Chapter 27
Savannah
My heels clicked too loudly against the lecture hall floor as I slipped inside, grimacing at the loud squeak of the door.
It was, of course, my own bad luck that I walked in on my professor mid-sentence.
The frown lines on Professor Gerald Cartwright's face showed his displeasure for being interrupted, and his hard gaze tracked my movements as I made my way to the back of the class.
“Nice of you to join us, Miss Bristow.”
Could this day get any worse?
“Now, as I was saying, a corporation’s most valuable asset is often its proprietary investment—its trade secrets.
To protect that IP, the corporation may keep the code 'black-boxed,' hidden from competitors, and sometimes even from its own board. Technological companies often are the secret holders of…”
Digging through my bag for my laptop and books, I shifted the strands of my hair away as I tried to focus on the lesson. Professor Cartwright was usually one of the classes I followed easily because it all depended on the facts, but today I could barely keep my mind on track.
All thoughts would lead back to Jaxon.
Back to last night.
To the heat of his hands.
The sharp edge of his voice.
The way his jaw clenched when he was angry.
The way he looked at me like I was something worth fighting for.
I swallowed and forced my eyes to the board.
Software patents. Non-public data. Data privacy. Licensing frameworks.
All words I normally devoured were now blurred together like frosted glass on a cold day. It didn’t help that the two girls sitting in front of me had their attention very clearly elsewhere.
“Wait, that’s him?” one whispered.
“No way—pause it—pause it!”
I ran my tongue across my teeth, narrowing my eyes at the professor as I tried to ignore them.
“Oh my God, he’s so hot.”
“I know! And the tattoos just make him that much better. Can you imagine running your tongue up all that?”
“Girl, hell fucking yes.”
“And he's the owner?”
“That's what Katie said. Ugh, Jaxon Cage is literally bad boy meets billionaire.”
My pen stilled.
Wait… they're not talking about Jaxon, right?
No. Savannah, you don't care.
Taking a ragged breath, I rolled my shoulders and focused on the professor again.
“Plus, he works with literally all the celebs. This interview definitely makes me want to see this famous studio and get his hands all over me.”
I shouldn't have looked down, but curiosity was the cat's game, and I was clearly living on nine lives when it came to Jaxon Cage.
My eyes darted down and there he was.
A video was playing on one of the girls’ laptops with the heading “Inked and Caged: Jaxon Cage Set to Reveal New Mural At Westfort Hospital” on top.
He wore effortless confidence like the chain around his neck, and his tattoos were on full display.
Not to mention that playful smirk on his lips.
Heat crept under my skin just looking at his lips.
“Ugh, same. Look at his hands, oh my God. Big hands mean big somewhere else, doesn't it?”
The giggle that followed made me want to claw their eyes out.
“Do you think he’s single?”
“I think so. He doesn't post anyone on his socials.”
Something unpleasant twisted in my chest—an unpleasant, unnerving feeling that had heat caressing my skin for a totally different reason. I straightened in my seat, forcing my eyes back to my notes.
You are not doing this.
You are not getting jealous over a man you are not actually dating.
My pen moved faster now, trying to anchor me to something rational.
But their whispers kept going.
“Imagine him tattooing your thigh with your legs wide open—”
“Honey, I would literally pass out.”
Before I could stop myself, I leaned forward slightly.
“He’s gay.”
The words came out without any thought or regret behind them. They both froze, and one of them turned to me with wide eyes.
“Seriously?”
I gave them a polite, tight smile. “Yep. Long-term partner, kind of a big deal for them.”
A beat of silence.
Then—
“Why are all the hot ones always gay?” the redhead moaned with immediate disappointment.
“Literally. It's like Jonathan Bailey all over again,” the other grumbled as they both closed the tab with the interview.
And I had to bite my lip at the smile threatening to spread across my lips.
For the next two hours, I forced myself back into my element. As difficult as it was, I put Jaxon and all the drama on the back burner. By the time the professor began asking questions toward the end of the lecture, my hand was the only one raised.
