36. Redo

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I haven't gotten around to updating Agent 34, and for that, I apologize. I have however been busy and you're all about to see why.

I have a few chapters I will be uploading today. But let's have you all take a guess.

How many chapters do you think I'll be uploading today?

Crystal's POV

I looked at myself in the mirror, at the red dress Jackson had given me to wear. It was simple, short, and surprisingly elegant for the amount of material it was lacking.

Still, I shook my head as I turned to look at the thin straps, the completely open back, and the hemline that stopped midthigh. The dress was loose as opposed to all the tight-fitting ones he'd packed. The heels I wore with it were silver and covered in rhinestones, same with the choker styled necklace around my neck.

Overall-in comparison to the rest of Jackson's outfit choices-this was not bad, and actually something I was used to wearing.

The problem was that no matter how much makeup I had tried to use, I couldn't completely cover up the bruises across my body.

I blew out a sigh and grimaced as Jackson knocked on the door.

"Unless you've spontaneously died," Jackson said and I glared at the closed bedroom door. "You should not be taking this long."

I shook my head. "I'm not going," I told him. "This plan of yours sucks anyway."

"The dress cannot possibly be that bad."

"You picked it," I retorted.

"That's how I know it can't be that bad."

"Yeah well," I muttered. "The dress isn't actually the problem this time."

"Believe me," Jackson said and his voice was no longer muffled by the door. "I don't see a problem."

I looked over my shoulder at him standing in the now open doorway, eyes glued to my ass. I turned to him, crossing my arms over my chest which only caused his gaze to linger there instead.

I snapped my fingers at him and his eyes finally moved up to my face.

"Babe," Jackson said. "That dress would look infinitely better on the floor."

I rubbed at my forehead. "I must be used to you," I muttered. "Because that comment does not even faze me right now."

"So what's the problem?" Jackson asked as he leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his pants, one leg crossed over the other.

I looked him up and down. He was wearing what he usually wore, a suit and dress shoes, and yet, as Julie had put it, he looked so much better this time.

"Say the word and we will skip dinner," Jackson said with a wink.

I shook my head, trying to clear thoughts of, well, him from my head. "I'm covered in bruises," I said as I stared at him. "In case you didn't notice."

He shook his head and walked up to me. "Is that all?" He stopped when he was practically nose to nose with me and I swear I stopped breathing.

He leaned down closer to me . . . and then reached around me to pick up the makeup from the nightstand behind me.

I found myself glaring at him when he shot me a smug smile.

"Did I do something wrong, Babe?" He questioned as he held up a makeup brush in his hand, a sly look on his face. "Or was there something you wanted me to do?"

I continued to glare at him. "I don't know what you're talking about," I told him.

"Oh?" He questioned as he began to lightly brush the make brush over my face. "Is that so?"

I started to shake my head and his hand shot out, grabbing hold of my chin.

"Don't move," He said. "You'll make me mess up." He continued to fix my makeup, at one point he trailed the brush down my neck and I shot him another glare. He winked at me.

After what felt like an eternity of him basically toying with me-all the while my heart felt like it was going to burst out of chest-he put his hands on my shoulders and turned me back toward the mirror.

And to my surprise, every single one of the bruises that had been visible were gone. I studied myself in the mirror, looking for anything he might have missed.

"How do you know how to do that?" I questioned him.

I watched through the mirror as he shrugged behind me and placed the makeup down on the nightstand once more. "I can make myself look like whoever I want," He said as he locked eyes with me through the mirror. "I know how to cover up a few nasty bruises."

"Thanks," I muttered.

He suddenly clapped his hands down on my shoulders. "Now," He said enthusiastically. "we're going to be late if we don't leave now."

"Dinner," I muttered. "dancing, drinks." I shook my head. "What else is new?"

"Think of this like a redo," Jackson said.

"A redo? Of what?

"The last night of fun was ruined," Jackson said as he held out his arm for me to take. "Let's enjoy this one."

