Chapter 18
Nathan
By the time I return, it’s well past midnight.
My shirt is damp from the rain still falling outside, the steady drizzle I’d walked through for blocks just to clear my head. The penthouse feels cavernous without the music, without the chatter. Too still.
The quartz island is littered with what’s left of a celebration gone sideways—cake untouched, a glossy chocolate torte collapsing in the middle, jewel-bright slices of dragon fruit and starfruit going limp on silver trays.
I ordered them to give Jasmine something lush, rare, unforgettable. Instead, each wilted piece is a reminder of how easily joy slipped through my fingers tonight.
I pull a bottle of water from the fridge and open it, the sound obscenely loud in the silence. My throat burns as I drink, but it doesn’t wash away the regret. I stormed out like a goddamn teenager, when what I should have done was stay. Stay, demand answers, face her.
But her omission gutted me.
Did she think I couldn’t handle it? The strange thing is the thought of her hiding Sophie’s plans hurts more than Sophie’s secret plans to go off to college and leave me behind.
And yet—what am I really furious about? Sophie applying to schools? A twenty-three-year-old choosing her own path? That’s what I punished Jasmine for. As if she’s supposed to be Sophie’s minder.
The thought drives a needle straight under my skin. The look on Jasmine’s face when I said I didn’t know her at all… I’ll never forget her flinch. The devastation in her eyes. The way her shoulders pulled inward.
I push back from the refrigerator, frowning. Realizing something too slow.
It’s too quiet. I expected to come back to them either arguing or giggling or at the least plotting to take me on.
I expected, like an arrogant middle-aged man set in his ways, that life would stay still and I would always come back to them together in the house.
Filling my house and heart with laughter and love.
But that’s clearly not possible.
The hesitation in Sophie’s eyes during that scary movie when I asked her if she’s happy comes back to me. She’s come into herself in the last couple of years, but it doesn’t mean she’s been happy. And somehow, I missed that.
In my need to protect her, I overlooked the fact that she’s a grown woman now and would want to stretch her wings. Would want to leave the nest, even. That she needs my support now as she goes out into the world rather than my stifling protection.
And how was Jasmine supposed to stop Sophie from all the plans she was making? What could she have done to curb my daughter who has the most stubborn of wills?
And fuck, where the hell are they?
My pulse spikes as I head down the hall.
I knock on Sophie’s door first, my legs automatically bringing me there. Also, because if I walk into Jasmine’s room, I’m not walking back out again until morning.
Until she spills all her secrets to me and lays herself bare. Until she’s mine in every way that matters.
I rap my knuckles again on the solid wood but there’s no answer. No sounds coming from inside the room at all. No light creeping out under the door. My stomach tightens, the floor seeming to tilt under my feet.
I open the door and find Sophie’s bed empty. For a second, ice sluices through my veins. Worry about her anxiety gnaws at me—did my anger trigger an attack? Are they even now at the ER?
Then I spot the neon square tacked to the wood, right at eye-level. I peel it free, recognizing the scrawl instantly.
sorry dad, I messed up.
will explain later…
spending night at Uncle Zayn’s.
talk to J. plz..
luv you loads…
A laugh bursts out of me, raw and unsteady.
Jesus, we’ve been doing this for years—her mistakes followed by post-its.
Dozens tucked in mirrors, under mugs, even inside my briefcase. Rituals that held us together.
My anger melts, soft and fast as ice cream under July sun. She’s safe and sound and apparently, recovered fast enough from my anger.
My throat works around a lump that wasn’t there a moment ago. I rub my thumb over the ink, then tuck the note in my palm. There’s only one door that matters now.
My chest tightens as I cross the corridor.
Vivid images of Jasmine from the last time I walked in this very door rush at me.
How she looked sprawled out on the cute pink sheets, her tits jostling, her pussy warm and wet for me.
How her sweet lips clamped around my cock and sucked my very soul out.
How she gagged when I hit her throat but stubbornly begged me to give her more.
How she looked with my cum painted all over her tits and neck.
How she smiled at me when I asked her not to wipe it off.
