Chapter 18
JETT
The evening drags on. I’m surrounded by men whose idea of a deep conversation is comparing yachts or private jets, as casually as most guys talk about their cars. It’s all just a pissing contest, and it’s getting old.
Someone laughs, recounting how he had to explain to his wife about an expensive trip he took with his mistress. The others chortle, their laughter bouncing around the table like it’s all a big joke. I don’t join in. Cheating grates on me, gets under my skin. It’s unacceptable. I don’t see men who cheat in the same way once I find out. I don’t care to do business with them. If they can cheat their wife, think what they could do in a business deal. People reveal who they are by their actions.
My mother’s face flashes in my mind. I don’t remember her clearly anymore, but the pain of what happened hasn’t dulled. Did she die in the accident? Or did my father kill her spirit long before? His affair with that Italian woman wasn’t just an affair—it tore our family apart. The resentment Dex, Zach, and I feel towards the half-Knights runs deeper than anyone’s willing to admit.
But I shove those thoughts aside as the conversation finally shifts. Now it’s about business and making money. Their real passion.
Mine too.
Work has been my lifeline since Sophia died. I had six months of grieving before I threw myself back into the business with a ferocity that left no room for emotions. It kept me sane, kept me focused. Helped the business, but I need to fix my work-life balance, especially now that Brooke is growing so fast.
“How long are you over this time, Jett?” Raphael asks, breaking through my thoughts.
“A few weeks.” I lift my glass, taking a slow sip.
“Fighting fires?”
I tilt my head. “You know how it is. We fight fires, and then we build something bigger from the ashes.”
Raphael’s eyes slide toward Cari, standing with Brooke in the distance. “She’s cute.”
I nod, absently. “She’s growing up fast. Just turned five.”
He smirks. “I meant the nanny.”
A sharp, hot flash surges through me. The punch in my gut is immediate, and I fight to keep my composure. “She’s probably only a few years younger than your daughter,” I snap, disgust twisting in my stomach. Raphael is in his fifties, with grandchildren, for fuck’s sake. Dirty bastard.
I stand, excusing myself from the table, pretending it’s business as usual. But inside, I’m seething. I never planned for this. Being around Cari outside of work, on a fucking island for three weeks, is not something I expected to deal with.
It’s been impossible for me to erase the image of her in that pink bikini, and seeing her in that dress is yet another image I’m struggling with. The way it looks on her, bringing out the rich color of her hair and the golden tint of her skin, make it impossible for me to keep my eyes off her. I’m not hiding it well, and it’s no wonder that Raphael has noticed. Cari’s turning heads and its fucking with my brain. She’s been on my mind for most of the time I’ve sat here.
I glance at them. Cari’s sitting on a bench, Brooke and some girls playing with hula-hoops. I walk toward them, but someone steps into my path.
“Fancy seeing you here.” It’s the journalist from the plane. Her voice is sugary sweet, but there’s an edge to it, like she wants to have her say because of the way I dismissed her. Over her shoulder, I can see Brooke laughing with her friends. Cari sits on her own, watching. This is a good time to check on her. My gaze shifts to the journalist, and forcing a tight smile, I say, “Fancy that.”
“We got off on the wrong foot,” she purrs, playing with a strand of her dark hair.
“Maybe don’t sit in someone else’s seat next time.” I raise my glass, trying to figure out how best to extricate myself from this leech, but then I see Cari take Brooke’s hand and they walk in the direction of where Jacques is.
My stomach tightens, a slow burn turning into a full-blown blaze. Why the hell does that bother me so much? It shouldn’t. But it does.
“I apologize for that. Can we start over?” the woman asks.
“Sure,” I say, watching Cari approach a group of young people. Jacques comes over to her and they start talking. He’s sniffing around her like a dog and now I have two reasons for losing my shit. The journalist before me and that guy standing too close to Cari.
The woman before me still twitters away, her voice blending into the background, but my attention is firmly on Cari. He hands her a cocktail, and the sight of it makes my blood boil. I came here to get away from Raphael, and now his son is pushing my buttons.
