CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
SEVEN
“Oh my God, you’re working out again?” Trojan’s incredulous voice broke through my mid-afternoon workout session. Admittedly, it was a new addition to my routine.
But a week after that horrible, cringe-worthy meet-up with Jordan in my new office space, I needed some extra oomph in my routine. There was a lot I wanted to distract myself from. A lot of thoughts I needed to stop haunting me.
“I’m just keeping things interesting.” My breath came out wispy as I did sit-ups clutching a fifty-pound weight to my chest. “Trying new combinations.”
“You’re obsessed. You need to work out once a day, five days a week, like the rest of the civilized world. But what you’re doing is like, double that.” He flopped onto the couch, heaving a sigh. He’d been occupying Jordan’s old bedroom for almost a week, since his protection gig with the celebrity wrapped up. Now, he was officially on my payroll as a drop-in officer, on duty whenever Eli came into the picture, twice since he arrived in New York.
I grunted, dropping the weight and collapsing back onto the floor. I stared at the ceiling as I took a few deep breaths.
“Pretty sure you’re trying to distract yourself from how miserable you are,” Trojan went on.
“I’m not miserable.”
“You’re fucking miserable,” he affirmed. “And I know exactly why, but I’ll pretend I don’t if that’s what you want.”
I sighed, pushing up onto my elbows. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Trojan groaned. “Sure. You know, I really did think that you were being dumb by sleeping with your client, but you’re being dumber pretending this whole avoid-and-ignore approach is going to work.”
“I needed a clean break,” I reminded him. It was easier than admitting I was a breath away from losing this job, this apartment, this life because of this hole I’d personally dug. “She walked out. I took my opportunity. It needed to happen. You told me yourself.”
“Yeah, but that was before you guys became all…” He jumbled his hands around in the air in front of him. “Enmeshed. Now you’re both just moping around like sad birds.”
“Is she sad?” I asked sharply, looking back at him.
“Seven, you’re the first thing she asks about whenever I see her.”
I swallowed hard. I had daily reports on her coming in from Chico and Trojan, but it still wasn’t enough. I didn’t need to knowhow she was doing, officially, but I couldn’t help asking. Though it didn’t even scratch the surface of what I wanted.
“And do you tell her?”
“I haven’t told her how bad you’re getting. But the next time she asks, I’m going to tell her you’re a moping dodo bird.” Trojan sent me a pointed look. “Because you are.”
“Well, it makes the most sense to stay the course. It might hurt for now, but that’s better than it hurting for the rest of our lives.”
Trojan squinted at me. “Did you tell her about Olivia?”
I exhaled heavily, popping to my feet.
“Seven.” His voice held a warning.
“What?”
“You fucking heard me. Did you tell her?”
I put my weights back on the rack, loud clangs ringing through the apartment. “No.”
He groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Okay, well, that might be a good place to start.”
I had a few comebacks ready for him, but my phone rang, interrupting my plan of attack. I snatched up my phone from the coffee table, finding Damian’s name on the screen.
I swiped it on, grateful for the distraction but worried he might have yet another suspicion to confront me with. “Hey, Damian. What’s up?”
“Hey, Seven. Got a couple things I wanted to run by you.”
“Shoot.”
“First of all, Axel and I are planning a dinner for Jordan. To celebrate her new apartment and everything. Would you like to join?”
My insides went cold. “When is it?”
“Tomorrow night.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, grappling for some excuse. I did want to go. But I wanted to maintain this clean break more. To prove to him I didn’t have anything going on with his little sister. “Damn. My friend is in town, and we had some plans for tomorrow night.”
“Mmm. Okay.” Damian tutted. “Well, moving along. I’m going to send something to your phone. Could you look at it for me?”
“Sure. What is it?”
Damian cleared his throat, and a prickle in my gut warned me what was coming. “It’s a picture I stumbled across. Take a look.”
I pulled my phone away from my ear and waited for the picture message to finish loading. When it was ready, a high-resolution image of Jordan showed up on my screen—on Eli’s arm.
