Back To You | Jerrie

Chapter 17

Perrie

The hotel in midtown Manhattan is arranged perfectly while everything else in my life is a mess. I look around and want to leave already. This is the worst possible place for me, being in this room, all dressed up but feeling naked and exposed. I was on camera when I found it all out, everyone saw. But more than that, she ripped me wide open when we spoke.

I hear people moving around me but I don't see faces. "Per, there's a small problem in the bar area." Taylor's hand touches my shoulder and I jump.

"Sorry, Tay. What did you say?" I close my eyes and dispel all my issues for the moment, willing myself to focus.

When I finally look up, Taylor smiles and repeats her previous statement. "The rooftop bar is claiming we didn't reserve it exclusively. I handled it, but I figured you'd want to know," she says and looks at me, waiting.

Everything is in slow motion.

"Perrie? Can you handle this?" she questions me.

"I don't know," I say, looking up into her eyes, begging her to help me in some way. I feel lost. "I'm going to need you to stay by my side."

"Is she coming?"

"I couldn't tell you. I assume she is, but please," I grip her wrists and plead, "Keep her away from me. I can't."

She twists to hold my hands in hers. "I think one day you'll see the strength you actually have. You're going to get through this, but I'll be by your side the entire night."

I attempt to smile but fail. "Thank you."

"You look beautiful, by the way." She releases my hands and grabs her phone and answers. "Yes, I'm aware but the contract states differently." She pauses letting the other person speak. "Oh, that's fine, but then I want a full refund." Another pause. "You seem to have me confused with someone who cares what your problem is. I'll either be getting a full refund or you'll secure the roof. Figure it out." Taylor disconnects the phone and I'm impressed.

"Well, looks like my sweet, timid assistant has found her New York attitude."

"After spending enough time around you, it was bound to happen. Besides, when you get this new job, I'm hoping I'll be moved up as well." She smiles and I make a mental note to make sure that happens.

"If I get the promotion."

"You'll get it. I believe in you."

A few guests start to filter in and when I glance around the room, making sure everything is running smoothly — I see her. She's sitting at a table watching me. I want to look anywhere else, but my eyes don't move. We assess each other unsmiling and unwilling to break the only connection we have right now. Her eyes don't waver even as someone approaches her. The hurt radiates through me remembering why we're like this. This morning, the sight of her made my heart race, but right now it makes me sick. Refusing to give her any more of my attention, I turn my head and walk to the bar.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asks, wiping the granite counter.

"A lemon drop."

"Martini or drink?"

"Shot."

He looks at me with a brow raised. Yes, I said shot. If I'm going to spend the next however many hours in the same room as my client, I need a little liquid courage.

"One lemon drop shot coming right up."

"You know what, fuck it. Just give me a shot of vodka." No need to pretty it up.