14. Campbell
FOURTEEN
CAMPBELL
The heavy weight of a warm, solid arm over my waist is the first thing that anchors me to reality.
I blink, my eyes adjusting to the sharp morning light cutting through a gap in the blinds of Jake’s studio.
The air carries the faint scents of his cologne, worn leather, and the unmistakable, lingering heat of last night.
I turn my head on the pillow, and my breath catches.
“Mornin’.”
Jake’s drawl practically pulls me back into my dreams.
“Hi,” I whisper.
He’s propped up on one elbow, his dark eyes fixed entirely on me. His expression is lazy, content.
A sudden wave of self-consciousness hits me as the breeze from his air conditioning unit pebbles my skin.
I immediately grab the edge of the sheet, trying to pull the covers up over my bare body.
Jake gently hooks his fingers around the edge of the fabric, though, stopping me.
He shakes his head, a soft, vibration in his chest.
“No. You’re beautiful, Campbell. Let me see you. All of you.”
The weight of his stare is practically numbing. I’m helpless.
My hands relent, letting the sheet drop back down to my waist. My skin literally buzzes.
A delicious, terrifying heat prickles across my chest, down to my belly, forcing me to squeeze my thighs together as it reaches my core.
I bite my lip, completely overwhelmed, and bury my face in the pillow to hide my burning cheeks.
Then, like a bucket of ice water, reality rushes back in. The absolute madness of what I did last night—following him home, throwing myself into his arms, shattering every professional boundary I’ve spent weeks building. It all slams into me. Panic and guilt twist in my gut.
I wince, forcing myself to look him in the eyes.
“Jake . . . this can’t happen. We can’t do this.”
I expect him to argue or to get defensive. Instead, he looks entirely relaxed. He waves a hand nonchalantly, his voice completely unfazed. “So go.”
I freeze. The door is right there. My clothes are scattered in the living room, which is also his bedroom. I could leave. But as I look at his broad shoulders, the messy bedhead, and the dangerous pull in his eyes, I realize my body is glued to this mattress. I can’t peel myself away from him.
I deflate against the pillow and whisper, “I don’t want to.”
A devilish smirk inches into his cheeks. He lunges forward, pinning my wrists lightly above my head with one hand and burying his face in the crook of my neck, his other hand digging into my side.
“What did you say?” he demands, tickling me relentlessly.
“Jake! Stop!” I gasp, squirming and giggling as I try to fight him off. It’s no use. He’s so much stronger than I am. Besides, the rush of a morning laugh is stripping away my anxiety. “No, stop it!” I giggle.
“I didn’t hear you, Hines. What’d you say?”
“I don’t want to!” I scream-whisper through my laughter, my heart hammering happily inside my chest. “I don’t want to leave!”
He stops, lingering over me with a triumphant grin.
His laughter fades into something much softer, much hungrier, and he drops his mouth to mine.
The kiss starts sweet but quickly deepens, full of slow, lazy morning heat.
His hand slides down the bare skin of my side, mapping the curve of my waist before stopping at my ass, pulling me flush against him.
Right on cue, a harsh, buzzing vibration echoes from the floor.
My phone.
The spell shatters. I jet up to a sitting position, my eyes wide. I scramble out of the bed, entirely unconcerned with my nakedness, and climb over Jake’s legs to rush to the kitchen area. I scramble through my discarded clothes on the floor until I find my shorts, pulling out the flashing phone.
The blood drains from my face. It feels like all the air has been sucked from the apartment.
Dad.
I miss his first attempt, but I know him all too well. He’ll call back. I’m barely halfway to the bed when the phone buzzes in my hand. I swallow hard, forcing my voice to stabilize as I slide the bar to answer, pulling the sheet around my chest as I sit on the edge of the mattress.
“Hey, Dad,” I say, trying to mask the tremor in my breath.
“Campbell. Just wanted to ring before my morning meetings.” I don’t know why I get a courtroom voice from him when he calls, but it practically echoes through the receiver. “It was nice to see you for lunch yesterday. Maybe we can actually make time for a proper dinner next time I’m in the area.”
