7. Jett
JETT
I watch Jolie direct the contractor like she was born to do it, pointing at the crown molding with her voice steady despite the saw screaming nearby.
She's wearing one of my old flannel shirts over a tank top, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and every time she moves, the fabric shifts and I catch a glimpse of the marks I left on her neck last night.
I smile because I can't help it. She's magnificent.
Jarvis is in the back office arguing with the liquor distributor, which means I'm the one out here pretending to supervise the renovation while actually just staring at our girl.
Not that I'd admit that out loud. My brother already thinks he's the only one who can be obsessively devoted.
I'm just better at hiding it behind jokes.
Jolie glances over, and her cheeks turn pink as she almost misses what the contractor is saying. I wink at her, and she bites her lip. That simple moment makes the whole morning feel perfect.
Then the front door slams open, and a man stands in the doorway wearing a suit that costs more than my first car and holding a leather briefcase like a weapon.
He's maybe fifty, with silver hair and a face that's been smoothed over by money and not enough conscience.
I read him in two seconds—predator. Not the kind who hunts in alleys, but the kind who hunts in boardrooms. I've seen him somewhere before, but his name escapes me.
"Can I help you?" I ask, keeping my voice light and easy.
"I'm looking for Jolie Parker." His accent is local and polished. "I'm Rudolf Wolfe. I have business with her."
He scans the room, his gaze stopping when it lands on Jolie. She's holding a clipboard and a coffee cup, and she freezes when she sees him. Her face goes pale, and her hand tightens on the clipboard.
"Mr. Wolfe," she says, her voice steady but with a tremor underneath. "I told you on the phone. I'm not selling."
She called him a few days ago to cancel their initial agreement, but Rudolf acts like the conversation never happened.
Rudolf smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "You told my assistant. That's not the same as telling me. And I think you'll want to hear what I have to say."
He walks into the dining room like he owns it, setting his briefcase on a table covered in paint tarps and pulling out a stack of papers. "Cash offer, fifteen percent above market value, and a contract your mother verbally agreed to before she passed. I have witnesses."
Jolie steps forward, her chin lifting even as her hand shakes around the clipboard. "My mother didn't have the authority to sell without my input. I'm the sole heir. And I've already told you—the restaurant isn't for sale. We're rebranding."
"Rebranding?" Rudolf laughs, sharp and ugly. "With what money? With what experience? You're a child playing with your mother's legacy. I'm trying to save you from embarrassing yourself."
I push off the wall and shift my weight, putting myself between him and her without making a show of it. Jarvis steps out of the office, his eyes fixed on Rudolf with a calm that means violence isn't far away.
"The lady said no," Jarvis says. His voice is quiet, but it fills the room.
Rudolf doesn't flinch. He turns to Jarvis, his smile widening. "Ah. The stepfather. Or should I say, the new partner?"
The air changes. Jolie stiffens.
"I don't know what you're implying," Jarvis says.
"Do you not?" Rudolf steps closer to Jolie, too close. I move toward them, but he holds up a hand. "I've been watching this place for weeks. I know the way you look at her, and the way your brother looks at her. I know how you touch her when you think no one is watching."
Jolie's breath catches. Her coffee cup trembles.
Rudolf leans in, his voice rising so everyone in the room can hear him clearly.
"I'll make sure everyone in this town knows Jolie Parker is sleeping with her own stepfather and his brother unless she signs these papers by Friday."
The room goes silent. Even the workers stop moving. Jolie's face is white, her lips parted like she's been slapped.
"You're lying," she whispers.
"Am I?" Rudolf straightens, looking at Jarvis and then at me.
"I'm giving you an option," Rudolf says, straightening his tie. "Sign the sale papers by Friday. Take the money. Disappear back to whatever city you crawled out of. Or I start making phone calls."
He holds out the folder.
Jolie doesn't take it, but she's trembling. I can see it in her shoulders and the way her hands clasp together to hide the shaking.
"Get out," she whispers.
"Friday," Rudolf repeats.
The front door opens.
I see them before anyone else does. An older couple, maybe in their seventies. The woman is small and silver haired, wearing a lavender cardigan. The man is tall and stooped, with kind eyes and Jolie's chin.
Her grandparents.
They stop in the entryway. Their eyes sweep the room. They take in the renovation mess. They take in Rudolf with his folder and his sneer. They take in Jolie, white as a sheet, with tears already spilling down her cheeks.
