Just One Regret(30)

I snap my eyes open and sigh, staring out the window.

Kennedy thinks I hate her.

I don’t.

The problem is that I think I love her.

Always have.

I just don’t know how to forgive her. Or myself.





Eighteen





Kennedy





“It’s nothing big,” I say, taking a sip of ice water. I’m not nearly qualified for any of the interior design jobs I’ve been able to find yet. I haven’t wanted to start over as an assistant, although I will if push comes to shove. Plus, McMillan Holdings is a fantastic company from what I’ve researched. “Just an assistant position at McMillan Holdings.”

Sarah’s eyebrows shoot to her forehead. “There’s nothing ‘just’ about a job with McMillan. He’s the largest land developer in Chicago.”

“I know.” My lips tremble before spreading into a wide smile. “Okay. So I’m really freaking excited about it, but I don’t want to jinx myself.”

Jack McMillan is known all over Chicago. He buys and sells buildings like they’re red hotels on a Monopoly board. I’ve seen hundreds of photos with Jack and his gorgeous wife and stepson, Logan. Three years ago, they had their first child together and now it’s not uncommon for Jack to be seen in the society pages with a hot pink diaper bag tossed over one arm and a toddler with bouncing brown pigtails on his shoulders or settled on his hip.

He’s become a family man.

I also know, thanks to Sarah, that women—regardless of the fact that he’s seemingly happily married—swoon all over him whenever he’s seen in public.

Her eyes gleam with mischievous interest. “Who will you report to?”

I laugh softly. “Mr. McMillan is the CEO, Sarah. I will most likely never have a single interaction with the man. The job is in their interior design department, designing floor plans and layouts for a new building he’s bought in the Loop. McMillan Holdings is completely redoing the interior of the building, so I’d be involved from the ground up. It’s a lot more technical than I’m used to…coordinating with architects and everything.”

“You’ll do great.” She squeezes my hand reassuringly before digging into the enchiladas I spent all day cooking. Being out of work and in a new city has given me lots of time to try out new recipes. With the way Sarah’s inhaling her food, I’ll consider this meal a success. “When’s the interview?”

“Wednesday,” I mumble, shoving a bite into my own mouth.

They must be desperate to fill the position. I never would have dreamed that just within a week of being in Chicago, camping out in Sarah’s guest bedroom, I’d already have an incredible job opportunity lined up. Everything is moving so quickly.

“Relax. You’re more than qualified and you’ve got a few days to prepare. Don’t let it get to you tonight.”

“I know,” I respond. “I know that, it’s just…well, it’d be the dream of a lifetime, really. There’s so much opportunity for McMillan. So many ways to advance and stretch myself.”

“Then we’ll do everything we can to make sure you nail the interview.”

My lips twitch, fighting a smile, and I fail.

I’m in Chicago.

I have an interview at one of the most successful companies in the city.

“This is going to be great,” I admit, pushing past my hesitancy.

She nods expectantly. “I told you moving here is going to be the best thing that ever happened to you.”

She seems so sure. It’s a direct contrast to my apprehension.

My gaze flickers around Sarah’s apartment. Everything is modern and streamlined, from the low gray couches and chairs to the glass tables. It’s an IKEA showroom in here and Sarah loves it. It’s so vastly different from her bubbling personality that when she first showed me, I thought she’d hate it after a week. She claims that after running around on her feet all day, planning other people’s social lives and weddings, she enjoys coming home to relax in something calm and soothing.

I haven’t been relaxed or soothed all week long. Ridiculous as it is, every time I walk around a corner while getting my feel of the city, my breath hitches, expecting to run into Grayson.

It’s stupid.

I know his gym is on the northern side of the city, in Uptown, and he most likely has no reason to ever come down to Hyde Park. But the nerves are there.

So is the overwhelming desire to call him. To see how things are going with his lawyer.

I want to know everything. Desperately.

My breath hitches again and Sarah reaches out, squeezing my hand with hers in a soothing gesture.