"I thought this was part of your plan to get Branson," I muttered.

"Yes," Jackson agreed before shooting me a reckless smile. "But that doesn't mean we can't have some fun."

The restaurant was on the other end of the city and very fancy. Jackson drove us, in a very expensive car he got from who knew where. I figured it best just not to question it.

The host took us to our table and Jackson-like the gentleman he pretends to be-pulled out my chair for me to sit down. I sat and he pulled out the chair across from me, taking his place at the table.

"Let me know when you see Branson and his wife," Jackson told me.

I shook my head. "I still don't understand how you expect to get whatever-her-name-is away from Branson."

Jackson winked at me. "Don't worry about it. I've got it under control."

"Your version of under control scares me."

Jackson reached across the table and tapped the menu in front of me. "Just focus on dinner. Let loose a little. I'll handle everything else. Trust me."

I shook my head. "That does not bring me comfort," I told him as I picked up the menu.

The waiter came over and took our order, coming back shortly later with a bottle of wine and pouring two glasses. Despite my protests.

Jacksons gently bumped his glass against mine. "Have a drink," He said with a smile.

"I'm really beginning to question this plan of yours if it involves drinking."

He shook his head. "The drinking comes in handy for the second plan."

"The second plan?" I questioned. "Do I even want to know?"

He waggled his eyebrows at me.

I blew out a sigh. "No," I said to myself as I lifted the glass to my lips. "No, I do not."

Jackson was watching the door. No doubt waiting for Branson to show up. He looked so relaxed as he sat back in his chair, a glass of wine in one hand. And in his other hand, he played with a gold chain.

"Don't," Jackson suddenly said.

I looked up at him and noticed his whole body had gone tense. His facial expression had darkened considerably.

"I didn't say anything," I said.

Jackson shook his head, staring at the glass of wine he'd set back down on the table. "You were about to." He suddenly threw the napkin that he spread across his lap onto the table. He pushed back from the table and got to his feet. "This was a mistake," He said as he turned and began walking across the dancefloor toward the door.

I narrowed my eyes at him, deciding I wasn't going to let him get out of this that easily and pushed back my chair, following after him.

I decided to take a page out of Jackson's book. I didn't let him reach the door, in fact, he didn't even reach the end of the dancefloor. I stepped in front of him and before he could protest-not that he'd ever listened to mine anyway-I firmly grabbed hold of his hand and pulled him further onto the dancefloor.

I had one hand on his shoulder and the other in his. He tried to pull away and I tightened my grip. Not that I could actually hold him if he chose to really try and pull away.

"Let me go," Jackson said firmly.

"No," I told him as I locked my eyes on his. "For once Jackson," I said. "you're going to listen to something other than the sound of your own voice. For once, you're going to listen to me instead of me having to listen to you."

Jackson avoided my gaze and instead looked toward the door. So, I turned us around so the door was directly behind me. He shot me a look of annoyance.

"Yes," I said as I watched him. "I was going to say something."

He immediately began pulling away again.

I pulled back, pressing myself into him. "But," I continued. "It was not at all what you think it was."

Jackson shot me a doubtful look. "Right," He said sarcastically. This time when he pulled away, I let him.

I narrowed my eyes at him as he stood there in front of me, but made no move to walk away. "What I was going to say," I said as I continued to watch him. "was that I'm not going to bring it up. Not at all. Not unless you do first."

He watched me silently. Eyes on mine. He didn't make a move and just stood there, quietly watching. Like he was trying to find the lie. Trying to determine whether or not I was lying.

And I wasn't. I had already decided I wasn't going to bring it up. Already decided I was going to pretend the entire conversation hadn't happened. Problem was, the conversation did happen. And even though I could never bring it up and act like it didn't happen, that didn't mean I didn't know about all of it.

"Jackson," I said as I looked at him. "I'm not going to bring it up," I repeated. "and I can keep on pretending for your sake that the conversation never happened." I took a step toward him. "But the fact of the matter is, that it did. And sometimes I might forget to pretend. So just because I might look like I want to say something-like I'm going to say something-doesn't mean I'm going to."

