Chapter 7
ELENA
Sleep had been elusive. Between researching the Donatis and worrying about Ivy while lying in bed, I'd managed maybe four hours. My eyes felt gritty, my body heavy. I checked my phone one last time before heading in. No new messages from Ivy, just the text she'd sent earlier.
Working longer tonight. Extra $$$. Don't wait up. Will be home after you finish work. Don't worry!
Don't worry. Right. Like I could stop that.
I grabbed my purse and coffee, locked the car, and headed into the building and for the elevator.
The security guard nodded as I passed, and I managed a smile in return.
I reached the elevator, relieved to have made it early despite the traffic, and hit the button.
The doors opened, and I stepped inside, patting my pocket for my elevator keycard as the doors closed on me.
I felt nothing but fabric as the elevator moved two floors up.
"Shit."
I'd left it in the car. I groaned as the doors opened and a stout man in a suit stepped inside, hitting the button for the main floor.
I mentally calculated how much time it'd take me to get outside and back.
The elevator descended, and I waited for the man to exit before I rushed out, heading for the door and praying I could get to my car and back before the clock ticked over to 8am.
I looked down at my phone to check the time as I stepped through the door, only to collide with a solid wall of muscle.
Coffee splashed between us as I gasped. I stumbled backward, and strong hands gripped my upper arms, steadying me.
"I'm so sorry, I wasn't—" I looked up into Jackson's dark eyes. Oh, fuck me. "Oh. Shit. Hi. Sorry." The words tumbled out.
"Morning." His voice was calm despite the coffee now staining his crisp white shirt. "In a hurry?"
My face burned. "I left my keycard in the car. I didn't want to be late on my second day and—" My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I fumbled to check it, heart racing when I saw Mom's name. But it was just a sweet message.
Hope your second day goes well, sweetheart. Love you.
I exhaled shakily, relief washing through me.
"Breathe," Jackson said, his voice gentler than I expected. "You're still early."
"I just spilled coffee all over both of us."
"I noticed." His lips quirked slightly. "But if it helps, Macey always runs late on Tuesdays. She stops at her granddaughter's coffee shop."
"Really?" The tension in my shoulders eased slightly. "Still, I'm sorry about your shirt."
"It's fine."
"No, it's not. I can help clean it." I glanced at my own blouse, now sporting an impressive brown stain. "I should have a spare in my car."
He raised an eyebrow. "That's either impressively prepared or highlights concerning levels of clumsiness."
A laugh escaped me. "Neither. I just moved into a new place and haven't unpacked everything yet. Still have bags of clothes in my trunk."
"That makes more sense." He glanced at his watch. "Want me to walk you back to your car?"
"You don't have to?—"
"I'm heading that way anyway." He gestured toward the parking lot.
We walked to my car in silence. I popped the trunk, rifled through a duffel bag, and pulled out a pale blue blouse. I also grabbed a small hand towel I kept for emergencies.
"Here," I offered him the towel. "For your shirt."
He took it with a nod of thanks and began blotting at the stain. "You know, after your first few paychecks, you could probably finance a new car."
My cheeks heated, wishing he'd not seen my pathetic excuse of a vehicle.
Who cares, we're not trying to impress him.
I glanced at my ancient Honda, with its peeling paint and dented fender, and an ungodly amount of rust that made it look like it belonged in a wrecker's yard, certainly not parked next to the sleek silver Lexus.
"Maybe," I said, knowing I wouldn't. Every penny was earmarked for Mom's treatment. Besides, this car had gotten me through college and my first job. It could last a little longer.
After retrieving my keycard from the center console, I locked up and we headed back to the elevator. Jackson held the door open for me, still dabbing at his shirt.
"I really am sorry," I said again.
"Don't worry about it. It's just a shirt." He shrugged. "Did you sleep last night? You look tired."
"Thanks," I said dryly, wanting to dodge the question. If he knew I was working my old job still, I could be deemed too unreliable and a risk, since I couldn't entirely focus on their businesses.
"I didn't mean?—"
"I know. Just new job jitters keeping me up," I lied, forcing a smile.
He studied me, and I had the uncomfortable feeling he didn't believe me. As the elevator rose, I noticed the metal chain around his neck, and focused on the outline against his shirt when he blotted the stain again. Dog tags.
"You served?" I asked, nodding toward them.
His hand moved reflexively to touch them through his shirt. "Army. Special ops."
