Haze, Andrea Wolfe [english novels for beginners txt] 📗

as usual, and I couldn't help feeling humbled by its sheer power. I walked inside, finding Jack near the elevator. He looked gorgeous as usual, his appearance so recklessly clean-cut, if that made any sense. I swallowed hard and tried to ignore the initial response my body had when seeing him.

"Follow me, miss," he said, acting as if he owned the place. I nodded and followed along. We stepped into the elevator and rode to the forty-second floor, just like we had the first time. The attendant made some small talk with Jack; I couldn't get my own lips to move.

Soon, we were there, the creaky elevator coming to stop. Jack led me to the room, our walk just as silent as the elevator ride had been. He unlocked the door and led me to the living room area, sitting on a chair that had a counterpart right across the way—face-to-face.

I tossed my bag on the floor near the chair and took a deep breath.

"Drink?" Jack asked.

"Yes. Anything."

"I can deal with that." He disappeared into the kitchen and moved bottles and glasses around. I stared at the bare walls of the suite. They were neutral, free from any decorations or reminders of success. Maybe that's why he kept this place—to hide from those images.

Jack returned with the drinks, dry Manhattans, and I accepted mine eagerly. I sipped and set it on the coffee table.

"I know a lot has happened," he said quietly.

"That's an understatement." I stared at him, trying to gauge what was going on inside his head. The harder I looked, the more I wanted to just cuddle up with him in that chair and fall asleep. I gave myself a figurative slap and straightened out my head.

"And I know what I want to happen." He paused, sipping his Manhattan, savoring every drop. "I just don't know if it's what you want."

C'mon, Jack, I thought. Keep going. Tell me what it is. Unwilling to wait, I took control.

"Why did you pay for my apartment? I didn't need that!" After I said it, I expected him to say Yeah, you definitely fucking needed it. You had to call your mom to beg for money!—but he didn't.

"Effie, please. I wanted to do it. So I did."

"Why can't I solve my own problems like an adult? Without someone intervening?"

His retort was snappy and biting. "Why the hell can't I help someone that I care about? Maybe your mental and physical well-being is important to me."

My toes tapped nervously against the carpet. I felt stuck, mildly defeated. This was like yelling at someone for buying you a present for your birthday because you were going to buy the same thing yourself. "What's this all about?" I asked.

"I'm starting a label, as I told you already. I want you to work for me."

A rush of warmth overwhelmed me, but then it turned to cold, blackness. "Did you set me up or something? Get me fired so that I wouldn't have a choice?" I didn't realize how awful I sounded until after I said the words. They were out though, so now I had to deal with the consequences.

He didn't respond. Had I just taken this too far and ruined the best plan yet? Was he about to snap? I really felt like shit.

"No." Lifting his drink, he poured almost half of it down his throat at once, swallowing and then rubbing his eyes. I could see his lip twitching slightly, that little quirk that seemed to surface in situations like these. "That's not what I did."

"Sorry." I stared off into the room in a daze, wishing that the curtains were open so I could see that cathedral again. I didn't dare move from my seat, however. "What I said was rude. I'm sorry."

Jack didn't say anything. Great move being a bitch, Effie.

"It's just—" I trailed off, not knowing what to say. "I wanted to, uh, work for something. I don't know, it's kind of stupid. My dad always talked about hard work and it affected me. It's stupid." I started at my toes as they went deeper into the carpet.

His eyebrows furrowed. "It's not some bullshit position," he said firmly. "It's accounting at my label. It actually needs to get done. You can't just pretend to do it. I don't need to go to jail for tax evasion."

Something inside of me just wouldn't activate. His offer seemed like the greatest thing possible, along with the worst. But why? I didn't even know. I couldn't come up with a reason—I could only feel it. Was coming up with a solution on my own better than what he was saying? It sounded like a dream job.

"Work for you." I said it as if it were an outfit I grabbed off the rack and had carried into the dressing room to see how it fit me. I guess it was my vulnerability that made me so distant in that moment, my reptilian brain falsely claiming that it had discovered danger and that I should flee to save myself.

Wrong, wrong, wrong. Stupid.

"Well?"

My nerves were starting to loosen from the alcohol. "I'm not sure I can answer," I said honestly.

"I hope you believe me. I didn't know that this was going to happen, that Sam was so much of a fucking creep."

"Yeah," I said quietly, suddenly remembering that incident. It started to race through my veins like venom. Had a snake just bitten me?

"This all just sort of happened," he said. "I've been thinking about it so much, and it's the only thing that makes sense to me."

My composure started to weaken, but I battled to control myself. "It sounds pretty good, but—"

"But what?" he asked with rising intensity. "Why does wanting you have to be at odds with your goals? Why can't we just be happy together instead of deconstructing everything? What's wrong with wanting us to be a real thing? It'll be everything we've ever wanted and more. It'll be perfect." He stopped and stared right into