“That would be nice.”
I wait for the catch.
“Have you given any more thought to the offer we discussed?” he asks, completely bypassing small talk.
Also, absolutely ignoring the firm no I gave him the first time.
“The board is finalizing our Q3 allocations, and I’d like to know if you’re finally ready to join the family business.
We have some big things in the pipe, and like I said .
. . your skills are made for this. You wouldn’t have to quit PR.
You’d just be using it for legal persuasion, so to speak. ”
He chuckles, proud of himself. My stomach sinks. I close my eyes, rubbing my temple. A heavy, familiar sigh escapes me.
“Dad . . . you already know my answer.”
“We’ll discuss it later, then,” he says, his tone clipped with disappointment. Also, the words that come out of my mouth hold no value to him whatsoever.
“I have to get to the office, actually, so if we could?—”
He hangs up before I can finish my half-hatched plan to maybe force him to schedule time with me.
“Right . . . later it is,” I mutter to myself, tossing my phone on the bed.
The silence in the room feels suffocating. I look over at Jake. He’s sitting up now, the covers low on his hips, watching me with concern weighing down his eyes.
“That was my dad.”
I shrug. He met him. I’m sure he got the right impression.
Jake doesn’t push, but his quiet attention invites me to speak. And before I can stop myself, the dam breaks. It’s maybe seven in the morning, and I’m unloading the complicated, heavy family drama I’ve kept locked away for years.
“I had an older brother. Michael,” I start, my voice tight.
“He was eight years older than me. He was my dad’s pride and joy—literally a mini version of the man himself.
Michael was in the middle of law school, completely set to take over the firm one day.
And then one drunk driver on the I-40 took it all away. ”
Jake’s expression softens, a dark shadow of sympathy crossing his eyes.
I shake my head. I didn’t want to relive this with him so soon. Or at all.
“It was a few years ago. We’ve healed. Well . . . I’ve healed. But my dad?—”
“He still wants the legacy,” Jake fills in.
I sigh.
“When I went to college a few years later,” I continue, looking down at my hands, “I didn’t study what I wanted.
I listened to my dad. I felt this crushing guilt, like I had to fill the void Michael left behind.
So, I went to law school. And I absolutely hated it.
There’s this constant, miserable push-pull between us because I walked away from it.
I love what I do now. I want this to be what fills my life.
But the guilt . . . it never really goes away. ”
Jake doesn’t hesitate. He moves across the bed, closing the distance between us, and wraps his strong arms around my shoulders, pulling me into his chest. My chest tightens, and if I let myself, I could cry right now.
Tears of exhaustion, guilt, the past, my present with my father, the fact my mom plays zero role in my life and doesn’t defend my own wishes. It’s draining.
Instead, I just sink into his body and listen to the thump of his heart, matching my breath with his.
“Listen to me,” he says, his voice a firm, steady anchor. “You’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to be doing. You are amazing at your job, Campbell. The way you handle the media, the way you find stories to tell. You changed my life by helping me tell mine.”
I shake my head against his shoulder, looking up at him. “It’s been your story all along, Jake. I just got the right people to listen to it.”
He stares down at me, his brown eyes turning incredibly deep, filled with a look so intense it makes my chest ache. He leans down and presses his lips against mine, and somehow it feels as if he has kissed me like this many times before. It’s natural. Easy, in fact.
As he pulls away, there’s a lingering hesitation in his expression, his teeth holding the inside of his cheek hostage, and I can’t help but feel as if he has a million more things to say but can’t find the words.
Eventually, I’m the one to break the silence, softly clearing my throat.
“We both have to get going. Big series coming up.”
I force myself to leave the comfort of his bed, and as I gather the rest of my clothes, the sound of his shower spray gives me just enough cover to get dressed and slip out of his place before things grow more intense. If that’s even possible.
An hour later, I’m walking into the front offices at the stadium.
