Chapter 2
Tracy
Today sucks.
Granted, I say that every day I have to go to Blake’s office. It’s like there’s a vise clamping around my chest, and I can’t breathe whenever I’m alone with him.
After running into him while on my date with Cayden Saturday night, I’m even less eager to be alone with him. I already know he’s going to grill me about it because he can’t let me go.
No matter how hard I push him away, no matter what I say or do, he won’t give up.
Part of me is completely terrified of the day he finally does.
I didn’t go home with Cayden that night.
Half of me wanted to, just to spite Blake and to see if Cayden would maybe erase him from my mind, but the other half of me couldn’t do it.
Seeing Blake that night had the exact effect I’m sure he was hoping for—I couldn’t bring myself to sleep with another man after seeing him.
Cayden was a complete gentleman about it.
I shouldn’t have expected anything less, but you just never know.
I’ve had my fair share of dates with douchebags who think they’re entitled to pussy because they dropped a hundred bucks on a meal.
But Cayden drove me home, walked me to my door, kissed my cheek, and told me he’d text me.
Usually, that line means you’ll never hear from them again, but I woke up the next morning to a text from him saying he’d like to go out again. I replied that I’d like that, too. But now, as I near the brokerage, all that apprehension about seeing someone new starts coiling around me like a snake.
After almost five years, you’d think the feeling would start to fade, but it hasn’t.
I think it’s due to the fact that Blake is holding me hostage, using that damn shell company to bind me to him for eternity.
Otherwise, I would leave. I’d find another brokerage or get my broker’s license and start my own.
Because if either of us is ever going to move on, we can’t be working together.
I thought I could stay and move past him—maintain a professional relationship while we each moved on with our personal lives—but that hasn’t been the case.
Gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary, I pull my Mercedes E Class into the brokerage lot and into my designated parking spot, right beside Blake’s black Chevy pickup—the same one he’s been driving since I met him, though now it has a large dent on the tailgate thanks to a runaway forklift at one of his brother’s construction sites.
He has a Porsche 911, too, but I only see him bring it out anymore when he has an important meeting. Otherwise, he’s always in that damn truck. Thank god the brokerage has its own parking lot, or he’d never find parking on the street for that thing.
Checking my reflection in the mirror one last time, I grab my bag and head inside to be interrogated. I guess if the luxury real estate market ever tanks, Blake could very well work for the CIA torturing innocent souls. He’s quickly mastering the art of torture with me.
“Good morning, Emery,” I say when I walk through the front doors.
Emery Carter is Blake’s newest assistant and also doubles as manning the front desk at the brokerage.
She’s a cute young thing, with stunning red hair that brings out her hazel eyes and a light smattering of freckles on her nose.
When Blake first hired her, I had half hoped it was because he was interested in her.
Turns out I had no such luck. Plus, I have a sneaking suspicion Jax is into her, anyway.
Jax Lundquist is Emmett’s best friend, and consequently turning into a good friend of mine, since he’s always around when I hang out with Riley and Emmett.
Jax is technically a realtor with the brokerage, but he doesn’t actively do anything, instead focusing on his and Emmett’s venture capital firm.
It’s really too bad I’m not attracted to him.
“Hey, Tracy.” Emery grins at me from behind her desk. “Picking up your commission check?”
“Yeah,” I tell her. Yet another way Blake is torturing me.
He quit having my commissions deposited into my bank account, instead forcing me to come to the office and pick up a paper check from him.
I know he’s doing it intentionally, because I asked Emery if any other agents were getting paper checks now, and she said I was the only one.
She gives me a sympathetic smile. “I’ve tried to get him to go back to depositing it. I don’t know why he won’t.”
That’s a can of worms I don’t want to open. There’s way too much history to unpack there, so I just tell her, “It’s okay. I don’t mind coming by the office.”
“You hate it. I can tell you’re always upset when you leave.” She lowers her voice. “You don’t have to tell me what’s going on, but if you need someone to chat with, I’m here.”
My current fake smile falters. Am I that easy to read? I walk up to her desk, resting an arm on it. “I appreciate that, but really, I don’t mind.”
