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“Sit, I can get it.” He tries to stand, but I stop him.
“No, I got it. Rum and Coke, right?” I ask, making a guess of his drink choice from that small amount left on the straw he gave me.
“Yes.” He pats my thigh, and I push away from the table.
“You guys were so cute up there,” Aliza says as I walk away.
Jackson responds, but I am too far to make out his exact words. Reaching the bar, I notice it’s my cute bartender from the first night. By the way he’s cheesing at me, I gather he remembers our brief unspoken moment of flirtation.
“Whiskey, right?” he asks.
“Yes, a double, please.” I smile. “Oh, and a rum and Coke.”
He nods and makes my order. After a few seconds, he hands them to me, I thank him, and head back to Jackson. When I’m close, Jackson stands and takes the glasses from my hand, allowing me to sit before returning to his chair and handing me back my beverage. It dawns on me that he does little things like this often. Holding doors, not taking a seat until I have, you know, all that cute chivalry stuff. It’s been a long time since someone has been so gentlemanly with me. It’s nice to feel appreciated. I’ve had doors held out for me in the past, D'Andre certainly did that, it’s just that it didn’t last long, and until now, I didn’t realize that I even noticed that attribute had disappeared in him. Call it comfort maybe, I don’t know, but it’s nice to be on the receiving end of those sorts of actions again.
Jackson rests his arm on the back of my chair and sips through his straw. “Thanks,” he whispers.
I smile and sip from mine.
“So how did y’all meet?” D'Andre asks, his tone short and brash.
I nearly choke on my drink but play it off as smooth as I can. I look at Jackson, regretting that we hadn’t talked about what our story would be if the question came up. Fuck, I knew this was a stupid Idea. I let out an aggravated sigh, preparing myself for the mockery I’m sure will come once D'Andre learns this is all a lie.
“A few months ago, during the AVA Awards,” Jackson answers. “One of the companies I bankrolled was up for the same award. But our girl here stole the show.” He pauses, peers my way with a smile, then squeezes my shoulder. “I remember thinking how beautiful she was—is—and how badly I wanted to meet her.” Sitting forward, he removes his arm from my shoulder and retrieves his beverage from the table. “I didn’t think I’d get the chance to, but then she came gliding into the reception.” He takes in a mouthful of the intoxicating substance then returns his arm to its former resting place. “She didn’t notice me at first and was pretty much occupied by all the other guest. I had clients there, so I couldn’t leave them. But I kept one eye out for a chance to shoot my shot.” He glances at me once more, his eyes filled with admiration.
His story feels surreal, so much so that for a brief second, I nearly forget it’s all a lie. What does that say about him? His ability to lie so effortlessly should be alarming. But what does this say about me? That instead of being on the fence about it, I’m impressed and intrigued all in the same token.
“She played hard to set at first, but I eventually won her over.”
“Aw, that’s sweet. Well, you two seem great together,” Aliza coos.
“Ah, makes sense,” D'Andre adds dryly.
“What does?” Jackson asks.
“How Sabrina got the invite to this thing.” He fingers the edge of his glass, his gaze fixed on me.
“I don’t understand your statement. What are you saying?” Jackson says and, sitting upright, he removes his arm from behind me and leans in, waiting for D'Andre to answer.
Aliza and I glance at each other as the tension around us thickens.
“Nothing, man. Forget it.”
“He’s saying there’s no way I got here on my own merit. That I’m here riding on your notoriety.” I know I should just leave it alone and not have said anything, but D'Andre’s petty comments are getting on my nerves. Jackson doesn’t know enough about me to defend my honor, but I would so love to see him put D'Andre in his place.
“No, that’s not what—” Aliza tries to interject.
“Yeah. I’m sure that’s not what he’s saying. Right, bro?” Jackson stares D'Andre down, his tone daring him to say otherwise.
The two continue to glare at each other, neither of them letting up. As much as I’d like to curse D'Andre the fuck out, this is not the appropriate place for an altercation. Besides, my reputation and image mean too much to me to allow myself or Jackson to be anything but professional on this trip. Whether he realizes it or not, by just being here with me, and carrying on the way we have, our names are now connected. Even if it isn’t for real, people have seen us together, and we are on a business retreat.
“Let’s just go,” I whisper to Jackson. “This is not worth the attention.”
Jackson doesn’t answer me; he doesn’t even look in my direction. Deciding it best to take control, I stand, lifting him by the biceps and guiding him out the door. Once we exit the lounge area, I continue to lead the way. With no real destination in mind, we continue to walk, somewhat aimlessly around the length of the ship, neither of us daring to say a word or to address the elephant in the atmosphere. I can’t tell if Jackson is genuinely pissed off or if he, too, is embarrassed for giving in to the pettiness. After our first lap, he finally speaks.
“What is that dude’s problem? How bad was this breakup?” he asks, towering over me.
I pause to let out a deep breath, gathering the right words to explain this scenario to him. “Everything was decent for the most part.”
