Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
ZACK
I stand in the shadows of the grand hall, my eyes following the red dress that moves through the crowd, impossible to miss. Jenny. I’ve barely seen her since she arrived, and even now, I have to admit she’s transformed. She’s no longer the awkward girl who lurked around the estate, hoping for Brett’s attention. Instead, she’s blossomed, a woman with curves that draw attention, poised in that bold dress as if she was born to wear it. It’s no wonder Brett’s caught up, oblivious to everything else.
But it’s clear from one look at her that she’s still chasing something, and her stubborn foolishness is plain to see. This time, though, it’s more than just a juvenile crush on my careless brother. It’s a dangerous game she’s stepping into, one that could cost us all more than she realizes.
“Yet another party?” my mother’s voice comes from behind, pulling me from my thoughts.
I turn slightly, catching the raised eyebrow she gives as she surveys the scene.
“It’s the second this month,” she remarks, her tone laced with dry amusement.
I shake my head, a weary sigh escaping. “You all told me to indulge him. Let him be…well, here you have it.”
“Don’t be so stuck up,” she says with a smile. “He livens up the house, plus there’s a valid reason this time at least, since Jenny’s back. I hope she’s having fun.”
She takes in the scene once again, and I know she sees it just as I do. “He has to be more careful though,” she murmurs, folding her hands in front of her. “He’s engaged now to Elizabeth, and her family won’t tolerate anything that undermines it.”
This is my concern as well. Elizabeth’s family, the Crawfords, are the linchpin in a real estate empire that can catapult us to untouchable status in this world, so we were more than pleased to hear of Brett’s growing interest in her. Now that things have been set in stone, the last thing I want is for their impending marriage to implode. It’s the final step in securing a deal that’s taken years to cultivate. One reckless move from Brett, and the Crawfords could pull back, leaving us exposed, vulnerable.
I glance at my mother, who meets my gaze, her expression sharp. “He can’t afford to make mistakes now. Elizabeth’s father has watched Brett closely; he won’t approve if he sees… this,” she says, with a slight nod toward the conservatory. “And neither will Elizabeth.”
“Exactly,” I mutter, barely containing my irritation. My eyes shift back to the conservatory, where Brett and Jenny are heading, her red dress swaying as she moves, Brett practically leading her into the lion’s den. I tighten my jaw. It’s more than just a risk…this could unravel everything if they’re seen together. With Elizabeth out of town, Brett’s likely forgotten the weight of this arrangement. He thinks he’s untouchable.
I pull out my phone, scrolling through to Brett’s contact and dialing, but the call rings through unanswered. Typical. He’s too wrapped up in his own world to even pick up. I look back at my mother, whose eyes have narrowed. “Brett’s not answering,” I tell her, frustration seeping into my voice. “I’ll have to go myself.”
Her eyes flicker with worry. “Zack… handle this delicately. He’s a free agent, and he volunteered to do this. If he feels he’s being boxed in, he’ll call it off himself. Just… just make sure he understands what’s at stake.”
With a stiff nod, I turn, leaving my mother’s watchful eyes behind as I stride toward the conservatory. Each step fuels my annoyance, a quiet fury building beneath the surface. I know Brett; he’s impulsive, and right now, he’s entangled in his shallow attraction to this “new” Jenny, blind to everything else.
I reach the conservatory entrance and hesitate for a moment, glancing through the glass. Brett and Jenny are standing by the far end, framed by the sprawling indoor plants, their laughter soft but lingering in the air. Jenny’s leaning in, her eyes sparkling with the same mixture of naivety and boldness that I recognize too well. Brett’s got his gaze locked on her, an amused grin on his face, oblivious to the danger of being seen with her tonight.
I push open the door and approach, my presence going unnoticed until I clear my throat. Brett looks up, his expression shifting from surprise to irritation. Jenny’s eyes flick to me, widening slightly, but she quickly composes herself.
“Zack.” Brett’s voice carries an edge, his easygoing grin faltering. “What’s with the interruption?”
I keep my expression controlled, arms crossed as I glance between them.
“Jenny,” I call out to her. “It’s nice to see that you’re back.”
She doesn’t quite seem to know how to respond to this, and Brett seems amused.
“You’re making her uncomfortable, Zack,” he says.
My eyes rove down her gorgeous frame, and then I turn to him.
“A word?”
Nodding, he hands his glass over to her and excuses himself.
Before I can even say a word, he jumps to his defense.
“We’re just talking, Zack. Relax.”
“Talking?” I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Brett, if you wanted a casual conversation, you wouldn’t have brought her in here. You do know what you’re risking, right?”
His jaw tightens, a defensive glint in his eyes. “I know exactly what I’m doing. And Jenny and I?—”
“Jenny and you?” I cut him off. “There can’t be a ‘Jenny and you.’ I need you to tell me that you understand this. And this is no longer just about the marriage between you and Elizabeth. The entire deal is at stake now. Remember, you agreed to do this… to contribute. Do you want to renege on that now?”
Brett’s face hardens, and I can see a flash of irritation in his eyes. “It’s not that simple, Zack. I never said I’d?—”
“It is that simple,” I interrupt, my tone cold, my patience wearing thin. “You’ve been given a position in this family, responsibilities that come with it. This isn’t the time for distractions.” My gaze flickers toward the conservatory door, and then back to him. “You know exactly what you’re risking here.”
He runs a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated, but I don’t let up. Brett needs to hear this, and he needs to understand it fully.
“If you’re not ready for this, say so now,” I continue. “But don’t put the family in jeopardy because you can’t control a passing interest.”
He sighs, looking away, then nods reluctantly. “Fine. I get it, Zack. I’ll control myself.”
