Restoring Jordan (9 page)

The very act of driving with her beside me in the car is a turn-on. It reminds me of our first night together when I knew nothing about her at all and didn’t care to. How very much things have changed since that night. I don’t like that I want her still. It complicates my life and, more than that, my emotions. Life is easier when you don’t care, and I’ve lived my life by that mantra for years now. Quite frankly, I’ve enjoyed my life very much as a result. But I want to care for her, and that fact alone socks me with a vulnerability I don’t want anything to do with.

She guides me to her apartment in the South Loop. It isn’t in a bad neighborhood, but the old house turned apartment building is in a sorry state of disrepair. It’s evident by the hanging gutters, the chipped and broken stucco, the paint-peeling fascia, never mind the tired and skimpy-looking shingles that gave up doing their job years ago. I want to go in with her, but once I’ve walked her to the door I stop short of entering. She is nervous, and she wants to ask, but she’s terrified of my response.

“I should go.” And though I say the words, I can’t pull my gaze from hers or turn to walk away.

I’m watching her eyes, but as I do my gaze drops to her lips. I wanted those lips so much I could barely contain myself, and even now, imagining that taste once again is hardening my arousal. Her door is standing wide, and I can smell the scent of her home through the opening. It smells deliciously of her, and it’s beckoning me to follow. I can see the interior of her living room. The ceilings are tall with original crown molding, and the trim work is wide but pitifully painted over. Her floors are old, worn hardwood that looks rustic and charming. Naturally, my only real thought is what it would be like to have her on that floor grinding splinters in my knees as I took her body; yes, I’m that pathetic at the moment. Her furniture is cheap and likely used, but eclectic. Even on a budget, she has taste. God, I want to follow her in.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come in?”
Nope! Not sure at all!

“Maybe next time,” I reply, stifling my real desire. She catches my reference and gives me a sheepish smile, and as I take her lips once more, exploring and getting absolutely lost in her taste, I admit what I don’t want to admit:
there will absolutely be a next time.

* * * *

When I arrive home, I drop my keys on the kitchen island and open a bottle of wine. I retreat to my bathroom and jump in the shower. I’m confused, and I don’t do confused. I do confidence, and I’m thrown for a loop. Why didn’t I stay? She gave me all the permission I needed. She wanted me to stay, and there’s no denying I wanted to be with her; my still-hard arousal is proof enough of that. So, why the hell did I leave? I used the only condom I had with her on the hood of my car, but still, I could have had plenty of fun with her even without one. Even the first night we were together, I wanted to wake to her body next to mine, and I had that very opportunity tonight and chose to pass. It was hard to turn down. Even as I spoke the words, my brain was throwing its hands up in exasperation, but I needed space. I needed to think. I
need
to screw my fucking head back on.

When I climb into bed with my wine and a book, I look to the emptiness that surrounds me. I used to like this emptiness. It meant I was untouchable, I was in control, I was safe, and my life was easy. But looking around now, I am just pathetic. I’m alone, lonely even, and she is sleeping in her bed where I want to be, miles from me. I toss the book to the floor and shut the lamp off quickly, hating my life for the first time in a very long time. The easy, simple, hedonistic life I had created is no longer easy or simple.

As I hop off the ‘L’ Monday morning, I’ve nearly forgotten about the debacle of Friday… Correction: debacles. I’ve thought of little else except Jordan, and not our meeting with Mark, nor about dinner, but about the hood of his car. For the second time in as many weeks, I’ve been reckless. I’ve decided being reckless is kind of fun … Jordan is kind of fun. After a weekend away from him when I wanted nothing more than to see him, I’m restless, I’m eager, I’m pathetically excited.

However forgetful I might have been about the events of Friday, I’m reminded swiftly the moment I sit at my desk and Vera approaches. “Come on. You’re expected in Foster’s office… I said come on! I don’t have all day.” Bitch. As I stand to follow, Vera takes off like lightning, leaving me in the dust. I have to jog just to catch up, and as Vera looks back once and regards me with her normal dose of Adeline hatred, I cringe. I don’t want to think about the catastrophe that was Friday, but apparently that’s exactly what I’m in for.

