Chapter 129
Madison
“You can wipe that look off your face,” I told her. “Jackson could look like Chris Hemsworth’s better- looking brother, but I still wouldn’t be interested.”
“So you admit he’s hot,” Hazel said, pointing an accusing finger at me.
“I have eyes, don’t I? But acknowledging someone’s attractiveness doesn’t mean I want to date them. “I gathered my purse and stood up. “Besides, we have history as friends. It would be weird.”
“Friends make the best lovers,” Hazel singsonged as she collected her things. “They already know all your weird habits and like you anyway.”
“You’ve been reading too many romance novels,” I said, leading toward the door.
“I’ve been reading exactly the right amount, thank you very much.” She pushed the door open, and we stepped out onto the sidewalk.
The night air hit my face with a refreshing coolness after the warmth of the coffee shop.
“Well, this was surprisingly not terrible,” Hazel said, wrapping her scarf tighter around her neck. Jackson turning out to be hot was an unexpected plot twist.‘
“You’re incorrigible,” I laughed, adjusting my purse strap on my shoulder.
11
“It’s part of my charm.” She checked her phone. “Crap, I need to get going. Early meeting tomorrow with the demon creative director.”
“The one who makes everyone cry during presentations?”
“That’s the one. He made an intern quit last week because he said her font choices were ‘aggressively mediocre.“”
I winced. “Harsh.”
“Tell me about it. I’ve been practicing my thick–skinned face in the mirror.” She demonstrated what looked like constipation mixed with mild stroke symptoms.
“Maybe try looking less like you’re passing a kidney stone,” I suggested helpfully.
She punched my arm lightly. “Rude. But fair.” She hailed an approaching cab with impressive efficiency. As it pulled up to the curb, she turned to me with unexpected seriousness.
“Listen, work hard and make me proud, okay? Project manager is a big deal.”
The sincerity in her voice caught me off guard. “I will,” I promised. “But I’m not doing it for you. I’m
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going to work hard and make myself proud.”
“Ooh, look at you with the self–empowerment.” She grinned, opening the cab door. “Next, you’ll be posting inspirational quotes on I*******m and selling essential oils.”
“Good night, Hazel,” I said firmly, but I couldn’t help smiling.
“Night, workaholic. Try to have some fun before you die of spreadsheet poisoning!” She slammed the door, and the cab pulled away from the curb, leaving me alone on the sidewalk.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, half–expecting to see Alexander’s name on the screen. Instead, it was a text from Jackson.
Jackson: Great seeing you tonight. Dinner next week? Friday or Sunday work?
A tiny voice in my head that sounded suspiciously like Hazel whispered, “Say yes, you workaholic!” But another voice, the practical, contract–bound one, reminded me of my complicated situation.
I typed out a noncommittal response.
Me: It was nice catching up! Let me check my schedule and get back to you. Things are pretty hectic with work right now.
His reply came almost immediately.
Jackson: Sure, no pressure. Just let me know.
and
I slipped my phone back into my purse and flagged down a passing cab. As I settled into the backseat
gave the driver my address, I couldn’t help but analyze Jackson’s invitation. The eagerness of his text, the way he’d focused on me during our coffee meetup, and the way he’d insisted on paying were classic signs of interest that went beyond friendship.
And I just wasn’t interested. Not in that way.
Jackson was attractive, but I felt nothing romantic toward him. There were no butterflies, no racing pulse, no inappropriate thoughts about what he might look like without that button–down shirt- just the comfortable familiarity of an old friendship.
The cab turned onto my street, and I gazed at the familiar storefronts and apartment buildings. My mind drifted to the inevitable question: what happens when my arrangement with Alexander ends?
I pushed the thought away. That was a problem for Future Madison. Current Madison had enough on her plate with her mother’s health, a new promotion, and the daily challenge of navigating a relationship that existed somewhere in the complicated space between business and pleasure.
The cab pulled up to my building. I paid the driver and headed inside.
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I rode the elevator up to my floor, my mind still circling around Jackson’s dinner invitation. I’d have to give him a definitive answer eventually. Preferably one that made it clear I only saw him as a friend without making things awkward.
Why was adult friendship so complicated? In college, everything had been simpler. We studied together, grabbed pizza, and complained about professors. Now, every interaction seemed loaded with subtext and expectations.
As I unlocked my apartment door, my phone buzzed again. I half–expected another text from Jackson, but it was Hazel:
Hazel: You better say yes to dinner with Hot Jackson. I’m not above kidnapping you and forcing you
to have fun.
Me: How do you know he asked me to dinner?
Hazel: He texted me asking if you were seeing anyone. I told him you were tragically single and probably at home alphabetizing your spice rack.
Me: My spices are organized by frequency of use.
Hazel: See? This is why you need dinner with a hot man. Your priorities are concerning.
I laughed despite myself and set my phone down. After changing into pajamas, I made myself a cup of chamomile tea and curled up on my couch with my laptop. I had real estate research to do if I was going to impress Alexander with my project management skills.
But my mind kept wandering back to Jackson’s invitation and the larger question it represented. What was I doing with my life? Where was I heading?
My arrangement with Alexander wouldn’t last forever. It had a clear expiration date. And then what? Back to being just his assistant? Back to the dating scene, I’d barely participated in even before this complicated situation?
I shook my head, forcing myself to focus on the present. I had months before I needed to worry about any of that. Right now, I had research to do and a… whatever Alexander was… to navigate.
One day at a time, Madison. One day at a time,
I opened a new spreadsheet and titled it “Manhattan Property Development Comparisons.” Work was always my refuge when life got complicated, and tonight was no exception. I’d deal with Jackson’s dinner invitation tomorrow. And the future? Well, that would have to wait its turn.
Lucia Morh is a passionate storyteller who brings emotions to life through her words. When she’s not writing, she finds peace nurturing her garden.
