Chapter 6 #2
"Jerry, look at her," Chloe said. "Look at her like she's the only thing keeping you sane during finals week."
I turned my head.
Heather looked up. Her face was inches from mine. Under the harsh lights of the photographer's setup, I could see the golden flecks in her hazel eyes. I could see the faint dusting of freckles across her nose.
She looked terrified. But she was smiling. That brave, armor-plated smile she used to keep the world at bay.
“You look at me with those big, defiant eyes...”
The memory of my own voice from the study played in my head.
I didn't have to act.
I looked at her. I looked at her mouth. I remembered the taste of her. I remembered the way she shook.
My gaze dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes. The air between us thickened, becoming heavy and suffocating.
Click. Click. Click.
"Yes!" Chloe squealed. "That's it! The longing! The tension! Oh my god, the internet is going to die. That is pure sex on a stick."
Heather flushed crimson. She buried her face in my shoulder to hide it.
I instinctively tightened my arm around her, pulling her closer, shielding her from the camera.
"That's enough," I said, looking at the photographer. "You got the shot. Get out."
"But we need—"
"Get. Out."
My voice was final.
Five minutes later, the apartment was silent again. The intruders were gone.
But the tension remained.
Heather pulled away from me immediately, jumping off the couch as if it were on fire. She paced to the window, wrapping her arms around herself.
"That was..." she trailed off.
"Excruciating," I finished. I closed the laptop.
"Effective," she corrected. "Chloe sent me the proofs already. They look... real."
"They aren't real," I said automatically. It was my defense mechanism. Deny. Repress. Control.
"Right," she whispered. "Not real."
She turned to look at me. The city lights framed her silhouette. She looked lonely.
"Jerry," she said softly. "Why are you so afraid of them?"
"Who?"
"People. The team. The photographer. You act like... like if you let anyone in, the whole building is going to collapse."
I stood up and walked to the wet bar. I needed a drink. My hands were shaking again. Not from exertion, but from the effort of holding back.
I poured two fingers of scotch. Amber liquid. Burn.
"Buildings do collapse, Heather," I said. "If the foundation is weak."
"Is your foundation weak?"
I laughed. A bitter, hollow sound. "My foundation is money. It's the strongest thing on earth."
"That's a lie," she said. She walked over to the bar. She stopped on the other side, leaning her elbows on the marble. "I saw you with the dog story. I saw you with Henderson. You're not just money. You're... hurt."
I gripped the glass. "Don't psychoanalyze me. It's not in the contract."
"We're rewriting the rules, remember?" she challenged. "Rule number one: No more lying. If we're going to live together, if we're going to... do whatever we did yesterday... I need to know who I'm dealing with."
I looked at her. She was relentless. She was annoying. She was beautiful.
I took a sip of scotch. The burn settled in my stomach.
"My mother left on my tenth birthday," I said.
The words hung in the air. I hadn't said them out loud in twelve years.
Heather went still. She didn't gasp. She didn't offer a platitude. she just waited.
"She didn't die," I continued, staring at the liquid in my glass. "She just... left. My father offered her a buyout. A lump sum to vacate the marriage and relinquish custody. She took the check."
I looked up at Heather. I wanted to see disgust. I wanted to see pity.
"She chose fifty million dollars over me," I said flatly. "That is my foundation, Heather. Everyone has a price. Everyone is an asset or a liability. My mother decided I was a liability, and the money was the asset. So she cashed out."
Heather’s eyes filled with tears. Not the sad, pathetic tears from the dorm room. These were tears of anger.
"That's..." she choked out. "That's monstrous."
"It's business," I said. "My father taught me that day. Love is a leverage point. If you love something, it can be used against you. If you need something, you are weak. So I don't need anything."
"You need hockey," she whispered.
"I control hockey."
"You need..." She stopped. She looked at me, searching my face. "You needed me yesterday."
I froze.
"That was physical," I rasped. "Stress relief."
"Liar," she said softly.
She walked around the bar.
I should have backed away. I should have put the wall back up. But my feet were lead.
She stopped in front of me. She reached out and took my hand—the one clenching the glass. She gently pried my fingers loose until I set the drink down.
Then she took my hand in hers. She turned it over, looking at the palm, at the callouses, at the black band tattoo on my finger.
"That's why you wear this," she realized, tracing the ink. "A reminder not to marry? Not to trust?"
"A reminder that contracts are safer than vows," I said.
She looked up at me. Her eyes were clear.
"I'm not her, Jerry," she said fiercely. "I'm not your mother. And I'm not Bianca. I can't be bought."
"Everyone can be bought," I insisted. "I bought you. I paid your tuition. I gave you this apartment."
"You paid for a service," she corrected. "But you didn't buy me. You can't buy the way I felt yesterday. You can't buy the way I look at you."
"And how do you look at me?" I whispered.
She stepped closer. Her body heat radiated against mine.
"Like you're the loneliest man I've ever met," she said. "And like I want to be the one who proves you wrong."
My chest ached. It was a physical pain, a cracking of ribs around a heart that had been frozen for a decade.
She terrified me.
"This is dangerous," I murmured. "You're dangerous."
"Good," she said. She stood on her tiptoes. She placed a hand on my cheek. Her palm was soft. Healing.
"Kiss me, Jerry," she whispered. "Not for the camera. Not for stress relief. Just... kiss me."
I couldn't resist her. I was a moth, and she was the flame, and I was willing to burn.
I leaned down.
Our lips met.
It wasn't like the office. It wasn't a devouring. It wasn't a war.
It was soft. It was slow. It was a question and an answer all at once.
I kissed her with a tenderness I didn't know I possessed. I tasted the vanilla and the sweetness. I felt her sigh against my mouth, her body melting into mine.
For the first time in my life, I wasn't thinking about the next move. I wasn't calculating the outcome. I was just... there. With her.
And in the silence of the penthouse, with the city watching below, I realized the terrifying truth.
My father was right. Love was a leverage point.
And Heather Bloom just gained all the leverage in the world.