Jack's Devotion

Chapter One

Jack

" M y pool house is haunted."

The exasperated sigh echoing down the line tells me quite plainly that my brother thinks I've officially lost my mind. Actually, I'm not sure he thought I had one to begin with, but that's beside the goddamn point.

"I'm serious, motherfucker." I peer through the blinds like a little old lady spying on her neighbors, trying to see into the pool house on the other side of the Olympic-sized pool taking up a corner of my estate.

Can you even see a ghost from this far away?

Jesus Christ.

Of all the questions I thought I'd ask myself today…that one didn't even make the list.

"It keeps messing with the lights in there."

Drake is silent for a long moment. "Something is wrong with the electricity, and you automatically jump to ghost?"

"No, jackass. I assumed it was an electrical issue until I heard the damn thing moaning, and then I jumped to ghost."

"How are we even related?"

I release the blinds for a moment, smirking. "Easy. I was living my best life as an only child, but mom and dad decided to fu–"

"I swear to Christ, if you finish that sentence, you're going to have two ghosts haunting your pool house," Drake growls.

A loud bark of laughter erupts from my lips as I lean back against the wall beside the window in my home office. I can't see shit out there. Maybe I need glasses.

"You asked," I remind him. "You and Madeline should probably see a sex therapist if you still haven't figured out how babies are made, little bro. You've been married for three months already."

"Fuck off, Jack," Drake growls. "My sex life is just fine."

"That's…not exactly a ringing endorsement."

As if I'd know what constitutes a ringing endorsement of a sex life. My hand has no complaints. My cock, however? Well, that's a different story.

But unlike Drake, I am not trying to get married. And in this town, a date might as well be a statement of intent. People fall at the speed of light around here. Hell, even Drake and Madeline were married in two point four seconds flat, and he doesn't even live in Silver Spoon Falls.

As much as the whole damn town would love to see me married off and out of their hair, a wife and kids are not on my agenda—ever. Maybe once upon a time…but that was a long time ago. Now? Well, I'm not the type of motherfucker a woman should be saddled with. I can barely keep up with my own damn self.

So my hand stays busy and my cock suffers. It is what it is.

"Why do I even bother calling you?" Drake mutters. "I could be spending time with my wife instead of getting high blood pressure."

"How is my ghost problem giving you high blood pressure? You live in a fucking town that thrives on all things spooky. And last I checked, you had your own damn shrine to Halloween kink going on over there."

"It's not your ghost problem giving me the problem," he grumbles. "It's you, motherfucker. It's always you."

"Well, goddamn. Why don't you tell me how you really feel?" I ask, amused. Drake has one mood: cranky. Actually, scratch that. He has two moods since he met Madeline: cranky and sappy. I prefer cranky.

Madeline is great, don't get me wrong. Best sister-in-law ever. She's funny as fuck, and she's teaching Drake to live again. It's been years since he actually did that. But I can only take so much of the big bastard waxing poetic about her smile. It's strange and unnatural. I don't like it. Him, not her smile. There's nothing wrong with that.

"Fine," he rumbles as if I was challenging him or something. For the record…I definitely fucking wasn't. My brother is a merciless savage. "There isn't a ghost in your pool house, you idiot. You have a squatter. It's what happens when you spend ninety percent of your life at your office. People decide your shit is their shit. Call an exorcist or the sheriff or some goddamn body to kick whoever it is out. But for the love of all that's holy, Jack, do not try to handle it yourself."

"I do not spend ninety percent of my life at the office," I mutter, ignoring the rest of the bullshit he said because we both know I'm not going to listen anyway. The sheriff, Dillon, doesn't have time to come out here to run someone off the property. I'm brains and brawn. I can handle it myself.

"Oh, really? When was the last time you were home?"

"I'm home right now."

"Before today, motherfucker."

"Yesterday," I lie.

"Bullshit. You haven't been home in a week. I know this because Madeline and I fuc…we used the pool a week ago. She left a note for you on the counter. You still haven't found it."

"You fucked in my pool, you asshole?" I peer through the blinds again, scowling down at the covered pool. Goddammit. Now, I have to drain it, tear it out, and start all over. And I actually liked that pool. It's heated.

"Who did? Wasn't me."

I smile despite myself. "You are such an asshole. What does the note say?"

"That she expects you at dinner tomorrow."

"I have a thing."

"Bullshit. Making some asshole a bunch of money is not a thing, Jack. Dinner with your brother and sister-in-law is a thing. Making some asshole money is a job."

"You have absolutely no faith in me."

