Chapter 32 Izzy
Chapter thirty-two
Izzy
I’m pacing in Jaxon’s guest room, going over everything with Becca for the meeting today one last time.
“W&R Mercantile is too important of a client,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “You should’ve taken it. I am not the right person for this.”
“Breathe,” she says calmly. Too calmly, if you ask me. “You’ve got this. Seriously. You know this proposal and this company far better than I do.”
“I always know the proposal and the company better than you do. But you know people better than I do.”
“Iz, you have one of the highest emotional IQs of anyone I know.”
“I understand what other people are feeling, but I’m too awkward to be able to do anything with that information.”
It’s a curse I’ve been fighting my entire life.
I, for unknown reasons, am pretty good at reading people.
I know when they’re mad. I know when they’re upset or nervous about something.
I pick up on people’s tells without thinking about it and make fairly accurate predictions about what they’re feeling.
What I don’t know is what to do with that information.
“You don’t have to do anything with the information. Just be yourself. Our clients enjoy working with you. Plus, you know landing W&R Mercantile would be a huge expansion opportunity for us, and you’re competitive as hell. It’s game time. You’ve got this.”
Knowing I am the only option at this point anyway, I let it go, and we get back to double-checking numbers and the final strategy we’re going with.
When I hang up, I double-check my outfit in the mirror, making sure the wide-legged black trousers and white V-neck blouse are appropriately tucked, and I don’t have any hair stuck to my butt.
I slide my feet into a pair of black flats, wishing I’d opted for my black Nikes instead. Unfortunately, I’m not sure if tennis shoes with dress clothes is viewed as favorably here as it is in Colorado.
When I walk downstairs and into the kitchen, I’m surprised to find Jaxon sitting at his huge island alone.
“I thought you were recording your song today,” I say.
We spent a few hours in his studio yesterday setting everything up for his team to record the single he’s been working on for the Lupus Foundation.
Apparently, his label decided he should, in fact, be the one to record it, and from the snippets I heard as he was tweaking things on his huge control board, the song is going to be amazing.
It’s so good, in fact, that I’m worried he might not need me anymore, which is a problem since I still need him. And more than that, I’m not ready for our time together to end.
“I thought I’d drive you to your meeting today,” Jaxon says, taking a sip of his coffee.
“You…are? Don’t you need to be in the studio?”
“We recorded for a few hours this morning. We didn’t quite get it perfect yet, but I told them to take a break so I can take you in.”
I assumed Jaxon was the late-nights, late-mornings kind of musician, but since it’s just past nine right now, he must’ve had the team up and going early by anyone’s standards.
“That’s nice of you. But I can catch a ride with whoever is available. I know you have more important things to do.”
Jaxon shrugs like it’s not a problem, even though I know it is. Being here has reminded me just how big a deal Jax is.
“Harry left you an omelet in the oven.”
Jaxon’s chef made all three of our meals for us yesterday, and as someone who is not a fan of cooking for myself, I’m still trying to figure out how I can afford a personal chef on my normal-person salary.
I proposed to him last night when he delivered a fresh brownie with ice cream for dessert, but he said his wife wouldn’t be too happy if he accepted.
I walk to the other side of the island and pull a foil-covered plate out of the large oven before sitting next to Jaxon. He pours me a cup of coffee from one of the fancy press-type coffee makers.
“You don’t have to take me in today, Jax,” I say around bites of the fanciest French omelet I’ve ever had. “I already feel bad for monopolizing your time yesterday.”
Though not too bad. It was fun to play around on his fancy guitars and equipment in the studio with him. I almost cried I was laughing so hard when he started making up a love song about our high school math teacher who’d hated Jaxon.
After lunch, we’d hung out by the pool—Jaxon swimming laps, me reading on a lounge chair.
Three weeks until the wedding, and I’ve almost lost my golf tan lines.
Even if Jax assured me it’s very trendy these days to look like you’re wearing a white short-sleeved shirt under your dress.
Finally, I’d given in to his pleading and jumped in the pool to play catch with him with a pool football he found somewhere.
Harry arrived and told us he’d have dinner ready in forty-five minutes, so we’d headed in to shower and change.
After we ate, Jaxon suggested we try out his shower again, but I just couldn’t muster the energy.
Instead, we holed up in his movie room, sitting together in the middle of the loveseat as we watched Wedding Crashers, one of our go-to movies when we were in high school. We’d talked for hours, our legs and shoulders pressing together like it meant nothing. Like it meant everything.
It was easy and fun.
I woke up in the guest room this morning, confused about where I was and why I was alone before realizing I must’ve fallen asleep watching the movie, and Jax carried me to bed.
Though I know it was the chivalrous thing to do, I’m not sure how I felt about waking up in the guest bed without him.
“You didn’t monopolize my time, Iz. I had an awesome day. It was exactly what I wanted to be doing. And I want to drive you.”
“I suppose I’ll let you, then,” I tease.
Jax smiles. “So kind.”
We eat in silence for a few minutes before Jaxon asks, “How are you feeling about the meeting? Still nervous?”
“More anxious than nervous. But I’m used to that at this point. At least it’s not a cocktail party with people I don’t know, I guess. I can handle a meeting with a potential client.”
“You’re going to do great.”
I nod. No other option at this point. I’ll just have to do the best I can.
The twenty-minute drive north to the part of town Jaxon calls The Gulch is surprisingly uneventful.
My brain runs laps through the pitch talking points, rehearsing and re-rehearsing, so I’m not much of a conversationalist. Jaxon doesn’t push.
He just hums along with the radio, his voice soft, steady, grounding.
