A Betting Man

Chapter Nineteen

Justin's Point of View

How I ever thought I could go to a nine-thirty meeting and actually function after sleeping on the couch with Addie is beyond me. I'm still not sure how that even happened. I wasn't tired when I'd gone over there – no, I was wide awake, nervous as hell, palms sweaty, secretly harboring the fear that Addie might shun me and refuse my company from here on out. It would have never mattered before. No girl has ever mattered before.

But Addie, for some Goddamn reason I can't comprehend, matters.

I'm forced to engage myself in the meeting. I'm forced to forget, for just a moment, all my worries that have plagued me for the last week. But during those short lapses when someone else is speaking, my mind is driven into a frenzy with thoughts and scenarios and what-ifs.

I imagine how things would be different had I never gone to the club that night. If I had never run into Nolan. I wouldn't know Addie. I wouldn't know her, and I wouldn't be intruding into her life in the most disrespectful of ways. Things would be better for her.

Then again, I also entertain the notion that I had asked her out on normal terms. That we had normal dates and normal conversations without these feelings of guilt and fear lingering in the back of my mind.

But it doesn't matter. Imagining these alternate scenarios doesn't change anything.

It's meeting after meeting today. This alone puts me in a bitter mood because I fucking hate meetings. I try, again, to push Addie out of my mind so that I can work. Again, I'm unsuccessful.

I don't have time to go out for lunch. I nearly forego it altogether when my assistant Jane, graciously thinking ahead, enters my office with a turkey sandwich from the local deli and a large cup of coffee. She easily breezes inside and sets everything on my desk. "I thought you might want something," she informs me kindly. "It's not good to skip lunch. Did you even have breakfast?" She's being conversational, but unfortunately I don't have the time. With a tight-lipped smile, I nod.

"Yes, Jane." If coffee counts as sustenance. "Thank you."

She takes a hint, and with a small smile, backs out the door and closes it behind her.

My stomach's growling, protesting, but I try to squeeze in a bit more work before I pause to eat. My phone's vibrating relentlessly in my pocket, but I ignore it again and again.

I practically inhale my coffee while I'm working. Twenty minutes later, I pull the sandwich towards me while simultaneously pulling my phone from my pocket. I have four missed calls and one voicemail message. All from Nolan.

I scowl down at my phone. I scowl and chew my sandwich and debate whether or not to call him back. It's a wonder he hasn't started calling my work phone by now.

I don't want to talk to him. It's a dreadful thing, carrying on a conversation with Nolan, and it's something I avoid at all costs. But I know he's bound to call again if he doesn't hear from me.

I send him a quick text, hoping to placate him.

I'm working, can't talk right now. - J

My phone vibrates seconds later.

All right, just checking in. Hoping for a progress report or something. - N

Perhaps you should check back closer to the end of the 3 weeks. - J

Gonna take that long, huh? - N

I told you she's a pistol. Might as well be wearing a fucking chastity belt. Finding the key will be damn near impossible. - N