"Uh, clearly not. I know you. You work and annoy me and your employees. Or you go to the coffee shop and annoy Aspen and Noah. Or you annoy someone else in town and call that socializing. That's the extent of your life nine days out of ten. You're coming to dinner before you make my wife sad with your miserable existence."

"My existence is just fine." My gaze shifts from the pool to the pool house in time to see…something. A flicker of shadow passing in front of the tiny door lite. A human sized shadow. A human woman sized shadow.

Goddammit. I hate when Drake is right.

Oh, he's definitely wrong about the state of my existence. It's not miserable. It's…comfortable. I do what the fuck I want to do when the fuck I want to do it. I socialize when it's convenient. But I just so happen to want to work. Where is the problem here?

He's right about the pool house, though. Someone is out there.

"You're full of shit and you know it," he says. "You only work so goddamn much because you don't know how to relax. Your mind doesn't work that way."

"Fine. I'll come to dinner." It's not like I have a moral objection to dinner anyway. I just like fucking with him. Until Madeline burst into his life, I was pretty much the only person on the planet he talked to regularly. He was bullied pretty ruthlessly when we were teenagers. He dealt by shutting out the world. "I gotta go. I just spotted my ghost."

"Jesus Christ, Jack. Call the sheriff."

"Yep. I'm all over it. Peace out, fucker." I hang on up on him before shoving my phone into my pocket. I probably should call Dillon and get his ass out here to deal with whoever the fuck is squatting in my pool house. That'd be the smart thing to do. But am I going to do the smart thing? Uh, fuck no.

Drake was right, I hate boredom. And I'm currently bored. I'm also currently here. Might as well risk my life and hope whoever is out there just needs a place to stay for a totally normal reason and they aren't a mass murderer or a thief trying to rob me blind.

I pause halfway down the stairs and pull out my phone.

Me: Out of curiosity, are there any unsolved murders—mass or otherwise—in the vicinity?

Dillon: I certainly hope not. It's my weekend off. Why?

Me: Just checking.

Dillon: Again…why?

Me: My pool house is probably haunted.

I chuckle when Dillon starts typing, stops, starts again and then stops. Not even two seconds later, my phone rings.

"What do you mean, your pool house is probably haunted?" he asks.

"There's someone in it. Probably a ghost," I mutter, jogging down the stairs again. "I'm going to check it out."

"Jesus Christ, Jack. Stay your ass in the house and let me send a car out there to handle it," Dillon mutters. "If you get shot, half the damn town is going to riot."

"They do like making money," I agree, grinning. I learned early on that my mind was made for numbers. I may not know what day of the week it is most of the time, and I may drive everyone insane with half the shit I do the rest of the time, but numbers? Those are easy. I've helped make a lot of people in this town very rich.

And that's just what I do for fun. Drake and I own multiple companies, everything from technology to oil to coffee shops. Boredom is fucking…boring.

"Yeah, they do. Keep your ass in the house," Dillon growls.

"Nah, it's all good. If she's a ghost, your guys don't have the right equipment. And if she's not, I don't want them hauling her out of here before I find out why she's hiding out in my pool house," I mutter. "I've got it under control."

"Shit. It's a woman?"

"From the looks of it. I'll figure out what the situation is and call you if I need backup."

"I don't like this."

"Yeah, well. I'm not unlocking the gate for whoever you send, so tough shit. I'll call if I need you."

"Call anyway," he growls. "My wife will be pissed if you're murdered on my watch. She likes you."

"You said there weren't any unsolved murders."

"There aren't. If yours is the first, I may haunt your pool house, motherfucker."

"Your prerogative. Just don't fuck in my pool. I already have to tear this one out and start over." I hang up on him, shoving my phone back into my pocket as I stride through the kitchen toward the back door. I don't bother turning on any lights. I don't want whoever is out there to see me coming just in case.

I'm not worried, though. Despite Drake and Dillon's lack of faith in my ability to handle the situation my damn self…I can handle the situation my damn self. I may be a goddamn eccentric billionaire, but I'm not a goddamn helpless eccentric billionaire.

I grew up playing football. I spend an hour in the gym every day. I'm more than capable of handling whatever needs handling.

And one lone woman isn't that fucking scary. Whoever the hell she is, she better have a damn good reason for being in my pool house if she doesn't want to spend the night in jail. Because, all jokes aside, I'm not inclined to let her stay. The last thing I need around here is a woman I don't know living on my property.

That's a disaster waiting to happen, and I'm opting all the way out of that bullshit.