As I enter Foster’s office, I look around expecting Jordan, but he’s absent. Vera, however, is not, and she makes her presence very well known as she speaks. “Here she is. She was apparently late this morning.”
I was not!
I had no idea I could hate a person so much, but I’ve discovered I’m really quite good at hating her. Mr. Foster pays her comment no mind and asks me to sit. As I do, Jordan enters, and I’m left craning my neck around to see him as he approaches behind me. He looks glorious and amazing as always. He’s wearing another ridiculously awesome suit that fits to a T. This one is an indistinguishable shade of gray or brown, and he’s paired it with a deep brown-colored shoe that has a squared off toe and looks as perfectly antique as his designs. I’m left catching my breath as he takes the seat next to me without the slightest hint of nervousness at my presence—good to know only one of us is so pathetic.

When Mr. Foster speaks, I stop breathing once again, but not because of Jordan’s presence in any way. “I’m sorry, Adeline, about what happened on Friday with Mark Lear, and it should make you feel better that Mark has been removed from the Market Street project. However, when I spoke with Andrew Trigg at Trigg Development, he asked that you be removed from the project as well.” His eyes hold mine with a gentleness and sincerity that threatens to leave me in tears yet again.

Though I’ve lost my voice, and breath for that matter, Jordan has not. “What the hell are you talking about?” Apparently he’s more than okay with addressing Foster in such a way, but my gaping mouth must make it clear I’m shocked, and I am shocked.

“Relax, Jordan, I reassured him Adeline wasn’t the cause of this problem with Lear, and it would be inappropriate and unfair to punish her for Mark’s behavior. You know full well I’m sympathetic to what Adeline endured from Mark on Friday. But it was no small feat convincing him to leave Adeline on the project.” And with hesitation he looks to me. “It’s difficult with an intern. Though they recognize Mark was out of line, they were also defensive. Regardless, they’ve agreed to let you continue to work on Jordan’s team, though they’ve cautioned you’ll be removed if there are any further … misunderstandings… Apparently, Mark is being quite vocal at Trigg and painting Adeline in a less than favorable light.”

“Misunderstanding! A misunderstanding was Mark thinking it was a good idea to proposition Adeline in the first place. His reaction to her rejection was inappropriate!” Jordan is very close to yelling, and I’m still and frozen by his side. My heart is warm with his defense, but my body is cold with the unspoken threat. Should I lose my internship, should I receive bad marks for my time at Foster’s, my career will be off to a decidedly bad start. I’ve strived to maintain the highest grades my stamina would allow. This coveted internship was the final hurdle to seal my career path. To think Mark’s unfavorable, albeit vindictive, opinion of me could affect Trigg’s willingness to allow me to continue work on their project could ultimately have a lasting impact on my internship and moreover my career. Hell, it’s damn unfair frankly, and while I’m pissed, I’m also terrified.

But Jordan reads my mind as he speaks once again. “She doesn’t deserve to have her record tarnished because of Mark’s misplaced and inappropriate affections.”

“Jordan, I’ve kept her on the job, and she’ll have a chance to see this project through to the end. I’ve reviewed her design boards. They’re impressive, and you know I won’t remove her from this project unless absolutely necessary. However, her department head at Columbia is asking to speak with her. Apparently, Mark decided to take it upon himself to fill him in on the events of Friday, naturally giving his own personal, skewed rendition of the meeting.” Foster is shaking his head in disgust as he looks to me and continues. “Dr. Lynch would like to see you today as soon as you can make it there. You don’t need to return to the office today. I want you to take the rest of the day off, and please don’t think it’s any reflection of what happened Friday. You have my complete support on this matter, and it’s quite apparent you have Jordan’s as well.”

I nod. It’s the only response I can muster. I can’t say I’m shocked, but I’m certainly terrified. Dr. Lynch is the head of the Interior Design Program at Columbia, and while my experience with him has always been positive, I suddenly feel as though I’m being sent to the principal’s office. I’m the good student, not the one who causes chaos such as this, and on top of all of that I’ve done nothing wrong! I should be furious, and I am to a degree, but at the moment I’m more terrified of the threat this holds over my future than anything else.

I say nothing. I have no idea what to say, but as both Jordan and Foster continue to watch me while Vera glares from the wall she’s standing next to, I panic, feeling as though I ought to say something. I manage an, “Okay,” but nothing else. Vera is being oddly quiet, but the smirk that passes her expression as I stand to leave tells me she’s enjoying my predicament.

