Chapter 47
JETT
I couldn’t sleep last night.
The apartment feels hollow, stripped of life. No Cari. Just Brooke and me in a space too quiet to drown out my thoughts. There’s no Anna either, but that’s just an inconvenience. I need to find a solution for Brooke tomorrow, because I’m expected back at work.
As the car pulled away from Cari’s building yesterday, Brooke’s voice was tiny but relentless. “Why can’t Cari live with us?”
“She can’t, angel.”
But it’s not enough.
“Why not, Daddy?” Her big, round eyes cut through me, full of hope.
“Because she has her own home.”
“But it was so nice with the three of us. I love her, Daddy. Can’t she be my new mommy?”
I hate that I’ve given Brooke a taste of something she’s hungered for, but which I can’t guarantee. A glimpse of what family could be.
It wasn’t my intention.
And yet here we are. Now that I’ve had Cari in my life like that—woven into every day, her laugh filling silences, her warmth making the world brighter—I don’t know how to go back.
When we got home, I kept busy getting Brooke ready for bed. She jabbered on about Cari, her questions chipping away at my composure. The apartment was spotless—cleaned and prepped while we were gone—but sterile. No soul. Just like me.
I don’t even know what normal looks like anymore. Cari isn’t here. There’s no new nanny—I texted Anna before we left Bermuda, almost begging her to help me out. Luckily, she agreed. She’ll be here, but only part-time, as and when I need her, until I find her replacement. I’ll be paying her double for the privilege of having someone I know take care of Brooke.
My life is going off the rails. There’s no plan. No direction. Just a quiet void and questions I don’t have answers for.
Brooke sits in the tub, her little arms crossed as I rinse the shampoo from her curls. I’m trying, but apparently I’m failing.
“It doesn’t hurt when Cari does it.”
I pour lukewarm water over her face, shielding her forehead with my hand.
“Sorry, sport. I’m learning.”
“Can’t Cari come do it?”
How do I explain that Cari won’t be around anymore? That I must find someone new—someone who could never fill her shoes?
“Cari’s busy now. You won’t see her as much, but Anna will be back for a few visits, when we need her.”
She pushes my hand away, her voice stubborn. “I don’t want Anna. I want Cari. Why can’t Cari live here?”
“Brooke, baby, it’s not that simple.”
Her little face scrunches up in frustration. “But you love her.”
I laugh, but it’s hollow. “Why would you say that?”
“Because when she’s around, your eyes go all crinkly when you laugh.”
Damn. She’s perceptive for five.
“Do you love her, Daddy?”
The answer rises in my chest, raw and undeniable. Yes. I love her more than I have words for. But I can’t say it—not yet.
I try deflection. “Do you love her, sprout?”
Brooke nods, her curls bouncing. “I love her so much. We had fun.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, my throat tight. “We did.”
***
Last night, I made calls. Brooke starts day camp today—an eleventh-hour solution to a problem I didn’t expect to have. I wondered if it might be too soon, but I need to go into the office today, and I have no one to take care of her. This is the same problem I’ll face every morning until I figure out how to navigate this new mess of a life.
Cari isn’t a problem. She’s a puzzle. And every piece of her deserves care, precision, and effort to figure out what she wants. What she needs.
I drop Brooke off early, then head to the office before dawn. It’s too early for Cari. Too early for anyone. And that’s exactly how I want it.
The elevator hums as it rises. I close my eyes, bracing for the silence of my office, the endless loop of what-ifs in my head. But when the doors open, I forget to breathe.
She’s here.
Cari stands at her desk, a printer cartridge in hand, her back to me. Her pencil skirt hugs her hips, and her silk blouse shimmers under the light. Her hair is swept into a tidy updo, but all I see is her, barefoot in Bermuda, laughing under the moonlight.
She turns, her eyes meeting mine. Time slows.
“You’re here.” Her voice is calm, but her grip on the cartridge tightens. “And early.”
“I have meetings all day.”
Her brow lifts. “Were you trying to avoid me?”
“No.” The word comes out rougher than I intend, but I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s breathtaking. I’m remembering every second of her beneath me, her sighs and gasps filling the night. The scent of her skin, the taste of her on my tongue.
“We need to talk,” I say, barely managing to leash the growl clawing at my throat.
“This isn’t the time or place,” she answers, her guard firmly in place.
I step closer, my gaze locked on hers. “Is leaving what you really want?”
She straightens, her chin tilting up. “What do you want, Jett?”
Her words slice through me. She’s not just asking about her resignation. She’s asking about everything—us.
