19. Jack ‘J’
19
JACK ‘J’
J smirks down at his phone when his friend’s name lights up the screen. Enrique has left several messages asking why the hell he’s not at Midas yet.
Taking care of other business was why. J made Burke circle Central Park a couple times while he exchanged a few words with another of his associates. The opening of his new bar didn’t mean he could ignore his other investments when they needed him. They were, after all, the reason why it was possible to open establishment after establishment.
However, as the car rounds its final lap, he’s eager to give all his attention to his new venture. Eager to watch it come to life at last.
“Ready?” Burke calls from the driver’s seat, glancing through his aviators at J in the rearview mirror as they pull up in front of Midas.
“Hell yeah,” J replies with that subdued enthusiasm he’s renowned for. Yet beneath the calm exterior, a stray pulse of adrenaline surges through him as he prepares to get out of the car .
It’s the feeling he gets before every opening and the birth of each new venture. The feeling of success, growth, progression.
There’s also another feeling too, one he can’t quite explain. It’s like an inkling, a promise of something big hanging in the air, a gut instinct that tonight’s going to be different somehow, bigger, greater.
Burke rarely does the whole door opening thing for J, but when there’s this much press attention around, he plays the part.
J steps out, his smirk muted, understated as usual. The columns loved to remark on his emotions, or lack thereof. Better not give them a story for tomorrow’s headlines: CEO Smiles for the First Time in his Life.
Instead, he gives a couple familiar faces a respectful nod before stepping inside.
Enrique is the first to greet him. Drenched in a gold shirt, gold shoes, and lots of gold jewelry. It’s a lot, but the guy does know how to dress. It works for him, and it’ll work for Midas. Enrique knows what he’s doing. He’s one of the good guys. One of the few J can still trust.
“Magdalena is here. She loves the place obviously, but she’s talking about leaving to go to the game’s afterparty.” Enrique walks at J’s side, waiting patiently while he greets old friends here and there.
“She’s got her report, what’s the big deal?” J asks.
“Because she’s leaving before you make the announcement.”
J’s jaw tightens.
“Then find out what the NBA’s paying her and tell her we’ll double it,” J replies. He pats Enrique on the back before watching him disappear up the marble staircase to find the hotshot journalist who’s sure to give them a glowing review come Monday.
Satisfied he’s regained control over the situation, he lets his shoulders drop.
That’s before his windpipe shrinks to the size of a piece of string and he can’t catch his breath.
His chest pangs with something akin to shock because in the center of the staircase stands a woman he never expected to see in his world. His ruthless, cutthroat, and often merciless world. What the hell is she doing here?
And in that dress…
Jesus fucking wept, that dress.
It’s glistening, sticks to her unbelievable figure, and is turning the heads of everyone who passes by. He even witnessed Enrique, a man who had unforgiving standards when it came to style, admire her as he passed.
Glittering against the golden landscape.
The rarest beauty he’s ever seen.
Another pang, this one more like a jolt.
And her hair…
It’s combed, styled half-up, with loose waves cascading down her backless dress. Not a frizzy end or imbedded twig in sight. Her eyes are bright, makeup flawless, skin glowing like a ripe peach. This isn’t the girl he’d watched lose a shoe a dozen times in the wilderness.
It made sense now. She wasn’t dressed for the outdoors because she didn’t know how, because she didn’t belong there.
She’d told him she lived in the city, but he hadn’t really considered in what capacity. Now it’s clear that this is her world too, and holy crap if it didn’t belong to her. The way she’s carrying herself confirms it. Confidently, unapologetically, in charge . A woman who isn’t afraid to make the city work for her.
Which…was possibly what she’d been doing the whole time she was tagging along with him on the trails.
Working.
Did she come here tonight to run into him again? Was this her plan all along?
J growls under his breath, because damn these wretched thoughts, he’d already decided she wasn’t full of shit. He wishes he could drop the paranoia, especially since she’d helped him with his wound, then displayed a conscience when she had him call off the chopper in the storm.
He can’t bear to think the whole thing had been an act, but shit, what are the chances of her turning up here tonight?
One in a million.
The odds just don’t add up.
But then she rolls her eyes at Parker Jennings, a Wall Street asshole notorious for losing huge sums of his clients’ money amongst other bullshit. Who invited that lowlife anyway?
It looked like she had Jennings figured out already, or she’s privy to his scandalous past and doesn’t want to waste her time.
Either way, it makes her smart. He just doesn’t know if it’s the scheming smart or the switched-on type of smart.
He’d have to tread carefully. Again.
He growls once more because none of this makes any damn sense.
Now she’s acting like she doesn’t even care that she’s standing center stage with spotlights beaming down on her when she knocks back an entire Midas martini. She’s swaying like she’s on a flamingo float during spring break in Tijuana. It’s hardly the behavior of a woman on a diabolical mission.