Such trust... such vulnerability... I waited my whole life for a girl like Jasmine, even without knowing it. And when I had her...
I rap my knuckles again. Harder. More insistent.
All I hear is silence. Like a fool, I even scan the door for the same post-it again. But Jasmine isn’t Sophie. She doesn’t run away from confrontations or conflict. She stands and fights and steals your very soul.
I twist the knob, step inside. “Jasmine?” My voice is rough, swallowed by the quiet.
Nothing.
The room is dark and empty. The faint scent of her—vanilla and shampoo, warm skin—hangs in the air. My gaze drops to the bed, and my stomach lurches when I see the sheets untouched. A variety of throw pillows stare up at me in solemnity.
She’s... gone?
The idea of her leaving me—of waking up tomorrow without the prospect of seeing her bright smile in the kitchen—splinters pain through me. By the time I step back out into the corridor, my chest is heaving.
For a heartbeat, I just stand there, drenched clothes clinging to me.
My fingers crumple Sophie’s note as I yank it from my pocket, scanning the messy scrawl again under the low hallway light.
Sorry Dad… spending the night at Uncle Zayn’s… talk to J…
Nothing about Jasmine leaving. Nothing.
“Fuck,” I mutter, shoving a hand through my wet hair. Where would she go? Did my storming out push her that far?
No. Jasmine isn’t reckless or impulsive. She wouldn’t vanish in the middle of the night without a word. She knows what that would do to Sophie. What that would do to me.
I need to change out of these wet clothes. Charge my phone. Call her. My pulse hammers in my ears as I push into my room—and freeze.
The low glow from the nightlight paints the bed in a soft circle of gold. And there, curled in the middle of my sheets, clutching one of my shirts like it’s a lifeline, is Jasmine.
Her black dress clings to every curve. With her dark hair fanning across my pillows, she looks like a goddess dropped into my stark white bed.
The air leaves my lungs in a rush. Relief floods me so fast it’s dizzying, a tidal surge that nearly knocks me off my feet. I move toward her on unsteady legs, every sound in the room muffled under the thud of my heart.
Then I see them. Tracks of tears glistening on her cheeks.
My chest caves in. My brave, bold girl never cries but clearly, she did tonight.
Fresh guilt spears me. All I want in this moment is to fall to my knees and beg her to forgive me for ever making her cry.
I neither walk away and change out of my wet clothes nor I slide into the bed. I don’t think I’m capable of doing the former—the fear that this is all a nightmare and she might disappear from my bed if I look away is… potent, rooting me to the spot.
The second—I stop myself from sliding in beside her with the skin of my teeth. I know what will happen if I do. She will be warm and soft in my rough hands, full of need and surrender that will undo all my good intentions.
In the deepest, quietest corner of my heart, I believe that Jasmine wants more than the intense chemistry that plays out between us. That she wants more, with me. And for once, I can’t let our attraction—as intense and mind-blowing as it is–to muddle the issue.
“Mr. Grayson?” A small, sleep-mussed voice comes from the bed.
My heart twitches at the hesitation in her voice.
“Oh, you’re drenched. And you look angry,” she says, pushing up on the bed into a sitting position.
Then, as if I’m watching a slow replay, a stillness comes over her. As if she just remembers what happened earlier.
She grabs the thick mass of her hair and pushes it over one shoulder but doesn’t raise her head and look at me. That strange meekness when she’s usually so full of fire and spirit nearly takes me out at the knees. “You have every right to be angry with me. But please, can I say my piece first?”
I nod. Only because I want her to get it all off her chest. I want her to know that I will always listen to whatever she has to tell me, big or small.
She wipes at her mouth with the back of her hand, still not meeting my eyes.
“When I first saw that Sophie hired a college counselor, I was… stunned. It felt like the ground falling away under my feet. She’s my best friend, my sister, my…
family. Everyone thinks I’m the strong one because I can soothe her but she…
she was there for me when I needed her. Even as I acknowledged that she needs to go out into the world, to learn for herself what a wonderful person she is, all I could think of was how it affected me. Me.”
Her slender shoulders shake, and it takes everything I have in me to not pull her into my arms.