Satisfied, I hold his gaze a moment longer, watching him process my words, before stepping back. “Good. I’m heading out.”
However, he stops me, grabbing my arm and shutting his eyes. I can tell he’s conflicted deep within and doesn’t quite know what to do.
“I understand,” I tell him. “You’ve been called away to my office. There are urgent matters we need to discuss and an urgent phone call waiting for you.”
He releases a heavy breath at this and sighs. “Yeah, thanks, I’ll wait for you there.”
As Brett heads back to Jenny to deliver his excuse, I lean against the doorframe, watching her through the conservatory’s glass. She's radiant in the dim light, her red dress hugging her figure, her presence a striking contrast against the soft glow of the evening. The transformation in her is startling, almost magnetic, and for a brief, unsettling moment, I can understand why Brett is so easily swayed. But that moment passes quickly; my focus is on the consequences.
Brett emerges, his expression faintly conflicted as he closes the door behind him. He takes a deep breath, eyes a bit unfocused, before he turns toward me.
As we step away from the conservatory and make our way toward my office, Brett’s silence breaks. “I know you’re against this,” he starts, his voice quieter than usual. “But I can’t shake this feeling. Maybe I’ve been blind to it all these years. She’s different now, Zack. Maybe... maybe I’m just seeing her for the first time.”
I don’t react outwardly, though my mind races, noting his tone…earnest, like he genuinely believes he’s found something real with Jenny. I keep my face neutral, giving him room to continue.
He hesitates before speaking again. “Look, I know I’m engaged to Elizabeth. I know what’s expected. But I can’t help but wonder if Jenny came back at this exact moment for a reason. Maybe this is some kind of sign. Maybe Elizabeth was never really...”
“Stop,” I say, my voice firm but quiet. I don’t let him finish, don’t give him the satisfaction of letting this become a discussion about “fate” or “signs.” He needs to know his pattern, that I see right through it.
“You didn’t even recognize her at the airport, Brett,” I remind him, allowing a slight edge of irritation to color my words. “She walked right past you, and you only noticed her because she looked like some gorgeous stranger. Now, just because she’s in a red dress instead of her old tomboy clothes, you’re ready to throw away everything we’ve built…all for a whim?”
He opens his mouth, a flicker of defiance in his eyes, but I press on before he can interrupt. “This isn’t about some romantic revelation, Brett. You have responsibilities…to the family, to the merger, to Elizabeth. You wanted to be a part of this, to finally step up and contribute. You think breaking an engagement now, jeopardizing the entire deal, is the way to do that?”
He lets out a breath, frustration clear on his face, but there’s an underlying uncertainty as well. “I don’t want to jeopardize anything. But I can’t look past Jenny now. Not this time. I... I just want a chance, Zack. A chance to see where it might go with her.”
I sigh, a weighty, sympathetic sound, masking the calculation behind it. “I understand, Brett. Really, I do. But you have to tread carefully. Let’s talk this through.”
As we head back to my office, I notice he’s got a single champagne glass tucked into his back pocket…a careless habit he’s picked up over the years. I shake my head, a hint of amusement breaking through. “Why do you still do that?” I ask, gesturing to the glass.
Brett shrugs, grinning in that nonchalant way of his. “It’s practical, believe it or not,” he says. “When I’ve got my hands full, it’s easier to tuck the glass in my pocket. Then, when it’s time to pour, it’s right there.”
I raise an eyebrow, shaking my head. “You know, they do make trays. And of course you can also use your hand.”
“Yeah, but where’s the charm in that?” he replies, giving a wink.
He’s clearly in better spirits, and as we walk, he grows more animated, his thoughts wandering back to Jenny. “You know, it’s crazy,” he says, almost to himself. “I didn’t even recognize her at first. Just saw this gorgeous woman at the airport, had no idea it was Jenny. She turned around, and…there it was. That spark. The same one she used to have as a kid, but... different now. More confident, like she’s finally found herself.”
I say nothing, letting him continue as he tries to make sense of his own fascination. “It’s funny, right? She was just that tomboyish kid, always darting around the estate like she belonged everywhere and nowhere all at once. But now... she’s something else entirely. She walks into a room, and it’s like everything just stops.”
He chuckles, almost in disbelief. “Makes me wonder if she’s always been like this, and maybe I just never saw it. Or maybe she really has changed, like... she knows who she is, and it’s refreshing. No games, no pretense.”
We reach my office, and by now, he’s lost in his reverie, oblivious to the glass in his back pocket.
“Have a seat,” I say, and without a second thought, he drops into the chair, mid-sentence, leaning back with that same easy confidence. There’s an immediate crack, a sharp shatter of glass, followed by his yelp as he jerks upright, eyes wide with pain, hands flying to his back.
“Damn it, Zack!” he exclaims, wincing as he gingerly reaches around, fingers coming back with blood. “The glass…it shattered!”
I step forward, barely containing my smirk. “Well, that ‘practical habit’ of yours just caught up with you.” I grab a pair of scissors and carefully cut the fabric around the shards, revealing pieces embedded in his backside, spots of blood already visible on his pants.
“You’re going to need a few days lying flat for this to stop hurting,” I tell him, struggling to keep my tone sympathetic. “And maybe it’s time to drop that little habit.”
Brett lets out a frustrated groan as he lowers himself face-first onto the couch, resigned. “Just my luck,” he mutters. “Please call the doctor. It’s fucking hurting, and I don’t want any scars or infection. It’s bleeding, right?”
“Sure is,” I reply.
“Hell!”
I lead him over to my couch where he settles horizontally and then head out of the office to call the doctor.