And they take in me. Standing close enough to Jolie to touch her. My body angled toward hers like I'm guarding something precious.
Rudolf sees them too. He doesn't know who they are, but he can read the resemblance. He can read the shock. And like the predator he is, he goes for the throat.
"Did you know," he says loudly, turning toward the old couple with a grin that makes my stomach turn, "that your granddaughter is sleeping with her own stepfather and stepuncle? I'm trying to save her from making a bigger fool of herself."
The room goes silent.
The woman's hand flies to her mouth. The man, Jolie's grandfather, stares at her. His eyes move from Jolie to Jarvis, whose arm is now banded around her waist. To me, standing close enough that my hand is on her throat, protective and intimate and impossible to misread.
The devastation in his eyes is immediate.
"Jolie," he whispers. "Is it true?"
Jolie opens her mouth, and I see her try to form the word no, but nothing comes out. Her eyes fill with tears and her chin trembles. She's naked in front of the only people who ever chose her first, and she can't hide.
Jarvis's arm tightens around her waist as he pulls her back against his chest and doesn't let go. He won't let her fall alone.
"Get out," I say to Rudolf, my voice a snarl. "Now. Before I put you through that window."
Rudolf smirks and gathers his papers, walking toward the door and pausing beside the grandparents.
"Friday," he says, and then he's gone as the door closes behind him.
The grandmother makes a small sound. The grandfather just stands there, staring at Jolie like he's never seen her before.
Jarvis speaks first, his voice steady and controlled.
"Mr. and Mrs. Parker," he says. "I think you should sit down."
The grandfather doesn't move. "Jolie?"
She makes a sound, not a word, a wounded animal noise that rips through my chest. I step forward. "Sir, I know this looks..."
"Don't." He holds up a trembling hand. "Just... don't. Not yet." He looks at Jolie again, and I see everything in his expression—confusion, hurt, and love that hasn't figured out how to process what it just heard.
"We came to check on the restaurant," the grandmother says softly. "And you. We wanted to surprise you."
Jolie makes that sound again before turning and burying her face in Jarvis's chest. His hand cradles her head, holding her like she's the only thing in the world.
I look at the grandparents. "There's an apartment upstairs, clean and private. Let us get you settled, and then we'll talk."
The grandfather stares at me for a long moment before giving a sharp, short nod and reaching for his wife's hand.
"Show us," he says.
It takes an hour.
Jarvis handles the grandparents with the same quiet authority he uses for everything.
He knows them—they were his in-laws for years—and he doesn't waste time on formalities.
He gets them upstairs, brings water, and explains that the restaurant is being rebranded with Jolie as the architect of the new vision.
He tells them there are things they need to understand before they make any judgments.
He doesn't explain us, not yet. He knows better than to dump that on them while they're still reeling.
I stay with Jolie in the kitchen. She's sitting on a stool, wrapped in one of my jackets, staring at the wall. She hasn't cried since the first wave. Now she's just empty and shut down.
I know that look because I've worn it myself. It's the look of someone who's already decided to disappear.
"You're planning to run," I say.
She doesn't look at me. "I have to."
"Bullshit."
Now she looks. Her eyes are red rimmed but dry. "You didn't see their faces, Jett. You didn't see the way Grandpa looked at me. Like I'd... like I'd shamed him. Like I'd shamed everything they gave me."
"He was shocked. That doesn't mean he stopped loving you."
"He chose me," she says. Her voice cracks. "When my mother wouldn't. When she was too busy with this place, they chose me. They raised me. They were the only people who ever put me first. And now I've repaid them by... by doing this. By letting you both... by becoming exactly what Rudolf said."
She stands up. The sweater falls off one shoulder. She's still wearing the flannel shirt underneath, and I can see the swell of her breasts, the way they press against the fabric. She's already full. I can tell by the way she holds herself, stiff and careful. The stress is making it worse.
"I destroy everything," she whispers. "I knew this would happen.
I knew I'd be too much. They were fine before I came—the restaurant, you and Jarvis.
And now I've brought a predator to the door and broken my grandparents' hearts.
The best thing I can do is leave. Sign the papers.
Let Rudolf have it all. At least then they'll be safe from the humiliation. "
I grab her arm, not hard, but enough to stop her from walking away.