4. Jackson
FOUR
Jackson
“You should come to the club tonight,” Blakely says.
I cringe, my stomach jumping at her question. “No.”
“Oh, come on, Jackson. I want to see those corny lines work in person.” She laughs, walking over to my industrial toolbox and jumping up to sit on its surface.
“Pass.”
Her long, tanned legs swing back and forth, the heels of her shoes hitting the metal drawers, creating a tapping rhythm that echoes through the garage.
“You’re a bore,” she complains, sticking her shiny bottom lip out.
“That’s what happens in old age.” I shrug, biting on my cheek to keep from smiling.
A spark hits her eyes and my chest pinches. I shouldn’t make jokes, it will only encourage her, which is the opposite of what I want. In fact, I’ve been doing everything in my power to dissuade her.
My brain knows she’s off-limits, but my dick disagrees, and since she doesn’t seem to even know the meaning of the word boundaries , I need to be careful with our interactions. “How would your father feel about you asking me to go?”
A wicked grin splits her face, but then her eyes move past me and her smile falters.
“How would I feel about what?” a deep, booming voice interrupts.
I look behind me and see the father in question, James Donahue, walking across the garage.
Blakely beams at him, shrugging. “I’m trying to make friends with Jackson, and he isn’t being very nice about it.”
His thick, black eyebrow arches, his hands resting in the pockets of his three-piece suit. “Is that so?”
“Yep,” she continues. “Asked him to go with me to the club appearance I have.”
Mr. Donahue’s lips twist, his forehead creasing as he looks between us.
Blakely sighs. “Don’t worry, he said no.”
“You should consider saying no too,” he says, his stare pointed.
She scoffs. “It’s work, Dad.”
He looks around, his arms spread wide. “ This is work, Blakely. Something tangible. Something you can build on. What you do is bang away for an algorithm just to feed your ego.”
Unease pours through my veins at her flinch. Damn, that was harsh.
James Donahue is a dick. He expects excellence at every level, and if something gets between him and what he wants, he’ll slice you quicker than a paper cut. I hate kissing ass, but I’m willing to do almost anything to make sure my dad’s dream comes to fruition, and the Donahue name has a stranglehold on the industry.
“How are things going around here?” Mr. Donahue walks around, stopping to peruse the Austin-Healey 3000 that’s due on set tomorrow.
“Great.” I nod. “Right on track.”
He smiles, stopping next to where Blakely sits on my toolbox, and for the first time, I notice the resemblance between them.
“She’s not distracting you, is she?” He turns to Blakely. “What are you even doing out here, Blakely? Karen says she’s been looking for you. Your purpose here isn’t to distract the other employees.”
Blakely’s shoulders slump, her shiny lips parting as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
“She was helping,” I rush out.
I don’t know why I say it, especially when it’s a lie. She was distracting me. But there’s something about the way her sparkle dimmed that tugs at my chest, making me want to buff away the look in her eyes just to see them shine. “I asked her to help me unload the new order,” I continue. “Wanted to make sure I could stay on track with the Healey.”
Mr. Donahue looks over to Blakely. “Good. You should still make sure to let Karen know where you are, so she doesn’t waste time looking.”
Blakely nods. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m gonna go see if she needs anything.” She hops down, brushing off her jeans and gazing up at her father. “Will you be home for dinner?”
He shakes his head and the remainder of her confidence deflates, longing screaming from her eyes. She blinks and it’s gone, a smile pinned on in its place. She goes up on her tiptoes to kiss her father’s cheek, then brushes by him, her dark brown hair swishing as she rushes to head back inside.
Mr. Donahue watches her walk away, his eyes turning down at the corners. “Thank you for putting her to work,” he says, finally breaking his stare with the door.
I clear my throat, my fingers running along the chain around my neck. “It’s no problem.”
He smirks, leveling me with a knowing look. “Karen says she doesn’t do much.”
A flicker of irritation licks at my bones. Why would she say that?
Sure, Blakely doesn’t really want to be here, that’s obvious, but I haven’t seen Karen go out of her way to try, choosing to delegate her to reception to answer the phones instead. There’s only so much you can do when you’re stuck at a front desk for a business that doesn’t have customers.
“She seems to do fine with what she’s tasked with,” I say carefully. I’m not sure why I’m defending her. It would work in my favor to convince him she doesn’t belong. Maybe then he’ll move her to a different branch of Donahue Inc., which would stop giving her the opportunity to push herself on me when all I want is to keep her away.
“Mmm,” Mr. Donahue hums. “Well, you’ll keep an eye on her, then.”
An uncomfortable feeling slinks through my insides, churning my gut. I nod slowly. “I’ll do what I can when she’s here, sir. No problem.”
He rubs his jaw as he assesses me. “That club she’s going to tonight…I want you to go with her.”
My heart drops, taking my stomach with it. “What?”
He glances at the watch on his wrist. “She insists on playing out this role of ‘celebrity.’” He finger-quotes as he speaks the word celebrity . “One who doesn’t do anything, choosing to live off our last name and my legacy, instead of working for her reputation. This world is filled with people who will use her and toss her to the side when they’re done. People that will influence her to make bad choices. I’d much rather have someone with her that I can trust.”
I chuckle from the feeling of pure disbelief that’s flowing through me. “With all due respect, that’s not my job.”
His eyes flare. “I’m asking you to make it your job.”
Shit.
I don’t want to fuck this up—my chance of achieving what I’ve been working toward for years. And as much as I’d like to think that James Donahue is a man of honor and integrity, I also think he’s a man who doesn’t like to be told no by the people on his payroll.
Nausea swirls in my stomach, my mind racing to figure out a way to stay on his good side while also avoiding the torture of babysitting a nineteen-year-old socialite.
I come up blank.
So even though I should say no, I want to say no…I say yes instead.
How bad can it be?