I clench my jaw, watching as Cari stands, her dress flowing in the soft night breeze, looking stunning. She’s a far cry from the woman who organizes my life at work. Here, she’s someone else entirely. Someone I shouldn’t think about.
In the office, I had control. I could wind her up, push her away. Send her on errands to buy gifts for my lovers, lingerie for someone else. I had strategies for keeping her at a distance. But here? No walls. No rules. No boundaries.
I stand here, pretending to listen to the woman in front of me but not only do I have to put up with this shrew who bores me to death with her inane conversation, but I have to watch a younger guy make a move on Cari.
She laughs at something he says, and that’s the final straw. “Excuse me,” I mutter, brushing past my unwelcome leech. “It’s past my daughter’s bedtime.”
I stride toward Brooke and Cari, planting myself between Cari and the guy. “You’re drinking?” I ask, my voice harsher than I intended.
Cari looks startled, her eyes wide with confusion. “It’s a virgin pina colada. No alcohol.” She sounds defensive, and she should be. I’m acting like an ass.
“That’s right, Jett.” Jacques blinks at me, his voice smooth. “It’s a virgin cocktail.”
“I wasn’t asking you,” I snap, glaring at him.
“I’ll catch you later,” he mutters to Cari, walking off, tail between his legs.
I turn back to Cari, my frustration bubbling over. “You’re supposed to be looking after Brooke.”
From my periphery I see Brooke lift her head up at me. She’s still holding Cari’s hand. “What’s wrong, Daddy?” She detects my tone.
Cari’s expression hardens, and she thrusts the drink toward me.
“Nothing’s wrong, sweetie,” Cari answers, reassuring my daughter. “Daddy’s confused.” She lifts her chin up at me, defiance blazing in her eyes. “I don't drink when I'm working. It’s a virgin cocktail, Mr. Knight. Here. Taste it. Or maybe you’d rather have it tested.” I deserve every bit of her biting, sharp tone.
“There’s … there’s no need for that.” My thoughts are all over the place. I can’t focus. My body is reacting in ways that are anything but rational. I shouldn’t have stepped in. What was I thinking?
“Are you sure?” Her words hit me like a punch, and I’m about to fire back, but then I see Brooke. She’s standing there, looking at us with wide, innocent eyes. I stop, my anger dissolving.
“It’s time to go,” I say quietly, guilt twisting inside me.
We gather our things, say our goodbyes, and head to the car. Brooke falls asleep almost immediately, but the silence between me and Cari is deafening.
I glance over at her, her face turned toward the window, lost in her own thoughts. I’ve made a mess of everything. And now, we’re both stuck here, too close for comfort.
CARI
The ride back to the house is silent, painfully so. The tension between us is thick, and every second that ticks by feels like an eternity. Jett carries Brooke inside, her little arms wrapped around his neck, and even in sleep, she looks peaceful. Meanwhile, I’m anything but.
One of the house staff steps forward. “Shall I take her up, sir?”
“No, I’ll do it,” Jett replies, his voice clipped. He doesn’t even glance at me.
I follow behind, still reeling from what just happened. He humiliated me in front of everyone. I feel like a schoolgirl who’s been given detention. It cuts deeper than I want to admit.
One moment he’s kind and caring, like in the plane when I got scared, and the next, he’s storming over and accusing me of drinking on the job. I was too shocked to even respond at first.
I can’t do this. It hasn't even been one night, but I don’t think I can suffer this man any longer. I can’t see how I’ll survive a few weeks of this. This trip is nothing like I imagined. It’s not an escape. It’s torture. Being here, in paradise, with Jett Knight, is my personal hell.
This has been an excruciatingly long day and we walk up the stairs in silence. The quiet between us is heavy, suffocating. I open the door to Brooke’s room, watching as Jett gently lays her down on the bed, his movements surprisingly tender.
“I’ll take care of her,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. I just want this night to end. I want to be out of these sandals and this dress, out of this whole situation.
“I need to explain what happened back there,” Jett says, his voice low as I step into my room.
A familiar knot of frustration tightens in my chest. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want his explanations. “Just leave it,” I mutter, kicking off my sandals as I yank the earrings from my ears.
