I am not a weak woman. I’m not.
I saw what I wanted with the Cortez resort, didn’t I? And I went after it.
I found the strength to walk away from Jackson five years ago when I thought I had to. And, yes, I had the mettle to later admit that I still wanted him, and that we could battle my nightmares together.
All of which translates into strong, right? So what the hell am I doing breaking down in my car?
I already melted down once over this asshole’s pictures of me. I’m not going to do it again just because there are more. Even if these new pictures are a billion times more horrible.
I’m not weak, I tell myself again. Because the more I say it, the more I believe it. I’m strong.
Hasn’t Jackson told me so over and over and over?
Jackson.
Christ, I’ve been selfish. Wanting him beside me to help me find strength, when the fact is that he’s just as deep into this as me. More, maybe, since at the end of the day what Reed wants is to make the movie, not release the pictures. Jackson’s going to be just as angry as I am scared. And he’s going to need me just as much as I need him.
Even while the thought makes me sad, it also comforts me. Because we’re in this together, he and I, and the truth is that we’re a pretty damn good team. Not only are we planning an entire resort together, but we’ve survived a hell of a lot of shit.
We can do this.
Granted, I don’t know how, since Reed has put us at crosspurposes—but we’ll figure it out. That’s what we do.
But I need Jackson beside me to do it, and so I rub my hands over my eyes, tell myself very sternly that I cannot break down over the phone, and dial his number again.
This time—thank you thank you thank you—he answers on the first ring.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Brooks,” he says in the kind of voice that suggests that he’s happy to hear from me, but deep into business-mode. “I’m just sitting down with Mr. Pierce to talk price on a couple thousand tons of burnished copper plating. Can I call you back in a few?”
“I—yes. Of course.”
There is a pause, and when he speaks again, his tone is low and careful, as if he’s treading over broken glass. “I’ll leave right now. Where are you?”
I close my eyes, a little ashamed that I’m so relieved, and that he knows me so well.
“In my car, but I’ll meet you at the Stark suite at the Century Plaza hotel,” I say, referring to the suite that the company keeps open for visiting clients. I happen to know it’s currently unused. And while it’s foolish, I don’t want to show him those horrible pictures inside either of our homes.
I close my eyes and shudder as, once again, the memory of those images washes over me. “Actually, the bar,” I say, because right now, I really want a drink.
I hear him curse softly under his breath. “Are you okay?”
“No,” I admit. “But I will be when I see you.”
“What’s happened?”
But I can’t tell him. Not like this. And the truth is that I don’t want to have to tell him at all.
I sigh. “I’ll leave something for you at the front desk. Get it, then come find me.”
I know he wants to argue, but all he says is “I’m on my way.”
He clicks off, and I close my eyes, letting the relief wash over me.
I take a few moments to pull myself together and fix my makeup before I pull out of the garage and start the trek west from downtown to Century City.
There’s a wreck on the 10, so it takes me longer to get there than I’d planned, but Jackson is coming all the way from San Bernadino, so I know that he has not arrived before me. I get the key to the suite from the girl at the front desk, then leave the envelope for Jackson. I hesitate before handing it over to her, not liking the fact that it is out of my hands.