and I was directly to blame.
I touched a velvet-soft petal. “We’ve screwed up something perfect,” I said softly.
Sinking into my chair, I started to plan how best to tell him what I’d done.
* * *
I had a good handle on how I wanted to open the subject of Deanna’s story when the elevators on the penthouse floor opened and I stepped out into chaos.
I paused, shocked. The front door was open and through it I could see a dozen people in suits, pacing in my living room with smartphones pressed to their ears.
The queasiness I’d felt all day worsened until I thought I might be sick right there in the foyer.
When I crossed the threshold into the apartment, I looked for Jax. I couldn’t find him, but Parker was there in front of the entertainment center, his gaze on the photos of his late wife. He would have stood out from the melee on sheer presence, but unmoving amid the frenetic swarm of visitors, he riveted me.
He turned his head toward me. I watched as the recognition of my presence set in. He started toward me.
“What’s going on?” I asked, although I feared I already knew the answer.
“We’re trying to put out a fire. I’m sorry we’ve taken over, but Jackson prefers to handle some issues from his home office.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
His mouth, so like Jax’s, twisted wryly. “I could use a drink. Something strong, preferably.”
“Okay.” I looked around him to the console by the window where crystal decanters held the world’s finest liquors. I frowned when I saw only a vase of flowers atop it. “I’ll get you something.”
“Thanks. I’ll put your purse in your bedroom,” he offered, holding out his hand for it.
As he set off down the hallway, I maneuvered through the men and women wandering around the sunken living room. Bits and pieces of conversations washed over me.
“...confirm the source...”
“...should consider possible defamation and slander liabilities...”
“...a declaration of war against the Rutledge family isn’t wise...”
My hands were shaking when I opened the doors of the console. The crystal decanters were tucked neatly inside, but they were empty. I made my way back to the kitchen, where I discovered an empty wine fridge.
Confused, I faced Parker when he returned. “Looks like we’re out of everything.”
“I couldn’t find anything, either.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll call the concierge. Is there anything in particular you’d like?”
He touched my arm. “I’ll take care of it. Why don’t you hole up in your room and get out of this mess?”
“I feel like I should help somehow.”
“Just take care of my son,” he murmured. “Leave this to me.”
My mouth opened to say something, but nothing came out. I didn’t know what to say. I ended up nodding and heading down the hallway, passing my room and going to Jax’s home office instead. He was alone in there, standing in front of the window with his arms crossed as he barked at someone through a headset.
“We need those records. Yes, I understand that and I don’t give a shit.... Don’t think whatever this is won’t blow back on you, too. Right. I’ll be at this number.” He tapped the earpiece, then pivoted abruptly, stilling when he saw me standing in front of his desk. “Gia...”
He fell silent. Shoving a hand through his hair, he cursed softly. He looked worn and edgy. He’d ditched his jacket and tossed it over a chair in the corner. His vest was unbuttoned, as was the button at the throat of his shirt. His tie was loosened and the shadow of evening stubble on his tight jaw gave him a dangerous appeal.
“Hi,” I said quietly.
“Baby.” He sighed. “I’m sorry about this. Something’s come up and we’ve got to get a handle on it.”
“What is it?”
“We got a tip today about an article that’s supposedly going out tomorrow, and I’m trying to get details about the reporter and her piece.”
I swallowed hard. “Deanna Johnson.”
Jax froze.
I touched a velvet-soft petal. “We’ve screwed up something perfect,” I said softly.
Sinking into my chair, I started to plan how best to tell him what I’d done.
* * *
I had a good handle on how I wanted to open the subject of Deanna’s story when the elevators on the penthouse floor opened and I stepped out into chaos.
I paused, shocked. The front door was open and through it I could see a dozen people in suits, pacing in my living room with smartphones pressed to their ears.
The queasiness I’d felt all day worsened until I thought I might be sick right there in the foyer.
When I crossed the threshold into the apartment, I looked for Jax. I couldn’t find him, but Parker was there in front of the entertainment center, his gaze on the photos of his late wife. He would have stood out from the melee on sheer presence, but unmoving amid the frenetic swarm of visitors, he riveted me.
He turned his head toward me. I watched as the recognition of my presence set in. He started toward me.
“What’s going on?” I asked, although I feared I already knew the answer.
“We’re trying to put out a fire. I’m sorry we’ve taken over, but Jackson prefers to handle some issues from his home office.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
His mouth, so like Jax’s, twisted wryly. “I could use a drink. Something strong, preferably.”
“Okay.” I looked around him to the console by the window where crystal decanters held the world’s finest liquors. I frowned when I saw only a vase of flowers atop it. “I’ll get you something.”
“Thanks. I’ll put your purse in your bedroom,” he offered, holding out his hand for it.
As he set off down the hallway, I maneuvered through the men and women wandering around the sunken living room. Bits and pieces of conversations washed over me.
“...confirm the source...”
“...should consider possible defamation and slander liabilities...”
“...a declaration of war against the Rutledge family isn’t wise...”
My hands were shaking when I opened the doors of the console. The crystal decanters were tucked neatly inside, but they were empty. I made my way back to the kitchen, where I discovered an empty wine fridge.
Confused, I faced Parker when he returned. “Looks like we’re out of everything.”
“I couldn’t find anything, either.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll call the concierge. Is there anything in particular you’d like?”
He touched my arm. “I’ll take care of it. Why don’t you hole up in your room and get out of this mess?”
“I feel like I should help somehow.”
“Just take care of my son,” he murmured. “Leave this to me.”
My mouth opened to say something, but nothing came out. I didn’t know what to say. I ended up nodding and heading down the hallway, passing my room and going to Jax’s home office instead. He was alone in there, standing in front of the window with his arms crossed as he barked at someone through a headset.
“We need those records. Yes, I understand that and I don’t give a shit.... Don’t think whatever this is won’t blow back on you, too. Right. I’ll be at this number.” He tapped the earpiece, then pivoted abruptly, stilling when he saw me standing in front of his desk. “Gia...”
He fell silent. Shoving a hand through his hair, he cursed softly. He looked worn and edgy. He’d ditched his jacket and tossed it over a chair in the corner. His vest was unbuttoned, as was the button at the throat of his shirt. His tie was loosened and the shadow of evening stubble on his tight jaw gave him a dangerous appeal.
“Hi,” I said quietly.
“Baby.” He sighed. “I’m sorry about this. Something’s come up and we’ve got to get a handle on it.”
“What is it?”
“We got a tip today about an article that’s supposedly going out tomorrow, and I’m trying to get details about the reporter and her piece.”
I swallowed hard. “Deanna Johnson.”
Jax froze.
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