In one of the strongest moments of my adult life, I set down my phone and walked away.
Since I wasn’t insane enough to believe my strength would last, I decided to get out of the house. And I needed a run.
I called Jordan. “Hey, you’re a runner right?”
“Ms. Withers?”
“You were Special Ops. You had to stay in shape for that, right?” The idea had crossed my mind before, but since Hudson had been so opposed, I’d never pursued it. But now Hudson wasn’t around. “And I imagine that makes you a fairly good runner.”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“Good. I want to go for a run and Hudson won’t let me go without a bodyguard. I’ll be ready in fifteen.”
He hesitated for only half a beat. “Be there in ten, Ms. Withers.”
“Thank you.” It had been surprisingly easier than I’d expected. Might as well see what else I could get. “And, oh my god, Jordan, please call me Laynie. Please, please, please. I know you’re not supposed to, but I don’t care about Hudson’s stupid rules. I’m having a bad day and I could use a friend. Even if you aren’t really my friend, pretend. Please.”
“You should know me well enough to know that I’m not much good at pretending.” The phone jostled as if he were getting ready while he talked to me. “But I am an excellent runner. Be ready to have your ass handed to you. Laynie.”
I was almost grinning when I met him in the lobby. This was new for me—life actually going on in the midst of heartache. Who knew it was possible?
True to his word, Jordan handed me my ass on our run. The six miles we did around Central Park barely seemed to faze him, while I nearly had to be carried back to the penthouse. The physical discomfort was welcomed—it matched my sullen mood. The adrenaline and endorphin rush did little to improve my spirits, but it did make the act of living seem just a bit more bearable.
Back at the penthouse, I showered and got dressed. Then I did go to my phone. I scrolled through my texts looking for another from Hudson. The disappointment at finding none was hard to swallow. Even though he’d said he wouldn’t respond, I had hoped. Wasn’t it just the morning before that he’d said I was the center of his world? Was there any way he could still mean it?
I couldn’t think about the answer. The evidence wasn’t in my favor and it hurt too much to face.
Needing another distraction from reaching out to Hudson, I called Brian. We chatted for over an hour—a record for us. After that, I called Liesl. We were both working that night, which provided a perfect excuse for shopping and dinner beforehand. My heart wasn’t in it, but I could fake it with the best of them. And being with Liesl helped keep the tears at bay.
It had already been a full day by the time Jordan dropped us off at The Sky Launch. “My shift’s over, Laynie,” Jordan said as he shut the car door behind me. “Reynold’s waiting for you up there.”
Sure enough, I spotted Reynold by the club’s employee entrance.
Though I’d never done it before, I felt the urge to hug Jordan. So I did. “Thank you,” I said, my throat tightening. “I needed you and you were there.”
Jordan looked at me compassionately. “It’s not my place, but you should know—Mr. Pierce is a complicated man.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” I wasn’t interested in anyone defending Hudson at the moment.
Jordan continued anyway. “But no matter how complex the situation may be, it’s easy to see how he feels about you.”
I stuck my chin out, defiantly. “Is it?” I’d thought it was, but now all bets were off.
My driver patted my upper arm. “Perhaps not to you. But to me, it’s obvious. I pray that he’ll figure out how to show you before you’re gone for good.”
I watched Jordan as he got in the car and drove away.
Me, gone for good? It had been Hudson who’d left. Hudson who’d broken the promise he’d made to stand by my side through everything. Hudson who’d dropped not so subtle hints at a long-lasting future and yet he was now nowhere by my side.
With a sinking horror, I feared that Jordan was right—Hudson’s feelings for me were obvious. Obviously gone.
I bit my lip to curtail any crying that latest thought might bring on.
Liesl wrapped her arm around mine and directed me toward the door. “Do you get sick of the bodyguard stuff?” She was excellent at deflecting. “I mean, I wouldn’t get sick of that Jordan dude—he’s hot.”
“And gay.”
“Figures. But maybe he’s also experimental.”
I laughed. “Not likely.” My laughter quickly faded into a frown—it felt too strange to be amused when my heart was so heavy. “I don’t usually mind having bodyguards around, though I do like my independence. And I don’t really get why I need to have someone here while I’m at the club.” An idea surfaced. “In fact—”