Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
J asmine perched in the kitchen window seat of Roth’s penthouse at 432 Park Avenue, with both hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee. It was hours before sunrise, but she was wide-awake. Not by choice. Part of it was due to her internal clock being off from spending three weeks in Europe. The other part was Roth. She’d awoken feeling as if her boob were on fire. She was days away from her period, so her nipples were hella sensitive—something she’d mentioned on the flight back to New York when he kept feeling her up. Apparently, he’d seen that as an invitation, not a rejection. This morning, he’d held her down while paying homage and driven her crazy. Had any woman ever gotten off from having her nipples played with? She never had, but twenty minutes ago, she’d come pretty damn close.
She heard him coming before he entered the kitchen. His hair and beard were damp from his shower. He was dressed for the office in a slate-gray suit, with a matching overcoat that made him appear even larger than he already was. No matter how sophisticated his clothing, Roth always looked more like a gangster than a businessman.
He came straight to her, taking the cup from her hand and setting it aside before tipping up her face and kissing her deeply. Her heart literally fluttered.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.”
One eyebrow arched. “You thought I was going to sleep through you sucking on my boobs?”
His beard twitched as his mouth crooked in a half-smile she was becoming accustomed to seeing. “I thought you’d go back to sleep after I made you come. It’s three in the morning.”
“You’re up,” she pointed out.
“I’m always up. I worked out and was going to take a shower when I saw you with your nightgown hiked up around your waist and your breast out. I couldn’t resist.”
“You could have.”
“No, I couldn’t.”
She hissed when his hand dropped to her chest and kneaded. “Will you stop playing with my boobs?”
“No,” he said again, tucking his face against her neck and inhaling. “You smell like me.”
“I’ll shower after you leave.”
“You should have joined me.”
“I needed coffee.”
He grunted and gave her another kiss before nabbing her coffee and taking a sip.
“You never learn,” she chided when he grimaced.
She took her cup back and settled it on her thigh as he went to the coffee pot and downed a cup in two gulps. When he caught her wide-eyed stare, he shrugged.
“I have to run.” He cast a distracted look over the kitchen island.
She had to admit, it looked a mess with her notebooks, pens, external hard drive, cords, and laptop scattered over it.
“You need an office,” he said.
“I’m fine.”
“Pick a room. An interior designer can help you decorate.”
Her fingers tightened around her cup. “I don’t need an office.”
He pulled out his phone. “I’ll have Sarai send you samples of designers’ work.”
“Roth.”
“What?” he said absently as he scrolled on his phone.
“It’s Thanksgiving.”
He focused on her with a frown. “It’s what?”
“Thanksgiving. Your employees are working today?”
“Why wouldn’t they be?”
“It’s a holiday,” she said slowly. “You do know what holidays are, don’t you?”
He shrugged. “I have back-to-back meetings all day. No one said anything when we scheduled it.”
Of course they didn’t. Apparently, he’d forgotten why he speeded up his business in Berlin—to keep his promise to Lyle that they could spend the holiday with Jasmine’s family. Since she’d recommitted to him, his energy was next-level. He was a bit manic—insatiable, hyperactive, unable to sleep. She’d had to order him to go to his meetings, because his hovering was freaking her out. He’d thrown himself into a work frenzy. She doubted he’d had more than eight hours of sleep in the three days they were in London. His frequent calls to make sure she wasn’t feeling neglected were disconcerting. She didn’t know what to do with this attentive Roth, who was willing to put work aside to be with her. She was in desperate need of rest and space to process, while he seemed to want the opposite.
“What are you doing today?” he asked.
“Writing.” And going to Colette’s for dinner. She’d been planning to mention it, but his packed schedule indicated he wouldn’t be back until ten or later.
When they arrived back in New York, he’d gone straight to the office from the airport (with her blessing), while she was delivered to 432 Park Avenue. Part of her should be miffed at being locked in another penthouse, but after weeks of living out of suitcases and the unfamiliar being the norm, this felt like home. She wasn’t going to tell Roth that though.
“You can’t work like this,” he said, gesturing to the kitchen island.
“Yes, I can.”
“Everyone needs a space that’s their own to do their best work,” he said absently, narrowing his eyes as he read something on his phone.