But Jett doesn’t leave. He stands there, hovering in the doorway. “I don’t want to leave it. We need to clear the air.”
There’s something in his voice that makes me stop. Something personal. Something deeper than his usual detached tone. It’s unsettling, and my body tenses, instinctively on edge.
“No, we don’t.” I face him, crossing my arms. “I know why you’re mad. Brooke gets in the way of your love life, and so do I. You could have stayed at the barbecue. I’m perfectly capable of watching her without you hovering over us.” I gesture toward Brooke’s room, then turn away, desperate to end this conversation. “We’re home now, safe and sound. You can go back there. I promise not to get drunk while I’m watching over Brooke.”
“I don’t want to go back there.”
I barely suppress a scoff. My disbelief must have been obvious because I see the way his eyes narrow at my response. “She’ll still be waiting for you,” I add, unable to help myself.
“Who?”
I roll my eyes, incredulous. “Your friend from the plane. You know, the one you were all too happy to laugh with while I was taking care of your daughter? You can run along now.”
Run along now?
He tilts his head as if he can't believe what I've just said. To be honest, I can't believe what I’ve just said, either, because although I’m not a wallflower when it comes to dealing with this man, this is a personal matter, and I tend not to comment on that.
Now I’m starting to wonder if that really was a virgin cocktail because I’m being more daring than is good for me.
Jett’s brows knit together. “I don’t care for that woman.”
“Sure looked like you did.” The words spill out and I regret them instantly. This isn’t me. I don’t talk to Jett about his woman, or his love life.
“I didn’t care for her on the plane.” His eyes lock on mine. “She might have been digging for information, or maybe she wasn’t, but she’s a journalist and I’m always wary about people like that. I told her to leave or I’d have my bodyguard remove her from the seat.”
I blink, thrown off by the intensity in his voice. I’d seen them talking, laughing even. She wanted him. That much was obvious.
He frowns, noticing my hesitation. “What?” His voice drops an octave, but there’s still an underlying edge to it. “What’s going through your head?”
“It looked like you two were getting on just fine.” I fold my arms tightly across my chest.
His expression changes, darkening. “You were watching?”
I nod, biting the inside of my cheek, suddenly feeling foolish. But why should I? He made a scene at the barbecue, humiliated me in front of everyone, and now he’s acting like he’s the one who’s been wronged.
“Why are you so mad about me talking to Jacques?” I shift the conversation back to safer ground.
Jett’s jaw clenches.
“The guy I was talking to,” I explain.
“I know who you mean.” A muscle ticks in his jaw, the way it does when he’s barely holding back. “I have to be extra careful out here. I need to be vigilant around Brooke.”
I exhale sharply, disbelief washing over me. “But you know the guy! He told me his parents hosted the barbecue.”
Jett’s lips purse together, like he’s fighting to contain himself.
“We were at a barbecue,” I continue. “I was talking to a guy. What do you want me to do? Ignore everyone and keep my eyes glued to Brooke the whole time? You said this trip was supposed to be a break for me. You told me I wouldn’t be working the entire time. In fact, you said I would have the weekends and evenings to myself to do as I wished.”
The muscle in his jaw tightens again, and still he doesn’t say anything. This is most unusual. Jett Knight never backs down. Never accepts defeat. He always has an answer.
He nods, then. “I remember. I’m sorry.”
My eyes widen. I must be staring at him in shock—because an apology from him is unheard of.
“I’m sorry, okay?”
“You made me feel like a fool. You humiliated me.”
The way his gaze ping pongs from my eyes to my lips and then back up again, sets my heart aflutter. “I’m sorry for every shitty feeling you experienced because of me. I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”
Not only has he apologized, but he’s admitted he was wrong. This moment deserves a drumroll. But he doesn’t stick around. He leaves and I let out a breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me.
This man is so unpredictable. Just when I thought I knew him, he does something that completely throws me.
Now, I’m stuck in paradise, and I feel like I’m drowning in a flood of emotions. I can’t be emotional, not now. Not here. Not around my boss.
At least Jacques and I exchanged numbers. He said he’ll call me soon, and I’m looking forward to it.