She gives me a tiny smile, and I go to walk up the stairs, but change my mind at the last second and return to her desk. “Hey, what are you doing Friday night? I’m planning a little get together for Riley before she moves. Want to come?”
“I’d love to.” Her face brightens. “Um, will Jax be there?”
I can’t hide the devious smirk that finds my face. “Do you want him to be there?”
She laughs it off, tucking her hair behind her ear, but I see right through her. “I don’t care either way. More like I just want a heads up to prepare.”
She’s into him.
“He might be,” I tell her honestly. “He’s still in New York doing some work for an old client, but I told him about the get together and he said he’d try to make it.” I refrain from telling her exactly what he’s doing in New York.
Riley has only told me bits and pieces of who Emmett and Jax used to primarily work for up there, but judging by the scary mafia man who came to help find Riley after all the shit that went down last winter, I’m guessing it’s a legit crime family they used to work with.
I never did meet this supposed scary guy, but what I’ve gleaned from Riley and Emmett is that he’s not to be fucked with.
I’ll have to remember to give Emmett a hard time about it next time I see him.
I still haven’t forgiven him for threatening to turn me in for fraud last fall when I refused to let him talk to Riley during one of their fights.
So, he’s got at least a few more years left on his torture sentence from me.
“Text me the details and I’ll be there,” Emery says. Then adds, “And if you hear from Jax, can you let me know?”
“Do you want his number?” I ask, suddenly curious if they’re even talking or if she’s just crushing on him from afar. Her cheeks redden, and I decide to take mercy on her. “I’ll send you his contact info, too. Do what you want with it.”
“Thanks,” she says, refusing to meet my eyes.
I hold in my laugh. Something about puppy love makes me giddy.
Emery is barely twenty-two, and about as innocent and na?ve as they come.
I get the feeling she lived a really sheltered life, and her taking this job was the first real chance she had to spread her wings and be independent.
Watching her crush on Jax is like watching the little sister I never had realize she likes a boy.
“He’s single, you know,” I tack on, feeling the need to encourage her. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you reaching out. If you want.”
“Yeah, maybe,” she says noncommittally.
“Well, either way, I’m glad you’re coming Friday. It’ll be fun!”
When I told Riley I wanted to do a going away party for her, she begged me to keep it casual.
Which is the exact opposite of what a party is supposed to be, but I decided that this one time I’d give in to her demands, so we’re going to our favorite little dive bar for a night of casual drinking and fun.
Though I did convince the owner to at least let me come in early to decorate.
The place is ugly as sin, inside and out, but they have the best food and cocktails.
So I’ll just spruce it up a little with some balloons and streamers.
And maybe some flowers. Oh, and maybe I can convince the owner to let me bring in some better lighting—set the mood a little bit—so it’s not quite so dingy in there.
I make a mental note to look at lighting later, and head up the stairs toward Blake’s office.
Every click of my heels on the tiled floor as I approach his door has my heart rate ratcheting up a notch.
When I reach his office, I plaster a look of cool indifference on my face, close the door behind me, and stride toward his desk like his very presence isn’t destroying me right now.
“You have my check?” I ask, knowing damn well he does, but that he likely won’t hand it over so easily.
He doesn’t even look up from his laptop as he asks coldly, “Did you have a good time Saturday night?”
“Mmmm,” I hum. “I bet you’d love to know, wouldn’t you?
Tell me, Blake, does it bother you that you’re trying so hard to keep a hold on me, yet I keep slipping further and further away?
” I prowl around his desk and he swivels in his chair so we’re facing each other.
“Does it keep you up at night thinking of me sucking another man’s dick? ”
It’s a lie, of course. Try as I might, I haven’t been able to be with another man since him, but I’ll never admit that. Let him think I’ve fucked half of the city for all I care. Maybe then he’ll get rid of the shell company and that ridiculous marriage license, and let me go my separate way.
I saunter closer to him, so I’m standing between his spread legs. He’s in light gray slacks and a white button up today—no jacket, no tie. His dark hair is pushed back, and he’s freshly shaven, the intoxicating, masculine scent of his aftershave threatening to make me lose my nerve. But I don’t.