29. Jonah
29
JONAH
I watch her when she doesn’t know it.
When she’s working. When she’s sleeping. When she’s exercising. When she’s eating.
Especially when she’s eating.
I keep tabs on her like I’ve never done with anyone. Not even my brother. Claire Davis owns me. Body, mind, heart. All of it. And it’s terrifying.
I dream of losing her. Of her seeing me for what I am. Of her not needing me anymore.
Of something worse.
My thoughts keep cycling back to Theo. He was the only person I ever trusted completely. The only person I really, truly loved, and who loved me in return.
It’s different, of course. The love I had for my brother is nothing like what I feel for Claire, but the vulnerability feels the same. It’s a physical, consistent ache in my chest. A rubber band of worry just tight enough to remind me that opening my heart to anyone makes me open for pain. And even with Theo, there was the underlying truth of the matter. The ever-present question. How pure was that love? How conditional?
Losing him still fucked me up. Set me on a path to destruction. It was delayed, but inevitable. I tried so hard to redeem myself. I tried to be someone my parents wanted after Theo died. It was useless. Theo was the one who mattered, and without him.. .
I shake my head.
I recognize this. The heightened anxiety. The headaches. The trouble sleeping. I’m pissy and jumpy. It happens every time I try to stop using. It was worse when I went to rehab. At least I’m not vomiting and shaking on the bathroom floor in a puddle of my own sweat. Yet.
Fuck .
I feel too much without the pills.
I blink and bring the room back into focus. I bring Claire back into focus. She ran five miles again this morning. She still hasn’t ordered breakfast.
“How about we go out to eat?”
I meet her eyes in the bathroom mirror, then step up behind her and wrap my arms around her waist. I kiss that little dip where her neck and shoulder meet. She hums and leans into me. She smells so sweet. The lavender calms my mind. The sugar makes my mouth water.
“We can find a cute little café. Have some tea. Eat a scone with clotted cream and jam.”
I do my best to fake a British accent. She laughs, then turns and throws her arms around my neck.
“You sound like Crue when he’s trying to mimic Ezra’s American accent.”
I grin. “That bad?”
She flares her eyes playfully, then kisses me. It’s chaste, and when I try to deepen it, she pulls away. I chase her and kiss her again. She just got out of the shower, but I’m ready to dirty her up again.
“Mmmm, back up.” She pushes on my chest, so I sigh and give her space. Her lips curve up into a small, suggestive smile. “We have work to do today. We can’t put it off anymore.”
“But you’ve never been to Wales.” I fold my hands under my chin. “ Pleeease ? I want to show you around Cardiff.”
Claire rolls her eyes. “As much as I would love to, we have things on the calendar. I still have a job to do, and we don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.”
She brushes past me. I frown and follow her into the bedroom.
“And what exactly is the wrong idea?”
She doesn’t look up as she puts on a pair of socks, then grabs her laptop .
“You know. That I’m not taking this seriously. That I’m...I don’t know... Sleeping on the job.”
She huffs a laugh at her joke, but I don’t think it’s funny.
“What if we just tell them?”
She stops in her tracks, then turns to face me. Her expression is shock. Shock and concern.
“We can’t do that, Jonah.”
“Why not?”
“Because. I’m still here to work. I’m still?—”
“I’m not your job anymore, remember? You’re not employed by Innovation.”
“Yes, but I still need to maintain some semblance of professionalism. Do you know what will happen to my career if it gets out that I’m sleeping with you?”
That she’s sleeping with me. Not dating. Not even “seeing.”
Just sleeping with me .
I try to ignore the shitty way that makes me feel, but I can’t. It echoes in my head. I scan my eyes over her face, realization hitting me in the gut and making everything worse. I breathe through my nose. I try to stop grinding my teeth before speaking.
“This is about my dad, isn’t it.”
“Has he stopped calling you?”
“No.”
“Then yeah, he has a lot to do with it.”
“Why? He’s not your boss anymore. It’s not like he can fire you again.”
My words come out harsher than I intend. I snap instead of state. My usual calm, unaffected mask is no match for these emotions. No match for Claire Davis.
Her nostrils flare. I’ve pissed her off.
“First of all, he didn’t fire me. I quit. And secondly, you know how influential your father is in the marketing world. Jonah, if he finds out about this—about us—he could seriously tank any chance I have of working in this industry again.”
“So, what? We just never tell anyone?”
She closes her eyes again. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then let me at least tell the rest of my band. ”
“The rest of your band?” Her eyes fly open, then narrow at me. “What do you mean the rest?”
I sigh. “Torren knows.”
“How does Torren know?”
“You called him to come untie me from the bed, remember? He’s not an idiot.”
“Right.” She blows out a slow breath. “Right. I should have known that would happen.”
“So let me tell the rest of them.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “It’s too risky.”
“Claire, I don’t want to hide this.”
“I’m not asking you to. Now just isn’t the right time.”
