Ch. 25 – Jax
J ax wanted to sleep in at least another hour, but two little paws pressing into her full bladder meant that wasn’t happening. Jax cracked open an eyelid.
“Mrw?” asked Styles, staring down at her, his green eyes the definition of innocence even as he pushed another punishing paw onto her bladder.
“Hey, kitty,” she murmured, and reached up to stroke his face. The purr engine immediately revved in his chest, and he proceeded to walk onto her stomach and left boob.
“Okay, that’s enough.” Jax sat up . . . and then remembered yesterday.
The tortillas. The wet dishes in her hands. Rico’s soft, earnest voice beckoning her toward a man she was finding more and more alluring. His lips taking possession of hers.
Then the mother of all freakouts.
Jax flopped back onto her pillow and cringed. The darkness had come for her again. It had enveloped her, cold and icy. She hadn’t been able to breathe. Hadn’t been able to think. The only thing she’d been able to do was run.
And so she’d run .
Jax pressed her face into her pillow, squeezing her eyes shut as if she could somehow block out the humiliating memories. Rico must think she was totally insane. A complete head case. It shouldn’t matter, because she didn’t even like the guy. Couldn’t stand him, in fact.
Except she did like him. Oh, she most definitely did. Yesterday he’d shown her that the flashes of decency she’d seen in him were real. And that had changed everything.
But it was all over. She’d been afraid. Weak. The darkness had nearly drowned her before; it’d stolen two long years of her life. And it’d just ruined everything . . . again.
Jax would have stayed in bed all day if it hadn’t been for the tag team of her urgent bladder and the hungry spotted kitten. After dragging herself to the bathroom and glopping half a can of wet food into Styles’s bowl, she seriously considered making a hasty retreat back to bed. Hiding under the covers and watching a few dozen episodes of The Bachelor in an act of utter self-hatred seemed like a grand plan. After all, school was out and The Rose and Thorn was closed on Mondays. She had all day to self-immolate.
No! The word hollered from the depths of her soul. She’d given into the darkness before. Never again. Rico had probably blocked her number for all eternity, but she had to accept that and move on.
Don’t be weak, not again, she told herself. Instead, she had to focus on what she could control rather than what she couldn’t. Gritting her teeth, she walked into the living room, dropped onto the couch, and reached for her laptop on the coffee table.
She paused as her eyes landed on another object on the table. She actually groaned out loud. Picking up the copy of Exit Wounds, Jax studied the gorgeous, half-dressed couple on the cover. The woman’s breasts were practically popping out of the low neckline of her blouse, and the guy possessed muscles for days .
Did Rico’s body look like that? Jax wondered. She remembered the strong pecs and rigid abs she’d felt during her lurid Rico dream the other night. Her body hummed with growing heat. Should she call him? But what could she possibly say?
Sorry I’m a total freak. Let’s make out again, and this time I promise I’ll try really hard not to flee in abject terror.
Yeah, how about not. With a sigh, she placed the book, cover down, on the coffee table. Styles hopped up on the couch, apparently done with his meal, and immediately flopped onto her lap. She scratched his cheek and felt the tension slowly ease out of her tight shoulders and neck.
Everly and Layla loved to gush about all the benefits of “cat therapy,” and now Jax was starting to understand what they meant.
“Thanks, little man.” She placed a light kiss on the top of Styles’s head. With the sleepy kitten in her lap, she turned on her computer and pulled up the website for Porter Development Co. If she couldn’t be a functional human around Rico, then at least she could try to figure out what shit Mayor Bishop was trying to pull on The Rose and Thorn. There had to be a connection between the mayor and Porter Development Co. She felt it in her bones.
Theo’s irrigation system mishap, which just happened to occur the same night she saw the mysterious BMW leaving the winery after-hours couldn’t be a coincidence. A conspiracy was afoot, and she had all day to figure it out.
The hours slipped by in the light of her laptop screen as Jax dug through the company’s business filings, read through all their press releases, and scrolled through the LinkedIn profiles of every company employee she could identify.
Hello, grunt work. It was all well and good when a reporter received a hot tip from a well-placed source, but the majority of real investigative journalism looked like this—digging through mind-numbingly boring documents on a computer screen or making endless calls to run down facts. It didn’t make for good TV, but that’s how so many earth-shattering stories eventually found the light of day.
Around hour three, Jax stumbled across a new document deep in the bowels of the Porter Development Co. website. The amended quarterly report was released a month ago. Jax downloaded the document and noted that the company projected the same quarterly revenue but had bumped its next year revenue by a significant sum. Apparently several of its projects were nearing completion and it had several other promising projects in the pipeline. An asterisk at the end of a sentence on page 32 led Jax to a footnote typed in such a small font she had to magnify the words on her screen.
The footnote read: Key parties are pushing hard to overcome regulatory and on-the-ground hurdles to approve The Terrace. We have a high amount of confidence in the project’s eventual success.
The Terrace. Was it something? Or nothing? Probably nothing. But Jax pulled up her note sheet, added a bullet point to the end of the list, and typed The Terrace???? She bolded it.
Sometime in the last hour, Styles had traded her lap for the soft couch cushion next to her. Now she looked at the kitten.
“Any idea what this new project is that they’re working on?” she asked the kitten.
He stretched, extending his claws, and gave her a huge, kitten yawn. It was adorably cute . . . and no help at all.
Jax’s phone dinged with an incoming message. Her heart nearly cartwheeled in her rib cage.
Rico?
Jax tapped open her message app .
