Chapter 12
Saif walked through the quiet warehouse, noting the stillness amid the old cubicles. The overhead lights were dimmed, computer monitors dark, chairs empty. Everyone had gone.
He checked his watch.
Five-thirty?
“What the hell?” he muttered.
A single light glowed at the end of the hall. He didn’t need to guess—he already knew.
Jemma.
Of course.
Memories tugged at him as he walked toward the open door. Late nights working together, side by side. Or not working. He grimaced, the heat of those memories flashing through his mind, unwanted and far too vivid.
Muttering a curse, he slowed at the door and peered inside.
There she was, right in the middle of the chaos—on her knees on the floor, surrounded by piles of files and fabric swatches. She was trying to bring order to the mess, even after he’d told her not to bother.
And damn it, she was actually making progress. Half the clutter was already gone.
“Your staff left a while ago,” he said.
She jumped, nearly dropping the stack of papers in her lap.
Her head snapped up, lips parted in surprise.
They were pink and slightly swollen—bitten from concentration.
Her hair, once pinned neatly, now barely clung to a dying elastic.
A pen was jammed into the tangle like a final act of desperation.
He remembered that hair—loose, wild, soft against his skin as she leaned over him, naked, flushed, her breath warm against his throat—
Saif cleared his throat sharply. Focus, man.
“What do you mean?” she asked, patting her head until she found the pen, scribbling something on a folder and sliding it onto a neatly forming stack.
“I mean you’re the only one still working,” he clarified. “Everyone else left.”
Her eyes flew to her phone and glanced at the time.
“Crap!” she gasped, scrambling to her feet. “I gotta go!”
The sudden movement hiked her skirt up around her thighs—soft and pale and… too thin. Damn it, she’d lost more weight. Too much.
“You need food,” he said, more sharply than intended. “Let’s go over your financial strategy over dinner.”
He turned to lead the way out—but froze when she answered.
“No time,” she called, already jamming files into a canvas tote bag.
Not the bag.
Not the sleek, elegant briefcase he’d given her—the one with soft leather and brushed gold zippers. The one that had screamed power.
This one was cheap, bulging and stained, straps fraying at the edges.
He stared, stunned.
“You have to eat, Jemma.”
“Not tonight,” she said, rifling through her keyring. “I need to change this lock tomorrow.” Her voice was distracted, barely acknowledging him.
That irked. He stepped into her path as she turned.
“Where the hell is the briefcase I gave you?”
Not the most important question—but it was the one he could voice.
She shook her head, more tendrils of hair falling loose. “Can we not do this right now?” She checked her phone again. “If I miss this train, I’ll miss the bus, and—”
She stopped abruptly.
Saif’s eyes narrowed. “Why the hell are you taking a train and a bus? You have a car, Jemma!”
Her shoulders stiffened. “There’s nothing wrong with public transportation, Saif. It’s perfectly respectable. And better for the environment.”
“That’s not an answer,” he replied, stepping closer.
Was he trying to intimidate her?
Absolutely.
Was he going to stop?
Not a chance.
She turned toward him, a smile suddenly lighting her face—and it hit him like a punch to the gut.
That smile. Her smile. Flashes of memory blurred together—Jemma laughing over her shoulder, Jemma teasing him in the kitchen, Jemma walking away in heels and nothing else after whispering what she wanted that night.
She had always been a happy woman.
“I really have to go,” she said brightly. “We’ll talk tomorrow. I should have a business plan ready by then, so… plenty to discuss.”
She was halfway down the hallway when he called out, “I’ll drive you home.”
That might’ve been a mistake. But he couldn’t help it—he needed answers.
She didn’t stop. Just waved.
“Oh hell no,” he muttered, storming after her.
He caught up at the front doors, placing a firm hand against the small of her back. “I said,” he ground out, “I’ll drive you home.”
She flinched at the tone, but kept moving. “But—”
“Save it.”
He steered her out the doors, nodding to the guard as they passed. The black SUV waited at the curb, door already open. Jemma’s heels clicked against the concrete—and then stopped.
She’d planted herself.
He was just about to throw her over his shoulder when she spun around, fire in her eyes.
“That’s enough!” she snapped, hoisting the tote bag up her shoulder. “You don’t get to shove me around, Saif! I’m not a doll you can order around.”
“Obviously,” he growled. “But you’re clearly in a hurry—and I want answers. So. Get. In.”
“No!”
He nearly laughed. Anyone else would’ve been fired already. But this was Jemma. Defiance looked good on her.
She took a breath, trying to pull herself back together, completely unaware that her hair was on the verge of collapse. The bun—or whatever it had started as—was barely hanging on. The strands had grown longer, glossier. Still wild. Still beautiful.
“Saif,” she said quietly, lashes lowering, “I have responsibilities in the evening now.” She met his eyes. “I used to have more freedom. But I don’t anymore.”
That blush. Damn it, that blush tightened every inch of his body. “Why not?”
She checked the time, then looked toward the street, clearly weighing her options. With a huff of frustration, she gave in.
“Fine! I’ll let you drive me. But only because I missed my train and the next bus doesn’t come for twenty minutes.”
She climbed into the SUV with regal indignation.
Saif followed, barely resisting the temptation to look at her perfect ass—but he was only human. He’d been reminding himself of that a lot lately.
