29. Sean
The unopened pancake box and the ring lying next to it mock me—along with the trash bin right underneath it—as I reach for my cell. I call my father’s number to give him hell. Of course, his cell phone is turned off. True to his word, he refuses to use any modern technology unless he’s forced to. His villa’s landline goes unanswered. Jasmine tells me he’s out of the office and reminds me that I’m scheduled to meet with him tomorrow, during the quarterly board meeting. Good. Before I end the call, I tell her to let me know if my father shows up, if not, I’ll be in later today.
It was just one damn week. What the fuck was he thinking? That I’d happily nod and give my go-ahead to Drexler’s scheme? Over my dead body.
The persistent rumors have certainly made an impact on my father. Maybe I should have been more effective in de-escalating the situation, explaining that Rutherford posed no threat. Yeah, right—like my father would have taken my word for it.
Once I pocket my cell, I head to my motorcycle. Full throttle, I drive to my next two meetings, clearing my head.
A few hours later, I’ve made up my mind.
I’m more convinced than ever that Jess and I are meant to be together. I’m not going to let her throw away what we have. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass if Blackwood owns all of Westerlyn or not.
My mind is preoccupied with something else.
Something more important than selling a bunch of rooms.
All that matters is Jess, and how truly special she is. How everything pales in comparison to the depth of beauty she carries in her heart. How I find myself unable to get enough of her.
It’s addictive how she effortlessly lightens everything around her with her presence, her smile, her laughter, the bright energy she brings into my world with every step, reminding me to what truly matters in life. Pippin, her employees, people she holds dear. She ensures her guests leave the hotel uplifted, and ready to return next time. Despite the myriad challenges she’s faced along her journey, her past hasn’t brought her to her knees. Instead, it’s fueled her determination to fight for what she believes in, standing like a force against Goliath.
There are a lot of things about her I’m unwilling to live without. It’s unbelievable how easily she fit into my life without me realizing it, without me appreciating it until her presence was gone.
She may say she’s done, but I’m not ready to throw in the towel.
We’re in this together, and there’s no way I’m letting go.
It’s gotta be “we” or nothing.
The only reason why I’m not hounding her at her door and urging her to see reason is because pushing her is going to do more harm than good, because above everything else, what Jess is, is stubborn.
But so am I.
She’ll see things my way. She’ll realize that my father’s threats don’t matter. She’ll agree there’s more here and that we have to be together.
I need a strategy, not a “bull in a China shop” approach. If I charge in there recklessly, she’ll show me the door faster than I can blink.
I glance at my watch, and it’s half past five p.m.
Before heading home to face her with a plan of action, I make a pit stop at my office, as I do almost every evening.
Imagine my surprise as I step into the waiting area of my office to find Jasmine still present, greeting me with a crisp, “Mr. Blackwood, there’s someone waiting in your office.”
I frown, not knowing who the hell would be here to see me. “Who is it?”
“Oh, someone from the Westerlyn NYC property you’ll be happy to see, I’m sure,” she says with a smile, ready to leave for the day. “Anything else you need?”
“Have a nice evening, Jasmine.”
“Thank you, you too, sir.”
Heart racing, I open my door to find Jess standing by the windows. It’s bizarre to find her in this space. I’ve kept my job at Blackwood and my job at the hotel separate. Having both worlds combine throws me for a loop.
“Hey, I was just about to go see you,” I say, glad to see her, closing the door behind me.
Jess turns around and my heart sinks. I can tell by the look on her face that I’m not going to like where this conversation goes.
“I’m sorry to show up here,” she says. “But this couldn’t wait. You weren’t at home, and your secretary said she expected you to arrive soon.”
“Good, because I need to talk to you too, baby.”
I cross the room toward her, but before I get a chance to say anything else, she cuts me off by thrusting an envelope into my hands.
I didn’t even notice she was holding anything.
“Here,” she says, letting go of it. “This is for you. I’ve signed and dated everything, even had it notarized.”
“Signed what?”
“The papers for my half of the properties, the ones you drew up weeks ago. I looked them over with my lawyer, and everything is fine.”
This isn’t what I’m expecting or wanting. “You didn’t have to do that. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about?—”
“Yes, yes, I do,” she cuts me off. “I think it would be best for both of us if we finalize the sale. Which is why I’m leaving.”