In a single step, we’re inches apart. The air crackles between us. She bites her lip, and I can’t stop my eyes from trailing down to the way her blouse clings to her curves.
“You look delectable, my little shortcake.”
Her lips curve into a faint smile. “And you have no idea what your dark blue Armani suit does to me.”
“You know this is Armani?”
She shrugs. “I pay attention.”
God, I want her. Every second with her floods me with memories of that vacation. Of her smile. Her moans. I lean in, ready to close the distance between us, but my phone vibrates and snaps me back to reality.
She steps back, her walls slamming back into place, and just like that, the moment is gone.
When I look at my phone, it’s that fucking disruptor of peace. The agent of chaos.
My father. ?
And he wants to see me in his office.
I have no choice but to go. His office is just as I remember—cold and unwelcoming. I step inside, shutting the heavy door behind me, bracing for whatever verbal landmines he plans to scatter.
“Good flight?” he asks, not looking up from the papers he’s signing.
“Yes,” I say curtly, taking the seat across from him.
He finally glances at me, his cool gray eyes sharp, as if they can cut through every layer of pretense. “I didn’t know your assistant was leaving.”
My jaw tightens. He’s been sniffing around—he always does. “I didn’t think it was something you needed to know,” I say, keeping my tone steady. “I informed HR. She’s working through the end of the week.”
“Hmm.” His fingers tap against his desk, the sound grating. “You also don’t have a nanny.”
“No.”
He leans back, studying me. “Will you be employing her for that role?”
“What exactly are you trying to get at?” I ask, the question edged with irritation.
“I’m simply making conversation.” His hands form a steeple, his chin resting on the tips of his fingers. “Why is she leaving?”
“Why the interrogation?” I shoot back.
“It’s just a question.”
I force myself to relax, though every muscle in my body screams otherwise. He’s baiting me, and I won’t give him the satisfaction. “She wants to move on,” I say finally. “Do something else.”
His eyes narrow, as if he’s dissecting my answer. “Any thoughts on Daniela Oliveira?”
“Who?”
“Your future wife.” My hands grip the armrests of the chair, but I keep my expression neutral. “The Brazilian heiress,” he clarifies, his tone far too casual. “Her father and I have come to an agreement. It’s a merger, Jett. An alliance between Knight Enterprises and their telecoms empire—it’s a match made in boardroom heaven.”
“I don’t care what you and her father agreed on. I’m not doing it. Also, how incredibly presumptuous of you to think that I would marry someone just because of a business deal.”
“Listen to me.” He sits forward, cold eyes pinned on me. “This is business. You need a wife, a mother for Brooke. This is about our legacy. You marry her, and the deal is sealed. You’re free to have your mistresses—”
“Stop,” I snap. “I don’t want to hear this.”
“You’re turning down ten million dollars? From me?” He scoffs, leaning back like he’s caught me in a checkmate.
“Money doesn’t buy everything.”
He laughs, the sound hollow. “It buys happiness, stability, respect. You’re too young and too stupid to see that.”
“Don’t ever bring this topic up to me again,” I say, my tone ice-cold. “ Ever .”
His smile fades, replaced by a calculating look. “You’re serious. You won’t even consider it?”
“A mother can’t be bought. Neither can a wife.”
He folds his arms, his posture unnervingly relaxed. “Anything can be bought. You should know that by now.”
“Not everything.” I give him a hard stare. After everything that’s happened in his life, has he not learned anything? He must have loved my mother once. Did he not feel any guilt over her death?
“I’m sure one of your brothers will oblige, then. The half-Knights, as you call them.”
The mention of Rio, Matteo, and Enzo draws a bitter laugh from me. “The secret sons? The ones you hid from everyone? Somehow, I doubt they’d jump at the chance to clean up your mess.”
“They’re the same as you, by the way,” he says, nonplussed. “You’re a half-Knight yourself, given that your family name and bloodline come through me.”
This cunning son of a bitch is trying to rile me up. “At least you were married to my mother, even though you were a terrible husband,” I throw back.
My father’s face hardens, giving me extreme satisfaction that I’ve hit him hard. “Which is probably why you think an arranged marriage can work. You think I can marry someone for their wealth and it will be fine.”
My father’s face darkens, but he says nothing. The silence is heavy, charged with the reminder of the fractured family he’s built. “I’m disappointed in you, Jett.” His tone makes him sound almost bored. But his words don’t sting like they used to.
“I’ve been disappointed in you my entire life,” I fire back, managing not to raise my voice. No need to escalate this further.