“Ms. Bristow,” he called.
“I'd argue that if a company’s automated credit-scoring algorithm is used in the housing markets, then it systematically discriminates—violating several Human Rights Code.”
“And if the parent company argues that the IP is part of a trade secret? What would be the rebuttal in the courts?”
“That a claimant doesn't need to prove intent to discriminate—only that the practice resulted in a differential impact on a protected group.
If we can show a statistically significant 'disparate impact' on, oh I don't know, indigenous or newcomer applicants in the housing markets, then the evidentiary burden should shift to the corporation to justify the need for the algorithm in the first place.”
He gave a hum of a response before walking back to his desk. “That concludes today's lesson, and I'd like to remind all of you that your debates are next week. Seeing as only Miss Bristow could answer the question, I'd suggest you all get to studying. Class dismissed.”
Well, that was a little saving grace.
Biting my lip to hide the pleased smile, I packed my things and glanced up at the clock.
10:09 a.m.
I still had four hours until my next class—more than enough time to try to make things right with Jaxon.
Nerissa was right—a fact she’d taken far too much pleasure in reminding me of all morning—and as she teased me out the door, I made her swear not to say anything to him before she left for the studio.
But the time made me think about everything that happened, and I didn’t like the way we’d left things.
Didn’t like how quickly something easy between us had turned strained.
Didn’t like the quiet.
It lingered, heavier than it should have.
So I needed to talk to him—to apologize. A simple enough task if my phone hadn’t decided to disappear at the worst possible moment.
Maybe this is better done in person.
Was that taking things too far?
Would I be crossing a line if I just showed up?
See, this was why I didn't deal in relationships. Complications like this.
Maybe you owe him that much.
The voice in my head wasn't exactly helping with the situation, either.
I’d have to stop home first, though. In my unpleasant search this morning, I forgot the books I needed for my next class. Which meant going home, swapping them out, heading to the studio to find Jaxon, and then making my way back to Kingsview.
A lot of back and forth.
But a small part of me hoped it was worth it. I huffed a breath, in disbelief that I had come this far with Jaxon to even be hoping for things to go well with us.
We really had changed.
I tugged my sleeves over my hands to fend off the crisp autumn air. Moving through campus on instinct alone, I barely registered the familiar paths beneath my feet.
And I'd never been more grateful for how close Aunt Penny’s townhouse was, because fifteen minutes later, I was unlocking the front door. I quickly shrugged off my heeled boots and made my way upstairs, stopping short at the mess waiting for me.
“Like a freaking tornado came through here,” I muttered.
Every perfectionist instinct in me flared, sharp and insistent, begging me to fix it—restore some kind of order, some sense of control.
I scanned the room once before saying, “Nope. Savannah, we don't have time.”
But any perfectionist knows that's not exactly how it works. Which is how I wound up spending the next ten minutes doing a mini-clean. I was almost through when the doorbell rang.
My brows creased.
Nerissa had a key.
Mama V would’ve called.
And Jaxon… would he—
I straightened slowly, brushing my hands down the front of my top as if that would somehow prepare me for whatever was on the other side of the front door.
The bell rang again, sharp and impatient.
I exhaled once, steadying myself, then turned and made my way downstairs.
When I reached the door, my hand hovered over the handle for half a second before I pulled it open.
And it was the last person I wanted to see.
Perfectly put together as always with soft brown waves cascading over her shoulders, pink glossed lips curved into something that resembled a smile but didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her presence filled the doorway like perfume—sweet at first, but cloying the longer you stood in it.
“Well,” Lori said, her gaze sweeping over me slowly. “You look… busy.”
I didn’t move from the doorway or offer her a response. Silence stretched between us, thin and brittle.
Then she tilted her head.
“Are you going to invite me in, or are we doing this out here?”
I held her gaze for a moment longer, weighing my options. Part of me wanted to shut the door in her face and walk back upstairs, but creating a scene on my doorstep wasn't ideal.
So I stepped aside.
“Make it quick.”
She walked in like she owned the place.
Of course she did.