My mouth parted. I needed a few extra seconds for things to click into place.
But when they did, all I could think was fuuuuck.
“Did you get it?”
“I did.” I pressed the phone to my ear. “It’s Jordan.”
“Yes, it was taken two days ago in Midtown.” Damian said. That had been one of the excursions Trojan accompanied her on. Something like a PR/shopping trip that Eli insisted Jordan attend.
“You know who that man is,” Damian said it more like a statement, but I could tell it was also a question.
“Um…” I started.
“You’ve been looking into his history. That’s Cora’s ex-husband, Eli Rossberg.”
“That’s right,” I said slowly. “I knew I recognized him.”
“Why is Jordan with him?”
I swallowed hard, my hands going clammy. I had nothing prepared. No response at the ready. I’d foolishly assumed that Axel or Damian discovering Jordan’s activities was impossible.
But I’d underestimated Damian’s sleuthing skills.
“I wasn’t accompanying Jordan in this picture,” I finally said, trying to sound confident, like there wasn’t a massive plot going on under his nose. “I do know that she has crossed paths with him at the club a time or two.” I swallowed hard. Was I making things better or just condemning us both?
“And you’re both aware of his place in our family history, correct?” Damian’s voice held an edge I didn’t like. An edge I knew to respect.
“I never briefed Jordan on who he was.” I wanted to take some of the blame here. As much as I could, anyway. “That was my fault. I was under the impression that you or Axel spoke with her about him. Did his name not come up at the divorce celebration dinner?”
Damian cleared his throat. “We don’t speak his name, especially not around Axel. Apparently, we need to have a direct conversation about it.”
“I did think that Cora might have mentioned him as well, given how close she and Jordan have become.” I was pacing the living room now, ignoring Trojan’s curious looks.
“Is she seeing Eli?”
“That’s not my understanding.” I rubbed my forehead, desperate not to push Jordan any deeper into this sticky misunderstanding. “He’s a strip club patron who wants to blow his money on the best dancer.”
Damian sighed softly. “But they’re not in the club here. They’re on Fifth Avenue.”
I had nothing for him on that point. “You’re right.”
“I’ll talk to her about it. But I want you and I to be on the same page: she’s not to see him again. At all. I get the club is different, she can’t control that. But beyond those walls, she needs to stay away from him. For her own safety. That’s a non-negotiable. Make sure all your employees understand.”
There was no room for argument. I simply responded, “Understood. It’ll be handled.”
I hung up the phone with a sick dread cycling in my gut.
“I take it that wasn’t a great call,” Trojan said, grimacing.
“No. It wasn’t.” I let out a terse exhale as I set my phone down on the coffee table and sank into the armchair facing Trojan. “The brothers caught wind of Jordan’s outing the other day with Eli. It looked like a paparazzi photo.”
“Shit. I was keeping an eye out for media, too,” Trojan muttered.
“They say she can’t go near him outside of the club again,” I said, that dread taking root and blossoming into something much more dangerous. “Non-negotiable. I took that to mean that if she’s near Eli again in public, the consequences will be severe.”
Severe was an understatement. I’d lose my job and any chance of a referral to other clients. And Jordan would lose whatever healing and rebuilding she’d managed to cobble together thus far. After so much pain and struggle to get to this point…I didn’t want to see her lose this connection with her brothers.
But what was more important here?
Trojan sat up, clearing his throat. “So what’s the plan? Scrap the mission?”
I shook my head. I knew Jordan wouldn’t want that, though I planned on briefing her about this, regardless. If she canned it, I’d go along with it. But if she wanted to continue, we’d have to get craftier. And if I knew that stubborn spitfire, she’d do whatever it took to give back to her brothers.
“I’ll let Jordan know about this. It’ll be her decision. But ultimately, if she wants to stay the course, we keep going,” I said. “We’ll just need to get more discreet. It’s only a little bit longer. We can make it through, right?”
My friend didn’t look entirely convinced.
Whatever risks we were taking, they’d just gotten a little more dangerous.