“We have a legacy.” It’s like he’s talking to himself, saying the same old mantra that he’s repeated a thousand times. “A name. Our reputation precedes us. We have a brand and an identity to protect.”
“Spare me the speech.” I stand, buttoning my jacket with deliberate calm. “If that’s all, I have actual business to attend to.”
His eyes follow me as I turn to leave, and I can feel his disapproval like a shadow stretching after me. But I don’t care. I’ve spent my whole life living under it, and it’s done nothing but push me closer to the edge of rebellion.
Let him stew in his disappointment. I have no intention of becoming the pawn he so desperately needs.
I storm past Cari’s office, my mood as dark as a brewing storm.
I knew this was coming—the conversation about the Brazilian heiress and my father’s ridiculous idea of an arranged marriage. The whole thing is a travesty. I’m not interested. I can’t be. My heart is already spoken for, and it belongs to Cari.
I barely sit down in my office, trying to regain some semblance of control, when there’s a knock at the door. Before I can respond, Cari walks in, shutting the door softly behind her.
“Are you okay?” Her voice is filled with genuine concern.
“I am now that you’re here.” The words slip out before I can stop them. I push back my chair and cross the room in a few strides, my hands finding her waist as if they’ve always belonged there.
She leans into me, her hands sliding up my chest and clasping behind my neck. Her touch steadies me, grounds me. “I miss you,” I murmur, tracing her face with my hands. Her skin feels like the softest silk beneath my fingertips and her lips curve into a small smile, her eyes searching mine. “I miss you too.”
“Brooke misses you,” I add, my gaze flicking between her eyes and her lips. Those lips—I’ve kissed them a hundred times, and every time I see her it’s like falling for her all over again. The freckles dusting her cheeks, her perfect nose, her eyes that always seem to see right through me—everything about her draws me in deeper.
“I miss Brooke.” Her voice softens, her lips parting slightly. “I miss you. I miss everything.” Her words are a mirror to my own longing. “I keep replaying moments from Bermuda, over and over. It feels like I didn’t get my fill. I want more and I feel robbed.”
Hearing her words, and the passion in them, seeing her up close, holding her in my arms, I’m done for. I tilt her face up and press my mouth to hers, a quick kiss that quickly ignites into something far more consuming. Her lips are soft, warm, inviting, and I lose myself in her. My hands slide up her back, pulling her closer, her scent taking me back to Bermuda and all the intimate moments we shared.
Her mouth opens to mine, and the kiss deepens. It’s all hunger and fire, a desperate claiming. The taste of her, the feel of her, the way she melts into me—it’s everything I missed, everything I’m not ready to give up. Her fingers tangle in my hair, and I let out a low growl, pouring everything I can’t say into this kiss.
A sharp knock at the door shatters the moment.
We spring apart, both of us breathing heavily, her flushed cheeks and swollen lips giving us away. The door swings open, and Dex strides in, his gaze bouncing between us. He stops short, taking in the scene—the tension, the way we look like we’ve just been caught doing exactly what we were.
Dex rakes a hand through his hair, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” he drawls, his voice heavy with implication.
“I was just grabbing a file.” Cari moves quickly, her voice impossibly smooth as she snatches a folder from my desk. How does she always stay so composed under pressure?
Meanwhile, I just stand there, caught red-handed. My brain scrambling for something—anything—to say. But nothing comes.
Dex chuckles, the sound low and knowing. “Right. A file. Got it.” His smirk deepens as he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “So, how was Bermuda?”
Cari glances at me, her expression unreadable, but I know she’s thinking the same thing I am. Dex knows. He doesn’t have to say it outright—the look on his face says it all.
“I’ll tell you later,” I snap, hating that he walked in on us.
“Sure.” Dex pushes off the doorframe. “I’ll leave you to … your files .” With a wink, he turns and saunters out, shutting the door behind him.
The silence that follows is heavily charged. Cari grips the folder in her hands like it’s a lifeline, her eyes fixed anywhere but on me.
“We should—” she starts, her voice unsteady.
“Cari,” I interrupt, stepping closer. “I don’t regret it.”
She looks up at me, her lips parting like she wants to say something. Instead, she nods, her expression softening. “Neither do I.”
But before we can say more, my phone buzzes on the desk. This. This is my life. A constant interruption of people and phone calls. Nothing that’s important. I sigh, and she steps back, smoothing her hair like nothing happened.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” she says, her voice perfectly professional, but her eyes betray her.
“I always do.” I watch her leave, already feeling the ache of her absence.