Her eyes moved around the space, taking everything in—the polished floors, the neutral tones, the carefully curated calm.
“Well, you've clearly downgraded,” she commented.
Lord give me strength, I thought as I took a deep breath and closed the door behind her. “What do you want, Lori?”
Her fingers traced lightly along the edge of the hanging mirror before she turned to face me.
“I came to talk.”
I let out a quiet, humorless breath.
“That’s new.”
Her smile didn’t falter.
“Seeing as your boyfriend had my fiancé arrested last night, I figured it was better this happened now,” she said, smoothing a hand over her dress. “You know, clear the air.”
My arms crossed instinctively over my chest. “There’s nothing to clear.”
“Oh, I think there is.”
Her tone softened—but not kindly.
Delicately.
Strategically.
“I was actually outraged at the situation, and Chase was fuming once his dad had to call the Chief, by the way. Such a big mess, all because of your boyfriend.” Her eyes twinkled, a complete contrast to the anger she claimed she had.
My brow raised.
“Chase brought it on himself. He—”
“Don't blame Chase for screwing the bad boy, Savvy. I bet he was good in bed, too. Some men you can just tell.”
“What my boyfriend and I do is none of your business.”
She smiled widely. “But he's not your boyfriend, is he?”
There it was.
I felt my spine straighten.
“I'll admit, Savvy, the boyfriend angle was pretty clever. I mean, of course the one and only, the brilliant Savannah Bristow would think of something clever. But this,” she tsked. “No, this was a little bit cunning and manipulative, and let's be honest, Savvy, that's way above you.”
My jaw tightened.
“Are you—”
“I just keep thinking, all of this,” she gestured vaguely, “the public displays, the sudden relationship, the tension—it doesn’t feel very you.”
Her gaze sharpened.
“You'd be surprised at how much a relationship can change you,” I said pointedly.
“Oh, I bet. But faking a date to my wedding so you don't feel humiliated? Oh honey, that's just sad.”
Something cold slid down my spine, but my expression remained neutral.
“I have no idea what you're talking about.”
“Oh yeah?” Lori dug through her bag and my breath hitched when she pulled out my phone. And the triumphant look in her eyes was one I thought I'd never see again. “Because this says otherwise.”
She took a step toward me, tilting her head and waving the phone in the air.
“Did you honestly think you could make Chase jealous with this little act? Did you think you could win him back from me?”
I let out a short laugh.
“If I wanted to make a point, Lori, I wouldn’t need Jaxon to do it for me.”
Something flickered in her eyes for a fleeting moment, but she just kept forcing that cunning smile.
“Sure, go ahead and laugh, but all it would take is one call to the press—you know, the dozens of reporters covering my wedding—and the news of your faux beau would go viral. Any thought of your ‘promising’ career would be haunted by the fact that you lied to some of the wealthiest people in the city. You think anyone would take you seriously after that?”
My pulse ticked up, but my expression didn’t change.
“Are you done?” I asked, snatching my phone from her grasp. “I have better things to do than listen to your baseless threats.”
“If you don't think I will, then you've clearly underestimated this situation. Everything that has gone wrong with this wedding—the fake gifts, the attention-seeking—is because you can't accept that Chase chose me instead of you. You lose, I win.”
She studied me for a moment longer, then smiled wider. “You're going to end this little farce of a relationship.”
I breathed out a disbelieving laugh. “Excuse me?”
“You're going to end it,” she repeated, “or the screenshots of your fake dating contract and text messages with him are going to the press. End it. Publicly, you know, since you decided to humiliate me like this. Saturday night's bachelor and bachelorette party should be the perfect place for it.”
And she practically skipped to the door with glee. Her perfectly manicured fingers reached for the door, pausing long enough to look at me over her shoulder to add—
“See you Saturday.”
The door opened, closed, and she was gone. The wicked witch must've left her broomstick because the air carried a heavy stillness now. My gaze locked on the closed door, not knowing what to do in this situation.
Because whether I liked it or not, she held all the cards in a game I never wanted to play.