Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
Jace
Jealousy tears through me.
Hot and red and devastating.
Brooks is right. Losing someone like Marie…it would fucking kill.
And losing her to a man like Jean-Michel Dubois? A good man, a protective man, a man who doesn’t fuck around with those who he claims as his?
That would be a thousand times worse.
The bottle of Oak Ridge wine on the counter—delicious when I drank it, but now churning in my stomach like battery acid.
The expensive condo.
The nice clothes.
The charity event.
She’s connected to the multibillionaire, and I have the feeling it’s not going to be in a way I enjoy, given the edgy expression that creeps onto her face. “Yes,” she says quietly. “Jean-Michel Dubois.”
Fucking hell.
“How do you know him?”
She pauses, head tilting to the side, emerald eyes studying mine, challenge in their depths, as though she already knows the answer. “How do you know him?”
“He’s a colleague.”
More studying, eyes locked on mine. Then she says quietly, “Jean-Michel is my boss.”
Relief and jealousy war inside me.
Relief because she’s not his when I’m desperate to make her mine.
Jealousy because he gets to work with her, gets to know her, and I’m…struggling to pick up the barest threads of what makes Marie… Marie .
“Oh,” I say. “So you work at Titan Capital?”
“I’m on his executive team. I started as his assistant but now oversee most of the corporate division.”
Jean-Michel is not just her boss.
She’s an extension of him, a face of the company, his right hand.
And considering how important Tom and Jo are to me, I know that I can’t overstate Marie’s value to him.
Which means…
I’m likely going to have a pissed off, protective billionaire on my ass if I keep pursuing her.
Something that would have been a huge turnoff for any other woman.
Something that barely has me batting an eye before I say, “Tell me about it.”
She stills, wine glass in hand. “Tell you about it?”
“Yeah, cookie. Clearly your job is important to you?—”
She opens her mouth, eyes flashing with annoyance.
“—and I don’t say that like it’s a bad thing,” I quickly tack on. “I love what I do too. But I know a little about business and overseeing the corporate division doesn’t sound like an easy job.”
“It isn’t.”
“So”—I give in to the urge and tug at a curl again—“tell me about it.”
“You can’t possibly want to hear about conference calls or Teams meetings.”
“God, no.” My lips twitch. “I get enough of them on a daily basis.”
“I bet you do, Mr. CEO of Genen-core.”
My smile widens. “So I’m the only one who wasn’t paying attention?”
“You’ve been in newspapers and blog posts.” She takes a sip of her wine. “And I, for one, actually read the name tags at fundraisers.”
I wince. “In fairness to me, glancing at a woman’s name tag often puts me in dangerous territory.”
She grins then orders, “Explain.”
“Because you all attach them”—I wave a hand toward her chest—“you know…”
“I don’t know.” Dancing emerald eyes. “Maybe you can elaborate on that?”
“Elaborate?” I shake my head, lips twitching.
“Yes. Or maybe enumerate the various other places a name tag should go.”
“Elaborate and enumerate. Man, you must really get paid the big bucks using words like that.”
She swats at my chest. “It’s not like I’m talking about your ubiquitous predilection for a certain female body part.”
“I think you mean my obsession with your tits,” I stage whisper, feeling a hundred feet tall when she tosses her head back and laughs.
Then she drops her chin back down, eyes connecting with mine. “For the record, there’s nothing stopping you from furthering your obsession, handsome.”
I go hard.
One sentence. Hot eyes.
And I want to fuck her.
She’d let me. I could strip her naked on this pile of pillows and blankets, fuck her with fingers and tongue and dick. But the night wouldn’t end the way I want—she’d either kick me out before she went to bed or I’d find myself alone in the morning again, her apartment or not.
“That’s not what tonight is about.”
Worry creeps into her expression, but her words are light. “Okay, you can table your obsession and try your hand at making me come instead.”
My cock goes even harder.
Fucking hell, this woman will be the death of me.
“Or,” I say slowly, “you can tell me where you learned such big words.”
She laughs.
“Either that or fill me in on these”—I jut my chin toward the TV, where the show has been playing even though neither of us are really paying it much mind—“characters and why they think finding a third so they can form a throuple, when their relationship is pretty much in tatters without the complication of adding a third person, is a good thing.”