By the time we pull up to the high-rise, I’m equal parts nauseous and calm.
The building is…intimidating. All glass and steel, with people swarming in and out who look like they were plucked straight from a corporate training video.
Polished shoes, curled hair, smiles too white to be real.
I instantly regret not forcing myself into a suit jacket despite the muggy wall of heat that slams into me the second I step out of the car.
“Iz,” Jaxon calls, circling the hood to reach me. Before I can protest, he grabs my hand and pulls me into a hug. The kind of hug that makes my lungs expand again.
“You’ve got this,” he murmurs into my hair.
I lean into him longer than I probably should, soaking up his steadiness. “Thanks,” I whisper, tilting my head up to meet his eyes.
“I’ll be right over there.” He points to a coffee shop tucked against the ground floor. “Go crush it. I’ll see you when you’re done.”
“Right.” I force myself to step back, square my shoulders, and walk inside like I belong here. Elevator to the twenty-second floor. Becca made sure I had step-by-step directions so I wouldn’t spiral at the thought of getting lost in endless hallways. Thank God for that.
The receptionist is as warm and efficient as her emails suggested, ushering me into a glass-walled conference room where two men are already seated.
Ned—the CEO—and their head of operations.
Both look up, shake my hand, and offer kind smiles and comments that suggest they’ve already read our proposal.
The first few minutes are rocky. I’ve never been good at small talk, and when Ned casually asks where I’m staying, I fumble.
I mumble something about staying with a friend who moved here years ago, and when he presses for the neighborhood, I say “Forest Hills” without thinking.
Judging by their raised brows, it’s not a casual place to mention.
But once the pitch starts, I find my rhythm.
They ask smart questions—good ones, the kind that make it clear they’ve thought about what a landscape analysis can and can’t do.
I talk about how it’s just the first step in making a strategic decision, and how Flatroads isn’t a rinse-and-repeat firm.
We don’t drop in a prefab solution and vanish.
We build, adapt, and walk with clients through the whole process.
I even manage to drop the phrase “bespoke approach,” one of Becca’s favorite buzzwords, and make it sound natural.
By the end, Ned is nodding along, leaning forward like he’s already mapping out what we’d do together.
He doesn’t commit outright, but when he says he’ll be in touch about moving things forward, there’s weight behind it.
When it’s over, I shake their hands, thank them, and somehow walk out without tripping over my own feet.
The lobby spits me back out into the sunshine, and the warmth on my skin feels like a reward after an hour and a half being blasted by air-conditioning.
My pulse is still racing, but in a good way.
For the first time, it feels like I might actually be good at this.
“Iz!” Jaxon calls to me as I wander past the coffee shop’s outdoor seating area.
I scan the tables, finding him at one in the corner, a dark hat and sunglasses keeping the casual observer from recognizing the legend sitting in their midst.
The smile that crosses my face at the sight of him is definitely not fake, but it feels so good I let it slide.
Jaxon rises to meet me, and a group of teenage girls at the table next to him start elbowing each other and whispering.
“Oh my gosh!” I say dramatically, deciding to have a little fun. “Are you Jaxon Steele?”
Every head outside whips to stare at me and then Jaxon. His eyes light up, amused.
“I get that all the time,” he replies in the same over-the-top stage voice. “If only I could sing like him. I might actually stand a chance of getting a woman like you.”
I shrug as Jaxon reaches me. “Eh, I think he’s pretty overrated.”
“Come on, you instigator,” he whispers as he wraps his arm around my shoulders and moves us away from the crowd. He keeps his face toward mine, his big body blocking me from the majority of the group. “Your sister is going to kill me.”
“Where is your security team?” He’s moving so quickly I almost have to run to keep up with him.
“Two of them are behind us. I told them I wouldn’t be attracting any attention today, so I wouldn’t need a full team.”
“I’m sorry. It seemed funny at the time.”
“It was funny. But it’s best to get out of here before it becomes overwhelming. I generally think people have good intentions, but sometimes big crowds can feel a bit crushing. Especially if you aren’t used to them.”
We make it to the car without incident, and Jaxon opens my car door before sliding into the driver’s seat.
I bite my lip. “I am sorry, Jax. I didn’t think about it.”
“We’ll wait for Weston and Eddie at the security booth so you can apologize to them, but I assure you, no one minded. It was funny. And nothing bad happened.”
He pulls out of the parking lot and turns right before reaching across the center console and squeezing my thigh. “How’d it go?”
His hand stays there as I tell him about the meeting and how well I think it went.
When we get back to his house, Jaxon invites me to his studio to watch him record, and I happily accept.
I claim the small couch at the back of the control room, where I can see both Andre working the control panel and Jaxon in the live room.
Turns out, he’s recording more than just the song for the Lupus Foundation, which he finished this morning. This afternoon, he’s working on a new song that’s sad and passionate.
Jaxon’s in the booth singing, “I didn’t see it coming, not in a million tries / You were the steady in my chaos, the calm behind my eyes / But then one look hit different, like a slow burn through my chest / Now every time you smile, I forget the rest,” and can’t help but feel a tug in my chest.
“Here you go, dear,” Annie says, handing me a tissue as Jaxon sings. “That line turned me into a blubbering mess the first time I heard it. Don’t know how you’re keeping it to those crocodile tears.”
I nod in thanks as I dab my eyes with the tissue, knowing I’m going to need it every time I hear the song.
It’s like he recorded each feeling I’ve had in the last month since we’ve been together and somehow put them to music.
Even if it probably isn’t about us, it still manages to feel like it is.