17. Tarryn #2
"She acts like she's trying to protect me, but it feels more like manipulation," I finish. "Using her experience as a weapon to control my choices. And I did ask her about her ex-fiancé, told her I saw the photo, and after hearing that entire story, I honestly can’t help but feel bad for her."
Zoe's expression shifts, her eyes widening as something seems to click into place.
“Wait. Oh my God, I cannot believe I forgot to tell you this!” She sets down her glass with deliberate precision, leaning forward with the unmistakable excitement of someone about to drop prime gossip.
"Do you know the real reason Christine was pushed out of Miller & Walsh?
That 'engagement' wasn't what she's been telling everyone. "
The intensity in her voice makes me lean closer. "What do you mean?"
"David Richards was married , Tarryn." Zoe's eyes are wide with the delight of sharing premium gossip. "Christine was his affair. She knowingly broke up his marriage. The whole 'the firm chose him over me' story is total bullshit."
The revelation truly shocks me. “Holy shit! You’re sure about this?"
"Positive. My roommate's sister apparently works at Miller & Walsh, which I’m just now finding out.
The partners covered it up to protect the firm's reputation, but everyone there knows what really happened.
They didn't push her out because she was a woman—they pushed her out because she was sleeping with a married partner and it got messy. "
I sit back, processing this new information. The carefully constructed image of Christine as victim of professional sexism crumbles, replaced by something more complicated—and far less sympathetic.
"That fucking hypocrite," I mutter, anger rising hot and fast. "She's been using her experience to manipulate me, positioning herself as some kind of cautionary tale when really she was the villain in her own story."
The betrayal stings more than it should. Even knowing Christine's motives were suspect, I'd felt a thread of genuine concern beneath her warnings. Now that sympathy evaporates, replaced by righteous indignation.
I grab my phone, typing out a quick message to Jackson.
Me: You won’t believe what Zoe just told me about Christine. Where are you?
“I know, right?” She shakes her head, downing the rest of her drink. “Trying to decide if I should have another or call it a night.”
A reply from Jackson interrupts.
Jackson: At Donovan's with Scott from law school. He's in town. Come join us when you're done with Zoe?
I show the text to Zoe, already reaching for my purse. "Mind if I cut this short? I need to tell Jackson about this."
"Go," she says, waving me off with an indulgent smile. “I think it’s best I call it a night anyway.” She yawns, stretching out her arms. “Just promise me all the dirty details later. And I mean ALL of them."
The bar thrums with Thursday night energy as I push through the door, scanning the crowded space for Jackson. I spot him near the back, his broad shoulders and dark hair unmistakable even in the dim lighting. My heart does that ridiculous flutter it always does at the sight of him.
I start to move toward him, then stop abruptly.
Two women stand at their table—both stunning, both laughing at something his friend just said. One places her hand casually on Jackson's arm as she leans in to hear better over the music, her red fingernails stark against the white of his shirtsleeve.
Something hot and unfamiliar surges through me, a visceral reaction that takes me by surprise. Jealousy. Pure, unadulterated jealousy.
I stand frozen, watching the situation unfold. The logical part of my brain knows this is innocent, Jackson texted me himself to join them. But the primitive, possessive part of me wants to march over and peel those manicured fingers off his arm with a warning.
Before I can decide how to proceed, Jackson looks up and spots me. His face transforms into a smile so genuine, so clearly meant just for me, that some of the jealous knot in my chest loosens. He waves me over, saying something to his companions that makes them turn in my direction.
I plaster on a professional smile and make my way through the crowd as the women walk away.
"Tarryn," Jackson says, his voice warm as he pulls out a stool beside him. "This is Scott from Harvard. He’s in town for a conference.”
"Nice to meet you," I say warmly, reminding myself that jealousy isn’t healthy or productive.
"Jackson's been singing your praises," Scott says with an easy smile. "Says you're the most brilliant attorney he's ever worked with."
"He exaggerates," I reply, though the compliment warms me despite my lingering discomfort.
