7. Jackson
Chapter seven
Jackson
I text William, my private driver, on the ride down to the lobby, asking him to pull the car around.
We step out of the building, and William nods, opening the back passenger door. “Mr. Blake,” he greets.
“Thank you, William. After you,” I say to Georgia, pressing my palm to her lower back. Her body trembles under my touch, and I love it. I’m tempted to brush my hand down her ass.
Look but don’t touch.
As much as my cock wants to be buried deep inside her, my damn conscience is right.
The ride is seamless. She still hasn’t relaxed around me, and I can’t help but enjoy how every question I ask makes her skittish.
“So, you’ve asked all these questions about me. Why don’t you tell me about you?”
There’s a slight tremor in her voice, and I almost groan. It makes me want to suck her bottom lip into my mouth, nibble on it, bite, causing her the slightest pain. “Did you not find everything you wanted to know in my bedroom?”
My cock twitches at her intake of breath. Naughty little trespasser.
“I really wish you wouldn’t bring that up. I wasn’t snooping. I told you I was lost.”
“It’s a good thing I found you before you got into any more trouble then.” Trouble—like her falling onto my cock. She swallows, and my mind takes a darker turn. I’m tempted to test the waters. Would she allow me to touch her, stop me if I slid my hand up her skirt… refuse if my fingers slid inside her tight cunt? It’s a pity we arrive at the warehouse before I can. And what a shame it is. The way her cheeks flush, she wouldn’t think twice about stopping me.
“Here we are,” I say.
She blinks, glancing out the window. “You own this?”
I chuckle. “Yes. I own seventeen of them.”
“Wow. Mr. Blake, that’s—”
I rest my hand on her thigh. “Call me Jackson.”
I’m going to hell.
Her lips part, and my dick springs to life. Don’t even think about it, big guy. I tighten my grip, then release her. “Let me show you around.” The door opens, and I climb out, waiting for Georgia to follow suit.
“This facility spans one hundred and eleven thousand square feet and operates as a full-service production hub,” I explain, leading her toward the entrance. “Inside, we utilize state-of-the-art machinery equipped with cutting-edge technology to meet the demands of large-scale distribution.”
I push open the door to the warehouse and gesture for her to enter. “This location primarily focuses on plastic distribution. We supply a full range of thermoplastics, renowned for their efficiency and recyclability, as well as thermoset materials for high-temperature and durable applications. Whether a client needs sheets, rods, tubes, or custom profiles, we have the capability to manufacture and distribute them to exact specifications.”
I pause, letting her take in the sheer scale of the operation. “Every shipment that leaves this facility meets the strictest industry standards. Quality control is key. Without it, our reputation wouldn’t be what it is today.”
We head down the main hallway, and I stop at the row of hard hats hanging on the wall. Grabbing one, I face Georgia. “Safety protocol.” I lift it up to gently place it on her head, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “There.”
Her chest rises and falls. I catch sight of Wayne in my peripheral and grab my hat. “Morning, Mr. Blake. I’m sorry you had to make the trip out here.”
I shake his hand. “Not a problem. I just want to ensure we stay ahead of this. Let’s walk and talk.”
Wayne, the warehouse manager, runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his stance as he gestures toward the production line. “We had a coding error in the system this morning,” he explains. “Something in the automated sequencing got scrambled, and the machines started running out of sync. Some of the production lines stalled while others overcompensated, throwing off the entire workflow.”
He pulls out a tablet and scrolls through a diagnostic report. “It appears to be a miscommunication between the software update and the existing system. The coding glitch caused the machines to misread production commands—some shut down, others kept running at incorrect speeds. We’ve been working to recalibrate everything, but we had to halt production to prevent defective output.”
Wayne releases a strained breath. “The IT team is already patching the code and running tests to ensure it doesn’t happen again, but it’s put us behind schedule. We need to get this fixed before orders start piling up.”
I cross my arms, my jaw tightening as I observe the normally loud production line. "I wrote that code myself. It should be flawless.” My gaze sharpens as I turn to Wayne.
“Who’s had access to the system?” I keep my voice controlled, but the edge beneath it is impossible to miss. “I want a full audit. Every login, every modification—find out exactly when this error occurred and who the hell was in the system before it went down.”
Wayne hands me the tablet, and I scroll through the security-approved batch numbers. My gaze remains locked on the screen as I rub a hand over my jaw. “What about the maintenance reports?” I demand, shifting my attention back to Wayne. “Did anything show up—irregularities, flagged errors?”
Wayne grabs the tablet and scans through the latest logs. “Nothing major,” he says, shaking his head. “All routine checks came back clear. No system failures, no reported malfunctions. Last update was logged three days ago, and everything was running at optimal performance.”
