He Hurt Me, Now He Wants Me Back

Imogene Scott

I take a long breath before I flick the lock on the door. Before I can step out, Damien steps in, causing me to stumble backwards. His eyes darken as he flicks the lock on the door.

Next thing I know, his familiar clean, woody scent fills my senses. I stiffen, my eyes locking with Damien's as he steps closer to me. His gaze is intense, jaw clenched. Every inch of him oozes intensity.

"Did you come here with your landlord?"

"How...never mind." Of course he knows Keith is my landlord. He probably knows everything about Keith Jordan since Elinor told me KJ Tech and IMU are rival companies. "Whether I'm here with him or not is none of your business. We're divorced. I can go on a date with whoever I want." "So that's what this is?" The tiniest flicker passes through his eyes. "A date?"

"Yes." A platonic one, and I don't intend to meet Keith again. But Damien doesn't need to know that. I lift my chin, challenging him to step back.

"He's not your type."

"I'm trying new types. The old one didn't work out so well for me."

Damien tries to hide it, but I don't miss the fissure in his cool expression or the trickle of hurt that leaks through. My heart squeezes but I push the feeling down. Don't feel bad for him. He deserves it. I curl my fingers around my arm so hard they hurt. "You can go on as many dates as you want, amor," Damien says softly. "But no one will love you like I do."

The words curl through me, warm and aching. My smile hides the painful thrum behind my ribcage. "That sounds like a good thing to me."

With the last ounce of strength in me, I walk past him and flick the lock. He doesn't stop me. I step out of the restroom and join Keith at the table. He seems a bit worried.

"That took forever." he says as I take my seat.

One part of me feels relieved that he didn't see Damien walk in. We continue to enjoy our meal in silence. After the main course is finished, I get up, ostensibly to make a call. I don't need to make a call, it's just an excuse to pay for our meal before Keith can. But when I stop our server and ask about the bill, he smiles. "It has already been paid, madam," he says in accented English.

"Already?"

"Yes. Mr. Jordan prepaid when he booked."

"I see," I say slowly, trying to hide my disappointment. Now I feel like I owe him. Curse my selflessness.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?" he asks.

"No, thank you." I flash him a smile.

I head back to our table and after a few drinks, we leave the restaurant. The drive back home is almost in complete silence until Keith finally talks.

"So, how was the food?" he asks, taking a quick glance at me before glancing back at the road.

"It was okay..." I trail off.

"On a scale of one to ten?"

"Ten." I manage to say.

We stop at the red light and Keith turns to me. "You know about LA's yearly tech convention?"

I've heard about it. It's usually a big deal. "Yeah."

"Well, I'm one of the co-hosts this year."

My hands fly to my mouth. "That's huge."

"Yeah, I know. The theme this year is contemporary art with tech." he pauses to see if he can get a reaction from me-he doesn't-so he continges. "We're going to need an expert to collaborate with for the Tech convention and I can't think of anyone better than you."

My heart jumps to my throat. This can be a great opportunity for visibility for me. People all over the world come to LA just to attend this Tech convention. I can get nationwide recognition and coverage for my works. This is really huge. "I don't even know what to say."

"You can say yes. We both know this is a great opportunity for you."

I swallow hard. "But why me?"

"You're actually an inspiration to me, Imogene." he starts the car again as the green light comes on.

I cock my head. "Really? How so?"

"Your success story is inspiring. The way you picked up the pieces of your life together after your jerktastic ex-husband-no offense-left. And now, you're an independent working class woman."

I smile. He always has his way with words. I lean back in my seat and close my eyes. I can reach new and greater heights with this opportunity. There's no way I'm turning it down.

""Yes. I'll do it." I mutter.

Damien Shaw.

THWACK!

I smash my racket against the tennis ball. It sails over the net and comes within inches of slamming into Soren's face. He's my cousin.

He returns it with a scowl. "Are you playing tennis or trying to send me to the hospital?" he demands. "That's the third time you've almost broken my nose. I'm starting to take it personally."

"Quit if you can't handle it." I deliver another shot, my breaths even despite the sweat pouring down my back. "I won't hold it against you."

Soren responds with a powerful backhand that echoes across the grounds. He vents his frustrations through boxing, but our tennis matches are almost as therapeutic.

The moon is bright tonight and it's unusually cold tonight. But bead of sweat streaks my face. We're at Goulding outdoor tennis courts and I'm trying to keep busy because every time I close my eyes, I see Imogene.

Imogene, telling me she hates me.

a

Imogene, on a date with that fucker Keith and his stupid fucking

smugness. Imogene, leaving meet

there in the restroom and going back to him like she's already moved on when I've been slowly dying inside for the past few days.

Something wrenches at my chest as the ball sails toward me. This time, I hit it with so much force the impact reverberates through my entire body. It goes wide and smashes into the water pitcher on the sidelines. Glass shatters, followed by the clatter of Soren's racket on the ground.

"That's it," he says. "We're done for the day."

"Glad you can finally admit you're a quitter, Soren."

"I have a dinner date to get to."

"Yeah, good luck." I say sarcastically.

"And yeah, my mum wants you to join us for Thanksgiving dinner next week."

"Fuck Thanksgiving." There isn't much to give thanks for.

It's a good thing the Tech convention project starts this week. I'll get busier with work while I figure out ways to get through to Imogene.

My phone buzzes in the pocket of my jeans. I pull it out, it's an email KJ Tech. I get emails every now and then from them because IMU and KJ Tech are co-hosting the upcoming Tech Convention.

I slowly read: [We're informing you that KJ Tech has found the appropriate Art personnel to collaborate with for the upcoming tech convention. Do review it and give us your feedback. A P*F file is attached below.]

I open the file and my insides tighten. I'm staring at Imogene's personal information. She's going to work alongside Keith and me for the upcoming art convention?

"That bastard Keith Jordan." I curse under my breath.