28. Sara
28
SARA
N aturally, Jack insisted on sending his car to collect me. By the time we’d finished arguing over text, the shining black and silver Maybach was already waiting outside to take me to his place. And sure, sinking into the back leather seats and pretending I’m some kind of bratty socialite for twenty minutes, is extremely cool.
Burke is in the driver’s seat, predominantly silent apart from the odd string of profanities directed at New York rush hour traffic. He really is very mysterious.
I’m in the middle of contemplating whether I go in or simply wait in the car for Jack to pass me the paperwork when my eyes snag on something poking from the side pocket next to my door. I’m drawn in by the familiar papery texture and flimsy cream edges. A napkin.
One of millions in this city. It can’t possibly be my napkin, because this car is far too clean to not have gone through at least one full valet since the other night at Midas…
I grab the napkin, open it, and discover my embarrassing sketch .
He kept it?
Something tugs inside my chest.
Then, the car is pulling up outside a row of brownstone townhouses tucked behind aged-black railings and trees dusted with shades of bronze and rust.
“I bet there’s been a lot of girls where I’m sitting?” I say to Burke as I contemplate my next move.
A snort comes from the front seat. “If he’d let everything go to his head, then I’m sure there would have been.”
Let what go to his head, exactly? His obvious fortune and success? Is Burke saying there hasn’t been a ton of girls where I’m sitting? Unsatisfied with my answer, I try again. I put on a sarcastic tone and laugh.
“You mean I’m the only girl to ever be driven to his home? Lucky me.”
He turns in his seat, giving me an expression devoid of any feeling. I swear this guy is some kind of secret Special Ops officer. “Only one I’ve ever taken.”
That shuts me up.
He pulls down his aviators and kills the engine, flashing me his dark brown eyes in the rear-view mirror. “You done interrogating me? Or are you going in there?”
A second later, I’m stuffing the napkin back in the pocket and checking a message on my phone from Jack which reads Knock if you want me to pass you the paperwork, or just come in, doors open.
I swallow as I reach for the handle. He’s giving me options. Letting me know I don’t have to come inside.
“Going in,” I say quickly as I get out the car.
Moments later, I’m stepping into a beautiful foyer with high ceilings and walls decorated in soft neutrals. A pair of plaid, sandy armchairs rest next to a low oak coffee table which holds several ragged books and a bonsai tree. It’s the most gorgeous home I’ve ever seen.
Jack appears from behind an archway to greet me while I’m still staring at the tree. “I had one of those in college,” I say quickly to take the edge off how how nervous I am to be in here.
“Had?” Jack raises an eyebrow.
“It came to a sad end. No matter where I moved the thing, it just kept dying,” I say as I take off my blazer and drape it over the back of an armchair because I’m starting to feel very warm. I can even feel a sheen of moisture begin to form on my forehead. What the hell am I doing here?
“Well, there’s the problem.” He rakes a hand through his hair, visibly uncomfortable with my mistreatment of the organism, and perhaps oblivious to my increased body temperature. “They don’t like to be moved. I positioned the coffee table especially. Location is key.”
I shoot a glance back to the odd little tree, admitting the coffee table does reside in a rather strange location compared to the rest of the furniture. Did he really just admit to basing the placement of his furniture around the happiness of a plant? A buzz of warmth tugs at my center and I find myself fighting the urge to tell him how sweet that is.
“What was the emergency?” I say instead, as my body temperature begins to regulate.
“I had to go up to the roof.”
“Is that where you store the bodies?” A terrible attempt at humor. I should leave before it gets worse.
“Approximately sixty thousand of them actually.” He grins.
A weak laugh slips from my throat as I ponder the specific number. Perhaps his humor’s as terrible as mine. “What?”
“Bees.”
“ What? ” The joking vanishes as I choke out the word.
“I have a couple hives.” He points to the stairs. “The power went out in the building this morning and their water supply and heat was cut off. I had to tend to them.”
I nod, aware my face must be displaying nothing but fear and repulsion.
His grin widens. The dimple in his cheek deepens. “So, you don’t want to come help me with the critters?”
“Oh, I can’t come up there.” I shake my head violently. “I thought you said it was under control?”
“It is. I just have one more adjustment to make,” he says like he’s unsure. “I can grab the papers first? I don’t want to keep you waiting.” Another option to leave.
“No,” It comes out fast. Because even though I’m nervous to be standing inside Jack’s home, I can see he’s working hard to make me feel relaxed. Just a little longer, I tell myself. “I don’t mind staying down here and snooping around instead.” I shrug. “Go tend to your bees . ”
He chuckles. “Why don’t you come most of the way? Four floors to snoop before we reach the top.”
Four? And a roof terrace. How the other half lives. Although I’m sure not even half of New Yorkers have over two floors. Sleeping in a different room than your refrigerator is usually considered the height of prosperity by the city’s standards.