"What made you switch to IT and security?"
Something in his expression closed off. "Needed a change. The skills transferred."
His walls had gone up so fast I almost got whiplash. I went quiet, sensing I'd touched a nerve. When the elevator reached the accounting floor, I stepped out.
"Have a good day," I said.
He nodded, his expression unreadable. "You too, Elena."
I headed straight for the bathroom to change my blouse, my mind still on Jackson.
There was something about him that didn't quite fit the IT and security role.
The way he moved, always alert. It definitely fit a military past though.
The way his eyes scanned rooms, how he seemed to be able to read me with just one look.
Whatever his story was, I suspected it was dark, something I didn't want to get involved in.
By the time I returned to my desk, I'd pushed thoughts of Jackson aside. I opened the files Macey had shown me yesterday and got to work. True to Jackson's word, Macey arrived fifteen minutes late, a takeout coffee cup in each hand.
"Morning, Elena! Sorry I'm running behind. Tuesday tradition—my granddaughter makes the best caramel lattes in the city, but only starts early on Tuesdays."
"No problem at all. I got started on the Lion Freight quarterly reports."
Macey beamed. "Look at you, taking initiative! I'm impressed. Here, thought you might like to try one." She offered me the second latte, and I more than happily accepted, praying the extra caffeine helped keep me alive and on task today.
"Thank you, I appreciate this a lot," I said, and she just nodded as she settled into her chair.
The morning flew by as we worked through the accounts.
Around eleven, I spotted Jackson striding past our office, phone pressed to his ear, his expression tense.
He spoke in low, clipped tones, his body language radiating urgency.
Something was wrong. Our eyes met briefly as he passed, and I felt a strange twist in my stomach. I hoped everything was okay.
I didn't see him again for the rest of the day.
"I'm telling you, this was a brilliant move," Ivy announced when I walked through our apartment door that evening. She flung her arms around me in a hug that smelled sickly sweet like candy, mixed with the bitter tinge of cigarette smoke.
"What was?" I asked, dropping my purse on the counter.
She grinned and pulled a wad of cash from her pocket, peeling off four crisp hundred-dollar bills.
"For Mom's bills," she said, pressing them into my hand.
Mom. She'd taken up calling her that when she'd turned eighteen and mom had thrown her a huge celebration.
It had only cemented her place in my family even more when mom had tried not to cry.
I stared at the money. "Ivy, where did you get this?"
"Work." She shrugged, turning to pour us each a glass of wine. "Had a client who wanted some one-on-one time. He paid extra."
The realization of what that meant hit me. "Ivy, you didn't?—"
"What if I did?" She handed me a glass, her expression challenging. "I'm doing what I have to do. Just like you. I'm able to do this, I know it's not what you want me to do, but I'm willing to."
I closed my eyes, fighting back the protest rising in my throat. "I just want you to be safe."
"I am." Her voice softened. "Don't stress, okay? I know what I'm doing."
I tucked the money into my wallet, guilt and gratitude warring inside me. I knew if I tried to hand it back, she'd fight it with tooth and nail. I knew what battles I could win with her, and this was not one of them. "Thank you."
"That's what family does." She clinked her glass against mine. "So, how was day two at Evil Sibling Corp?"
I laughed despite myself. "It's not evil. Everyone's been nice so far."
"Even Mr. Intensely hot IT Guy?"
I felt my cheeks warm. They were doing that far too often in regard to Jackson. "I actually ran into him this morning. Literally. Spilled coffee all over both of us."
Ivy's eyes widened with delight. "No way! What did he do?"
"He was... nice about it, actually." I took a sip of wine. "But he disappeared after that. Seemed like something was wrong."
"Ooh, mysterious." She wiggled her eyebrows. "Speaking of mysterious, that drunk client who was badmouthing the Donatis wasn't there last night. I'll keep an ear out, though."
We moved to the couch with our laptops, researching the Donati family more thoroughly. They owned businesses across several cities, but information about the family itself was surprisingly scarce, although I was beginning to get an uneasy feeling.
"It's like they've scrubbed themselves from the internet," Ivy muttered, scrolling through search results.
"Or they're careful about their digital footprint," I replied. "Macey mentioned they're very private."
"People this good at keeping a low profile online despite having such a notorious name aren't normally good news," Ivy stated as she clicked her tongue. "Maybe they're mafia or drug lords. Or into human trafficking."
"Ivy!" I hissed, and she cast me a wicked grin.