I scoff. “When will be the right time, exactly? When the job is finished? Because I’ll still be his son, Claire, and he’ll still be the CEO of Innovation Media. None of this is going to change."
“I know.” She sighs and tilts her head to the ceiling. “I know.”
She’s stressed. It’s evident in every muscle in her body. This is weighing heavily on both of us, but I hate seeing her upset, and I know what stress does to me. I’m learning what it does to her, too.
My anger calms. My insecurities quiet enough that I can ignore them. I close the distance between us and pull her into a hug. Claire wraps her arms around my waist, and I feel the rest of the tension leave my body. My mind is a mess. My heart is overwhelmed. But as long as she’s in my arms, I can relax.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper into her hair. “Let’s order room service, and then we can get started on your to-do list, okay? We’ll table this conversation for later.”
“Thank you.” She lifts onto her tiptoes and kisses me. “Thank you.”
Later. We’ll worry about it later. Fine. I’ve got plenty of other things to worry about right now, anyway. So, we order breakfast, and I try like hell not to make it obvious that I’m tracking her every move. Her every bite. I pay attention to every chew and swallow. It takes everything in me not to encourage her to eat more when she says she’s finished.
She disappears into the bedroom, and I stay in the main room. I barely breathe as I wait for her to head into the bathroom. Every sense is trained on her. My thumb is picked raw. I listen and listen.
Finally, when she doesn’t come out of the bedroom, I stand and follow her in. I find her messing with the ring light, and I let out a slow, relieved breath.
“So, what’s it going to be today?”
I sit on the side of the bed and glance around the room. She’s got the black silk sheet spread out already and my guitar and amp in the corner. Her sexy little social media setup.
“Ray LaMontagne,” I tell her, and she hums.
“Folk rock. I like it.”
“Well, emphasis on the rock.” My lips curl into a small smile.
“I’d expect nothing else. Alright, you ready?”
“Ready when you are, Trouble.”
“Okay...Let me just...Yep. Go.”
I launch into the song the same way I’ve been doing all the others. Opening chords, then moving into a solo instrumental version where it sounds like my guitar is “singing” the vocals. I add my own flourishes, but I stay true to the vocals. It makes it easier for my followers to identify the song.
I want to laugh at myself.
My followers .
It still sounds asinine, but Claire was right. The social media move is paying off. Even the paps have been affected. Lately, they shout out questions about my various volunteering events instead of my impending rehab visit. Claire is brilliant, and I can’t deny that anymore.
I think about it, about her, the whole time I play. About the influence she’s had on my life. The way she holds my emotions in her fucking hand. She consumes my thoughts, and I’m grateful for it. She’s a lot better than the trouble that usually invades my head.
As the song fills the room, I hope like hell she recognizes it. Because just like all the others, it’s for her. This one isn’t subtle, though. “Trouble” by Ray LaMontagne is so obvious, I might as well have the lyrics tattooed on my forehead. I wish I could see her face, but that fucking ring light makes it impossible.
When the last notes fade, we sit in silence. She doesn’t turn off the ring light, and I don’t speak. I turn off my amp, put my guitar back on the stand, and wait. I wait until the anticipation gnaws at my insides. I pick at my thumb until it bleeds, so I fold it into my fist. Then I break.
“You’re killing me over here. ”
Silence.
“Claire.”
“Yeah?”
“What did you think?”
“It was great. They’re always great. You’re a talented musician.”
Her tone is forced. Fake niceties. I blow out a slow breath and nod. “Right. Thanks. Send me the video, yeah? I’ll post it.”
“You sure? I can?—”
“I’m sure. Send it.”
“Okay.”
I can feel her looking at me, so I cross the floor and turn the ring light off myself. What I find when I look in her eyes takes my breath away. My hands cup her face, my thumbs wiping her silent tears.
“What’s wrong, baby? What did I do?”
Claire shakes her head. “Nothing. Nothing is wrong.”
She snakes her arms around my neck and lifts onto her tiptoes. I bend down to meet her and press my lips to hers in a soft kiss. I taste her tears. I feel her heat. I pull her closer.
“Why are you crying?”
She huffs out a sad laugh. “I don’t even know. I don’t even know anymore. You just keep...You just keep...The queen. The chess set. The book. And now this...”
She buries her face into my neck, her breath skirting over my heart tattoo. When she speaks, her lips tickle the thin skin there, and I swear I feel it in my chest. A direct line from the tattoo to the real thing. I’m a goner.
“I just feel...I just feel everything .”
I laugh into her hair, then press a kiss to her head. “I know. Me too.”
Fucking everything .
When Claire goes back to work, I step into the bathroom, shut the door, and count my stash. I won’t buy more. This is it.
Then I tell myself to brace for the comedown.
“Are you coming with me? ”
“No.” Claire looks up from her laptop with a smile. “I don’t want to encroach on your dude time.”
