“When you put it like that,” I say a tad petulantly, a pang of jealousy at the thought my parents and Tristan got to see Jackson when I haven’t. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t need to. I credited you with enough intelligence to figure it out for yourself. You’re in a completely different place in life since the last time your paths crossed and your parents got involved. This time none of us are making the same mistakes and that starts with us realizing that you’re a grown woman who doesn’t need her parents worrying you with the possibility of running into an ex. You’re tough enough to handle it, Em. It’s not our place to run interference…unless that’s what you want?”
“No. You’re right. I can handle it,” although I feel anything but tough right now.
I just have to hope that Dad and Jackson don’t have any business together in the near future, especially if the latter is happy to pretend I don’t exist.
Ignoring my ragged emotions, I focus on the easy rhythm of dancing with Tristan instead. We move easily together and I’m impressed with his dancing skills; he leads me confidently and spins me around enough that I don’t get a chance to scan the crowd looking for Jackson.
“He’s seen us,” Tristan assures me. “His face was quite the picture; I don’t think he likes me very much.”
“Well you did point a gun at his face,” I point out.
“Ah, good times,” he says wistfully.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I stiffen in Tristan’s hold.
“What is it?” he asks, instantly on high alert; his bodyguard instinct kicking in as he scans the room and locates the offending sight. “Who is that?” He tilts his chin toward the redhead indecently entwined with Jackson as they take to the dance floor.
“Her name is Sonya. She was the woman Jackson was fucking the night I was drugged at Dartmouth. She was then moved into my dorm room to spy on me, which was why I called you for help. Sonya was also present that night at Inferno. She was a Donor; she would feed him in exchange for sex.”
“Was?”
“She’s been turned. The way she moves gives it away; she’s too graceful. She must’ve really pleased someone for them to agree to turn her,” and I’m willing to bet my heart thief is her maker.
“You think it was Jackson?” asks Tristan, reading my mind.
“The idea makes me sick to my stomach, but I suspect so. He once said she made herself very useful, so I guess she was finally rewarded. But he knows how much I hate her; I told him so the night of the inferno incident, just before Price walked in on us. He said he’d keep her away from me and made it sound like he really wasn’t bothered about having her around.”
“Six years is a long time, Em. People change. Maybe she’s less of a bitch now, or maybe her presence is to get under your skin – which isn’t too left field considering the look he gave you earlier. He hasn’t moved on as much as he’s leading you to think; he wouldn’t keep looking at you when your back is turned otherwise.”
“He’s been watching me?” I ask incredulously.
Jackson’s withering death-stare certainly gave the impression he’d rather look anywhere but at me.
“When he thinks no one will notice, but it’s my job to see without looking…and he is definitely looking.”
“Well, fuck him. I’m not feeling warm and fuzzy toward the man who issued me an ultimatum, refused to get over it when I didn’t choose the option he wanted, never called, took up with the woman I hate and then has the nerve to eyeball me and act like I don’t exist. He can look as much as he fucking wants, it’s not going to get him anywhere.”
“I’ve already been in your bad book; I don’t envy him.”
I look up and catch Jackson watching at me; our eyes meet, but this time it’s me with the cold, uncaring stare. I look away as if I don’t give a shit and I know his face well enough to spot his stone façade slip at my cold shoulder.
Tristan is right; I don’t know what Jackson feels for me, but whatever it is, he’s not over it.
I feel a strange mix of both smug and pissed off, and the only thing that’s going to make any of this bearable is a drink, so I stalk off towards the bar with Tristan close by my side.
Mercifully, we’re served quickly, but still slow enough for me to clock the overly pretentious seating chart showing my family sitting on the same table as Jackson and Sonya.
“What the hell?” I nearly choke on my martini, “why would he seat himself on our table?”
“He’s sitting with your dad, so my guess is he wants to discuss business.”
“And he couldn’t wait until Monday?”
“This way he gets to look at you all evening.”
“Something to look forward to,” I mutter dryly.
This is exactly why I’m not happy about being right; I knew I was going to see Jackson and I knew it was going to suck.
It can’t get any worse, right?
Chapter Eighteen
Before I’m able to think about my seating predicament any further, a large, tanned hand grabs me roughly by the elbow and drags me away from the bar and back out to the foyer before Tristan has a chance to stop him.
I allow myself to be pulled along, hating myself for loving the contact.
Jackson doesn’t look at me as he strides through a door held open by a member of the hotel security team and marches me into a small, dark surveillance room. The security guard closes the door leaving us alone together in the eerie glow of screens that take up one wall, streaming images of party-goers having a good time.
As soon as the door is firmly closed, Jackson lets go of me as if the touch of my skin physically makes him sick. I just stare at him; his beautiful proximity making it impossible for me to keep my ice-queen façade in place.
“Sorry for manhandling you, but I need to talk to you before we sit down and are trapped on the same table together,” he says, his voice empty and flat, devoid of any caring emotion.
He’s clipped attitude stings and causes my anger to boil.
“It’s your party, I’m sure you can tweak the seating arrangements to suit you better. It does make me wonder why you put yourself on my table in the first place if you plan on looking through me like I don’t exist.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I need to discuss a business proposal with your father,” he says spitefully.
It hurts.
…So much more than I care to admit, and if I stay here a moment longer, he’ll know it from the pathetic tears I’m dangerously close to shedding.
I turn away from him and head for the door, but he grabs me again, more forcefully than I was expecting, which sends me off balance and stumbling backward into him.
His arms form a steel cage around me as he holds me against his solid chest to stabilize me. My breath catches and my body desperately wants to melt into his touch, but it’s not an option when he hates me this much.
I can’t look at him, I refuse to feel the warmth of his body seeping into mine, and soon as I’m surefooted enough I step away from him and put some much-needed distance between us.