His spiteful words batter me like a spray of bullets. “What does that mean?”
He exhales loudly, finally spinning around to face me. “What do you think it means? You’re a journalist! I obviously couldn’t share sensitive details of a major financial deal with a rival.”
It’s jarring, how quickly he’s swung from tender and flirtatious to cold and callous. Not five minutes ago we were cuddling in bed while he cooed sweet nothings in my ear, and now all I want to do is slink off like an injured animal and lick my wounds. “So now I’m a journalist? I thought I was your girlfriend.”
He huffs as he buttons his shirt cuffs. “Yeah, I thought so too. And then I found out you were an undercover reporter trying to destroy my life.”
You deserve that. Stand here and take it, Cassidy.
I’m not oblivious to what’s happening here. Jack’s looking for someone to blame and I’m an easy target, but he’s taking it too far. I had nothing to do with this story, and I refuse to be his scapegoat.
I draw myself up to my full height, crossing my arms and doing my best to look intimidating—though I’m not sure how intimidating one can look in a fluffy white bathrobe and hotel slippers. “So that’s what this is really about, then? I lied to you, and now you want to punish me for it. Any argument we ever have, months from now—hell, years from now—you’re going to throw this back in my face.”
“It hasn’t been years!” he explodes, and I shrink back, my bravado evaporating in an instant. “It’s been one day since I found out you lied to me! What do you expect me to say? That I believe you? That I trust you unconditionally? Trust is earned.” He tugs a hand through his hair and pivots, pacing away a few steps before turning back and throwing out an arm. “I haven’t even told my employees I’m selling, and now it’s splashed across the front page! This isn’t just some stupid article meant to smear me. It’s my entire livelihood that’s at stake. It’s the past ten years of my life!”
I feel his fury like a stab to the gut. “Look, I understand why you—”
“No Cassie, you don’t understand,” he cuts me off, voice raised, and I take a step back. I’ve never seen him like this. When threatened, most people choose fight or flight; Jack apparently chooses both. “You have no idea what I’ve sacrificed for this job—friends, family members. A life. I’ve put everything I have into building this company. I’ve been working on this deal for a year. You can’t possibly understand how high the stakes are right now.”
“Does that seem healthy to you? Seriously Jack, do you hear yourself? Is the success really worth it if it comes at the expense of everything else in your life?”
He smiles sardonically. “While I appreciate the concern for my work-life balance, you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t take career advice from someone living their life on the sidelines.”
His words hit me like a sucker punch. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means how’s that book coming, Cass?” His dark eyes hold a sharp glint and it’s all I can do to maintain eye contact, so stunned am I by his vindictiveness. I’m a creature in distress and instead of handling me with care, he’s going in for the kill. “For something you claim to be so passionate about, you sure aren’t in any hurry to get started.”
“Now you’re just being cruel,” I whisper, humiliation burning through me. Strike two.
“Am I? Or am I just being honest? I may have taken things too far last night, but I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. You’re the one who told me your job is unfulfilling. So why are you still there?”
I stare back at him, mute with shock, and now it’s hurt pulsing through me, overriding the shame. He has no way of knowing that he’s prodding an open wound, that in echoing Cynthia’s harsh criticism he’s confirming my worst fears about myself. He thinks you’re a coward, too. My already shredded dignity goes from small to microscopic.
“Not so simple to walk away, is it?” he hammers me, failing to recognize that I’m teetering on the brink of a massive breakdown; one more jab and I’ll topple right over the edge. “I’ve worked my ass off to get here and I’m finally at the finish line, and I’ll be damned if this is going to ruin it.”
His words pierce the air like a clap of thunder. “And by ‘this,’ you mean me.”
Something in my voice must snap him out of his fit of temper because he blinks, the worst of the hostility draining from his eyes, and for the first time since he launched into this diatribe I see a glimpse of the Jack I know. “That’s not what I said.”
“But it’s what you meant.” Strike three. Strike three through infinity, actually. “I get it, Jack. Your job is your priority. It’s more important to you than anything—or anyone—else. Message received, loud and clear.”
And that’s the truth of it, as much as I wish it wasn’t. Jack’s work is his North Star, his most valuable asset, his constant companion throughout a tumultuous and lonely personal life. It’s driven his decision-making for more than a decade. Did I really expect to usurp that role overnight? Where can I expect to rank on his list of priorities—a distant second, if I’m lucky? Just because he’s become the most important person in my life doesn’t mean I am in his.
I feel like such an idiot; a lovesick puppy that’s just been kicked. I’ve been serving my heart up on a silver platter to a man who’s already spoken for, who will never fully offer his in return. My past concerns about being a weekend sports widow seem almost quaint now in retrospect. And the worst part is, anyone could have seen this coming a mile away. Cynthia sure did. The question she asked me in her office now feels painfully prophetic: If this same opportunity was in front of Jack, would he be sacrificing himself the same way you are?
I’m heartbroken to have gotten my answer.
His hand flexes at his side. “You’re putting words in my mouth.”
I force a laugh, mostly so I won’t start crying. My throat feels like it’s closing up. “I’m really not. But anyway, you should go.” I hate that my voice trembles—if ever there was a time I wanted to project indifference, it’s now. “You have things to take care of . . . messes to clean up. That’s where you should be. Not here.” Please, please leave before I lose it completely.
I’m giving him an out, granting him permission to do what I know he wants to—leave me behind so he can deal with the fallout on his own, assess the damage to his business without my emotional deadweight dragging him down. And as much as I wish he wanted to stay with me and weather this storm as a team, I don’t want him doing so out of guilt. Even if all else is lost—my career, my reputation, this relationship—I still have my pride.
But he’s not exactly rushing out the door. In fact, he looks so conflicted that I almost feel sorry for him. His haste to get dressed has left him looking a disheveled mess, like an alcoholic after an all-night bender: hair rumpled, shoes untied, shirt buttoned but untucked, tie spilling out from the pants pocket where he’s haphazardly shoved it. He looks as wrecked as I feel. And yet, despite how angry I am at him and how badly he’s let me down, he’s still the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. I’m still in love with him, and that knowledge is a crushing blow.