Beast (9 page)

I glance out the window at Liam’s office. It’s dark and the door is closed. I wonder if he’s in there, alone, hiding from the world.

I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t feel sorry for him. But I do.

I shake my head trying to wrestle my heart free from the emotion. He hurt me. The fact that he buys me lunch and has it delivered to my office everyday doesn’t change that. I can’t forget that.

But there’s just something so sad about him, so lonely. I recognize it. It’s what I feel underneath my broad smiles and got-it-together exterior. Maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to him – because I feel like I’ve finally met someone who
gets it
, who understands what it’s like to feel so alone.

“What the hell are you talking about, Jasmine?” I mutter to myself. I remind myself that he’s a stranger. I’d be a fool to think that after two random nights together, I know him or he knows me. I’m just projecting my inner crap onto him.

I take a bite of the energy bar I just pulled out of my bottom drawer and try to focus on the work in front of me. But my phone starts to vibrate on the table next to me. I glance at the caller ID.

Alessandra Santiago.

I feel anxiety bubble up inside of me and I swallow in a futile attempt to force it down. I clear my throat and hit the ‘answer’ button. “Hello?”

“Jasmine…”

“
Hola mamá
.” I try to inject some enthusiasm into my voice but what I really feel is trepidation. I feel it every year when she calls on this day.

“Happy birthday,
mija
,” she says warmly and I’m sure that she’s trying just as hard as I am to sound brave.

“
Gracias, mamá
,” I say, faking it all the way.

“So, do you have any plans to celebrate?” she asks carefully “Will you be going out with your friends later?”

I roll my eyes. She already knows the answer to that question. “No,
mamá
. I’m not really in the mood to celebrate this year.” I never am.

She sighs heavily.
Here we go.
“
Mija
, you are only young once. Please go enjoy your special day.”

“It isn’t a special day to me,” I mutter gruffly. I already regret answering the phone. I should have let her call go to voicemail. “You
know
that I don’t celebrate my birthday. And you know why.” I grab my energy bar and take a big bite.

“Jasmine, what happened to Lily was not your fault.”
Only, it was
. Everybody knows that it was.

“Mom – I’m at work right now. I really have to go. Can I call you later?”

She sighs again. I can hear the tears straining on her voice. “Yes – call me later.” But we both know that I won’t.

“Goodbye, mom. I love you.” I hope she knows I at least mean
that.
Although my relationship with my parents has been strained for the last few years, I still adore them.

I just can’t bring myself to face them.

“I love you, too, Jasmine,” she says softly. “And you know that your father loves you too.”
I bet. Is that why he pretty much wrote me off when I turned 18?
He couldn’t wait to get rid of me.

But I don’t tell my mom that. We’ve already had this argument far too many times. Having it again is futile at this point. So, I just say. “Tell dad I love him, too.”

My mother sends me kisses over the phone and we hang up.

Now, I feel a headache coming on.
Speaking to my mother, though unpleasant, is oddly comforting. I need to be reminded of my roots every now and again. It keeps me grounded. But at the same time, it completely dishevels me emotionally. My mother knows that my birthday is a touchy subject. Why she continues to bring it up is beyond me. I know she doesn’t do it maliciously but some things are better left buried in the past.

I hear a light tap at the door and my eyes dart in that direction. “Chess!” I drop my energy bar and try to discreetly wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

“Hey, beauty!” he’s beaming as he pulls a big pink balloon with the words ‘Happy Birthday’ from behind his back.

My stomach twists into a knot and a shiver travels across my skin.
Fuck no!
“How did you –”

He chuckles. “Ruth told me.” I nod slowly with understanding. Of course Ruthie told him. I’m going to kill her.

Chess stands there looking
really
proud of himself. It’s kind of cute, I guess.

“So, I’m here to take you to lunch,” he announces. “There’s this amazing new French restaurant on the Upper East Side –
L’ampoule
– I made reservations.”

Unease slips over me like a veil. Reluctantly, I find myself logging out of my computer and slipping into my jacket at Chess’s insistence.

Before I know it, I’m sitting with him in a private booth at
L’ampoule
. My stomach grumbles a little as I scoop up the last forkful of vinegar-soaked arugula on my plate right before the server swoops in and snatches it away.
I hate these pretentious, high-end restaurants,
I think to myself.

