Chapter 31
Ethan: Movie night?
Jamie: Yeah, but need to be in bed early. Last big training session tomorrow morning, then we start tapering for the match.
Ethan: You had me at ‘in bed early’.
Ethan
It’s the end of the day, almost time to leave my office, but I have one last meeting to finish first.
John Barrett's face fills my video screen. The head of Barrett Capital is sitting in his marble-and-mahogany Manhattan office, his frown heavy.
"Marzoni increased his counteroffer again," Barrett says, his voice worried. "That's the third time this week. How much higher is he willing to go?"
I tighten my fingers on my pen but keep my expression neutral.
The land purchase for my next big construction project should have been straightforward.
It’s prime real estate, perfect for luxury retail and high-end apartments, and I offered a fair price.
But Miles jumped in when he saw I’d bid for it, and he keeps driving up the price.
Not because he wants the land, but because he knows I do.
"He'll keep pushing it up," I say evenly. "This isn't about profit for him. It's personal."
"Personal?" Barrett shakes his head, his nostrils flaring. “I’m sorry, Mr. Kane, but we can’t finance vendettas. This was supposed to be a clean deal with solid returns, but your bidding war is spiraling out of control."
"I can handle Miles."
“Okay. Good.” Barrett smooths his tie with one hand. “I’m sorry to have to report that if the price goes any higher, it’ll move outside our finance range. In that case, we’ll have to pull our backing."
“Understood.” I cut off the call and the screen goes dark.
Fucking Miles.
He’s acting out of pure spite, trying to block me just because he can. Because that's what Marzonis do—they use their old money connections to keep people like me locked out of their privileged circle.
I rub my temples, forcing myself to breathe deeply. Barrett isn’t the only investor in town, and hell, I could just fund the entire project myself if it wasn’t far more profitable to leverage the deal with an investor’s money.
It’s only five thirty. The meeting ran short.
And normally, I wouldn’t leave my office yet but would blow off my frustration by throwing myself into more work.
I’d stay late running numbers and going through all my options.
Finding weak points in Miles’s strategy and figuring out how to exploit them until I came out on top.
Instead, I shut my laptop.
For the last couple of weeks, I haven’t been staying late or arriving early. I’ve been leaving my office every chance I get.
Because upstairs, in my apartment, Jamie is waiting for me.
The thought eases some of the tension in my shoulders.
The Ethan of a few months ago would have never left a battle half fought. But I walk out of my corner office with a pull of anticipation curling in my gut.
Most of my employees have already left for the day, and their desks are empty.
But Rachel’s office is right next to mine, and she’s still at her desk, frowning at her screen while she taps at her keyboard.
Though her desk is covered with the files she’s working on, somehow it still looks tidy, and all the folders on the shelves behind her are arranged in neat rows.
She glances up as I pause in her doorway.
"You're leaving already?" She raises an eyebrow. "Is the world ending?"
I blink at her, too surprised to smile.
This is new. Rachel has never joked with me before.
“Not sure,” I say dryly. “But if it does end, at least I’ll get to skip tomorrow’s workout. You’d think I’d be used to them by now, but I don’t have a muscle that doesn’t hurt.”
Her lips quirk. “All the training will be worth it when you beat Miles.”
“Thanks for using the word ‘when’ in that sentence.”
“Of course, Mr. Kane.” Her tone is amused. “I have no doubt.”
That makes one of us. As hard as I’m training, I’m still the underdog against an experienced boxer. Our bout is less than a week away, and who knows what’ll happen on the night.
“The boxing match permits came through?" I ask.
She nods. "All finalized."
“Thanks, Rachel. Excellent work.”
Now it’s her turn to look faintly surprised.
“See you tomorrow,” I say, making a mental note to tell her I appreciate her more often.
“Good night, Mr. Kane.”
I step into the elevator, rolling my shoulders as I ascend to the penthouse. When the doors open, I hear voices from the kitchen, then the sound of Jamie’s hearty laugh. The sound makes my remaining tension dissolve.
Before Jamie moved in, I used to come home to silence.
I’d often eat in the dining room with my laptop open in front of my plate, working while I ate.
Now, I walk into the kitchen to find Jamie is leaning against the counter, fork in hand, stealing from the serving tray while Marcus, my chef, tries to swat her hand away.
Over the last few weeks, these two have become friends, and neither of them hear me come in.
“Dinner isn’t ready yet!” Marcus clicks his tongue at her, yanking the tray away.
Jamie, utterly unbothered, spears another roasted potato before he can move it out of reach, and pops it into her mouth. “It’s your fault for making them so delicious,” she says with her mouth full, the words muffled.
“There’ll be none left,” he scolds with a laugh.
“I think they could be even better than those mushroom things from yesterday.” She leans toward the tray, her fork outstretched.
Amusement tugs at my mouth. “So you’re terrorizing my chef now?”
Jamie spins to face me, looking completely at home. Black leggings hug her athletic frame, and an oversized gym tank slips off one shoulder. I love seeing her so perfectly at ease here.
“Hey, Demolition Man,” she says with a grin. "Hope you didn't want more than one piece of potato."
I cross to her, drawn like gravity, and press a kiss to her lips. She tastes like garlic and herbs, and something inside me settles just having her close.
She laughs against my mouth. "Careful. We'll give Marcus the ick.”
"Marcus has seen worse," I murmur, certain that my chef has gotten used to our antics over the last few weeks. But I pull back anyway, enjoying the slight flush in her cheeks.
“Would you like me to serve dinner now, Mr. Kane?” Marcus asks, deadpan. When I nod, he carries our plates to the dining room, and we follow him to where the table is already set for us.
