Chapter 11 Naomi #2
My brothers remain unaware because it has only happened once, and Christian has kept his promise so far not to do it again.
But fuck, if Jaxon didn’t exude the same damn sex-on-a-stick aura that boils Christian’s blood.
No matter how clean cut he looks on the outside, the tattoos creeping up his neck, and his all too attentive gaze say otherwise.
“Do Momma and Daddy know about this?” I hiss, looking for any excuse to foil this plan.
“They do,” Max says, grinning triumphantly.
Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. My brothers know how I feel about my autonomy. This betrayal cuts deep.
“You know, Naomi,” Jaxon drawls, his voice pulling me back. “Hanging with me might not be so bad. You won’t even notice me most of the time.”
The tight grip on my control snaps. I bolt from the room, sliding the door open with more force than I need to. I hear the mechanism thud into place.
From the foyer, I hear Max say, “There are just a few more details to iron out.” His voice is still business-like and cold.
Max has always been like Daddy in that sense, never letting emotions cloud what he thinks is best, no matter how hurt the people around him get.
“Shut the door, Jaxon. We’re not done yet. ”
Heavy footsteps follow me. I turn, just in time to see Jaxon appear in the doorway, scowling before his lips curve into a smile. I still can’t shake the feeling that something about him is familiar.
My eyes never leave him as he rolls the door shut.
Back in my room, I snatch my phone and dial Aisha. She picks up on the first ring, predictably, because gossip always moves quicker than logic with her.
“You good?” Aisha asks, her voice breathless like she just hurdled across the room for her phone.
“I can’t believe them,” I groan. “And you, a heads up would have been nice.” She could have at least texted me.
She hums knowingly, but I can practically hear the smirk in her tone. “Okay, now what’s going on?”
I spill everything. Well… almost everything.
The part about him making my head spin with thoughts I couldn’t even explain?
Yeah, that stays locked in the vault. Aisha would torment me for days for every detail, making me recount the story over and over again, and I’m not in the mood for those kinds of theatrics.
“Some girls have all the luck,” she sighs wistfully after I finish my rant.
“That’s not funny, June!” I snap, my frustration bubbling over.
“Okay, okay, calm down,” she says with exaggerated patience. “What’s the real problem here?”
“Uh, how about the fact that some random dude is babysitting me like I’m a child?!” My voice cracks, the indignation still fresh.
Aisha laughs, her lighter clicking in the background. “Well, he’s a really hot babysitter. So is it really that bad?”
I roll my eyes so hard I might sprain something. “You’re impossible,” I mutter, as I hear the familiar inhale-and-hold routine on her end. Knowing her, she just rolled something potent enough to knock out an elephant.
A notification pings on my phone, and I glance down. It’s from a client.
“June!” I shriek, popping in a wireless earpiece as I collapse onto my bed, my thumb scrolling through the signed contract.
“I got the client from Milan!” The excitement bubbles up, and before I know it, I’m hitting a little celebratory twerk on my bed with practiced finesse.
The vision this client has for his café in Milan is stunning, and I can’t wait to dive in.
“Shit, you’re rolling aces.” She giggles as she inhales, her voice distorted from the smoke. “Fine ass bodyguard, and your most anticipated client all in one day.” She says on an exhale. “You should throw Jaxon a lil celebratory fuck. That man is too fine.”
“Aisha.” I close my eyes, exasperated.
“Fine, fine! I’m sorry,” Aisha groans, coughing into the receiver.
“Come over. Smoke with me. Take your mind off things. I’ve got Casa…
” She chimes the last sentence in a singsong tone that makes it hard to resist. She knows my weaknesses too well.
The mention of tequila is almost enough to sway me, but I stay silent for a beat, letting her sweat it out.
“Lady, come on,” she whines. “Forgive me?”
I can’t hold back the grin tugging at my lips. “I could never stay mad at you, June,” I admit. As much as she drives me nuts, she’s my best friend. My messy, ride-or-die, horny girl. And I love her for it.
“I know,” she purrs, “but I’d love watching you try.”
I sigh. “I still can’t believe them. Even Tris!”
“Ah, yeah…” Aisha exhales, her tone turning smug. “But come on, have you met your brothers?”
“They’re bozos,” I snap.
“Hot bozos,” she counters, taking another pull.
I feign a gag. “You’re disgusting. And I’m gonna throw up.”
She laughs, unbothered. To her credit, my brothers are objectively handsome. But looks don’t make up for their buffoonery.