“Then how the hell did a coding error throw the entire system out of sync? If maintenance was fine, and my code was intact, this shouldn’t have happened.” My voice hardens as my eyes flick back to the production floor. “I want every modification reviewed. Someone had to have triggered this.”
Wayne nods. “I’ll cross-check the reports with the IT team. If there was any unauthorized access, we’ll find it.”
My expression darkens. “Good. Because if someone’s screwing with my system, I want to know who—and I want to know now.”
A sharp snap echoes through the air, followed by a piercing screech as a wire gives way above us. A massive steel beam breaks loose, hurtling downward with a deafening rush.
“Shit! Watch out!”
Without thinking, I yank Georgia against me, my arms locking around her as I dive to the floor. The impact knocks the air from my lungs, but there’s no time to process it. A deafening crash erupts beside us as a steel pipe slams into the forklift, missing us by mere inches. Sparks explode in every direction, the metallic clang reverberating through the warehouse.
Georgia trembles beneath me, her breath shaky against my chest.
“We got it!” Gary shouts from across the floor. “We got it under control!”
I barely hear him, my focus solely on the woman in my arms. I draw her closer and frame her face in my hands, my eyes frantically searching hers.
She’s pale. Stunned. Her lips part, but no sound comes out.
“Are you okay?” The urgency in my voice cuts through the air.
Nothing. No reaction.
Panic grips tighter. I smooth my hands over her arms, down her sides, checking for anything—blood, bruises, anything that might explain why she won’t answer me.
“Georgia,” I say, my tone dropping as fear coils in my gut. “Are you hurt? Did you hit your head?”
Still nothing. Just wide, unfocused eyes.
I cup her face, forcing her to look at me. “Georgia, please. Answer me—”
“Good thing for these hard hats,” she cuts in, her voice light, teasing.
My eyes snap back to hers, and a damn smile curls the corners of her lips. The kind that makes my pulse spike—that makes me forget, for a moment, that we’re lying in the middle of a near disaster.
Then I become painfully aware of just how close we are. Her body, soft yet firm, tucked beneath mine, every inch of her pressed against me. There’s no way she doesn’t feel it—the hard, undeniable evidence of what she’s doing to me.
“Glad you find humor in this, Peach,” I murmur, my voice lower than I intend.
Her lips part slightly, teasing, taunting—just enough to push my restraint to its breaking point.
“Mr. Blake, are you okay? Either of you hurt?” At the sound of Wayne’s voice, I release Georgia and stand, helping her to her feet.
“I think so.”
Wayne stares at Georgia, and she replies, “Yeah, I’m okay.”
Her words offer some relief, but the fear still lingers, feeding the anger rising in my chest. Something could’ve happened to her. Jaw clenched, I snap my attention to Wayne. “What the hell just happened?”
“I don’t know.”
Gary, one of the foremen, rushes up, breathless. “The system glitched again.”
I whirl toward him, my patience barely holding on. “ Again ? How?”
“The same issue with the machine—it stalled, glitched, then shut down,” he explains, his forehead lined with frustration.
A muscle ticks in my cheek, my mind racing. “How the hell is that possible?” The odds of this happening twice in a row are extremely unlikely. The system is designed for efficiency, built with fail-safes to prevent this kind of failure.
Both men exchange uneasy glances, equally stunned.
“Someone better give me a goddamn answer,” I growl, my voice edged with fury.
Gary swipes a hand over his face. “I don’t know. The system has never done this before. There’s no reason this should—”
“But it did,” I snap, cutting him off. Rage coils tight in my chest. My entire operation is at risk due to a phantom issue that shouldn’t exist.
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to regain control over my anger. “I want all production halted immediately. Shut it all down. Wayne, get everyone with access to the operations system in your office now. I want names, timestamps, and every single goddamn keystroke logged from the past twenty-four hours.” My fists clench at my sides as I scan the factory floor, my gut telling me this isn’t a random malfunction. Someone’s behind this. And I’m going to find out who.
Georgia flinches beside me, startled by my tone. I’d forgotten she was there, too caught up in my fueling anger. Forcing myself to rein it in, I exhale slowly and pull my phone from my pocket, firing off a quick text to William. Shifting my body back to Georgia, I try to soften my voice as much as I can. “I’m sorry. We’ll have to cut this field trip short. William is going to drive you back to the office.”
She nods. “Of course.”
“Gary will walk you out.” Disappointment flickers in her eyes, and as much as I want to erase it—hell, kiss it away—this situation demands my full attention.
Without another glance, I turn to Wayne, my voice all business. “Let’s go.”