Chapter 48
CARI
I still feel the burn of Jett’s kiss, the way it left my legs shaky, my mind buzzing, and my heart entirely his. The taste of him, the way he whispered my name against my lips—it’s all I can think about.
And yet, here I am, trying to focus on work, pretending my world hasn’t just shifted on its axis.
Then an email lands in my inbox. Paul Knight has summoned me to his office. The air freezes in my lungs. It’s not a request—it’s a command. And the timing isn’t lost on me. Jett is out at a two-hour lunch meeting across Manhattan. Why does his father want to talk to me? I don't like this. I don't like this because his father waited for Jett to disappear before asking to see me.
I smooth my skirt and square my shoulders as I walk down the hallway, and my steps are steady. Paul Knight may be the devil incarnate, but I’ve dealt with worse. I knock.
“Come in,” comes his clipped response.
The moment I enter, his eyes land on me, cold and calculating. He doesn’t like me—no surprise there. The feeling is mutual. But what really twists my gut is the way he treats his son. All of them, really, but it’s Jett I care about.
“You wanted to see me?” I stop just shy of his desk. My hands clasp tightly in front of me, a shield I don’t want him to see.
“Sit down.” I take the chair opposite him, my spine straight, chin lifted. “I hear you’re leaving.”
“Yes.” I sit down and fold my hands on my lap.
“Any reason why?”
This is none of his business. But this man has seen things, sensed things, and probably knows things, which is why he wants to talk to me one on one. I must keep my cool and not show him how much his questions rattle me. “It’s just time for me to move on.”
“And yet you went to Bermuda with my son.”
“I went to take care of your granddaughter.”
His head tilts, his gaze narrowing before he leans back in his chair as though he owns not just this moment but my very future. “You need to listen to me. It's in your best interests to take my information—my advice, if you will—and heed it well.”
“Okay,” I reply slowly as my discomfort grows. I glance at the closed door, but it’s a futile attempt because Jett isn’t even in the building.
“Men like us—men like my sons—don’t marry your type.” His words are like a slap to my face, but miraculously, I manage to hold steady, even as the insult cuts deep. “I’ve spent years building this empire,” he continues. “Wealth like ours needs to be preserved and protected. It must be passed down. We are who we are, where we are, because of the deals we’ve done and the relationships we’ve built. Sometimes, that requires strategic alliances, not … distractions.”
Distraction. Is that what he thinks I am to Jett?
“I expect any parent would want the best for their children,” I say, my voice clipped.
He smiles—a cold, cruel smile. “Sweetheart, the best isn’t you. Who knows what stock you come from?”
I can’t believe my ears. I clench my hands in my lap, forcing my face to remain neutral. I won’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
“It’s unbelievable that men like you exist. Men who can say such cruel words and smile so freely.”
“Men like me do exist, and we run the world.” Another cold, cruel smile, one that makes me shiver with fear. I force myself to sit taller, to keep my head upright. My heart aches for Jett and the awful time he must have had growing up under the eye of this monster. “My son is destined for greater things,” Paul continues, unabashed. “Did he mention the proposal?” My composure slips, and he sees it. I can’t utter a word. “I didn’t think so.” He sits back in his chair and clasps his hands on the table. “Before he went to Bermuda, there was an offer on the table—an arrangement with a Brazilian heiress. Someone suitable. Someone who would understand his world.”
The words hit like a bucket of ice water. Jett knew?
“Brooke needs a mother. Jett needs a wife. It’s what’s best for the family, for the business.”
“Why are you telling me this?” It’s a futile question, because I already know the answer. This man wants to hurt me. I'll ask Jett if this is true. I don't trust Paul Knight, but I need to know if he knew about this.
“To make sure you don’t stand in the way of something important.” His tone sharpens. “Someone like you doesn’t belong in our world. My son will grow bored of you. Better to leave now than suffer later.”
I bristle as my heart beats like a warning drum, and try to stay seated, try to keep my voice calm and steady. “As you know, I’m already leaving.”
He slides an envelope across the desk. “This should help.”
I glance at it but don’t reach for it. “I don’t want your money.”
“It’s $100,000. All I ask is that you stay away from my son.”