"Hey, you never know. People this rich don't tend to have legal ways, especially if there's no news on why they're so well-off.
No oil found on an old family property so not exactly generational money, no lotto winnings, no great business schemes that sky-rocketed them into fortune and fame.
And the girls at work know the name, but they're quiet about it too.
Makes me uneasy, Elena," Ivy said as her brow furrowed seriously.
I paused, pursing my lips at this.
Was it actually possible? Was I digging somewhere I didn't want to meddle?
My phone rang, interrupting our research and my spiraling thoughts. Mom's face lit up my screen, distracting me instantly.
"It's Mom," I said, answering and switching to video. "Hi, Mom!"
"There's my girl!" Her smile was tired but genuine. "Is Ivy there too?"
"Right here, Mama!" Ivy crowded into the frame beside me, waving.
Mom's face brightened. "My two girls living together again! How's the new place?"
"It's great," I lied, not mentioning the leaky faucet or the neighbor who played death metal last night at 2 AM. Maybe my four hours of sleep was more like three.
"Ivy, what happened to that Gavin fellow you were living with?" Mom asked.
Ivy rolled her eyes. "Old news. Found out he knocked up his ex again, so I bounced. Best decision ever."
Mom sighed. "I really wish you'd find a good one, honey. Both of you. You deserve happiness and love."
"I am happy," Ivy insisted, throwing an arm around my shoulders. "I've got my sister and my adopted mom. What more could I want?"
Mom smiled, but there was sadness in her eyes. "I just want to know you'll both have someone good in your lives."
"We will," I assured her. "That's how life works, right? We'll find the right ones eventually."
"Yes." She nodded, then looked down. "You'll have good lives, both of you."
Something in her tone made my chest tighten. "Did Mrs. Cranky Pants sneak you extra pudding again? You're getting sentimental."
She laughed, the moment lightening. "No, no pudding contraband today."
"We'll be visiting Friday evening," Ivy announced. "And we're smuggling in goodies, even if I have to hide them in my bra."
That got a real laugh from Mom, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
Ivy checked her phone and jumped up. "Gotta shower. I start later than usual tonight, they got me on these cycling shifts, some earlier nights, some later ones." She blew a kiss at the screen. "Love you, Mama Anna! See you Friday!"
After Ivy left, Mom's expression grew serious. "How are you really doing, sweetheart? You look tired."
I swallowed past the sudden lump in my throat. "I miss you. I hate being away from you like this."
"You're doing what you need to for yourself," she said gently. "Building a life."
"It feels silly. All I want is to have you around." While I still have you.
Her eyes grew bright with unshed tears. "I just want to know my daughter will be okay when I'm gone."
"Mom, don't?—"
"I'm not going anywhere soon," she assured me. "But you and Ivy need to look out for each other. You'll need that bond when... when I have to go."
"I don't want to hear you talk like that," I said, my voice breaking. I wasn't ready for that. I never could be.
"I'm sorry." She wiped her eyes. "Tell me about the apartment. Is it nice?"
We chatted about meaningless things until a nurse appeared in the background, saying it was time for Mom's checkup. I said goodbye, promised to visit Friday, and ended the call with an "I love you" that felt inadequate for everything I was feeling.
I sat there, staring at the blank screen, trying to compose myself. The sound of Ivy's heels clicking on the hardwood made me look up. She emerged from our room in a trench coat that barely covered a skimpy outfit, with a bag slung over her shoulder.
"Gotta run," she said, leaning down to kiss my cheek. "Don't wait up. Still okay for me to borrow your car?"
"Of course! Be careful," I called after her, wishing she'd wear something more suitable out the door and change at work. But this was Ivy, and her body was her income. At least she still carried that little red bottle of pepper spray my mother had gotten her.
"Always am!" She shot me a wide grin over her shoulder as she snatched up my keys from the end of the counter and headed out the door.
I just hoped she didn't take on an extra job tonight so I could still drive myself to work, but I'd already looked into public transit just in case.
The door closed behind her, and silence settled over the apartment. I opened my laptop, intending to do some work for Aaron Accounting, but exhaustion pulled at me. I moved to the bedroom, propping pillows behind me as I worked in bed.
The numbers blurred on the screen. I blinked, trying to focus, but my eyelids grew heavier with each passing minute. Just a short rest, I told myself, setting the laptop aside. Just five minutes...
Sleep claimed me before I could finish the thought.