Jackson stared at me and there was a look in his eyes that I couldn't identify. He let out a sigh and looked like he was about to say something. Except, he didn't. His eyes strayed over my shoulder, to the door and his expression hardened. And before I knew what was happening, he'd pulled me into him, his arms wrapping around my waist firmly. Keeping me in place.

"What-" I started to say only for Jackson to cut me off.

"Branson's here," He said.

I looked over my shoulder just as the host began leading Branson and his "wife" to their table. She was again wearing a long-sleeved dress, only this time I knew why.

She saw both Jackson and me standing in the middle of the dancefloor. I watched as she shot us a sly smile and gave a finger wave in our direction.

I clenched my hands into fists, resting on Jackson's shoulders. Jackson's arms around me tightened and he leaned in closer to whisper in my ear.

"Let's not make a scene just yet," He whispered.

"Just yet?" I questioned as I turned back to him. "What exactly are you planning?"

Jackson shrugged, our previous conversation forgotten. "Nothing you should be worried about."

I looked back over my shoulder as they took their seats. And she was watching us.

I blew out an angry breath. "I really hate her."

"Well unfortunately for you it has been established that you won't win in a fight."

I turned back to Jackson to glare at him.

He shrugged. "At least, not directly."

I shook my head. "You are just full of words of encouragement."

Jackson winked at me. "Always."

I rolled my eyes but smiled back nonetheless. "You are a very frustrating man."

"I'm choosing to take that as a compliment."

He moved us in time to the music, his arms staying wrapped around my waist, and my arms around the back of his neck. I looked around the room, scanning my surroundings, staying on alert. I didn't want to be caught off guard by Branson. Jackson however, didn't seem to share my concerns.

"Stop thinking," Jackson said.

I shot him a flat look. "That might be easy for you," I said and Jackson just smiled widely. "but not so much for me."

"I can help," He told me.

I narrowed my eyes at him and he smiled recklessly at me. I let out a sigh. "I don't think I like your idea of what you consider help."

"Trust me, Babe, you will."

"There you go again with your, trust me."

Jackson reached a hand up to clutch at his chest like I'd fatally wounded him. "You don't trust me?" He questioned dramatically. "I'm hurt."

I rolled my eyes and looked up at him. He continued to smile down at me and shot me a wink. I couldn't help but stare at him, thinking that I'd gotten in way over my head with him. And it was way too late to back out now.

He locked eyes with me, his expression softening briefly and for a moment I thought I'd imagined it. His lips parted slightly and for a split second, I remembered what they felt like pressed against mine.

"Thoughts like that will get you into trouble," Jackson said as he leaned in close to whisper in my ear once again, his lips brushing against my cheek.

I rested the urge to let out a shiver-though it had nothing to do with being cold-and closed my eyes for a second as he pulled back, trying to keep my composure.

It wasn't working.

He stared down at me, his eyes on mine and for once, I didn't care. I didn't care about the consequences. I didn't care about staying away. I didn't care.

"Yeah," I said as I stared back into his eyes, suddenly feeling breathless. "I know," I told him. "So, you better hurry up," I whispered.

"Oh?"

I nodded, our noses brushing against each other. "Yeah," I said softly. "Before I change my mind."

"As you wish."

He really didn't waste a second. Didn't appear to give it a second thought as he leaned in closer and pressed his lips against mine.

My arms were wrapped around the back of his neck and I pulled him closer, even though it was basically impossible for us to get any closer.

His arms were strong and firm around my waist, his lips soft and sweet against mine. I could taste the wine on his lips as he moved in sync with me, the rest of the room, the dance, the dinner, completely forgotten.

I was the one to finally pull away first, moving my hands down to fist at the jacket of his suit.

"You should stop thinking more often," Jackson said.

"Shut up," I said as I grabbed hold of his tie and pulled him down, placing my lips on his once more.

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