Judge Me Not - Maggie Cole Page 0,18

can make my worries disappear.

7

Colton

My day's one fire after another. The merger I'm in the middle of closing has several issues arise. As soon as I fix those, a notification pops up on my phone with the Bergdorf's invoice.

I call Bree. "Thanks for taking care of Jasmine." Bree is Janelle's sister. Between the two of them, I never have to worry about what I'm wearing.

"She's sweet."

I smile. "Yes, she is." When she's not trying to fight me. I'm still a tad bitter she won't let me pick her up.

Bree stays quiet. I know that silence.

"Do you have something you want to tell me?" I ask.

"I'm worried about her accessories."

"What about them?"

"She didn't get any."

"Why not?" I growl.

"I asked her to look at jewelry, and she refused. I was taken aback. Your girlfriends usually go to the jewelry section before the dresses. So I didn't even think about her evening bag. She's not going to have anything to carry her phone or lipstick in."

I crack my neck, staring out my window and watching the cars race across the Manhattan Bridge. "Did you send the dress to my house yet?"

"No."

"Pick a purse for her. Text me some jewelry pieces, and I'll let you know what to send."

"Will do."

She didn't want it? What kind of woman doesn't want jewelry?

Is she trying to prove a point to me?

What am I even doing with her?

Any free moment I've had, I've asked myself this. When she told me I couldn't pick her up because we aren't dating, it didn't lessen my obsession for her to become mine.

She hates me.

She was going to work at the club. I couldn't let anyone else have a chance with her.

She needs money. I have it. She should be thanking me.

I'm such a prick for these thoughts.

Bree texts me several photos of jewelry options. Some are ridiculously flashy. Most of my past girlfriends would have loved them. But something tells me to tone it down with Jasmine. I pick a matching diamond necklace, earring, and bracelet set. It's classy but not over the top. It reminds me of her.

The intercom buzzes, and Janelle says, "I have the file you requested."

"Bring it in."

Janelle comes in, hands me the folder, and says, "You know you aren't supposed to look at these things, right?"

I clench my jaw. "Your point?"

"Nothing. Just checking," she sings, smiles, and leaves the room.

I open the folder and scan through the information Jasmine entered into our portal.

Thirty-two. Lives in a rough part of Queens. Manager at the local credit union near her house. One dependent. Degree from—.

I flip farther into the folder, but all I can find is that she has a six-year-old daughter named Abby.

That's why she didn't want me to pick her up.

Where's the baby daddy?

I search all the social media platforms, but Jasmine has her profiles on lockdown. I can't see anything, not even a picture of her.

Janelle interrupts me. "Dexter is on line three."

I groan. "What now?"

"You don't want to know."

I spend the rest of my afternoon moving from one catastrophe to another. By the time Janelle intercoms me it's time to leave, I'm a ball of pent-up stress.

My phone never stops ringing. I continue to solve problems, which only irritates me since I pay people to create solutions and not involve me. When I get to the house, I'm chewing out my accountant.

I storm into the bedroom and remove my jacket and tie. "How do you screw up numbers at this point, Jack?"

"There was a data error—"

"I don't give a shit about your data error. You cost me half a million today."

"The important thing is we got it solved."

I shake my head. "You're not the one paying for your mistake. I'd be careful what you claim isn't important on this call."

Jack sighs.

I drop my pants and unbutton my shirt, holding the phone to my ear. "We're talking more about this tomorrow. No more fuckups on my dime, Jack." I hang up and toss my phone on the bed. I open the closet and freeze.

Jasmine gapes at me then crosses her arms over her body to cover herself up.

My pulse was already high from my conversation. Now I might have a heart attack.

I forgot she would be here. How that's possible, I don't know. But she's an apparition of an angel and temptress all in one. Her black lingerie is lace, strappy, and barely there, accentuating every curve she has.

I swallow hard and step forward. "I didn't know you were here."

"I'm sorry. I wasn't sure where