Boiling Point (Feverish #1.5) by Jade C. Jamison

Author:Jade C. Jamison [Jamison, Jade C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B01B5EIIAS
Goodreads: 28828094
Publisher: Jade C. Jamison
Published: 2016-03-28T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

EMILY SAT OUTSIDE on a bench behind the venue. It was almost dark back there, but the lights from the city bleached the landscape and had faded the sky so that she could only see a couple of stars. The moon was nowhere to be found.

Why the hell had she agreed to come with Clay on tour? It was wrecking her. She felt distanced from him when she should have been feeling close and happy and excited. It was clear that Clay thrived on the energy from the tour and that he loved performing for his fans. That was good—and it was necessary. But it was clear that she shouldn’t be here.

It was making her question their relationship and even her job as his personal assistant.

It was making her question everything.

She was glad Clay had agreed to talk later. Either way, she needed to know. She knew that it was possible that she was blowing everything out of proportion, and the only way to find out was to talk to Clay. He would set her straight, for good or for bad. If their relationship really was fizzling out, she could ask for Clay to pay her way to go back home, and she could pack her stuff and find a new job and place to live before the tour was over. Or, if he still wanted her as his PA but not his girlfriend, that was okay too. Actually, no. No, she couldn’t. She tried to imagine that scenario—moving out but still handling his business, coming in and out the same way his housekeeper and mentor Mary did, but Emily knew she just couldn’t do it. Seeing him with another woman or even just knowing about it would kill her. No matter how mature she felt, she knew she couldn’t deal with that.

She wiped her eyes and blew her nose with the wad of tissues she’d brought with her and tossed them in the trashcan next to the bench. One more deep breath and Emily found her inner strength. It was times like these that she really missed her mother. She’d lost her at such a young age and that had only strengthened the bond she had with her dad, but she couldn’t talk to him about things like her love life. Just couldn’t. First off, her dad—although mild mannered—would not be pleased about what was happening and, therefore, wouldn’t be constructive, but he would try in his need to fix things for his baby girl. The problem was she would want to talk about it in an effort to feel better. A woman would understand that, but her dad would not. Instead of letting her vent and figure it out on her own, he would give advice, whether she wanted it or not.

Emily smoothed her skirt and walked toward the thick metal door she’d propped open with a small rock. She’d done that when she’d found her way outside, because she knew most of these places’ doors automatically locked upon closing if they were at the back of the venue where they were typically unattended.

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