Chapter 14 #2
“Were you always like this?” I ask, swirling what’s left of my champagne. The laughter has faded and the air between us feels quieter and steadier somehow. “With you and your brothers, were you always the funny one?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Guess so. Things could be pretty grim sometimes. It was my job to give them something to laugh at.”
Something in his tone shifts, and I set my glass down. “You had a tough childhood?”
He nods. “Yeah. It was just the four us really: me, Ford, Wes, and Noah. Our mom got sick, and Ford basically became the adult overnight. Learned to cook, handled school stuff, made sure we didn’t burn the house down.
” He exhales, a faint, almost tired smile tugging at his mouth.
“He didn’t get to be a kid, not really. That’s why he’s…
the way he is. Always two steps ahead, planning every possible outcome before it happens.
I think he believes that if he just keeps everything under control, nothing can go wrong. ”
There’s a quiet moment where the weight of what he said settles between us, soft and heavy. I’m surprised he’s being so open, so vulnerable.
“Can I ask what happened to your mom? It’s okay if you don’t feel like talking about it.”
He goes quiet for a beat, his gaze drifting out the window where the city lights are now flickering. When he speaks again, his voice is lower.
“She was sick for most of my childhood. A stroke eventually took her when I was eleven. After she died, everything sort of…came apart. My dad—” he stops, jaw working for a second before he exhales through his nose.
“He didn’t take it well. None of us did, but he just…
disappeared in a different way. He was still there, but not really.
After that, he spent a lot of time at the bar or passed out somewhere he shouldn’t have been.
Some days he’d be fine, and others…” He shakes his head, eyes flicking down to his drink.
“We learned not to expect much. Ford tried to shield us, but I still remember the nights he’d wait up, hoping Dad would come home sober. He never did.”
“Jesse…I’m sorry, that’s awful,” I say softly. My heart breaks for the little boy he once was. As distant as my relationship was with my parents, I couldn’t imagine the pain of losing my mom at such a young age. The silence between us stretches, but it doesn’t feel empty. It feels like honesty.
“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Ford took care of everyone, and I cracked jokes. I thought that if we could laugh, maybe it wouldn’t always hurt so damn much. That’s just kind of been my thing ever since, I guess.”
For a moment, neither of us says anything. The room is quiet, the silence broken only by the distant sounds of the traffic outside. I look at Jesse, my throat tightening. I didn’t expect this, not the honesty or the ache that comes with it. “That’s actually really brave.”
He laughs. “Brave probably isn’t the word I’d use.”
“Still,” I say, my voice gentle, “you turned all of that into something. A million-dollar company. A life.”
He glances at me then, and there’s something in his eyes I haven’t seen before. Gratitude maybe, or relief. After a long pause, he says, “So, there’s my life story. Your turn, Mads. Tell me about the Ashcroft family history.”
I let out a soft laugh. “It’s a little less tragic, a lot more exhausting.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“My dad’s a politician. My mom… well, she’s a politician’s wife. Perfect house, perfect smile, perfect judgment. I don’t think she’s gone a single day in the past couple of years without reminding me how much better everything would be if I’d just follow in her footsteps.”
He smirks faintly. “Is that why you moved to Deep Cove? To get away?”
“Yeah,” I say, exhaling. “Moving and taking the job at Cove was one of the first decisions I made that was just for me. I didn’t ask for anyone else’s approval; I didn’t care about anyone else’s expectations.
My mom is…not happy about it, to say the least. But my sister and her husband support me.
Cara and I are really close,” I say. “She’s three years older than me.
Everything about our parents always felt performative—always putting on a show, trying to impress people. But Cara is just real.”
Jesse stretches an arm across the back of the couch, shifting to look at me. “You talk to her a lot?”
“All the time,” I say, smiling. “Her husband Ryan is like a big brother to me. When I couldn’t take my parents any longer, they offered to let me move in with them.
They have a little girl, Marigold who’s three months old and is the sweetest thing on the planet.
I miss her the most now that I’m two hours away from them. ”
“Sounds like they’re good people.”
“The best,” I agree. “I’d do anything for them. I don’t know what I would have done without Cara. I just wish we were closer to our parents, that their love didn’t come with so many strings attached.”
“Strings?”
“Expectations,” I correct. “My mother thinks my entire life should be a PR strategy for an election campaign. When I told her I wanted to work in marketing, she looked at me like I said I wanted to join the circus.”
“Well, it is marketing,” Jesse quips, breaking the tension a little.
“Fair point.” I grin, taking another sip from my champagne flute.
“Sounds like they put a lot of pressure on you.”
I nod. “After my sister married Ryan, who isn’t in politics, their dreams all fell on me.
They had this vision of introducing me to the son of a senator.
Someone who looked good on paper and could fit right into my father’s world.
And I would learn to keep a house, plan dinner parties.
Be the kind of supportive wife people talk about in their holiday speeches. ”
Jesse exhales, shaking his head. “Sounds suffocating.”
“It is,” I admit. “But it’s all they know. They’ve lived their entire lives that way.”
“Sounds like we both figured out how to survive our families.”
“Maybe,” I say. “Except you built an empire.”
He smiles at that, slow and a little lopsided. “You built something too,” he says, voice quieter now. “I’ve seen the way you work, Mads. You are incredible at what you do. You have fresh ideas. You build trust. You build people up.”
The sincerity in his tone steals my breath for a second. “You’re not bad at that yourself.”
