8. Ember #3
The tech mogul stared at the cut cable for a long moment, then gave a sharp nod.
In a blink, the troubled expression was wiped away, and he turned toward me.
“Wonderful to finally put a face to the name. And what a beautiful face it is,” he added, flashing a smile at me.
“You two will stay for lunch, yes?” He looked at Jack. “While your man fixes this?”
I blushed, eyes flicking to Jack, who was glaring at Oren like he wanted to rip the other man’s head off.
“Sure,” my husband grated. He’d replaced the comms pit lid, and now he stood and stepped under the eaves.
His eyes flashed, the look made more intense by the water clumping and darkening his lashes.
“Excellent.” Oren turned to me, his eyes going warm. Wow. He was way more attractive than his company photo showed. “I’m throwing a little party before I go back to Silicon Valley at the end of the month,” he said. “You should come.”
I blinked. “A party?”
“A little get-together,” he said, and finally turned to include Jack in the interaction. “You’ll both come, yes?”
A denial was on the tip of my tongue, but Jack cut in with a growling, “We’d love to,” that sounded like he wouldn’t, in fact, love to attend a party at the Blanchard mansion at the end of the month. I frowned at him, but he just stared at Oren.
The tech billionaire nodded like it was a done deal, then murmured something about work and left us with Giles, who materialized to take our jackets and guide us to the living room with the French doors.
The sky outside was dark gray and angry, and thunder boomed again and again.
Jack was given a fluffy white towel, which he used to dry his hair and face.
I sat on a pure white couch and missed the slightly shabby, lived-in furniture that made up Jack and Darby’s home.
I missed the Polaroids on the corkboard and the shoes by the doorway. I even missed the creaking floors.
And why wasn’t I missing my own home in Chicago?
Glancing at Jack, I noticed he was still grinding his jaw, his hands clasped between his knees as he stared at the empty fireplace across from his seat. I risked a question: “Are you mad?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. There was a long silence. “Not mad, no,” he finally said.
“Oh. You’re worried about the cut wire?”
A big shoulder twitched in an imitation of a shrug.
“Not more than I’m worried about any of the other disasters that happen on a daily basis.
The cops will handle it; they always work quickly for the people who throw their weight around.
” He looked at me. “We’re looking into your theory that this vandalism is targeting our company, and not our clients.
We’ve made progress. So thank you for that. ”
I nodded, but the air in the room was still stifling.
Something was wrong. Jack’s mood was so oppressive that I was finding it hard to breathe.
Finally, I found the courage to ask, “What’s wrong?
We don’t have to go to that party if that’s what you’re upset about.
He probably just invited us to be polite.
We don’t even need to stay for lunch, unless you need to wait for that fiber optic guy. ”
A bitter laugh barked out of him. “Oren Blanchard doesn’t worry about being polite to people,” he said, which made me frown.
He’d been utterly civil to me. Friendly, even.
Jack shot me a dark glance and ground his jaw.
I wished I had mind-reading powers. I wished I knew what he was thinking when he looked at me like that.
But the look was there and gone, and all Jack said was, “We’ll have lunch.
We’ll go to his party. We need to stay on his good side, especially with all the issues we’ve had with his security system.
You just handed us a lifeline, Ember. Saved our company’s bottom line. ”
I nodded, uneasy. “So what’s the problem?”
Jack opened his mouth—and closed it when Giles appeared with a silver tray bearing drinks and sandwiches for us to eat.
JACK
I wasn’t upset about the cable, our lunch, or the party. I was upset—incensed—because Oren Blanchard had looked at my wife like he was imagining her naked. Because he’d made her smile. Because when I’d walked in the room, she’d been laughing.
They’d shared something—whatever techy, actuary-related thing it was—that I would never have with Ember. She would never laugh at a joke about software tickets with me. She would never look at me like she was impressed with me.
I was upset because the thought of another man sharing something with Ember made me want to march out of this boring white room and do something that would land me in prison for the rest of my life. I was wild with jealousy. Half mad with it. I couldn’t think straight.
It should’ve made an alarm sound in my mind. The violence of my reaction should’ve been a sign that something had gone amiss. Our relationship was fake, temporary, over in a matter of months.
But all I could think about was the smile she’d worn when I’d walked into the living room—a smile she’d never pointed at me. And the way Blanchard had looked at her like she was something to capture and own.
Yes, we would stay for lunch. We would go to the party. And I would make sure Oren Blanchard knew who Ember really belonged to.