As we climb to the first floor, I force my eyes to inspect the slim-framed images of the Rocky Mountains and the Sahara, so that if he should turn around, he won’t catch me gawking at his butt. Gawking since I recall exactly what each butt cheek looks like, their perfect shape ingrained in the steely corners of my mind since the tent incident a few weeks ago.
“I didn’t realize bees needed heat,” I remark as we pass an enormous floor-to-ceiling bookcase with multicolored spines at the top of the first-floor staircase.
“They need a little help now it’s colder,” he declares somewhat proudly. “I’ve got all sorts of gadgets to make sure they’re comfortable.”
He’s silent for a moment, turning his head a few inches but not quite looking at me, perhaps wondering if he’s overshared.
And then I realize what’s happening. He’s showing me Jack. The one beneath the suit, the fancy car, and the company that rules the city. He’s showing me who he is when he’s not being J Vandenberg. Showing me around his home, trusting me to work with his company.
I just don’t know who I can trust. My mind races back to the alley as I hear his voice play over. That warm feeling is back, growing and expanding inside me every moment. Suddenly, the only thing I want right now, is for him to continue to trust me.
“So, this is your hobby?” I ask with fresh enthusiasm.
The corner of his mouth tugs upwards and his features soften. “Kind of. The hives were here when I bought the place. The old lady wouldn’t sell me the building unless I was prepared to take care of them. I guess I was intrigued, and now…”
“Now you’re leaving the office early to make sure they’re not cold.” I smile.
There’s something magical about watching a person talk about their passion. I never cared how boring someone’s hobby sounded, because I was too busy watching their eyes light up while they spoke about something they loved. I can tell Jack cares about these damn bees, and for the first time in forever, it makes me hate them less for once.
As we climb to the lounge area on the second floor, I begin to truly appreciate how spacious this place is. Suddenly I’m Carrie Bradshaw walking into her new apartment while Big exclaims, Oh, so this is where they keep the light.
Then I’m biting my bottom lip. Did I just imagine myself living here? In Jack’s home?
I shake my head. It’s a damn brownstone, of course I did.
“Don’t you have someone to help you do things like adjust a thermostat?” I ask, eyeing every corner like I’m seeing color for the first time. Surely a multitude of staff exists in a home this large.
“Sometimes, but I tend to take care of this kind of stuff myself.” Bee stuff. Then he glances behind him at the very moment I choose to take my eyes from the artwork and bookcases. He catches me. Staring at his ass. I dip my gaze to my feet, not daring to look at his reaction; however, a nearly inaudible chuckle paints somewhat of a conclusive image.
After I catch him smirking for the hundredth time, the urge to trip him becomes less of an intrusive thought and more something that might actually happen.
“Okay, what’s so funny?” He can’t still be smiling because I was being a peeping tom, surely.
“I guess I can’t believe I’m showing the girl I knew in Florida when I was a kid, around my home.”
So he’s been thinking about when we were kids. Perhaps the memories he made me believe were so cloudy, are more prominent than he made out.
“What else do you remember? Apart from the swamp, I’m good with never talking about that again,” I say with a firm kind of humor as I fall into step next to him on the staircase.
“Well, for starters, I remember your mom used to bring those huge casseroles with food my tastebuds had never experienced.”
My eyes grow at how specific the memory is, like he plucked it from the top of the pile without doing any digging. “Of course you remember,” I say smugly. “Greek food is the best.”
For a moment, his face seems to light up. “You make it a lot?”
A sigh slips out as I contemplate just how long it’s been since I pulled out an old family recipe. “Not for years.”
“Years?”
“My…ex wasn’t so keen on it. In fact, he hated it. And, he hated my mom’s casseroles.” I laugh. “I guess I just stopped.”
A noticeable line forms between Jack’s dark brows. “That’s too bad.”
I shrug like I don’t care, but then I remember I don’t need to make excuses for Mark anymore. “He hated anything exotic . That’s what he’d call it.” Then a memory pops up, too ridiculous to keep inside. “Oh, apart from me,” I exclaim, no idea why I’m suddenly discussing my asshole ex during the climb to the fourth floor. “He’d say,” I clear my throat, “ babe, I love that you’re exotic, but like not too exotic.”
“Wow. What does that even mean?” Jack asks, looking visibly irked.
Despite how much the topic lacks humour, I smile. “I have no idea, and it makes me feel icky to even consider it.”
Jack sucks in a breath through his teeth.
“Sounds like an idiot. Never trust a guy who doesn’t like your mom’s casseroles.” He chuckles to himself. “You couldn’t stop me from putting those away if…” His eyes flick to the ground and he wraps a large hand around the back of his neck, a jerk reaction to what he managed to stop himself from saying out loud.
Was he going to say if I’d been with him instead?
“Good thing he’s an ex. You can cook whatever the fuck you like.” Smooth recovery. Before… “Unless there’s some other idiot who doesn’t know a good meal when it’s put in front of him. Maybe that guy who said he was in your hotel room?”
I bite my lip to hide my smile. He’s digging.