The thought of claiming a room in the penthouse and putting her stamp on it made Jasmine uneasy. It felt too permanent.
“I have to go.”
He didn’t ask for a kiss; he simply cupped her chin and lifted her mouth to take what he wanted. He took his time. She wrapped her hand in his coat before he broke the kiss and looked down at her.
“Okay?” he asked.
In the past few days, she’d realized this was his way of asking if she wanted anything of him before he left her.
As she had done every single time he asked, she replied, “Yes.”
He gave her another kiss and brushed his fingers over her right hand before turning away.
She watched him walk through the doorway before looking down at the wedding band on her right ring finger. She hadn’t taken it off since he put it on four days ago. She noticed he’d taken to touching it like a talisman. Wearing two wedding rings was strange, especially since they couldn’t be more different in taste and style. The simple, traditional ring on the right and the modern stunner that someone would slit her throat for on the left... They contradicted one another, but she couldn’t find it in herself to tuck the simple one away.
Sarai had spotted the ring the moment Jasmine walked onto the jet. When she admitted it was her first wedding ring, Sarai had teared up and gone to the back of the jet to calm herself. Sarai seemed to realize the significance of its reappearance. Jasmine was still having a hard time believing Roth had kept it after the lies Maximus told him, and the infidelity documented in her novels. He should have tossed the ring in the trash a long time ago, yet he’d kept it as a reminder. Of what, she still didn’t know.
Once she was sure she had the penthouse to herself, Jasmine refilled her cup and turned out the lights. There was enough illumination from the city for her to walk around without stubbing her toe. She retreated to the window seat and took in the view. She wasn’t sure whether it was the post-orgasm glow or that she’d made it back in time for Thanksgiving, but she was mellow and... happy? She shook her head as she sipped her coffee. She shouldn’t be. Things were far from perfect, but the greater part of her didn’t care. She was living in the moment.
Roth’s behavior during their flight back to New York had kept Mo, Johan, and Sarai riveted. He was a changed man, considerate and doting instead of preoccupied and impatient. He’d sat beside her, which she’d always avoided in the past. When she wasn’t napping, he was all over her—or he’d made sure she was on him, either sitting on his lap or straddling him. He’d carried her into the bathroom twice to have his wicked way with her, and he casually informed her he’d bought a jet with a bedroom for their next trip when he climbed into bed that night.
He was a Roth she didn’t know he could be. Even in the early stages of their affair he’d maintained a serious, detached demeanor. She had never expected him to change. This playful, indulgent side of him was devastating to her peace of mind. She wanted to believe this was the new Roth, but now they were back in New York, she was afraid they’d revert to their routines, habits, and comfort zones. He was already back to his hectic work schedule, which she was initially happy about, but... how long would it take for the novelty of having a full-time wife to wane; for the calls checking in to cease?
She closed her eyes and willed away the anxiety. The urge to grab on with both hands, to nurture the fragile bond between them so it could blossom into something beautiful and vibrant, made her clutch her cup in a white-knuckle grip. When Roth gave, it made her want to give back tenfold. She was scared of going overboard; of reading too much into his attentiveness. It was possible they had an unhealthy fascination with one another because they’d spent so little time together the first time they married. Now they’d be around one another daily, their chemistry would dwindle, and the invisible ties binding them so tightly to one another would finally loosen and fall away.
They had careers and separate paths they were meant to walk. He didn’t shy away from the press, interviews, magazine covers. He was like her father in that sense—using the media instead of letting them use him. Roth wanted to be featured prominently on Wall Street and in high society. That had been his goal from the start. She wanted nothing to do with that lifestyle and preferred the peaceful countryside. She would take what she could get, savoring his sweetness and their time together, knowing it would come to an end all too soon.
She sighed. Regardless of the state of her temporary marriage, she still had work to do. Yesterday, she’d read what she wrote in London: Rex and Juliet’s version of the unpleasant fight she and Roth had in his office their first night in London.
“I played my hand. I wanted to see how far you would let me in. I didn’t expect you to be so accommodating.”
She should have known reading that scene would trigger all her insecurities and make her second-guess everything. She’d ignored two of Roth’s calls and regretted it when she got a text saying he was leaving the office to check on her. When she’d called to tell him she was fine, he demanded to know what was wrong. She’d lied and said she misplaced her phone, to which he replied, “It’s been right next to you this whole time. You watched my calls come in and ignored them.”