We chat for a few minutes, mostly about Scott and Jackson's law school days. Eventually, Scott checks his watch and sighs. "I should probably call it a night. Early flight tomorrow."
"Shall we?" Jackson asks, gesturing toward the exit.
"Sure," I agree, eager to tell him about Christine and escape the crowded bar.
The night air is cool against my heated skin as we step onto the sidewalk. Jackson walks beside me, close but not touching, a thoughtful silence stretching between us.
"So, what was the big revelation about Christine?" he finally asks as we turn onto his street.
I explain Zoe's bombshell, watching his expression shift from surprise to understanding.
"That explains a lot," he says, shaking his head. "She wasn't protecting you—she was projecting her own guilt. Classic displacement."
"Exactly," I agree.
As we approach his building, Jackson slows his pace, turning to study my face in the gentle glow of the streetlights. "Is something else bothering you? You seem… tense."
"I'm fine," I say too quickly, avoiding his searching gaze. "Just processing everything that happened today."
"Tarryn." Just my name, but the way he says it—part exasperation, part tenderness—makes something twist in my chest.
"Really, it's fine," I insist, quickening my step toward his building entrance.
He catches my arm gently, turning me to face him. "You've been off since you arrived at the bar. And don't say it's nothing—I know you too well."
"It's stupid," I mutter, heat rising to my cheeks.
"Try me."
"It's fine, Jackson," I repeat, embarrassment making my tone sharper than intended.
His eyes narrow slightly, studying me with an intensity that makes me feel transparent. Then, unexpectedly, his expression softens into something like realization.
"I don't want it to be fine," he says quietly, stepping closer until I can feel the heat radiating from his body. "I want it to bother you that other women were talking to me."
The words hit. I stare up at him, caught between indignation and the raw truth of his observation.
"Fine!" I burst out. "Yes, it bothered me! Is that what you wanted to hear? Yes, I hated seeing her touch you, hated how she looked at you, hated imagining what she was thinking. Happy now?"
Instead of the triumph I expect, his expression melts into something tender. "Ecstatic," he murmurs, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You're jealous."
"Don't look so pleased with yourself," I grumble.
He steps closer, his fingers tracing the edge of my jaw in a touch so light it makes me shiver. "I like you jealous. It's incredibly sexy."
"Shut up," I mutter, though heat pools low in my belly at his words.
"For the record," he says, "those women literally just stopped. One of them dropped their debit card and Scott picked it up to hand back to them."
"I don't care," I say, surprising myself with the vehemence in my voice. "I didn't like it."
"Good." His thumb brushes across my lower lip, the simple touch sending electricity racing through my veins. "Because I'm yours, Tarryn. Only yours. Always have been."
The possessive claim breaks something open inside me.
I grab his tie, pulling him down until our lips meet in a kiss that obliterates any remaining pretense of indifference.
His arms wrap around me instantly, crushing me against the solid wall of his chest as his mouth devours mine with equal hunger.
"And you're mine," I gasp when we break apart, both breathing hard. "No one else's."
"Let's go upstairs," he growls, taking my hand and pulling me toward the entrance to his building.
The elevator ride is exquisite torture. Jackson backs me against the wall the moment the doors close, his body pressing into mine with delicious weight. His mouth finds my neck, teeth grazing sensitive skin as his hands slide beneath my blazer to trace the curve of my waist.
"I can feel your heart racing," he murmurs against my throat, one hand splaying across my ribs just beneath my breast.
"Your fault," I breathe, head falling back against the wall as heat spirals outward from every point of contact between us.
The elevator chimes, doors sliding open to reveal his floor. We stumble out, still tangled together, barely breaking apart long enough for Jackson to unlock his apartment door. The moment it closes behind us, we collide again.
Clothing falls to the floor in a desperate trail leading to his bedroom. His hands are everywhere at once, leaving trails of fire across my skin, claiming every inch as his own.
The last coherent thought I have before surrendering completely to sensation is that no man will ever make my body tremble the way Jackson Hayes can with just a single touch.