A long sigh leaves her. “All I could think of was how I would lose the security of this home. How I would lose everything.”
She looks up now and her heart shines in her amber eyes so brightly that it’s like my very own beacon. “Not just her, but you, Mr. Grayson. I…was devastated. I mean, yes, I knew that I…” she clears her throat.
Her fingers are laced tightly in her lap, the black dress bringing her youth to a keener contrast. “So, I made a plan. And then I realized how Sophie’s plans would hurt you.
You love her so much and if she leaves…” Her throat moves on a swallow even as energy fills her limbs.
“Suddenly, I felt this overwhelming need to protect not just her but you too. For as long as possible. And I knew that learning it from me would hurt more. I wanted her to tell you. I was working on persuading her to come clean with you, to give you time.”
Jesus, she wanted to protect me from being hurt by Sophie’s actions. Of course she did. This is Jasmine, my beautiful, courageous little bird. Of course, she gave thought to my feelings even as she was caught between me and Sophie.
“Jasmine—” I say but I don’t know where to start, what to say. My heart is in my throat, blocking every word. My muscles tremble with force of my love for this waif of a girl.
She turns on the bed, her eyes big and solemn in her face.
And I see it then, the necklace I gave her, at her throat.
Tangled in some of her hair. “In the end, I did wrong by both of you. I’m her best friend and until she told me tonight, I didn’t see how important this is for her.
How high the stakes are in her own mind. I was so consumed by you that I —”
I slide one knee onto the bed but not too close. Even as every cell in my being is screaming at me to take her in my arms. “What plan did you make?”
Her head jerks towards me, gaze sweeping over my lips, my damp chest, my wet pants. “What?”
“You said you were devastated when you realized that you’d lose me too. That you made a plan. What plan did you make, little bird?”
Hesitation dances in her eyes. “It’s stupid.”
“Nothing you do or say or think is stupid, Jasmine.” Pure command echoes through each word but I can’t help it. “Don’t ever say that.”
She nods and a flash of resolve lifts her chin.
But there’s also a streak of pink dusting her cheeks.
“It’s not like I planned to seduce you. I just…
I thought I would make you notice me as more than Sophie’s pathetic friend, as your housekeeper, as the orphan girl you took pity on.
I wanted to make you see me. Just so I could have a little more of you in turn. Before I had to walk away.”
“Ahhh…Right.” I say, my chest so tight with love that it’s a wonder I can breathe at all. “Because Sophie wants to leave and that brings your role with me to an end too.”
She nods. “Once we started doing stuff, I... kept quiet for selfish reasons. I was afraid you would put a stop to this—” her fingers move between us, as if that small movement can encompass the enormity of us, “—once you learned that I was hiding stuff from you.”
“Put a stop to this...” I repeat like a moron, staring down at her.
Does she have no idea how much she means to me? Does she think I can just put a stop to... this whenever I pleased? Why did she think I threw her a birthday party? To simply continue our... fling?
Suddenly, the word tastes dirty on my tongue.
Fuck, the girl has no idea what she’s brought into my life and that’s my own fault. Shame on me. I’m older, more worldly. I should have acted like the fucking powerful CEO that I am.
“I need to get out of these wet clothes. And clearly, you need a shower too.” I cast a look around the dark bedroom, my thoughts ahead of my body and my heart.
For what I have in mind, we need to get out of this room.
Not surprising that Sophie knows me well.
“Meet me in the kitchen, in say, twenty minutes.”
Her eyes grow bigger, her shoulders folding in. Still, the damn thing is so brave that she lifts her chin. “Are you...” she licks her lips, and I stifle a groan, “are you firing me, Mr. Grayson?”
“No, Jasmine. But I think we do need a shift in boundaries.” I push off the bed, before the scent of her, the heat of her body, lures me in. My heart is beating a mile a minute. “Come on, little bird. It’s not like you permanently want to be my housekeeper, do you?”
Or my dirty little secret, when you deserve so much more.
But I keep that thought to myself.
I cast one look at her over my shoulder before I close the bathroom door behind me.