Fucking cameras. Would she ever get used to being under constant surveillance? She’d told a half-truth—that she was working and didn’t want to be distracted. She could tell he wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t push it until that evening, when he brought it up again when they were in bed. She’d reassured him she was preoccupied with work, a.k.a. their alter egos, and that it had nothing to do with him.
How the hell was she going to write the next book in the series while she was locked in this marriage of convenience with her ex? She could scrap what she’d written in London and take out the reconciliation storyline, but then what? In the previous book, the focus had been on Juliet repairing her relationship with her father, interspersed with colorful sexcapades to offset the serious emotional undertones. She’d planned for book five to be the finale, but she couldn’t picture a fitting end for Juliet, who hadn’t made any serious connections throughout the years, just as she hadn’t in real life.
The only recurring character was Rex, who drifted in at inopportune moments for comic relief or with an entertaining anecdote when he checked in on his ex-wife. After Jasmine and Roth reunited in Colorado, Rex had come on stronger than he had in years, forcing a confrontation that had caused Juliet to leave him stranded on the side of the highway. When Jasmine was in London, she’d continued the scene. Rex had showed up at Juliet’s house to finish what he’d started, bringing their past—which had always been an off-limits topic—into the spotlight. He’d then proceeded to cross every boundary Juliet had laid down after she found him cheating on her and turned their platonic relationship back into a physical one.
Were Juliet and Rex meant to be together, or did Juliet deserve a fresh start with a man who hadn’t betrayed her trust, and whom she didn’t have such a tumultuous history with? Unlike her, Juliet had a choice and didn’t have to follow her path.
During her attempts to write after her dad died, she had considered bringing back a past fling who’d made a fortune and wanted a second chance. But maybe it was better to introduce a brand-new character. But starting a relationship from scratch and ending with a wedding was cliché. Considering Juliet’s sexual liberty and the men she’d been with, what would make this new love interest different from the rest? Who could entice Juliet to give up her hard-won independence? A blond Adonis with a heart of gold? A tall, dark, handsome stranger with a heroic past who just needed some tender loving care to come out of his shell and be the man of her dreams? Jasmine grimaced. She could already hear her readers’ vociferous, heated protests. They were dead set on Juliet and Rex being endgame. Not to mention, Sarai would flip. Roth’s personal assistant wouldn’t understand why the series had deviated so much from Jasmine’s real life. Sarai would only understand the reason for the fictional ending if she published the book after the divorce.
Her chest tightened. Was she really dreading their end when mere days ago, she’d begged him to let her go? Passion like this—overwhelming, white-hot—couldn’t go on forever. She kept telling herself these obsessive feelings would pass. They couldn’t sustain themselves. Which was a good thing, since it was all-consuming and didn’t allow for much else.
She set her cup aside and redirected her mind to the only thing she should be thinking about. If she couldn’t work on the series that had made her career, what the hell was she going to write? Everyone was expecting the finale to drop any day now, and she had nothing.
She stalked through the penthouse as her mind turned over the problem. She didn’t have to write to support herself anymore, but writing had always been much more than a way to make money. Writing had given her a voice and a mental sanctuary to escape to when reality was too harsh. Juliet had been her anchor for six years. Immersing herself in a fictional world where her counterpart conquered goals she was afraid to approach in real life had given her the courage to follow suit. She needed somewhere to retreat to where she wasn’t weighted down by the Hennessy (or Roth) name and could be herself.
Stories were her way of connecting with people beyond the walls of her glass cage. In fiction, she could show the selfish, reckless, needy parts of her that her family couldn’t accept. Not being able to give her audience the conclusion they (and she) desperately wanted created a divide when she needed them most. She had so much to get off her chest, so much she wanted to pass on to Juliet, but she couldn’t put it on the page. She didn’t dare. If she started to analyze her situation, if she looked too closely, she’d unravel. Her only option was to switch to a project that had nothing to do with her life.