The door closed. The car pulled away.
Five seconds passed.
Then he turned to her, scowling.
“I’m listening.”
He waited, watching her closely.
Jemma took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and met his eyes. “I have a child, Saif.”
Jasper’s face instantly came to Saif’s mind. He opened his mouth to brush off the reveal—until he remembered: Jasper was sixteen. Definitely not hers. “And kids are a big responsibility. I get that. But—”
“There’s no but,” she cut in, her voice firm. “Yes, a child is a big responsibility. And it’s worth every second. I love my responsibility.”
He frowned, sensing the weight behind her words.
“I know you’ve never wanted kids. But…it’s harder than I imagined. And somehow…more fun too.”
“But your mom is—” he began.
“No,” she interrupted softly, gaze turning toward the window. “My mother passed away. Aggressive breast cancer.”
Silence. Heavy and immediate.
He watched her chest rise and fall as she fought back the emotion. Tears welled, but she blinked them away.
“How long ago?” His tone had softened without conscious thought.
“Six months.” Her voice broke slightly on the words. “It was…very hard.”
He nodded. He couldn’t imagine losing his own mother. He was close to both of his parents, as well as his chaos-magnet sister Angela and her two hilarious kids. The idea of grieving while raising a teenager?
Tough didn’t cover it.
“Is that why you moved?”
“Yes,” she admitted with a weary sigh. “I couldn’t afford the mortgage.”
“You earned a damned good salary when you worked for me,” he said, the old frustration sparking to life again.
“I did,” she agreed, quietly. “But when I took this job…I didn’t have much leverage.”
That didn’t track. He’d taught her how to negotiate. She’d been brilliant—sharp, intuitive, a powerhouse in a boardroom.
“So you left a great job for a lousy one, lost your mother, your house, and now you’re single-handedly raising a moody teenager. All in less than a year.”
She flinched, and his words hung between them like a slap.
“I don’t appreciate that description,” she said primly, clearly wounded. “But yes. It’s been a rough year.”
He didn’t apologize. Not yet.
“And the car?”
She folded her hands in her lap. “Sold it. I used the money to pay off Mom’s medical bills.”
His head snapped toward her. “You what?”
“Paid off the debts,” she said, not meeting his eyes.
He stared at her for a long moment, shaking his head. “That’s insane. And completely unnecessary.”
She finally looked at him. “Paying debts isn’t necessary?”
“That’s not what I meant.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, exhaling. “Yes—no—ugh. What I mean is, losing your house and your car to pay off medical debt? That should be criminal. And legally, children don’t inherit their parents’ medical bills.”
“I was told otherwise.”
He narrowed his eyes. “By who?”
She blinked. “Pardon?”
“Who?” he repeated, his tone gentler now. “Who told you that you’re responsible for your mother’s debts?”
“The hospital called and…” She bit her lip. “I just…assumed.”
He covered her hand with his. “I’m pretty sure children aren’t responsible, honey.” His voice was soft, but steady. “I’ll double-check with my lawyers. But if a debt collector is telling you otherwise, it needs to stop. You don’t owe them anything.”
She blinked at him, stunned. “But that would mean—” Her eyes went wide. “The house!”
He shook his head. “If it was in her name, it might’ve been part of the estate. But let me make a few calls.” He squeezed her fingers, then let go. “I’ll explain everything over breakfast tomorrow.”
Jemma nodded, a wave of gratitude washing over her. She should have looked this up herself. A basic Google search might’ve told her the truth. Had she jeopardized her family’s future by not doing that?
But those first few months had been a nightmare—grieving her mother, nursing a newborn, fielding relentless debt collection calls, trying to hold her brother together while dismantling the only home they’d ever known.
Sleep-deprived, broken, terrified… she’d barely been functioning, let alone researching legal loopholes.
“Thank you,” she whispered, blinking fast. “That’s very kind of you.”
The SUV stopped in front of her apartment. Still, she hesitated.
“I can’t meet for breakfast,” she said at last, gesturing to the building. “Mornings with kids—chaotic doesn’t begin to cover it.” She offered a wobbly smile. “I’ll try to get in early to keep working through the files.”
“Don’t,” he said firmly. His eyes sharpened. “I’ll send a team to handle it.”
She shook her head. “No. Please don’t. If you’re serious about me turning that company around…”
“I am.”
“Then let me do it.” Her voice strengthened. “You’re right. I’ve been coasting. I let fear drive too many decisions this past year. Leaving you… keeping secrets… I thought you’d reject everything. Us.”
She laughed softly, sad but self-aware. “After some of the things you said back then, I truly believed you didn’t want kids. I didn’t think you’d want to be part of any of it.”
Saif said nothing, but his gaze didn’t waver.
Jemma looked back at him with a flicker of the woman she used to be—strong, bold, capable. “But I haven’t been idle. I saw what needed to change the moment I started working for Mark. I’ve been sourcing new vendors, researching factories. He didn’t listen, but the plan’s ready. I can fix it.”
“There are personnel changes that need to happen too. Are you ready for that?”
She smiled—truly smiled—and it lit up her whole face. “You betcha.”
Then she turned and slipped out of the vehicle, walking to the apartment building with a newly proud spine, her stride confident.
For the first time in a very long time, Jemma felt powerful.