Unguarded laughter sneaks out of me anyway. “Drew? Oh no, the hotel room thing was a huge misunderstanding. Drew and I aren’t like that.” I cringe at the memory as I catch something not unlike relief wash over Jack’s face. “Hey, you think I’d let you kiss me today if there was someone else?” Oh God. I’d gone there. Reminded him of the kiss. Reminded myself. Not a good idea when we’re alone in his home.
The dimple in his cheek twitches. Then we’re climbing a staircase that probably leads to the roof. We reach a door that leads to the outside, which means this is as far as I go.
“Triple-pained door. Nothing can get to you from back here,” Jack says, one hand ready to open the door. “But if you need a distraction, just think about the fact that you’re the one who kissed me earlier.”
My face’s pressed so close to the glass, an almost comical circle of steam forms at my mouth and nostrils. I’m stunned that Jack’s standing beside two beehives in his suit without a single layer of protection.
I don’t step back, however. Instead, I swipe at the condensation with my sleeve before taking yet another step closer, drawn in by the fascinating scene in front of me.
I watch him get so close to both hives without flinching. The bees appear to be tucked inside, the air perhaps too cold for them to be out this time of year. Regardless of their absence, I’m staying put behind the glass.
Until I watch Jack go back and forth, carrying small items from one side of the roof and placing them at the other side. I feel dumb just watching him, sort of how I felt when I watched him put up the tent. Only now, I could make myself useful.
I sigh as I push through the door and step out onto the roof.
“Need a hand?” I say, my heels clicking against the decking.
“I got it. You don’t have to come out here.” Jack begins to wrap a giant hose around the back of one of the hives.
“It’s fine, I don’t mind getting my hands dirty when I’m in heels.” I pop my foot, flashing my five-inch Sophia Webster’s which shimmer in the dimming light. “Heels make anything possible.” I hold out my hands, signaling for him to pass me the hose since I’m closer. “Besides, the bees look pretty asleep to me. What I can’t see, I can’t be afraid of.” I shrug, even though the way my eyes keep darting to the hives, suggest I’m a little afraid.
“Okay,” he says, a smile tugging at his mouth as he loops up the hose and passes it to me somewhat reluctantly. “Set it over there, but just be careful not to?—”
Before he can finish, water is spraying from the nozzle while Jack stands motionless, accepting the blasts that shoot into his face and douse his charcoal suit until he’s soaked through and dripping.
I squeal, closing the nozzle that I somehow opened. “ Shit, shit, shit! I’m sorry!” Water continues to spurt, some getting in my hair, causing me to make more squealing noises.
Jack steps forward, takes the hose from me as I shake out my hands. “Alright, I’m confiscating this from you.” He ruffles his hair as water drips from the ends.
“Oops...” My hands come up to my face and I can’t help but giggle behind my fingers. Until the giggles turn into full bursts of laughter and my cheeks hurt from grinning so wide.
“ Oops? ” He grins, not taking his eyes from me. “You’re gonna have to give me more than ‘oops’ if you want to get off this roof dry.” He points the hose at me.
My hands fly up to stop him. “Don’t you dare!” I’m still laughing. “Not the shoes!”
And then, I feel something on my sleeve, and when I look down, I see a stray bee crawling up my arm.
Suddenly, the laughter is gone, and I don’t give a crap about the hose because I’m waving my arms and screaming like a damn banshee, like the highest note on a violin.
Jack drops the hose, soaking himself again as he moves toward me.
He scoops the creature from my sleeve and sets it somewhere else.
“I got it!” he exclaims proudly. “He’s back with his buddies.”
My chest is heaving. Jack was right, I did not need to come out here.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” I look around to see how close we are to other roof terraces, to see if anyone heard me.
Then panic is setting in as Mark’s voice throttles through the air, his angry tone ringing in my ears, excuse my date…it’s not a party until all eyes are on her .
“It’s just water.” Jack’s voice comes from a faraway place.
“I know, it’s just…I didn’t mean to scream like that. It’s not for attention, I promise,” I say as the roof comes back into focus. Jack is standing in front of me, and I can’t explain why I’m getting choked up.
“Attention?” Jack says, confusion blaring in his features. “We’re just messing around. What’s going on?” His hands brush the sides of my arms, his fingers lightly massaging into my skin.
“Nothing.” I force a smile. “I’m fine. I think I just freaked out, you know I hate bugs and stuff.” I breathe out a laugh. “That was embarrassing.”
He studies me for a moment, his expression telling me he’s not entirely satisfied. He squeezes me once before releasing me. “Sara,” he says, prompting me to turn to inspect his soaked appearance. The drips of water leaking onto the decking from his sleeves are a comedic bonus. “We are on very equal ground at this moment.”
My shoulders bunch to my ears when I can’t help but laugh at how utterly drenched he is.
“Fair enough.” I shrug, tossing my hair a couple of times and picking my shirt from my arms. “God Jack, you got me wet.”
He rolls his eyes as he opens the door. “Get in.” He gestures with little amusement, even though the dimple begins to pucker. I grin up at him. He towers above me. “Hurry, before I decide to leave you out here to fend for yourself.”