Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jacob
Max is two years older than me, and for some reason, he thinks that gives him the right to boss me around. Drop by my office whenever the hell he feels like it and . . . well, annoy the hell out of me. It’s always the same, no matter how many times I explain to him that I’m a busy person.
“What do you want?” I ask, hoping it’s not tickets for the Boston Blades. I’m currently negotiating a contract for Killion Crawford, and calling him, his assistant, or the team is not an option right now.
“I heard you’re signing the next big star for the New England Seagulls,” he says, that smug grin spreading across his face.
Great. Another rumor. As much as I’d like to confirm it, I haven’t locked that deal yet. There are about a million balls I’m juggling, and yet, my brother is here to ask for tickets to something or other.
I tap my desk. “You have two minutes to tell me why you’re here or I’ll leave.”
Max arches an eyebrow, challenging me. “You’re going to leave your office?”
“Well, yeah. Knowing you, you’ll never leave,” I shoot back, already feeling the irritation bubbling up.
He leans against the doorframe, all casual-like. “I need your help with a property I’m buying for Zoe. And, if you could throw in some hockey tickets for the?—”
“No,” I cut him off before he can finish.
“You didn’t even let me?—”
“Again, no tickets for you. Need me to spell it out? I’m not a real estate agent, I’m not a lawyer . . . leave me the fuck alone.”
Max chuckles. “Huh. That’s weird.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “What’s weird?”
“Caleb and Em said you’d be in a good mood today,” he says, his grin widening. “I mean, you finally got laid on Saturday night. I thought your holiday neighbor would’ve softened you up. Instead, it seems like she . . . hardened you. Or maybe she didn’t put out and you’re still hard—very hard—for her.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I snap, my temper flaring. “I forbid you to talk about her.”
Max, of course, ignores my warning. “But seriously, when do we get to meet the future Mrs. Holiday-McCallister or will it be McCallister-Holiday?”
“There’s no . . . Never,” I growl through gritted teeth. The last thing I need is for him to ruin this—like he’s ruined every relationship he can. Then it hits me . . . he hasn’t ruined his own engagement, and Zoe actually adores him. How the fuck did that happen?
I’m quiet for a beat, my mind spinning. Then I blurt out, “When?”
Max frowns, confused. “When what?”
“When did you know Zoe was the love of your life?” I ask, my voice quieter than before.
Max’s smug grin softens. For the first time since he barged in, he looks at me like we’re having a real conversation. Then he ruins it. “Oh, you’ll know, Jacob. You’ll know.”
“No, I need a real fucking answer,” I insist.
He shrugs and smirks. “When I tasted her sweet cunt, of course.”
I instantly regret asking. Why the hell did I expect anything else from my stupid brother?
“Jesus Christ, does your fiancée know the shit you say about her behind her back?” I ask, my annoyance hitting new heights.
He nods, completely unfazed. “Yep. Zoe loves it. I’ll probably text her later, tell her what to do since I’m not there to make her wet. She likes when I text her dirty things.” He smirks proud of himself.
“For fuck’s sake, stop. I don’t need to hear about your sex life.”
“You’re no fun, Jacob,” Max laughs, leaning back with that infuriatingly smug look. “And yet, somehow, you’ve found someone to love who is cheery and totally opposite of you. Interesting.” He raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “If you ask me—and Audrey agrees—you fell in love somewhere between ‘stop burning those fucking candles’ and ‘the ghosts on the walls are too much.’ It’s basically a holiday rom-com in the making.”
I roll my eyes, but his words hit harder than I want them to. Love? Is that what this is? Because if it is . . . what the hell am I supposed to do with that? Would Noelle even believe me? Is it too soon to tell her?
Before I can spiral further, my phone rings. Noelle.
“Yes?” I answer, hoping I don’t sound as off-balance as I feel.
“What the fuck did you do, McCallister?” Her voice is sharp, full of anger.
I freeze. “Excuse me?” I’ve never heard her this upset at me. Never. Not even when we’re fighting about her decorations or the noise or . . . “Are you okay, baby?”
“You called the owner of the apartment, told him we’ve made changes to the unit and that I’m subleasing it from my grandmother,” she snaps, clearly pissed.
“No, I didn’t?—”
“Don’t lie to me,” she snaps. “He said, ‘Mr. McCallister made me aware of the issues going on in my apartment. I’m afraid you’ve breached your contract. You either leave now, or we’ll have to evict you, and the legal fees will be on you.’” She pauses, her voice tight with anger. “I can forward you the voice message if you don’t believe me.”
Fuck. I didn’t mean for this to happen. Well, okay, maybe I did before—but that was then. And now . . . I’ve fucked up royally, haven’t I?
Guilt hits me hard, and I grip my phone tighter. “Noelle, I’ll fix this. I swear. It wasn’t?—”
“Go fuck yourself, Jacob McCallister. You just took away my grandma’s home. The place she lived with Grandpa, where he died. It’s not like she even wanted to live here, but it means a lot to her. You’re a soulless asshole,” she spits with so much anger in her words.
And I do remember Mrs. Holiday talking about her late husband with fondness. He sounded like a nice person, just like her, and like their granddaughter.
“Noelle, I can fix—” But the call ends, and the silence on the other end feels like a punch to the gut.
“Everything okay?” Max asks, his knowing smirk already in place.
“Yes, everything’s fine,” I grumble, staring at my phone like it might hold the solution to this disaster.
“Sure,” Max says, not buying it for a second. “But you look like your world’s coming to an end.”
“I’m fine,” I mutter, the words hollow.
Max snorts, cutting through my bullshit. “How did you fuck up?”
Though I should tell him to fuck off, I find myself explaining the whole thing, hoping that maybe talking it out will help me figure out a solution.
When I finish, Max’s grin is even wider. “Nice job, genius. Trying to get your girl evicted? That’s one way to say ‘I love you.’”
“Shut the fuck up,” I snap, rubbing the back of my neck, trying to control the rising panic.
Max just grins at me like I’m the biggest idiot in the world. “I mean, you’re good at a lot of things, but being a smooth boyfriend? Definitely not one of them.”
“This isn’t the time to say stupid things.” I shoot him a look that could kill, but unfortunately, he’s not wrong. He raises his hands, shrugging. “I’m not sure how I’m going to fix it.”
“Didn’t you just say what you were going to do when the landlord contacted you? Buy the apartment. Just convince him to sell it to you, and boom—you’re the fucking hero.”
“And if he doesn’t sell?”
“Everyone has a price,” Max says with a smirk. “And if you can’t get him with money, find all the problems with the place and negotiate him down to the bare minimum. You got Crawford a quarter billion deal to toss a ball, didn’t you? You’re Jacob fucking McCallister. Show up and fix your shit.”
As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. I have to fix this, and I can do it.
Without another word, I grab my jacket and head for the door. Max just laughs as I leave.
“Go be a hero, lover boy. Don’t let this one go.”
I fucking hope I can deliver.