It does little to quell the anxiety that begins to bubble whenever I think of Grayson. Or our weekend together.

Every night I go to bed, I close my eyes and dream of him.

I dream of his kisses and his touch. I imagine that he doesn’t hate me. That when he showed up at my apartment in Cambridge, he didn’t just brush his lips across my cheek.

In my dreams, he takes me—hard. Fast. Wild.

And when I wake up wet, my sex aching for him to relieve the pulsing need, tears burn the backs of my eyes when I roll over and the bed is empty.

I shake my head, dip my chin, and take another bite of food before Sarah notices my sudden sadness.

“Hey,” she says and I glance up at her through my lashes. “Everything will be just fine.”

Her smile is timid, so unlike her.

My lips pull to one side and I nod. “I know.”

“And I don’t just mean about the job.”

“I know that, too.”

I look away before I can see the pity in her eyes. It burns bright these days whenever she catches me thinking of Grayson or our son. Or when I’m drifting off imagining what the future could possibly hold for me.

I’d give anything to believe Sarah in this one instance.

We finish our dinner quickly and silently while I try to push away all of my doubts.

When we’re done and the dishes are loaded, kitchen cleaned, I decide to focus on my friend instead. “What are you and Lynx doing tonight?”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “You really wanna know?”

“The specifics of your sexual positions? No.”

She snorts a laugh and I follow her to her bedroom where she begins tossing clothes from her closet onto her bed. “Then there’s nothing to tell.”

“You’re crazy,” I say, joining her in laughing. “Don’t you like him?”

She shrugs, keeping her back to me, but then looks at me over her shoulder with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “I like that he’s good in bed. Isn’t that enough?”

“I don’t get you,” I admit, flipping through the quickly growing stacks of clothes on her bed next to me. She’s not even considering a dress, which means whatever they’re doing, she’s going to be casual. “Is this just a friends with benefits type thing?”

Sarah reaches into the closet, digs through a stack of jeans, and comes out with a pair that is skin tight and distressed. They make her ass look incredible.

As she pulls them on, grunting and tugging and shimmying her hips until she can button them, she finally takes a deep breath and blows some of her blond hair out of her eyes. “It’s just for fun, and I haven’t seen him since Vegas. To be honest, I’m surprised he called at all.”

“But do you like him?”

“I don’t know him, but I don’t mind friends with benefits. You know that.”

“I know,” I say, twisting my lips. I’ve just never understood it. More power to her, I guess, then. A part of me has always wondered if there’s a reason she tends to shy away from commitments with men. I used to think it had to do with the accident she caused, but she seems so well healed, so able to move on from that one dreadful night, I’ve never asked.

“Besides,” she says, waving a hand dismissively before she begins digging through the pile of tank tops on her bed, “I think he’s got too much baggage to want anything more, and since I’m not seeing anyone, I don’t really mind having some fun with Lynx. He’s drop-dead sexy and an animal in bed.”

I fake a gagging sound and laugh. “Fine. Have fun tonight, just be safe.”

She grabs a tank top and stands up, grinning wildly. “As safe as a Girl Scout, I promise.”

Rolling my eyes, I push off her bed to give her privacy to finish getting ready. “You were never a Girl Scout.”

“No,” she shouts as I head down the hallway. “But I’m always prepared!”

“You’re crazy!”

“That’s why you love me!” she shouts back as I reach the kitchen. I grab a bottled water from the fridge and plop down on her gray living room couch, quickly grabbing the remote.

It’s true—it’s why I love Sarah. I’m also thankful for her, because as I turn on the television, scanning for whatever mindless show I plan on losing myself in for the night while she’s out getting lucky, I realize something.

She’s completely taken my mind off not only my interview, but the fact that I haven’t heard from Grayson at all since he showed up at my Cambridge apartment just a couple of weeks ago.





Nineteen





Grayson





“What does this mean?” I ask Keith, gripping the phone in my hand even tighter.