he was convinced she wasn’t.
“You’re screwed, kid.” Shaking his head, Pops adjusted in his chair. “You either tell her who you are and risk her running into trouble, or you keep it a secret and have her pissed at you when she finds out. And you know as well as I do there’s really no choice.”
That’s precisely what Jack was concluding.
“You always protect a woman, even if it leaves you out in the cold.”
“I know. I don’t like it, but I’m not going to risk Jamie getting in over her head.” Lying wasn’t something he wanted to do, but he’d deal with it.
“So you’ve got two weeks to find your culprit and wrap this up, because if she’s Caro’s roommate, she’s going to be at your sister’s wedding, and it’s going to be hard to keep your identity a secret when you’re sitting at the goddamn bridal table.”
Jack grimaced. “I’d totally forgotten about the wedding. Maybe I was hoping Caroline and Brad would suddenly decide to elope.”
The thought of enduring that family affair was painful to begin with, despite the fact that he adored his sister. Too much like a dinner party, but with people you didn’t like.
Half of his family thought he needed a stint in the psych ward for walking away from a thriving career. They tended to speak slowly to him and give him gifts like soothing scented candles and spa gift certificates.
Then the other half would spend the evening giving him their latest hard luck stories and why they needed a little bit of cash to tide them over. He usually gave it to them, feeling it would be selfish not to help if they really needed it, but the trouble was most of them didn’t need it.
And it ruined all family gatherings for him. Leaving him depressed and isolated.
But he would endure it, and with a smile for his sister’s sake. In two weeks.
Tomorrow night he was seeing Jamie and had every intention of tasting those plump pink lips of hers. Tomorrow night he wouldn’t be Jonathon Davidson, millionaire. He would be just Jack.
A glance at the clock confirmed that time had ceased to move forward.
Only twenty-five more hours to go.
A call from Allison saved Jamie from having to eat ice cream for dinner.
“Meet me at Dorsal. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Jamie looked down at her wrinkled dress and weighed the embarrassment of looking like a poster child for Calgon in public versus eating mahimahi and sipping a lemon drop.
Food won. Besides, she really needed to talk to someone about Jack on the subway, and she was only a block from Dorsal. To change, she’d have to go right past the restaurant to their apartment. “Alright, I’ll be there. Are Mandy and Caroline coming?”
“No. Since Mandy got knocked up, married, and moved out, she’s always busy. And Caroline’s off doing something bridal. If I ever get married, I’m eloping to the Caribbean like Mandy did.”
“I thought you said no man was worth saddling yourself to for life, or for the time it takes to get a divorce.” Jamie worried about Allison sometimes. She was such a strong, intelligent woman, yet she bristled around men and wouldn’t let any of them get close to her.
“You’re right. Good, I’ll never have to worry about having an obnoxious wedding.”
“Oh, come on. Caroline’s not being obnoxious.” Though Jamie had to admit, she seemed stressed out.
“Are you kidding?” Allison snorted. “She tried on her wedding dress and burst into tears. Not a good thing.” The sarcasm left Allison’s voice. “I’m actually kind of worried about her.”
That was serious. Allison wasn’t known to get concerned without just cause. Pausing outside the restaurant, Jamie pushed her curls out of her face. “Okay, I’m here. I’ll get a table and order drinks. What do you want, Ali?”
“A real job, fame and fortune, and the respect of men everywhere.”
Jamie laughed. “I meant short term.”
“Oh, you mean to drink? I don’t care. Order me something that sounds perverted.”
He shouldn’t be watching her. He should go home, though home was an exaggeration for what he had. He could go to the shelter, if there was room. Go to Wendy’s apartment, though she’d been spitting mad at him the week before when she’d tossed him out.
The shelter was probably a better choice, even if it smelled like overcooked cabbage. Worse than prison.
But first he’d found himself following Jamie again, and he needed to stop that. He wasn’t planning on talking to her or anything, though, so what was the harm in just watching her? She never noticed him, even when she glanced around her like she did now as she talked on her phone in front of a restaurant.
She was too trusting, too nice. Unaware of all the dangers that lurked around her.
Nice girl like that was going to get hurt if she wasn’t careful.
When Allison breezed in the door fifteen minutes later, Jamie was sitting with what the bartender swore were two Screaming Orgasms in front of her. She was almost certain they’d given her the wrong drink just to mess with her, because these were a vibrant pink color, lapping against swizel sticks. Jamie kept thinking if she dropped an egg in each, she’d have a pair of beautifully colored Easter eggs.
“How was your day?” Allison asked as she dropped into the chair across from Jamie.
“Mixed. The Hathaway Foundation rejected my request for funding.” She was extremely disappointed that her pet project, Urban Gardens, an extension of her works programs, had been rejected by their major source of funding. Without the Hathaway Foundation’s funding, she didn’t have a prayer of continuing on with the project that had kids of incarcerated adults caring for their own gardens.
The board, including Caroline’s brother, Jonathon Davidson, had rejected the proposal without even allowing her to plead her case in person. Now she was stuck scrambling for money anew.
“Jerks.”
That’s kind of the way Jamie felt. She didn’t understand the corporate mentality and probably never would. The men who made funding decisions that could make or break serious social programs like the one Jamie worked for sat around in their posh offices and decided who was worthy of their crumbs.
“We used a grant writer and everything. They have our financial records, so they know we’re a responsible organization. I mean, we have an eighty-six percent success rate with our reentry program. We help men fresh out of prison find jobs and become productive adults. How could they find fault with that?” Jamie sipped her drink and sighed. She’d really wanted to expand their program to include the families of those men, but it was going to be tough now. There just wasn’t any money left in the budget.
“A lot of people might think those men should stay in prison. Or that why waste resources on men who will just commit another crime and wind up right back in jail?”
Jamie wasn’t naïve. She knew some men could never be rehabilitated, could usually pick them out at the first introduction. But that didn’t mean every man was a lost cause. “Well, they would be wrong. Including Caroline’s brother, Jonathon, who was the final no for my project.”
Allison kept eyeballing her drink, but she’d yet to take a sip. “Don’t take it personally, sweetie. Jonathon is a businessman, but he’s a nice guy. If he thought it was an unsound financial investment, he would say no. Not because the program’s not worthy.”
Jamie wanted to believe that of her roommate’s brother. Of any person. But she couldn’t help but picture a bunch of stiff, well-dressed Scrooges taking sick delight in saying no.
“And nobody works at a charitable