Her readers were going to lose their ever-loving minds, but what choice did she have? Deep down, she’d known she’d have to put Rex and Juliet aside but had stubbornly believed she could be impartial about her father’s death and the recent developments between her and Roth. The truth was, she was so raw from the trauma of losing the only parent she’d ever known, receiving her unexpected inheritance, Roth’s forceful reentry into her life, and all the revelations about her family, that she couldn’t begin to process it. She couldn’t sift through the ramifications and repercussions of past decisions and current circumstances when they were still evolving. Her only recourse was to lose herself in another project until she was strong enough to deal with Juliet and Rex. She had a nasty feeling she couldn’t decide Juliet’s fate until she knew her own.
She dropped her robe outside the shower and was distracted by Roth’s scent hanging in the air. She breathed him in and was annoyed by the flare of warmth and comfort his scent gave her. She didn’t want to want him. Even now, when things were good between them, she wanted to be able to block him out and enjoy their physical connection without tapping into the emotional.
She stepped under the spray and imagined the water washing her worries away. Trying to anticipate everything would only cause needless distress she couldn’t take. She was so goddamn tired of trying not to make another mistake. Of trying to do what was “right.” She would let Roth handle everything. No matter what came, she would survive. She had once before.
* * *
She sang along to Christmas music as she did her makeup. She was flying high on festive cheer. She’d had a productive day wrapping the gifts she’d picked up on her travels while catching up with Johnny and Penelope.
She had unpacked her luggage and ignored Roth’s text telling her the housekeeper could do that for her. The fact he was shamelessly watching her and not even trying to hide it should have pissed her off, but two heartwarming messages from readers had restored her good mood and had her skipping around the penthouse instead of calling him to give him a piece of her mind. Didn’t he say he had back-to-back meetings? He shouldn’t have time to stalk her.
She checked the time on her phone and cursed. She should give Johan and Mo a heads-up that she was running late. She leaned toward the vanity and carefully applied eyeliner and nearly stabbed herself when saw a large shadow out of the corner of her eye.
“Holy shit! What the hell are you doing here?” she exploded.
Roth raised his brows as he undid his tie. “I live here.”
“I know, but...” She turned her face away as he caught her around the waist and tried to kiss her. “Make some noise next time! You almost gave me a heart attack.”
“I’ll remember that.” He grabbed her face and got the kiss he wanted before he started to undo his shirt.
“I thought you wouldn’t be back for hours.”
“I have another engagement,” he said as he dropped his pants.
“Oh.” Her voice was a little strained. It took all her self-control not to let her gaze drop. “Did anyone mention that today’s Thanksgiving?”
“No.”
She sniffed. Everyone was too afraid to tell him working on a holiday was a crime.
He turned. This time, she couldn’t stop herself from admiring his ass as he strode to the shower. When Roth eyed her through the glass, she straightened and turned back to the mirror to finish her makeup.
“Did Sarai send you the portfolios of designers who can work on your office?” he called.
She gritted her teeth. “Yes.”
“Did you choose a designer?”
“I don’t need an office!”
“You spent a good hour looking for that notebook before you realized you left it in the guest bedroom.”
She put her hand on her hip and glared at the fogged glass obscuring him from view. “How the hell do you know that? Weren’t you in meetings all day?”
“I can multitask. You should utilize the staff to help you.”
“I don’t mind doing things myself,” she said as she slapped her mascara in the palm of her hand.
“You need to learn how to delegate.”
“Says the man who works eighteen-hour days,” she scoffed.
“I used to work twenty. You need to know what can be passed along so you do the things only you can do.”
She made a face in the mirror.
“I saw that.” He snatched a towel and scrubbed his hair before draping it around his neck. “Use the resources available to you. That’s what they’re there for.”
Before she could think of a reply, he strolled out of the bathroom.
She shook her head. Roth didn’t realize she needed mundane tasks like putting away her clothes and wrapping gifts to keep her grounded. So many aspects of her life were out of her control. If staff put away her clothes, she wouldn’t know where they were. After so much change, she was trying to create a safe place and nest. She considered explaining that to him but doubted he’d understand.
She was putting on a sultry brown lipstick when he reentered the bathroom, pants undone, buttoning a fresh shirt. He went to his vanity, which was opposite hers. She rubbed her lips together, watching him in the mirror as he brushed his teeth and ran a comb through his hair and beard before he headed for the door.
“I’m ready when you are,” he said.
She whipped her head around. “Excuse me?”
He paused. “Aren’t you having dinner with your family?”
