Monday, 11:30 am

After far too long spent reflecting, I'm finally back into the swing of things when I hear a light tap on my door. Not really needing to look up to see who it is, but doing so out of habit, I beckon Alice in with a smile and a tilt of my head. She comes in quietly, shutting the door behind her and then sits down.

Trying to avoid what I know is inevitably coming, I immediately begin to analyze the data in front of me, pointing out all of the positive outcomes from this morning and trying to remind her of how happy Carlisle was with everything and of the progress the team is making.

"Stop," she says, her voice low but forceful. I sometimes wonder who the boss is in this relationship.

"Ali, we can discuss whatever it is you feel is important when we have lunch," I look to my watch, "in an hour's time. Right now I'm in the middle of this important—"

"Cut the crap, Jazz. You and I both know you are being less than efficient at the moment and until we talk, it is likely to stay that way."

"What do you want me to say, Alice?" I eyeball her defiantly, trying to garner some authority here.

"I want you to explain to me, and hopefully to yourself, exactly what went on in there this morning." I find my gaze dropping and I watch her knee bob as she slowly and rhythmically kicks her foot backward and forward as I make the most of the distraction. "Jasper!"

"Jeez, Ali." I stare at her now. Maybe I can make her cave that way.

"Don't look at me like that, Jazz." She really is a spitfire. "Do you want me to tell you what went on?"

My deep sigh is all she needs to continue.

"You were a mess."

"I most certainly was not." I reject her words immediately, but she doesn't let me get away with it.

"You most certainly were. You were distracted before he even got there, and then when he walked in the door—"

"He didn't walk in the door…" I mumble, but she hears me and shakes her head, continuing on anyway.

"When he walked in the door something came over you, Jazz, something I haven't seen before."

She's right; I've never reacted to him quite the way I did this morning. Everything about him affected me. The way he strode into the room as if we should have been fucking happy he was there. Yes, he apologized, but it was hollow; it certainly sounded hollow to me. Words are easy, it's the sentiment behind them that takes conviction, and it was sorely lacking. I don't doubt that he wishes things were different—and I know I certainly do—but I feel as if he thinks he has a right to be late, that his condition entitles him to special treatment. It certainly doesn't help that all Carlisle did was give him a big fucking grateful smile because he'd actually made it. How do I compete with that?

But that's only half the problem.

I feel so conflicted. I want to hate him. I want to have the conviction to stand up to him—and Carlisle and Esme—and confront him about this. It's not even that I want to confront him: I need to confront him. My reticence is doing no one any favors. Not me, not him, and certainly not our team or the company—no one.

"I know Ali, I know…" I raise my eyes to meet hers and see her sympathy for the situation reflected in them. "I just don't know how to approach him. You know me, Ali. You know that this isn't me—well, not with anyone else anyway."

She doesn't speak, which is a change, but it's testament to our relationship. She knows now isn't the time for a lecture; she's here to listen and be there for me if I need her.

As I consider my words, I think about my weekend. It was rather uneventful with Alice out of the picture; my usual outlet for getting him off my chest was off doing her own thing. If I'm honest, I'll admit that he was on my mind a bit more than usual—actually a lot more than usual. I went to the market on Saturday morning to do my weekly shopping and at one point was certain I saw him in the distance. I didn't approached the guy, so I'll never know if it was or not, but from that moment on I struggled to get away from the fantasy of him… of us… of possibilities. It didn't help that he'd looked particularly delicious on Friday—even if he did arrive late for that meeting as well—those long legs of his perfect in navy and gray; the images constantly fueling my thoughts.

Is that why I'm so incensed this morning?

Have I worked myself into such a state of confusion that I can't separate my fantasies with reality?

I'm a grown man and this is bullshit. I need to speak to him—as his boss, I need to speak to him. We need to get this sorted. He needs to understand that what is currently happening is not acceptable and it can't continue—regardless of the support he has from Carlisle and Esme.

And I wonder at that too. I've always believed Carlisle and Esme to be astute business managers. The success of their company surely points to the fact that they are. So even considering their relationship with him, how has this gone on? I wrack my brain at their possible motivations; it has to be more than simple family loyalty.

There's only one way to find out. I look to Alice, focusing on her again, but she's one step ahead of me.

"Just talk to him, Jas. Please talk to him," she says.

Thanks for reading.

Please remember that we haven't reached the beginning of Insomnia yet. There is no mention of these events in Insomnia. This is the Monday almost three weeks before Insomnia begins—which was a Wednesday morning. I am building up to an important event that was mentioned in Insomnia, but we're not there yet. Don't stress on it. Believe me; you'll know when we get there.