I snort out a laugh. “It’s just brunch, Trouble. Torren and Levi won’t care if you come.”
She smirks. “It’s so funny to think about you and Torren, all tatted up and intimidating, eating brunch .”
“I can crush some eggs bennie, baby.”
She shakes her head with a laugh. “Go have fun. I’ll be at the stadium before the show starts. I’ve got to make some calls and finalize your plans for Amsterdam. Have you had a chance to look at the calendar?”
I grin. “Nope.”
“Jonah. I want your feedback.”
I cross the floor until I’m directly in front of her, then bend down and cup her face.
“I trust you, and it’s fun to be surprised.” She fights a smile and narrows her eyes. She’s not angry, but it’s cute that she’s pretending. I kiss her once, then pull back just enough to make eye contact. “I’ll be watching for you on the floor. You better be there as soon as the stage lights go up.”
Finally, she lets the smile slip. “I won’t be late, Mr. Hendrix.”
I stand up and run my eyes over her. She hasn’t eaten breakfast yet, but she’s still in her pajamas. At least I know she won’t be running five miles on nothing but espresso today. I open my mouth to suggest she order room service, but then my phone rings.
Claire flicks wide eyes to me. We both know the only person who would be calling. Everyone in the band texts except Ham, and Ham has no reason to be calling me right now. I’ve been a good boy lately.
I let the phone ring out, but it starts right back up again. Claire sighs. “Just answer it, Jonah. He won’t stop until you do.”
I grit my teeth and take the phone out of my pocket. I should just block his number, but that will just make it worse. At least this way, I can fend him off. Make excuses. Tell him Claire is, in fact, still doing the job she was assigned, even if she’s technically no longer employed by my father.
I hit accept and bring the phone to my ear.
“Father. ”
“Jonah. I need to speak with Claire.”
I don’t bother hiding my smirk. He’s past frustrated. He’s irate. “She’s busy. She’s finalizing my events for Amsterdam.”
“She needs to get her ass back here and work on this campaign. We are going to lo?—”
I hang up. He calls right back.
“Father.”
“Jonah! Stop fucking around!”
I flinch at the volume, and so does Claire. He’s so loud, even she heard it. And the concern, the borderline fear that shows in her eyes, has me turning to walk out of the suite. She doesn’t need to hear this, but she jumps up and grabs my arm. She shakes her head, so despite my instincts, I stay put.
“Claire is working here, and she isn’t going back to Innovation.”
“If we lose this campaign, it will ruin her career. She needs to finish what she started. She needs to?—”
Claire snatches the phone out of my hand, her face flushed red with anger. “You gave the MixMosaic campaign to Brandt Macy, Conrad. It’s not my responsibility. If you lose this campaign, that’s on him, not me.”
Whatever he says next, I can’t hear it. His volume is lowered, and for a moment, I’m shocked at the immediate change. The furious version of my father is gone. With Claire, he’s become soft. Intimate.
I want to stab him.
Claire clamps her eyes closed. Her brows slant harshly.
“It’s Brandt’s campaign. It has been from the beginning. If it needed me, you’d have let me have the lead position.”
Another pause. Her jaw pops. Her nostrils flare. And then her shoulders drop.
“I don’t have the energy for this, Conrad. I made a commitment to help your son, and that’s what I’m doing.”
Your son , she called me. Not Jonah. Your son . I understand why, but it still makes my stomach churn. It makes my hands shake as I ball them into fists.
I’ve had Claire Davis in my bed every night. I’ve tasted every inch of her body. There’s not an inch of her skin I haven’t touched. She’s the last person I see when I close my eyes. She’s the person who stars in every dream. She’s the first person I see when I wake up .
But I’m still Conrad’s son .
“My resignation still stands. I’m not leaving until this job is done. I’m not coming back to Innovation.”
She flinches. I don’t know what he said, but I can tell it’s bad. A threat, probably. It makes me hate him even more, and I didn’t think that was possible.
“You do what you feel you need to do, Conrad.”
She hangs up and hands me back my phone. “Well?”
She huffs a laugh, then mimics my father. “ This isn’t over, Claire. This isn’t over .”
Mother fuck, I hate him. I pull her into a hug.
“Are you worried?”
She shrugs, then steps away from me. “I don’t know what I am, honestly. But I’m not going back to work for him. I don’t care how much money he offers me or how many threats he makes. This is about my dignity. It’s about my integrity. I’m not going to compromise either of those things.”
I force a smile. “You’re not good at compromise.”
Finally, she smiles back. It’s small and tired, but it’s there. “I’m really not.”
“I’m going to text Torren and bail.”
She puts her hand over my phone before I can even type out a text. “No. Go. I’ll be fine. I have work to do, and I refuse to let that asshole derail me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I’m sure.” She kisses me once. “Thank you, though.”
“If you need me, call Torren. I’m turning my phone off in case my dad tries to call again.”
“Okay. I’ll see you tonight.”