Alanna: Just got to the sex scene. Guess this book isn’t too bad. [fireworks emoji] [fireworks emoji] [fireworks emoji]
Everly: I know, right? I [heart emoji] it when they talk dirty. Can you believe Naomie did that to him w/ her mouth? [Shocked emoji, Dazed emoji]
Jax rolled her eyes and refocused on her laptop screen. She Googled The Terrace . Bad idea. Google delivered roughly three million results. She tried again with The Terrace, Yucca Hills . Now Google spit out a few home listings in the area that included terraces in the description. Yeah, no.
Jax chewed on her lower lip, trying to think of a better search query. Her fingers typed, The Terrace, Porter Development, Evil?
Google gave her nothing but junk. Her phone dinged.
Willow: Dumb question . . .
Everly: Ask, ask, ask!
Tess: No dumb questions.
Jax sighed, logged into Facebook on a whim, and scrolled through the page of Brad Hogan, Regional Vice President of Operations for Porter Development Co. As a fully minted Boomer, Hogan seemed both entrenched on Facebook and completely uninterested in protecting his internet privacy. His page was public.
Her gaze snagged on a new post on his page. Big deal at work inching closer to happening and look what’s going on the grill today! Life is good. The post included a picture of Brad, his face baked a deep crimson by the overhead sun, standing in a boat holding aloft a silver fish.
“Good job, you outwitted an animal with a brain the size of a pea,” Jax muttered to herself. She was about to click out of the site when she noted a few comments on the post. Most were congratulations on his catch, but one person asked, “What deal? ”
Jax recognized the name as a member of the Porter Development sales team.
“Shhhh,” Brad had responded. “Under wraps. Discord.”
Jax sat back. Brad had a Discord channel? Her fingers flew. It took just a few minutes for her to find his account. For once it was private.
Jax worried her bottom lip and requested access. No way he’d be dumb enough to accept her request. Would he?
Welp, couldn’t hurt to try. Her concentration was interrupted by more incoming texts on her phone. The device has practically turned into a vibrator with all the incoming texts. With a groan, she picked it up and scrolled through the ongoing Crazy Cat Lady convo.
Willow: Can women really have 2 orgasms in a row?
Layla: No.
Alanna: Um . . .YES!!!
Everly: Gasp, w/ Sully?
Alanna: [Winky face emoji]
Everly: Does he take off his glasses and become Superman?
Alanna: Something becomes super. [Devil face emoji] [Eggplant emoji]
Layla: ALANNA!
Everly: I had 3 orgasms in a row once, and I did it with [hand emoji]. I’m talented.
Alanna: Wait . . . @Layla, you’ve never had two orgasms?
Layla: This is getting personal.
Tess: @Layla, you don’t have to answer.
Alanna: Tell Cal to call me. I’ll give him some pointers.
Tess: Some women have more difficulty having orgasms than others. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.
Layla: I’d rather not talk about this.
Willow: I shouldn’t have brought it up. [Sad face emoji ]
Holy California rolls, that’d gotten serious fast. For a moment, Jax lingered over the conversation. Should she jump in? Give Layla some support? But what could she possibly say? The best orgasm of her life had been in her dreams . . .literally!
Something dinged on her computer. Jax turned to the screen, and her jaw practically dropped to the floor. Brad Hogan, VP of Porter Development Co. and mediocre fisherman, had just granted her access to his private Discord channel.
Turns out he was that dumb. Did he not recognize her as the journalist from the city council meeting or the girl who practically flung herself against his car? Maybe he’d had a few too many beers on his fishing boat or had accepted her request before succumbing to heat stroke.
Either way, she was in.
For the next hour, Jax scrolled through the insanely boring inner workings of Brad Hogan’s life. She skimmed through channels dedicated to dissecting every episode of the show Castle , following the games of San Diego’s wannabe hockey team, the Gulls, and rating local sushi joints in fastidious detail. But finally, she found it, tucked far away from his main channels. A channel dedicated to work.
A channel only available to employees of Porter Development Co., the description read. For a moment, Jax wondered if Brad somehow didn’t realize that by inviting her to his Discord, he’d given her access to all his channels. Had he meant to privatize this channel but hadn’t known how?
“Welcome back to the Boomer club,” she muttered under her breath as she clicked into the channel and scrolled through the ongoing text convo. And there it was. Exactly two days ago, Hogan had posted a picture of himself in all his sweaty, red-faced glory with an arm slung around the shoulders of Mayor Bishop. The two men grinned in the picture as if proud of whatever schemes they were hatching. The picture included a caption. Mayor Bishop is on board! Terrace coming to Yucca Hills soon. Shhhhh, don’t tell anyone. Not official yet. [Winky face emoji]
The post included a link. Jax sucked in a breath and clicked.
The link took her to a private website. The home page included a fancy rendering of a large structure. The Terrace , the headline announced above a short blurb that read, A luxury, multi-use space to bring the community of Yucca Hills together.
As Jax scrolled down the image, new headers appeared:
20 retail spaces
80 apartment units
Three-acre park
Community pool and event space
Images crowded the page. Jax gazed at a 3D rendering of a park filled with happy fake people chatting in groups so diverse it’d make a DEI consultant weep for joy. Mothers pushed strollers around a small lake filled with fake little ducks. More images showcased fake people lounging in front of a charming café and three stories of apartment buildings sitting on top of storefronts. Even kids playing baseball on a field.
Jax kept scrolling. At the very bottom of the page, she clicked a small map to increase its size. She immediately recognized downtown Yucca Hills. There was Chapparal Drive, Old Ranch Road, and Creek Bed Ave. A huge star on the map drew her eyes. THE TERRACE announced the star.
The breath she’d been holding punched out of her lungs .
The star sat on top of the highest hill in the town, right over the location of The Rose and Thorn.