“Because they want to up their OnlyFans subscribers.” A shrug. “Either that or they’re truly delusional. It really could go either way.”
I grin. “And the big words?”
“I went to college, handsome. I thought for a heartbeat that I wanted to be an author. Turns out”—she glances over at me, the edges of her mouth curving up—“I much rather enjoyed reading books than attempting to write them.”
“What do you like to read?” I ask…and it’s too fast, too intense, too interested in the answer.
Those emerald eyes hold mine again, seeing that, seeing too much.
Something that’s proven by her answer. “The same thing as everyone else.”
Laughter bubbles up in my chest. “You know that there are about a hundred different genres of books, right?”
“Yes.” She glares. “I was given that lesson at the same place I learned the fancy words.”
“And I noticed you haven’t mentioned the smutty novel I caught you devouring the other day.”
“ I noticed you didn’t mention if you could even read in the first place.”
I tug at a curl. “Always so sassy.”
“Always trying to piss me off.”
“That’s because you’re beautiful all the time, but most especially when you’re pissed.”
Her eyes go wide, plump lips parting in surprise, and I decide to take advantage of her befuddlement this time, leaning close and slanting my mouth over hers.
Sparks instantly.
Heat and desire and…quickly fraying control.
“Come to dinner with me,” I murmur as I pull back, both of our lungs working hard, our breaths mingling.
Soft and melty transforming into cold flecks of emerald in a mere heartbeat.
She pushes at my chest, shifting back at the same time. “I don’t do relationships, remember?”
“Yeah, about that,” I say. “Why not?”
“Because all men are assholes who push and take advantage and who, deep down, hate women so will do anything in their power to subjugate them.”
I admit that the intense words take me by surprise.
She presses her advantage—scooping up the plates and glasses, carrying them to the kitchen, setting them with a series of alarming clatters into the sink.
I take my time climbing to my feet and following her.
“You don’t believe that,” I say softly.
Her shoulders go stiff then she slants a glare at me over her shoulder. “Now you’re going to mansplain to me what I believe?”
A dangerous question.
“I don’t have to,” I tell her. “Because you work for Jean-Michel Dubois. Which means that you’ve met a good man, and I know him—though not as well as you do, I’m sure. But I also know there are more good men at Titan Capital, on the Eagles’ roster. So, there must be more good men you’ve encountered.” A beat as her face changes. “Because Jean-Michel wouldn’t accept anything less.”
I’ve met the powerful businessman, had tense meetings with him.
But there’s one thing that never changes—his moral code.
It can be annoying as fuck, that high standard tough to match.
But I’ve always respected it.
And I like that Marie’s work life is surrounded by it.
She huffs out a sigh, turning her back on me and cranking on the sink.
Which tells me that she knows I’m right.
Which…has the devil in me making a reappearance, prodding the bear, just a little.
“You’re scared.”
She goes still again. Then slowly spins to face me. “Excuse me?”
An even deadlier question.
“You’re scared to go to dinner with me.” I step closer. “Because you might find that you like me.”
Her eyes flash. “You’re a real asshole, you know that?”
“Bawk.”
She jerks. “What?—?”
“Bawk. Bawk. Bawk.”
“Are you being serious right now?”
“About you being chicken?” I grin lazily. “Damn right.”
“I’m not?—”
“Bawk. Bawk. Bawk!”
“Jace.”
“Bawk!”
Her mouth clamps closed.
“Bawk.”
“You’re a child?—”
“Bawk. Bawk.”
“And—”
“Bawk.”
“Ugh!” She tosses her hands up. “Fine. You really want to torture yourself by sitting across a table from me and buying me a meal? Great!”
“Great,” I repeat. “Dean’s. Seven o’clock tomorrow night.”
“I’ll order the most expensive shit on the menu,” she warns.
I shrug. “I have plenty of money.”
“I’ll—”
“Don’t go back to finding excuses and chickening out now, cookie.”
Her mouth drops open and I take advantage, stealing a short, hot kiss.
Then I take my victory and get the hell out of there.
Though, I can’t resist calling, “Seven. Dean’s,” just before the door shuts behind me.
I don’t miss the thunk that tells me something very heavy was thrown at it a mere heartbeat after my exit.
I’m grinning as I walk down the hall to my condo.
And I dream of brown curls, soft smiles, and emerald eyes.
Mine .