Lost Me, Gained Regret (Jane and Bryant Ferguson) novel Chapter 810

"Your phone's got me as your emergency contact, huh? No need to scroll through your contacts, just hit that power button five times, and you're calling me."

"Got it, you've already told me once," Jane replied, though she could sense the undercurrent of jealousy in Greg's voice.

"Head back then, let me know when you're home," Christine said, a hint of vinegar in her tone.

Jane just nodded.

Once they were in the car, Greg wrapped his arms around her, whispering with a mix of complaint and affection, "You never set me as your emergency contact. You're supposed to be mine."

Jane couldn't help but find it amusing how this man, who could make anyone tremble with just a look, turned into a grumpy cat in her presence.

"So, Mr. Ford, what's so big that you'd need little old me to handle?" she teased.

"There's plenty," Greg murmured, nipping at the soft skin of her neck before guiding her hand to his belt.

Jane was speechless...

...

Unable to sleep, Christine tossed and turned in bed. Maybe it was the long afternoon nap that made her restless now. Eventually, she gave up trying to sleep and picked up her phone to watch a movie.

Just as the movie started, she got a message from Clarence. It was a picture under the dim streetlights, a man sitting on a barricade, gazing up at the night sky. The clear jawline and the smooth profile of his face were evident even in the casual, somewhat blurry shot. But it was this exact simplicity that gave the photo a cinematic quality.

Seeing the photo and being reminded of their relationship, Christine felt a pang of bitterness, further disinclining her from continuing the conversation.

"Mr. Clarence, I'm not feeling well. Let's talk more when I'm better. I'm going to sleep," she said, trying to end the conversation.

Clarence, still with much to say, decided to drop it. Things had progressed too far anyway. He put away his phone and went to look for Dailey, only to find him gone.

Returning home, Dailey found the living room lights still on, a silent testament to the unresolved tensions of the night.