His grin widens. “Careful. Keep complimenting me and I’ll start thinking you actually like me.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling too. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”
He tips his head, considering what I just said. “Wouldn’t hate it.”
There’s a beat—quiet, but full—and the air between us hums with the champagne, the honesty, the closeness. My pulse stumbles when he reaches for the empty bottle and sets it aside, his sleeve brushes mine. “We should probably open that second one,” he says.
I laugh. “That’s probably a terrible idea. You’re my boss, Jesse. Pretty sure we’re breaking a lot of rules here.”
“Most good stories start that way,” he counters, already reaching for the bottle. “Fuck the rules.”
Soon we’re both laughing too hard to care.
Somewhere between Jesse confessing that he tanked his first big lead at Cove by butchering the client’s name the entire time and my mortifying admission that I once gave a mock presentation during an interview with two feet of toilet paper hanging out the back of my skirt, the second bottle of champagne disappears.
The food sits mostly untouched on the table between us, the room warm with city lights and the soft buzz of alcohol. I can’t remember the last time I felt this relaxed, this…unguarded.
Jesse leans back against the sofa, glass dangling from his fingers, that crooked smile pulling at his mouth.
“I think we should test out that jacuzzi,” he says, glancing toward the corner of the suite.
“It’s been tempting me all night. You can’t just let a jacuzzi go unused, isn’t that one of life’s unwritten rules? ”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re joking.”
He raises his brows, all mock innocence. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
“No,” I say flatly, though I can’t quite fight my grin. “But you must be, because it’s an insane suggestion.”
“Not insane,” he argues, setting his glass down. “Don’t over think it, Mads. It’s a big tub. I’ll stay on my side; you stay on yours. No accidental footsie, nothing scandalous. We’ll be completely professional.”
I arch a brow at him over the rim of my glass. “Nothing about this seems professional.”
He lifts a shoulder in mock innocence. “Sure, it is. We’re just decompressing after a long week. It’s practically team building.”
I snort. “Team building?”
He nods his head, draining what’s left in his glass.
“Well, there’s no point talking about it because even if I wanted to, which I don’t, I don’t have a swimsuit.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “You have a bra and underwear, don’t you?”
“Jesse—”
“What?” He lifts a shoulder, walking toward the jacuzzi and flipping on the jets, the sound of the bubbling water filling the room. “I didn’t bring trunks either. But that’s what boxer-briefs are for.”
I press my lips together, trying not to laugh because one, I’m drunk and two, the thought of saying yes doesn’t sound as crazy as it should.
I stare at him, waiting for him to give up on this ridiculous idea.
He doesn’t. Instead, he leans over the edge of the tub, testing the water temperature with his hand, completely unbothered.
God, he’s actually serious. “I can’t believe you’re actually serious.”
He glances over his shoulder, eyes glinting with amusement. “Come on, Madeline. You’ve been overthinking everything since the day I met you. It’s just water. And bubbles. What’s the worst that could happen?”
I feel the blush that creeps up my cheeks at that. “Five minutes,” I warn, not quite believing I’m agreeing to this. “Then I’m out.”
His grin turns triumphant. “Deal.”
I grab my glass for courage and make my way to the bathroom, muttering under my breath the entire time. You’re out of your mind. You are not doing this. You are a grown woman with self-control and boundaries.
I close the door behind me and lean against the counter, staring at my reflection. My cheeks are flushed—champagne and bad decisions in full effect. I let out a groan, set my glass down, and start unbuttoning my blouse.
“It’s fine,” I tell myself, stripping down to my bra and underwear. “It’s basically a swimsuit. A very flimsy, very terrible swimsuit.”
I knot my hair into a loose bun, take one last deep breath for courage, and step back into the suite with a towel wrapped around me.
The sound of the bubbling jets fills the air.
Jesse’s standing beside the tub now, back to me, bare from the waist up, wearing only black boxer briefs that ride low on his hips.
Every muscle in his back flexes as he turns the water dial, broad shoulders tapering down to a lean, sculpted frame that looks unfairly perfect under the soft light.
He glances over his shoulder and grins, looking entirely too aware of my reaction. “Stop stressing. Look, it’s roomy.”
“Right,” I manage, my voice catching halfway out of my throat. “Very roomy.”
He turns, gesturing toward the opposite side of the tub, and my breath catches before I can stop it.
The front of him is just as devastating as the back.
A hard chest with smooth skin, muscles cut and defined in all the right places, a dusting of dark hair covering his very sculpted pecs.
A tattoo curls under his ribs, the ink drawing my eye before I can look away.
Everything about him radiates strength and confidence, the kind that should come with a warning label.
Heat floods my face when my gaze flicks lower to the imprint behind his briefs.
Oh. There is no ignoring what’s right there.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Stop lusting over your boss.
“Are you okay?”
I groan cracking an eye open. “You have abs…”
He chuckles, way too pleased with himself. “Is that why you can’t look at me?”
I slap a hand over my face. “Oh God, can we rewind and forget I said that? That would be fantastic.”
“Would that help you to get into the jacuzzi with me?”
I nod. “Yes, that would help.”
Jesse steps into the hot tub, water rippling around him like he knows how dangerous he looks. “Your side’s waiting.”
I take another sip of champagne for courage then set the glass down, every nerve alive, every inch of me silently praying I survive the next five minutes without completely losing my mind.