He doesn’t have time to plan his next move, because a moment later, her hazelnut eyes are fluttering, focusing , and now she’s looking him dead in the eye. There goes his windpipe again.
She’s on the move, gliding down the stairs toward him in that elegant dress that everyone’s staring at, each embellishment winking beneath the lights like stardust. J’s entire body seizes up. The same way it did on the trails when she got close to him. What was it about her that made his entire body lock up in her presence?
“Jack?” Her first word reminds him of the wilderness, the only place anyone other than his family had used that name for a long time. He’s flooded with familiarity and, for a second, he forgets all about being suspicious and can’t help but note things he’d overlooked before.
Her sharp collarbones. Just how huge and sparkling her eyes are. The way the dress accentuates her full cleavage. Yeah, he noticed her tits before. Especially when they were pressed against his back while she clung to him through the night. He’d remarked that they were nice, not that they were fucking perfect . There’s that surge of adrenaline, swimming through his veins like rocket fuel. Only now it’s travelling south of his waist.
Fuck.
He shakes his head, returns to the fact that she’s used his name, his old name, announcing it in front of his friends and colleagues. He’d told her she could call him that, so he can’t really tell her otherwise now.
Wait. Of course he can. He’s J-fucking-Vandenberg, he can say whatever he wants. This is his bar, his city .
Only now that her floral scent is all around him, the only thing that slips from his lips is, “Sara. You look…different.”
She stares at him with a piercing glare he’s never witnessed before. It’s the same way she’d glared at Parker. Did she peg the two of them the same? The thought makes J rethink his attitude. Perhaps he should follow with a better compliment, tell her she looks good…only good doesn’t begin to describe what he’s witnessing.
Too late, she’s already opening her mouth, that defensive look he recognizes blazing behind her eyes.
“I’m wearing both shoes, and I’ve had access to modern day plumbing,” she says without blinking, causing a man next to them to choke on his wine.
Then she’s smiling, the corners of her delicate lips drawn wide. “It’s pretty bizarre, I admit. I haven’t seen you since we were kids and now twice in the same month. What are you doing here?”
J inhales. Is she joking? What’s her deal?
Could it be that she really has no idea who he is?
Impossible.
Everyone knows who he is.
“Business,” he answers casually. “But I have to ask, do you often frequent bars on the Upper East Side?”
She throws her head back, laughs. It’s a warming sound he realizes he wasn’t privileged to hear back on the trail. Why hadn’t he made her laugh more? He could listen to that sound all day. He clears his throat and orders himself to focus, especially when he catches himself glancing down at her hips, the exact spot he’d gripped hold of in the storm. Damn it, if he didn’t want to find that spot right now and pull her into him. Focus focus focus.
“Hard to believe the girl who peed behind a fern can mingle with New York’s finest? Likewise, I wouldn’t have placed you in this scene either. Who knew you owned hair product?” She’s smiling again, drawing his attention to the shape of her lips. “I’m here because of work, I get invites sometimes. Though, not usually as extravagant as this. Reminds me of my old partying days.”
J watches a sadness sweep onto her face. He frowns, the strangeness of their meeting melting away as they slip into easy conversation. “You don’t go to bars anymore?”
She shakes her head without looking at him. “Not really. I don’t even know what made me come out tonight.” She flashes him a smile he can’t decipher. “I’m glad I did though, I forgot how much I love places like this.”
He has the urge to ask what happened, why she doesn’t go out anymore, but that might be too personal. He’d ask if they were back in that tent, drifting off to the sound of rain, his hand wrapped around hers…
J watches her closely as she looks around, inspecting the place with soft, wandering eyes, and for some reason it makes him feel a little exposed.
“You like it?” he asks, surprising himself with the enquiry, surprised that he wants to hear her thoughts.
“I do.” Her eyes light up at first, but then she appears to collect herself. “I mean, it’s just another overpriced bar financed by greedy zillionaires who’ll probably never set foot in the place, while they reap the benefits from their super yachts in the Caribbean. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate luxury, I’m just saying…”
Then she stares off, contemplating. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know if the toilet seats are made of gold, would you?”
“What?” he asks grinning, but she’s not really listening, as she drifts off into some other plane of existence.
Then her eyes are widening as she stares at him .
“What’s wrong?”
Sara raises a delicate finger, pointing at him. “Were you just…smiling?”
He frowns, unsure of what the hell he was doing with his face while she was talking about yachts and golden toilet seats. Maybe he did smile a little, after all, how could he stand there straight-faced while she made these crazy assumptions?
“Oh my god, you were.” She folds her arms across her chest. “That’s a new record. It took hours to see you crack a smile on that hike, and now you’re grinning within the space of five minutes. Was it the mention of greedy zillionaires?”
J raises a brow. How can he explain that the only thing making him smile is her presence? How did she do that? How did she make him go from skeptical to a grinning idiot in no time?