“Yes.”
He tugged on his cuff. “Then so am I.”
“I thought you had another engagement.”
“It’s Thanksgiving. That’s a family holiday, isn’t it?”
“But you...” she sputtered and then shook her head. “I don’t think my family expects you. They’d understand if you had to work.”
“I rescheduled my last appointment so I could attend.”
She opened her mouth to ask how he knew what time dinner was before realizing what a stupid question that was. “You think paparazzi will be waiting in the cold to see if you have dinner with my family?”
“No.”
“Then why...?”
He closed the distance between them and planted a hand on the vanity. “We’re married.”
“I know that.”
He cupped her chin and raised her face so she couldn’t evade his piercing gaze. “You don’t want me to go?”
“I didn’t expect you to. I know how busy you are.”
“I said things were going to be different this time around.”
“But...”
He kissed her before straightening. “Don’t worry. It’s going to be fine.”
She gaped at his retreating back. The last time he and her family were together, he’d choked Thea. If her run-in with Lyle in Portugal was an indicator of what to expect, this dinner was going to be strained and uncomfortable. Now that she knew about Ariana’s addiction, Rami’s past, and Colette’s bad business decisions, she wasn’t sure how she’d interact normally with them. Her plan was the same as always: ignore the adults and focus on the kids. She was dying to see how much Polara had grown and couldn’t wait to see Kye and Bailey’s reactions to their gifts.
Adding Roth into the mix threw her plans for a low-key night out the window. Should she text her sisters that he was coming to dinner, or did they expect him to accompany her? Even though she intended to invite him, she had assumed he would turn her down. He didn’t do family shit and wasn’t a fan of holidays, milestones, or anniversaries. He’d told her not to send birthday or Christmas gifts in the past—an instruction she’d ignored—so why would he bother having Thanksgiving dinner with her family? Then again, he had to keep up appearances. Lyle would expect it after the besotted newlywed act they’d put on in Lisbon.
She glanced at her reflection and was satisfied with the transformation. She forced herself to smile so she could add extra blush to the apples of her cheeks before heading to the closet to get dressed. Roth was dressed in a suit, but knowing she’d be spending the night with her nieces and nephew, Jasmine had gone for comfy, chic, and a little sexy, with a fitted long-sleeve black dress with a high neck. There was a slit the dress didn’t need, with it already being so short. She’d put on black tights so her sisters wouldn’t have a hernia, completing the outfit with knee-high chunky boots and a heather-gray coat. The final touch was her mother’s necklace—a diamond pendant on a dainty gold chain.
Roth sat in the living room with a laptop balanced on his knee. His eyes swept over her and warmed before he focused on the large packages she held.
He frowned. “What’s all that?”
“Presents.”
“It’s not Christmas.”
She tipped her nose in the air. “It doesn’t have to be Christmas to get a present.” She bent over to make sure she had everything and didn’t realize he’d moved until he gripped her hips.
“Do I get a present?”
Considering she’d just been thinking about his reaction to her past attempts to give him gifts, she was surprised he’d brought it up.
She turned to face him. “You never liked presents.”
“I didn’t appreciate them at the time.”
Her eyes moved over him, taking in his appearance. Roth employed personal shoppers to make sure he looked the part of a tycoon. Thinking back to how insistent she’d been to send him some ties she’d come across at Macy’s for his birthday, her cheeks heated. Yes, she could imagine her presents hadn’t been all that special. What was she supposed to give a man who could acquire a jet with the amenities he wanted within a few hours? She wasn’t a broke college student relying on her husband any longer. She had millions at her disposal, but he had billions. No comparison. Today, she’d stuffed the clothes she bought him at the Copenhagen market behind some shelves and planned to donate them. She wasn’t going to test his newfound willingness to please her by forcing him to wear them.
“You’ll have to tell me what you want,” she said with a half-smile to conceal her embarrassment. “I don’t want to get you something you don’t want.”
He frowned, eyes moving pensively over her face.
“Are you sure you want to come to this?” she asked to distract him. “It could be...” She flipped her hand back and forth to express the potentially unpleasant environment they could be walking into.
“They have to get used to me,” he said as he brushed her curls over her shoulder. “And so do you.”
So be it.
She stepped back. “We’d better go.”