“And if I don’t?” I snap back, hating that I lost my cool.
“You will. Trust me, only heartache lies ahead for you. You were merely a bit of fun for him on vacation. We both know that. He recently broke up with his girlfriend and you were simply a convenience. You would do well to remember that.”
The bastard. The smug, cruel, slimy bastard. I swallow, and hate that words don’t come easily to me. He’s cut me down. Taken a knife and sliced right through my heart. I’m so numb, emotionally and physically, that I don’t have the words to throw back at him.
His eyes fall to the envelope. “That's a lot of money for someone like you. Enough to change your life forever. Use it wisely.”
“You can do what you want,” I say, my voice steely, “but I won’t touch your money. I don’t need it.”
Anger flashes in those cold reptilian eyes. “Take it or I’ll deposit it directly into your account.”
I stare back at him, my hands lying in my lap. I'm itching to fold my arms, but manage not to. I won't take the envelope. And as for his threat, the whole amount deposited into my account, I will just move it back. “I have no interest in your money. Men like you should realize that some things cannot be bought.”
His jaw flexes. The way Jett’s does when he’s angry. “What is it that you think I'm buying?”
“You tell me.” From somewhere, I’ve found a little strength to look him squarely in the eye even as his words settle heavily on me and my heart sinks slowly to the depths of my belly. Words I can’t brush off because I see flashes of truth in them. Maybe I was a convenience to Jett during those late nights in the balmy night air, cocooned from reality.
A vein in his forehead throbs. “You think this is about money?” he snarls. “This is about doing what’s right for Jett.”
“Then why isn’t he here, in this meeting?”
His telltale jaw flex builds my courage. “He doesn’t know about this, does he?” You picked a time to talk to me when you knew he’d be away.”
“It wouldn't be wise of you to relay this conversation to Jett.”
“Oh?” I tilt my head. “Is that because he’ll tell me it's all lies?”
Paul chortles. “They’re not lies. He knows about this deal. Ask him. Listen, sweetheart.” He leans forward. Resting his elbows on the table, and steepling his well-groomed hands. “It wouldn't be wise, because you care about him and you care about Brooke. I can tell. From the moment I saw you both sitting out there in the gazebo, it was apparent that you had feelings for my boy. But know that he’ll tire of you soon. He always does. That man is a revolving door of relationships. It’s physical connection he’s craving. Sex, if you want me to spell it out for you.”
I bristle and feel the heat rising to my cheeks. I try to steel myself against his verbal attack. I focus on the man I love.
This man is a monster. And Jett had to suffer him all his life.
“Better take the money and run. Now leave, and get out of his life.”
I suddenly remember Aunt Scarlett and my mom, and how they would hate this man. “Why do you meddle with people's lives?”
“I want what’s best for Jett, and so should you.” He doesn't answer my question.
“Anything else?” I start to stand. My hands are steady even though my insides feel like I’ve just gotten off one of those spinning rides at the fairground.
He regards me with his snake-like gaze. “Just remember—if you truly care for Jett and Brooke, you’ll stay away.”
I don’t respond. There’s nothing left to say to a man like him. He knows Jett and I have feelings for one another. Even Dex knows now. I wonder if Dex snitched on us. Because up until now, his father was only sniffing around, trying to guess if something was going on. Now he seems certain.
This much is apparent—this man wants me gone.
I leave Paul Knight's office with doubts creeping in. He is a slime ball. A snake. I walk back to my desk, his words echoing in my mind.
He’ll tire of you.
He’s destined for greater things.
What if Jett does tire of me? He calls me his shortcake now, but things can change. I glance at Jett’s office, his door still open, chair empty. He hasn’t returned, and the silence feels heavy.
Paul’s poison is working its way into my thoughts. Did Jett know about the heiress? Did he keep that from me?
I sit down, my hands trembling as I try to focus on anything but the doubts clawing at my resolve.
A few more days. That’s all I have left before I leave.
Maybe walking away is the right thing to do. For him. For Brooke. Because if Paul is right—if Jett ever grows tired of me—then maybe leaving now is better than staying and seeing everything fall apart.
The thought of leaving hurts more than I want to admit.