Chapter 8
JETT
I turn the faucet some more. Yup. Definitely leaking.
I manage to pour a huge glass of water for Cari. Then I look through the cupboards to find some painkillers, but I can’t find any.
It’s strange that I’m here, in her apartment. In her kitchen. Even stranger that she’s lying in bed and I’m taking care of her.
I couldn’t leave her. She was so unsteady, so vulnerable. I’d noticed her drinking and laughing with her friends earlier, and I thought maybe she was finally letting go, finally enjoying herself.
Cari doesn’t lose control. Ever.
But tonight, she did. And I feel responsible.
She’s had a brutal year—more than anyone could bear. I’ve seen her hold it together through impossible circumstances, showing up every day, and putting up with me. I’ve been under pressure with the Vanhelm deal, knowing my father’s waiting for me to fall flat on my face. I’ve been more demanding than usual with Cari, needing more from her, not wanting to miss any details of the deal.
I realize now that she needed to let her hair down and I’m glad she did. I saw her friends arrive at the kids party but I didn't go over and introduce myself. When I saw her leave alone, something told me I couldn’t just let her go by herself. As I caught up to her, she could barely stand. The shame in her eyes was hard to miss, but I wasn’t about to let her stumble off into the night.
So I did what I had to. I called my driver, took her home, and made sure she got to bed. And then I stayed in case she threw up or something happened to her during the night.
It’s what any responsible boss would do, I tell myself. Only that’s a lie, isn’t it? I don’t sit by the bed of my employees, watching over them to make sure they don’t get sick in the middle of the night. I don’t feel this restless pull in my chest when anyone else stumbles.
But Cari? She’s different. She always has been.
I sat in the corner of her room, watching her sleep. It’s a strange feeling, being in her space. Her room is warm, lived-in, and nothing like the sterile perfection of the women I’ve dated. There are books piled on the nightstand, a framed photo of her with her mom, and a soft throw blanket draped over the chair where I’m sitting. It feels like her—real, unguarded. Genuine.
I return with a glass of water. She stirs, her eyelids fluttering open. For a moment, she looks disoriented, her gaze darting around until it lands on me.
“Ouch.” Her voice is hoarse, and she sits up again slowly, wincing.
“Drink this.” I hand her the glass.
“Thank you,” she croaks.
“How are you feeling?”
She groans, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Like I got hit by a truck.” Another groan follows. “I’m sorry you had to…” She trails off, her cheeks flushing.
“Don’t apologize. We all have our moments.”
“Still,” she murmurs, looking down at the glass. “I didn’t want you to see me like that.”
“Why does it matter?” I ask, genuinely curious.
Her eyes lift to meet mine, and for a moment, there’s something unspoken hanging between us. “Because … you’re my … boss.”
I ground down on my molars. That’s a fucking fact. And it’s been bouncing around in my head through the night. I clear my throat. “I wasn’t going to leave you alone like this. Drink. You’ll feel better.”
She sips the water, her lips pressing against the rim of the glass, and I look away, focusing on the nightstand. My throat feels tight, and I have no idea why. This isn’t the first time I’ve taken care of Cari. She’s broken down a few times in the office since her mom got ill, and I’ve tried to be gentle and kind. But this, tonight, it feels different—more intimate, more dangerous.
“Thank you … for staying.”
“Anyone would think I was nursing you though an illness—” Fuck , I inwardly mutter to myself. She didn’t need to be reminded of that. “I’m sorry. I was looking for some painkillers but couldn’t find them,” I ramble.
“That’s because they’re not in the kitchen.” She directs me to her bathroom cupboard. While I’m in there, I check the faucets and see that they’re fine but many of the wall tiles are missing.
When I return with the Advil, Cari’s sitting up straighter, looking less groggy and more embarrassed. She takes the tablets from me, her fingers brushing mine for the briefest moment. It’s enough to send a spark of something I can’t quite name through me.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, her eyes downcast. “I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”
“You didn’t ruin anything.” I sit down on the edge of the bed, further away from her.
“I don’t want you to think I’m irresponsible. Or a mess.”
“You’re not a mess,” I say, my voice firmer than I intended. “You’re human, Cari. You’re allowed to let go once in a while.”
She shakes her head, her fingers tightening around the glass. “It doesn’t feel that way. I feel like I have to hold it together. Always.”
Something about the way she says it cuts through me. I know that feeling—too well. “You don’t have to hold it together for me.”
She blinks, her lips parting slightly as if she’s about to say something, but then she looks down, her fingers twisting in her lap. “Thank you. For … everything.”
“Stop thanking me,” I say, standing abruptly. I need space—need air—but I don’t move far. “You’d do the same for me.”
She smiles faintly, her eyes meeting mine. “I don’t think you’d ever let me see you like this.”
“No,” I admit. “But that’s because I’m an ass.”
The laugh that escapes her is soft and hoarse, but it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve heard all night. “You’re not always an ass,” she says.
“You’re just being nice to me, for a change.”
I’ve noticed that she’s been especially prickly towards me lately. She hasn’t handled me as well as she usually does.
I’m a demanding boss. A little obnoxious and arrogant. I’m too much like my father in that respect, but that’s where the comparison ends. Lately I’ve been stressed. It’s because of the Vanhelm deal and the pressure for it to go well. My father’s waiting for me to fail, and I’ve come down hard on Cari because she has so much to do to help with the administration side.
Maybe she’s prickly because of her mom.
I do understand that, but lately things have been uneasy. The air between us is charged sometimes with something that is thick and heavy.
Like now.
Her smile fades, and for a moment, we just look at each other. I know I should step away, put distance between us before I say or do something I’ll regret. But I can’t. Not when she’s looking at me like that—like I’m more than her boss, more than the man who brought her home.
“Get some sleep,” I say finally, my voice quieter. “I’ll be here if you need me.”
She nods, her gaze lingering on me as she sinks back against the pillows. “Goodnight, Jett.”
“Get some sleep, Cari. I’m not going anywhere.” But the words feel too small for what I’m feeling.
I walk over to the corner of the room again and settle into the chair, determined to stay until morning. She turns away, and slowly her breathing evens out, soft and steady. I still can’t relax.
The room is warm, faintly scented with something floral—her perfume, maybe. It’s everywhere, clinging to me, reminding me of all the reasons I should leave and all the reasons I can’t.