“And speaking of roads less traveled, do you know anything about that man from the tower? The one you were radioing the night of the storm. Watch Tower or something? Was he the same man we met at the actual watch tower?”
That wipes the smile from his face.
“Yes. His name’s Burke,” J answers coolly. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, for starters, he paid the rental company for the damages to the Jeep. In full. Then, I find out he’s not even Mountain Rescue. Who the hell is he?”
J has two choices.
One, he can lie. Shrug it off and allow her to draw her own conclusions. She’s proven to be pretty good at doing that so far.
Two, he can just tell her the truth because there’s every chance she already knows .
The decision to be honest sneaks from his mouth before he can choose otherwise. “He’s my assistant.”
Sara pauses, then drags her teeth over her bottom lip. The gesture causes J to do a double take, and he can’t understand why he wants to watch her do it again.
He’s about to peel his eyes from her mouth when she raises her hands to her temples, closing her eyes when she says, “Wait. If he’s your assistant, does that mean you paid for the damages?”
Sara squints up at him through just one eye, awaiting clarity.
Fuck it. “Yeah.” J gulps more scotch as her other eye bolts open.
“Okay,” Sara begins, fresh confusion on her face in the moody light. “Why would you do that?”
J subtly rolls his shoulders, because truthfully, he’s not entirely sure why he felt the need to settle her debt to the rental company. He can’t exactly tell her it’s because from the moment he pulled her from the Jeep, some primal urge wouldn’t allow him to leave her side unless he knew she was being looked after. “You seemed like you had enough to worry about that day, so I took care of it.”
“You took care of it?” Sara repeats back slowly. “Jack, you take care of someone’s dry cleaning bill, paying for a totaled Jeep is a little dramatic.”
“It wasn’t a big deal.” He shrugs.
Sara shakes her head before narrowing her eyes. “And what about the chopper? Does that belong to you?”
J groans internally.
Might as well keep going.
“Yes.”
Sara looks at her feet. Then to her left.
She’s not looking at anything in particular, it’s more like she’s waiting for the pieces to click together or trying to figure out the right thing to say next. Or perhaps she’s looking for the exit. After all, admitting to owning a chopper did verge toward pompous behavior.
Finally, she meets his gaze and does something unexpected. She grins broadly, then nudges his arm, causing his drink to slosh around in its glass.
“A chopper, huh? You must be doing pretty well for yourself.” She beams up at him. “Good for you.”
He freezes. As in, his insides turn to a barren land of ice and despair. He searches for the words, but none suffice because is it possible that the most patronizing phrase on the planet has just been directed at him? Good for you?
He’s livid. He’d built a thriving, global empire. He didn’t win a goldfish at a fairground for the love of God. Good for him?
“Hey,” Sara lowers her voice, which in turn makes him squirm. He’s afraid of what blow she’s about to deliver next. “Are you some sort of sneaky”— Don’t say assassin , he pleads silently, his eyes darting to a couple reporters to his right who’d gobble up such a statement. Sara looks up at him deviously from under her eyelashes—“millionaire?”
J breathes a sigh of relief, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards a degree or two.
He takes another gulp of scotch, thinking about how long it’s been since he wore that title. He’d soared past seven figures a long time ago. He’d marked the occasion by donating every drop of profit from that week to a charity close to his heart.
“Not anymore,” he answers in the humblest way he knows.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Her tone is apologetic as she plants her palm against her chest. “Did you lose all your money? ”
He exhales slowly as he finally decides Sara has no idea who he is. Relief steadies him and an urge to pull her away from the crowds and prying stares takes over. In this moment, he can finally admit that leaving her at the watch tower had been harder than he thought. He’d fought the urge to go back, ask her if they could…what? Keep in touch? Share a tent again sometime soon? Fuck, he had no idea. The only thing he knew was that he wished they’d had more time together. And now he had the chance to make that happen.
“Listen Sara, I should probably tell you…”
He would’ve continued, he might’ve even laughed and given the reporters something to fill their notepads with, if a small entourage wasn’t currently marching toward them.
Sara’s song-like tones chirp in the background, something about paying him back for the Jeep, and fussing over his loss of fortune.
J zones out however, he’s too focused on the fast-approaching group.
One member stands out from the rest.
Someone he knows yet wishes he didn’t.
That situation he’s been dealing with.
A devil disguised as cotton candy. A woman who’d cost him a large sum of money once upon a time, and now threatened to do it again. She’s just one of a thousand reasons he continues to have trust issues.
Now, here she is at his party. The woman has some nerve.
But the worst is yet to come.
She stalks up to them, her entourage following like geese at the back of the flock. She looks J straight in the eye, but then her gaze swoops to Sara instead.
“Kandi,” Sara says. “What do you want? ”
J recoils. Something inside his chest cracks.
They know each other.
Kandi and Sara know one another.
Now he’s one hundred percent convinced he’s being played.