I made a lightning-fast stop at my own apartment to shower, blow-dry my hair, and throw on my trusty navy blazer and matching slacks.
This is the suit I wore for my interview with the organization less than a year ago.
Maybe it will bring me luck today and keep me from making bad decisions. Well . . . more bad decisions.
Before I log in to my computer, Kevin calls out from his office.
“Campbell! Step in here for a second, would you?”
A rush of heat zaps down my spine, and I feel as if I’m being called to the principal’s office. I walk into his office, holding a notebook, ready to work. Kevin is pacing behind his desk, looking uncharacteristically jittery but energized as he shakes out his hands.
“I wanted to give you a quick heads-up.” He gestures for me to sit, though he remains standing. It leaves me feeling unsure of what to do. I go ahead and sit on the edge of his office sofa, ready to stand at a moment’s notice.
“I have a packed schedule this week. A lot of back-to-back meetings; we’re getting close to this thing being real. Things are moving significantly faster than I originally anticipated.” His eyes flash wide, and I can’t read his mouth for certain. Is that a smile?
I tilt my head, studying his face deeper.
“Are you having second thoughts?”
“No,” Kevin says quickly, a greedy, sharp smile breaking across his face. “No, quite the opposite, actually. It looks like I might end up selling the franchise for a hell of a lot more than the initial valuation.”
He shuffles a stack of documents on his desk.
“The buyer is looking to bring a massive amount of regional development to the area surrounding the stadium. Think major change and amenities. So many amenities!”
Kevin flashes his hands out in front of his face, as if he’s spelling the words out in invisible fireworks. My professional curiosity spikes.
“What kind of development? And by amenities, do you mean hotels? Can you get me up to speed so I can prepare a strategy for our marketing response?”
“Soon, soon,” Kevin dismisses, gathering a leather portfolio and his car keys, I presume for his next meeting.
“I’m still hashing out the nondisclosure boundaries.
It’s sensitive, because, well . . .” He stretches his arm out, and I assume he means because this town is going to go nuts when they find out.
He sets a thick manila folder on the edge of the desk while he grabs his coat. As he does, the top document inside the folder slips out by an inch.
My heart stops.
Right there, printed in sharp, expensive black ink in the center of a piece of legal letterhead, is a distinct logo that I could draw in my sleep. The stylized, sharp outline of a lion’s head has been a part of my life since as long as I can remember.
Hines & Associates. My father’s firm.
Before I can fully process the visual, Kevin scoops up the folder, seemingly oblivious to my sudden paralysis. He throws me a warm, distracted smile.
“You’re doing great work, Campbell. Seriously. I’m going to make sure the team in Texas knows exactly how vital you are to this organization.”
“Thanks, Kevin,” I manage to choke out.
He bustles past me, disappearing down the hallway in a blur.
I stand frozen in his empty office, my chest tightening. No. There’s no way. I tell myself I’m just paranoid. I’m just projecting my father’s suffocating presence onto my workspace because of our lunch and the phone call. And the cagey things he said. And the coincidences.
So. Many. Coincidences.
I rush back to my own office, my heart drumming a frantic beat against my ribs. I sit at my desk, my fingers trembling slightly as I pull up a web browser. I type in my father’s corporate URL.
The page loads. And there, staring back at me from the top left corner of the screen, is the exact same corporate logo. The outline of the lion’s head.
A cold, uneasy dread pools deep in my stomach.
“We’re helping a client with a rather significant land deal in the area.” My dad’s voice echoes in my head from yesterday. “Just some state land and ranchers swapping acreage. Standard bureaucratic shuffling.”
He lied to me.
He’s been coming to Sweetwater and secretly working on this deal. It isn’t just a simple land swap, and it isn’t a coincidence. My father’s firm is representing the mysterious buyer trying to acquire the Mavericks.
I stare at the lion’s head on my monitor, a sickening wave of anxiety washing over me. What kind of development are they planning? And what happens to the team—to this town—if someone comes in with bold plans that break what makes Sweetwater . . . Sweetwater?