“Alright,” I say, rolling off the bed. “I’ll come after dinner. Nan made stew beef, so I’m not leaving until I’ve had my fill.”
“Ugh, why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve stayed!”
“You were so eager to abandon me. How was I supposed to know traitors get hungry?”
“Dramatic,” she huffs. “Bring me some. I’m starving!”
“You’re high.”
“Same difference,” she says, deadpan.
I groan but relent. “Fine.”
“That’s my girl!” she chirps. “See you soon.”
“Bye, June,” I say, ending the call with a roll of my eyes, and I shove my phone into my back pocket.
As much as I want to stay mad at her, the idea of tequila, good weed, and her antics is just what I need to take the edge off.
A business podcast plays in the background as I move through my room. Two dresses are already draped across the bed, along with matching heels and flats. Options are everything.
I updated my wardrobe system last year, automating it to make storing and finding my outfits ridiculously easy. The controls let me bring racks forward or adjust shelves to my height—it’s been a dream, and I don’t give a shit how spoiled it makes me sound.
Floating across the room, I grab my meds and toss them into the bag. Toiletries follow, along with my favorite pajamas and my silk bonnet. Everything has its place, and packing should be soothing—should be. But that prick’s face keeps popping into my head, ruining my mood.
By the time I head downstairs for dinner, I’m already wound tight.
I stroll into the dining room, ready to eat and recharge—only to stop dead in my tracks.
Fucking Hell.
Jaxon Knox, the insufferable asshole, is seated at our table and looking far too comfortable, his arm slung across the back of the seat next to him.
He laughs, loud and robust, at Tris’ off colored joke, but he doesn’t look as amused as when his eyes spot me.
His smug, gorgeous face tilts up to meet mine, a soft smile painting his lips—so soft it almost erases the menace I’d met in the foyer. Almost, but not quite.
But I know that smile isn’t meant to soothe. It’s a trap, a subtle way of reminding me he’s going to be a constant presence from now on.
My brothers are all seated with their significant others, and to my horror, the only seat left is beside Jaxon. Of course. The damn devil is hard at work today.
As I stand frozen in the doorway, he rises to his feet, gripping the back of the empty chair and pulling it out.
“Lovely for you to join us, Ms. Blaine,” he says smoothly, his voice a low hum of command. When I make my way across the room to reluctantly sit, his lips brush close to my ear, a venomous whisper meant only for me as he tucks me under the table. “I hope you’re over your little attitude.”
My jaw clenches so hard it hurts, but I force myself to meet his smug gaze.
“Not even a little,” I snap under my breath.
He grins, taking my plate from in front of me before I can react. Casually, he starts serving me, portioning out food as if it’s his God-given duty to control every aspect of my life.
He hums, his smirk never faltering. He sets the plate back in its place with a wink before he sits back down. “Maybe food will help.”
“I’m not a child,” I bite out, snatching my fork from the table. “I could’ve done it myself.”
He leans back in his chair, swirling his wine lazily. “I think what you meant to say was, ‘Thank you, Jaxon.’”
“I think what I should have said was, ‘Fuck you, Mr. Knox,’” I murmur, my voice sharp and low as I raise my wine glass to take a sip. The conversation around us doesn’t even pause.
The scent of spices and jasmine rice clings to the air, but the table is more full of ideas than food at this point.
The wine’s flowing, and so are the opinions — because anytime my brothers and their partners get together, someone’s going to bring up politics, business, or the future of the world.
It’s the kind of meal that makes you forget your filter, even if you’re sitting next to someone you’d rather throw out a window.
Unfortunately for me, that someone is Jaxon.
But the rest of the table is doing what my family does best—juggling intellect, ambition, and just enough chaos to keep it interesting.
Max sets his wine down, his tone all business. “We’re finally rolling out the new smart-home integration software next quarter. If we get full FDA approval for the medical sensors, we’re pivoting to in-home eldercare packages.”
“Which is genius. You’re keeping it sleek, but actually useful. Not just another luxury flex.” Shantel—his fiancée— beams beside him, her dark brown eyes warm as she tucks her curls behind her ear.
Max nods, bringing her hand to his lips and giving it a quick kiss. “Exactly. Not everyone needs a fridge that tells you how sad your diet is—but tracking someone’s heart rate? Their mobility shifts? That’s a game changer.”
Tré cuts in smoothly, ever the lawyer. “You’re gonna need a solid compliance strategy once it hits government contracts. I can take a look, if you want.”
“I’ll send it over tomorrow,” Max says.