Chess is his usual charming self over lunch, telling me hilarious stories from the campaign trail. It should be easy to enjoy his company. Any woman in their right mind would feel lucky to be in my place right now. But a part of me is completely put-off by the fact that he ambushed me on my birthday.

When the meal is over, Chess’s secret service detail ushers us through the parking garage to his black SUV and I’m whizzed across town, back to my office.

As the car rolls to a stop in the building’s parking garage, Chess inches closer to me in the back seat. “I really like spending time with you, Jasmine.”

I smile softly. “I like spending time with you, too.” And suddenly, I feel bad for the sulky mood I’ve been in since he popped into my office. He’s a nice guy and he was trying to do a nice thing by surprising me. He doesn’t know about all the dark, dark memories that are tied to my birthday, so I can’t blame him for trying to make my day special.

He leans in and presses his lips to my cheek. He lingers for a while. I take a long whiff of him. He smells like power and extravagance and expensive musk. “If I try to kiss you right now, will you shut me down again?” His tone is flirtatious as he toys with a lock of my hair.

I giggle at the sheepish smirk on his lips. I straighten up and my tone is soft but serious. “I’m not ready yet,” I whisper.

Defeated, he drops his forehead to my shoulder and grunts in exasperation. “You’re killing me, Jasmine…But you’re worth it.”

I pat the side of his face and he sits upright. “Goodbye, Chess.”

His bodyguard escorts me to the elevator of the parking garage. I get off on the 7
th
floor feeling hungrier than ever. I plan to go back to my desk, quickly reply to a few emails that have come in over lunch and then go grab a snack in the staff break room.

But when I get to my office, there’s a brown takeout bag sitting on the edge of my desk. I open it to peek inside and the delicious aroma of fried chicken greets me. I pull the carton out of the bag and find a generous serving of mashed potatoes and gravy with fried chicken, a buttery biscuit and a tiny apple pie.

Southern comfort food. Just what I need right now.

I smile slightly as I pull out the container, searching for the note.
Happy birthday
, it says simply.

How did he know?

I glance over at Liam’s office again. I see the slats rustling. He’s in there, watching me. I try my best to feel angry at him, to remind myself that he hurt me, but right now, I’m more drawn to him than ever.

Just seeing his hands on her today made me want to smash his face into the photocopier.

I step out of the shower and scrub my fluffy towel against my wet hair. I carefully avoid looking in the direction of the mirror. That is, until I remember that I smashed the damn mirror to bits a few days ago. Quite frankly, I have no intention of replacing it. I don’t want to see my ugly face anyway.

I move into my bedroom and grab a pair of sweatpants from the drawer. I drop onto the edge of the bed and slide them on. My limbs still ache from tonight’s run. Thoughts of Jasmine haunted me as I moved along the path overlooking the river.

I want her. More than anything. But she’s an angel. And I’m a monster lurking in the dark.

And monsters don’t get happily ever after.

Still, nothing could have prepared me for the devastation of seeing her walking down the hallway, her fingers intertwined with that Pretty Boy Politician or seeing him hold her face and kiss her softly on the cheek or seeing the smug grin that invaded his face when her eyes fluttered momentarily and red rushed up her neck…

She’s
my
girl. Dammit.

Or at least I wish she was.

Fuck.

I’m loosing my damn mind.

And I wonder if she’s with him tonight, on her birthday. In his bed. I wonder if he’s touching her body. I wonder if she’s whispering his name. The thought drives me absolutely crazy.

I wander into the kitchen and peer into the fridge. Nothing there. I contemplate ordering a pizza but I don’t even have the inclination to deal with the delivery guy tonight so I quickly drop that idea. I glance at the whiskey sitting on the sink. I promised myself that I wouldn’t drink tonight. I lost control the other night and woke up the next morning hung over and lying in a dried-up pool of my own blood on the bathroom floor.

A battle wages in my mind. To drink or not to drink. Finally, I push a heavy sigh as I reach for the bottle of whiskey. I take one huge gulp and it burns all the way down my throat. Then, I tip the bottle over the drain and watching the remainder of its contents swirl down into the abyss.

No more
.