Jamie slides into her seat, and I watch, captivated, as she attacks her food with her usual efficiency. She eats like the athlete she is, with unrestrained gusto. It’s something I love about her. No affected manners or simpering bites, just enthusiasm for great cooking.
"Your training's really coming along," she says between mouthfuls, absently reaching out to touch my wrist. "You're finally compensating for Miles's reach advantage with better footwork."
Her casual contact sends heat through my skin. “That sounds like a compliment,” I say.
She shrugs. “You’re getting there.”
“Effusive praise. Must mean I can cut back on the squat jumps.” I sip my wine.
“Nope.” She shakes her head, smiling. “Not a chance.”
The meal flows easily, filled with teasing and effortless conversation.
We’ve spent several evenings watching boxing movies, and she kept pretending to take notes so she could make me copy the more extreme training montages from the Creed and Rocky movies.
We have a running joke about increasing the intensity of my workouts, and Jamie keeps promising to hit me harder to build up my resistance to getting punched.
I hide my smile behind my wine glass, trying to ignore how much I want to drag her into my lap.
“By the way,” I say casually, relishing the chance to give her some good news. “The gym renovations are almost done.”
Her eyes light up. “Really? I was starting to worry it might not be finished in time for the boxing match.”
“My foreman says it’ll be all done by Thursday.”
“Not a minute too soon.” She looks delighted. “I can't wait to go back there.”
My chest tightens. Is she saying she wants to move back into her room at the gym? But she seems happy here. I want her to stay with me. Surely she must want that too.
I clench my jaw, not asking the question, not wanting to ruin the moment. This is a conversation I’ll need to ease her into to avoid spooking her. Considering everything she’s been through, her nervousness when it comes to life changes is understandable. I’ll need to tread carefully.
“Every ticket for the match is sold,” she says. “You're officially a crowd-pulling boxer. How does that feel?"
"Like I should ask for a cut of the takings.”
She grins. “Winning the match will be enough of a prize, and you know it.”
She licks garlic dressing off her finger, and my mouth goes dry watching the unconsciously sensual movement.
"Oh, and Rachel's been amazing with all the organization," she continues, oblivious to my staring. “Have to admit, I underestimated her. I would have been lost without her help."
I nod, pleased. "She's the best assistant I've ever had."
“And she actually gives a damn about her job, which I respect.”
“You’re right. She does.” I remember Rachel’s faint look of surprise and wonder why I’ve always been so miserly with my praise.
It’s not something I’ve thought about before, but Rachel seems to be more relaxed around me lately.
Probably because I’ve been feeling so good knowing Jamie is here with me every night, so I’ve been less demanding.
Later, after dinner, Jamie stretches out lazily on the couch, hands on her stomach, and her eyes half-lidded with contentment.
It’s a big improvement from when she first moved in, when she seemed reluctant to put her feet on the couch or even pile up the cushions behind her.
It’s taken her a while to get comfortable here, but it’s slowly happening.
“What movie shall we watch?” she asks lazily.
“Your turn to choose. Drink?”
“No thanks.”
While I’m at the drinks cabinet, pouring myself a scotch and soda, I ask, “How’s work going? Any new clients?”
“Yes, a good one.” She sounds enthusiastic. “I’m protecting a rich woman against a stalker turned violent.”
My hand jerks and the soda bottle clinks against the glass.
Putting it down, I turn to face her. “How violent?”
“Nasty violent.” She scrunches her face. “Obsessed and jealous. I’m in charge of her security detail in case he manages to get to her before the police catch up with him.”
I force air through my nose. “This is your idea of a good client?”
Jamie gives me a slow blink. “Well, yeah. We could literally save her life. And we get to take down a bad guy. Nothing better than that.”
“What if he hurts you?”
She scoffs. “He’s welcome to try.”
“I don’t like it,” I say, shoving a hand through my hair. My thoughts are already spiraling into worst-case scenarios. My brain is wired for control, and Jamie is reckless and wild. I love that about her, but I hate that she puts herself in danger.
She’s great at what she does. Hell, she's the best fighter I've ever seen. But I can't help imagining her with a bullet in her chest. Can't help thinking about all the ways the job could go wrong.
She frowns. “I can handle myself. Stop looking worried.”
“You’re talking about a madman who could be armed and dangerous. Don’t ask me not to worry.”
Jamie’s expression softens. "You know you can't lock me in a tower, right?"
"Watch me try."
She laughs. "Your protective streak is sweet, Kane, but I’m the one who protects people. It’s my job, and I love it.”
“At least tell me you wear a bulletproof vest.”
“Yeah,” she says. “Usually.”
“Usually?” I clench my fists. “Jamie, it needs to be always! Promise me!”
“Before you give yourself a heart attack, you need to understand that I’m coordinating a team of guards. I’m not spending much time actually doing the guarding, more making sure it’s done right.”
I huff out a breath, feeling restless. If my muscles weren’t aching from this morning’s workout, I’d be tempted to head back to the gym to take out my pent-up emotion on the punching bags, like Jamie usually does.
"You know what?” I say. “Let’s forget the movie. I need a different distraction before I lose my mind about this.”
“A distraction?”
“Gelato.”
Her eyebrows jump. “Gelato?”
“I know a place that has the best gelato.”
She snorts out a laugh. “Sugar is your answer?”
“I can’t think of a better one. You in?”
“Well, obviously!” She scrambles to her feet. “I’ll get my jacket. Where is this amazing place?”
“Beverley Hills.”
“So it’s rich-people gelato? The same as poor-people gelato, only twice the price?”
“Probably.”
She grins. “Hope they have lots of chocolate flavors.”