breasts together with the inside of my biceps. His tongue moved slightly across his lips, his gaze wandering, and yes, that's perfect, this will work.

He cleared his throat as he forced his eyes back to mine. "We do have business to discuss, yes," he said, sliding a menu across the table toward me. "But I suggest we also eat."

"I'm not hungry," I lied, placing two fingers on the opposite side of the menu and sliding it back to him. "I thought you wanted to meet here since it's better than your shitty rental office, not because you actually wanted food."

"That is half of the reason." He smirked at me as he pushed it back. "The other half is because I'd like to have a meal with you. So pick something out and order it. It's on me."

"Aren't I supposed to be buying your meal? I mean, I'm supposed to be convincing you to use our services. Normally that comes with the territory."

"Does an employee normally buy dinner for their boss?" He shot back, the edge of his mouth curling up in a smirk.

"I'm not your employee," I said, mostly under my breath as I flipped the menu open in front of me.

————

Our small talk as we ate consisted entirely of nothing. Empty chats, business stats, and weak attempts to pretend that we didn't hate each other. Jackson ordered something with scallops, and I ordered the cheapest thing on the menu—the kid's portion of chicken tenders and fries.

I was not about to let him own me because of one expensive meal.

Jackson wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin he'd placed in his lap as he leaned forward once again. "So, the designs."

Fucking finally. "Yes. I've drawn up a few ideas and some mood boards for you to have a look at. Hold on," I said, leaning over in my chair just enough that my ass lifted from the seat, giving him a good view of my hips and a bit of thigh as I rummaged through my bag.

"No need," he interrupted, his voice hoarse. "I prefer to see things in person."

I sat upright, my breasts bouncing as I did. "What does that mean?"

"I think the best way to gain insight into what I'm after would be to travel to a few different tech headquarters so that you can get a grasp of how I want the office to look and feel," he explained. His hand moved under the table and I chose to believe that he was brushing away crumbs and not adjusting himself.

"You know Google has an image function, right?"

His answering chuckle felt insidious. "I think seeing the places in person would be best for your creative endeavors."

"So you're willing to spend God-knows-how-much in order to send me and Harry to a load of places just to get inspiration?"

The smile that spread across his cheeks was hollow, foul, evil. Or maybe I just wanted to see it that way. "No, princess. You and I will go. Money isn't an object for me."

I couldn't stop myself from physically recoiling from his words. "What?" I breathed, slouching back in my seat, my posture and presentation failing. "No. Absolutely not. Why can't Harry come? You just said money wasn't an object."

"Harry isn't needed," he said simply, his smile lowering as he realized I was not happy about this. "Besides, I think we need time to work out our kinks. You're obviously still angry with me, and that's fair, but?—"

"Fuck you," I seethed, my nails nearly breaking from the force I gripped the table with. "I'm not traveling with you. Especially not alone. I don't want to spend a single second that I don't have to with you."

"Mandy—"

"Oh, now you call me Mandy? Absolutely not. What is all of this, anyway? You tortured me ten years ago and now you want to come back and finish the fucking job?"

"Mandy, calm down. You're getting worked up over something that doesn't have to happen," he hissed, his voice an angry whisper. The wait staff had started to stare and suddenly it made sense why he'd booked out an entire section.

"I'm getting worked up? How the hell did you expect me to act when you decided to waltz back into my life as if nothing happened?"

"Our history doesn't need to play a part in our working relationship now," he said sternly, the hand supporting his chin balling tightly into a fist. "I don't see why you can't move past it."

He didn't understand. He didn't care.

"Calm down so we can figure out how to move forward with this."

"You think I want to move forward? Do you think for one second I'd be doing any of this if I had any reasonable say? I wouldn't. I'd have run for the hills from you by now, Jackson."

"Oh come on. It can't be that bad to work for me," he snorted, his attempt at bringing the conversation back to a calm chat failing miserably.

"Do you know what your employees say about you?" I pressed, the anger in my bones beginning to splinter. "They say you're a goddamn asshole. They say you care more about your profits than them as people. If you didn't pay them as well as you do, they'd be running too."

His answering blink told me he didn't bother to read half the shit that came out about him and his company in the news.

"They say you're cold-hearted, Jackson. And you know what? I believe them. I have everyreason to believe them, and you know that damn well," I said, the venom seeping from my lips without a second thought. I'd wanted to put him in his place for so long, had thought about what I'd say to him for the last ten years if I ever ran into him, but this was not what I had pictured or practiced.

"I'm not coldhearted," he snapped, the irritation showing on his face once again.

I couldn't stop the laugh that escaped from my throat. It was raw and angry, full of ten years' worth of heartbreak. "You fucking abandoned me," I said quietly, low enough so that only he could hear. "You are a glacier, Jackson Big, and you don't even care."

His jaw clenched as he watched me, his eyes hard as steel as they stared into mine. If I looked long enough, I might be able to see what he'd been to me before. My rock. My person. My everything. "You didn't think that ten years ago," he said.

The backs of my eyes began to burn as I forced myself to my feet. I shook my head, trying to shake away the memories that were bombarding me from every angle. It was just too much. All of it. I grabbed my bag from the floor, ready to go, but I stood firmly in place.

I knew why. There was something left unsaid, still something hanging in the back of my mind. It itched. It burned. It had to come out, and I knew there was absolutely no way of stopping it. I could say it and be free. I allowed every ounce of anger I had left, every pent-up emotion that had built over the last ten years to surface. Too loud. Too angry.

"I don't know how I ever let myself love a man like you."