Jordan stands with me and comments to the room, “I’ll walk you out.”

I nod without making eye contact as I move toward the door. Jordan follows me in silence to my cubicle as I grab my purse, and just when I think he intends to say nothing, do nothing, regard me in no way, he brushes a tender and gentle hand on my shoulder as I turn to walk past him out my cubicle. I still at his touch, wanting more, wanting him, wanting some sort of comfort, and he gives it. As I stop midstride, he pushes me back to the workspace desktop and reaches for my face.

We’re hidden by the interior of my cubicle, and as his hand touches my cheek, I look to his eyes, and in intense slow motion he leans to my lips, places a gentle kiss, and moves his mouth to my ear. “It’s going to be okay. You’ve done nothing wrong. Don’t forget that.” My heart is fluttering with intense longing, and my knees are wobbling in my desire, but I have other battles to fight before I can think of him. I thank him and walk again from my cubicle with his gaze trailing after me.

* * * *

Upon arriving at Dr. Lynch’s office, I’m left waiting in the reception area, my nervousness mounting by the second. When at last I’m called into the office, Dr. Lynch smiles warmly but hesitantly. My hands are clammy, shaky, and I’m struggling not to let terror touch my expression. I’m offered a seat and sink to the soft surface, thankful to take my weight off my wobbly knees.

Dr. Lynch sits, regarding me only a moment before he starts speaking. “I’ve spoken with Foster, and I want you to understand you’re not in any kind of trouble. He feels strongly you’re not to blame for Mr. Lear’s behavior on Friday, and I can assure you while Mr. Lear may have contacted me, his portrayal of the events doesn’t fit with any experience I’ve had with you, and quite frankly reeked of resentment. I’m sorry you had to endure such awful treatment by him. But I want to be clear with you, this job is a large undertaking for an intern, and if you are in over your head on this one, I want to know. You’ve been one of my best students, but you are still a student, and I would rather remove you from this project than see your rating on this internship suffer.”

This last comment isn’t appreciated in any way, and I’m left defending myself. “I am more than capable of handling this job, and my design boards are spot on! This whole mess had nothing to do with my ability to handle the project!” I don’t want to sound angry, I don’t want to sound defensive, but I do.

Dr. Lynch raises his hands in placation and responds. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t suggesting you weren’t doing a good job on this project. In fact, I only just got off the phone with your manager, and it was made clear your performance was impressive.”

“Who, Vera?” My face must register incredulity.

Dr. Lynch is quick to correct. “No. The project manager—Mr. Ellinwood. He’s sending over your project boards for me to review, and he made it quite clear your performance on this project has been top notch.” I can’t stop the small smile that takes over my mouth as I drop my gaze to my lap to disguise my response, but Dr. Lynch isn’t done speaking yet. “Is there any reason I need to worry about you going back to Foster’s? I don’t want to be responsible for putting a student in a negative atmosphere or situation.”

Vera’s face pops into my mind but is quickly replaced by Jordan’s as I shake my head. I don’t want to leave Foster’s. I’m offended about what happened with Mark, but it’s not Foster’s fault and certainly not Jordan’s. I have a lot riding on this one project and my successful completion of it, but I want to be there. I want to be near Jordan. He’s an amazing teacher, and he’s been an amazing influence and support to me over the past few weeks—more than I could ever have thought he might be. Truth be told, I want to work only with him. He makes me competent, capable, even proud of my abilities, and I can imagine no better teacher at this point in my education. He’s important to me. I’m attached in many more ways than just my physical attraction, and dangerous as this is, I’m powerless to pull away now.

Dr. Lynch is watching me as I process his words. There’s plenty of threat that hangs over my head at Foster’s, Vera being only one, but I need to be there. I shake my head in response to Dr. Lynch’s question, and he eyes me suspiciously. He must think I’m insane for wanting to stay after the Trigg disaster, but he eventually accepts what I say and walks me to the door.

“Good luck, Adeline. Please let me know if you need anything. You have two very strong supporters in Foster and Ellinwood, but if you have any problems, I want to know about it.” I nod as we say our good-byes, and I leave.