Chapter 344
Madison
I took a large sip of wine, buying time. “I don’t pay attention to gossip,”
“Smart. Though it must be interesting, seeing the reality behind the public image.”
“It has its moments,” I said vaguely, desperately wanting to change the subject. “How about you? How’s the new job going? Last time we met, you were just starting at Mercer Financial.”
Jackson brightened, setting down his fork. “It’s actually going really well. Better than I expected. The team is solid, and they’ve already put me on some interesting projects.”
“That’s great to hear.” I was genuinely happy for him. “Settling in okay?”
“Yeah, took some adjusting after London, but New York feels like home again.” He twirled the last bite of pasta. “The commute is brutal, though. Might need to move closer to the financial district.”
“The eternal New York dilemma: location versus rent.‘
“Exactly. Speaking of which, how’d you score that apartment? The location is incredible.”
“Got lucky with timing. Right place, right time.”
Our server approached with the dessert menu. “Can I interest you in something sweet tonight?”
“Definitely,” Jackson said. “Madison promised me life–changing tiramisu.”
“Excellent choice,” the server said with an approving nod. “One or two?”
“Two,” Jackson answered, catching my eye. “We’re not sharing something this important.”
When our desserts arrived, the presentation was stunning. Layers of coffee–soaked ladyfingers and mascarpone were served in elegant glass cups, dusted with cocoa and garnished with chocolate curls.
Jackson took his first bite and closed his eyes. “Oh my god.”
“Told you,” I said smugly, savoring my own spoonful. The creamy mascarpone melted against my tongue, perfectly balanced with the coffee–soaked ladyfingers.
“This might be better than sex,” he declared, then immediately looked mortified. “I mean-‘
I laughed, enjoying his discomfort. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“Definitely not what I meant to say,” he mumbled, focusing intently on his dessert.
“So, speaking of things we shouldn’t discuss over tiramisu,” I said, deciding to address the elephant in the room: “Why haven’t you been dating anyone? A successful guy like you must have options.”
He seemed relieved by the change of subject. “Same as you, I guess. Work consumes everything.” He took another bite of tiramisu. “London was all about paying off debts. Now I’m establishing myself here. Dating felt… secondary.”
1/4
“I I get that,” I nodded, thinking of my own situation. “When work takes priority, relationships become an afterthought.”
“Exactly.” He pointed his spoon at me. “And you? Same story?”
“More or less. Between the promotion, my mother’s health issues, and everything else… dating wasn’t on my radar.”
“Well, at least we’re both workaholics,” he said with a grin. “That’s something.”
“To workaholism,” I raised my water glass in mock toast.
Jackson clinked his glass against mine. “May we someday learn moderation.”
“Doubtful,” I laughed.
“When you called about dinner tonight, I almost fell out of my chair,” he admitted. “I figured you’d be too busy.”
“Why does everyone think I’m incapable of having dinner?” I protested.
“Because the last three times I suggested it, you said, and I quote, ‘I’d love to, but work is insane right now.“”
I winced. “Was I that bad?”
“Worse. I think once you actually said, ‘Maybe in the next quarter when the fiscal projections are complete.”
“I did not!” But even as I denied it, the words sounded exactly like something I would say.
“You absolutely did,” Jackson laughed. “I saved the text to show my therapist when he asks why I have trust issues.”
I threw my napkin at him. “Stop exaggerating.”
“Only slightly.” His expression softened. “But seriously, it’s nice to see you outside of work mode. You seem… lighter tonight.”
“I’m trying this new thing called ‘having a life.‘ Very experimental.”
“Bold choice. How’s it working out?”
“Ask me tomorrow when I’m rushing to catch up on everything I should be doing tonight.”
He shook his head. “You haven’t changed at all, have you?”
“I’ve changed,” I insisted, thinking of how much my life had transformed since Alexander entered it. “Just not in ways that are immediately obvious.”
We finished our desserts, conversation flowing easily between topics, from Jackson’s adventures in London to his new apartment search, to my mother’s improving health. It felt refreshingly normal, without the undercurrent of tension that accompanied every interaction with Alexander.
When the check arrived, Jackson snatched it before I could reach for it.
2/4
“My treat,” he said firmly. “I invited you, remjeinber?”
‘Actually, I invited you,” I pointed out.
“Details.” He waved dismissively, sliding his card into the leather folder. “Besides, I still owe you for all those times you saved my ass in college. Remember that final?”
“You mean when I stayed up all night making flash cards because you procrastinated all semester?”
“Those flash cards were works of art. I think I still have them somewhere.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. They were color–coded and everything. I couldn’t bring myself to throw away such masterpieces of organization.”
I laughed, oddly touched that he’d kept something so trivial after all this time.
After Jackson signed the receipt, we stepped outside into the cool evening air. The street was quieter now, most of the dinner crowd having dispersed.
“This was nice,” Jackson said, hands in his pockets. “We should do it again sometime. When your schedule allows, of course.”
“I’d like that,” I said, and meant it. The evening had been a welcome distraction from my Alexander–dominated thoughts.
“Can I walk you home?” he offered.
“Thanks, but I’m going to grab a cab. Long day tomorrow.”
“Right. The workaholic returns.” His tone was teasing. “Let me at least hail you one.”
He stepped to the curb and raised his arm. Almost immediately, a cab pulled over.
“That was impressive,” I admitted.
“One of my few useful skills.” He opened the door for me. “Thanks for dinner, Madison. It was great catching up.
11
“Same here. Good luck with apartment hunting.‘
“Thanks. I’ll need it.”
I slid into the cab and gave the driver my address. As we pulled away, I glanced back to see Jackson still standing on the sidewalk, watching the cab depart. The sight gave me an odd feeling, not romantic interest, but something like nostalgia for a simpler time.
The cab smelled faintly of artificial pine and someone’s forgotten takeout. I leaned back against the seat, mentally reviewing tomorrow’s schedule. The Riverside property visit with Alexander would mean an early start, which meant I should be reviewing the preliminary documents tonight.
But for once, I didn’t immediately pull out my tablet to work. Instead, I watched the city scroll by outside the
window, letting myself enjoy the momentary peace.
Dinner with Jackson had been… normal. Pleasant. Easy. No sexual tension, no mind games, no contract stipulating the parameters of our interaction. Just two old friends sharing a meal and conversation.
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
