Jax stares at me like he wants to rip my head off.
Good. Because right now, I want to rip his dick off.
For years, we never muttered a word about what we’d done.
Now, it seems to be half of what we talk about.
The brewery.
Our secret.
The brewery.
Our secret.
Like a science rat on a wheel, circling repeatedly.
My heart races, and I’m sweating.
He won’t really call the cops on me, right?
But the man does claim to hate me.
I’ll deny it. Say the bump forming on his forehead was from a quick slip when he hit the wall.
Please don’t have cameras in here.
It’s not like I meant for the stapler to hit him. My target was the wall, but apparently, my aim decided to do the right thing and hit Jax.
“Call the cops and say what?” I ask in regard to his threat. “Do you want people to know you can’t dodge a simple stapler? You were the kid picked last for dodgeball, weren’t you?”
Jax narrows his eyes at me. “Amelia, get up.”
I ignore him and pretend to focus on my blank laptop screen. “No.”
Call it childish, but the only way I’m moving from his seat is if he physically removes me. Let him sit in a different chair, pop a squat on the floor, or work outside for all I care. If he’d kept his mouth shut, he’d still have his precious spot behind the desk.
Prepare to deal with the repercussions of your actions, Jaxson.
“Amelia, I will pick you up and toss you outside this room,” he warns, his nostrils flaring.
“I dare you.” I pick up the scissors and dangle them in the air, as if I might throw them next.
He shakes his head. “I should’ve let your ass sleep on the floor last night. Maybe you wouldn’t have been rested enough to come in here and think you can throw shit at me. But, sweetheart, reality check. Just because I don’t throw shit at you doesn’t mean I can’t hurt your feelings.”
“Okay, Mr. Bully on the Playground.” I drop the scissors and pretend type on my keyboard.
“You don’t even know what you’re doing,” he points out.
“I’m answering emails,” I lie, puffing out my chest and straightening my posture. “Pretty sure I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you even know how to work the software we use?” He widens his stance and taps his chin. “What about balancing the books?”
I stay quiet since I most definitely do not know, but a girl can learn. “That’s your job—always has been. Therefore, it’s not a job requirement for me at the moment. Shall you decide to leave, then I will take on that responsibility. I’ll finish my email and work. If you then decide to work on your attitude, I’ll give you your seat back.”
Jax opens his mouth to continue our petty argument, but he’s interrupted.
“Boss, we have a problem,” Nolan calls out before he barrels into the office.
He comes to a halt when he sees me sitting behind the desk and not Jax. He backtracks a step, as if he has the wrong room, but pauses when he spots Jax standing in the corner, looking all sorts of pissed off.
“Do you, uh …” Nolan signals between Jax and me. “Should I come back?”
“Yes,” Jax replies at the same time I say, “No.”
“What’s the problem, Nolan?” Jax asks, rubbing the sore spot on his head.
“The heat exchanger is fucked up again—” Nolan stops himself again. “Sorry, ma’am. I mean, messed up.”
I grab a pen and write heat exchanger on the notepad sitting to the side, right underneath Jax’s scribbles and random notes.
I don’t know much about Nolan, other than he’s young—my guess, early twenties—and he’s Toby’s assistant.
Jax gives him a curt nod. “Thank you, Nolan.”
“I’d start searching for another one.” Nolan shoves his hands into the pockets of his ripped jeans. “I’m not sure if it’s fixable.”
“I’ll get it taken care of,” Jax replies.
Nolan salutes Jax, does some weird curtsy-bow to me, and leaves the office.
Jax takes the few steps until he’s standing on the other side of the desk, facing me. “Unless you know how to fix a heat exchanger, get out of my chair.”
I rip off the page from the notepad, not caring if he’ll need whatever he wrote down, and hop out of the chair. “You’re lucky I have an appointment with a possible client, or I’d keep my ass there all day. Business first, of course.” I smirk. “That’s how a real owner thinks.”
“All you’ve owned is a social media business with an employee count of one—Y-O-U. That’s not saying much.”
I carefully slide my laptop back into my bag. “Wrong. I own a home. Unlike Y-O-U, who still stays at his mommy and daddy’s old apartment.”
“Screw off. I pay rent.”
“That’s so precious of the big boy to finally pay his own bills.”
“I have to say,” Suzanne LaPorta practically squeals, “this is absolutely delicious, and I’m typically not a beer fan.”
Before leaving, I asked two of our distribution loaders to put sample boxes in the back of my car. I had six meetings scheduled for the day, and my goal was to get at least half to carry Down Home Beer. Not to sound cocky, but my sales skills are legit. I interned for my mother at 21st Amendment for a year before starting my business. She’s asked me to come work for her countless times, but I like being my own boss.
My mom sent me Suzanne’s contact information yesterday, and she was excited to schedule an appointment. She and my mother are friends, and my mom has tried to sell her on our beers, but she’s always been hesitant to bring them into her high-end country clubs.
I convince her to give us a trial run in three of her clubs, and then we will take it from there. I also offer to dog-sit sometime, but, hey, I love pups and making money. Win-win for me.
We finish our business, and somehow, along with the dog-sitting, I also agree to sign up for her daughter’s cookie subscription service.
I smile for what seems like the first time in a very long time and practically skip to my car.
Five out of the six deals were made.
Maybe this is exactly what I needed.
Jax is still in the office, his elbow resting on the desk, and he’s so deeply focused on his work that he doesn’t realize I’m there until I knock on the door.
“Fuck,” he groans, shutting his eyes. “I thought you’d be out of my way the rest of the day.”
“You thought wrong.” I march into the room and toss the stack of paper-clipped contracts in front of him. “Here you go.”
He scoops the papers up and flips through the pages. “What’s this?”
“The deals I signed today.”
His eyes widen. “You snagged LaPorta Country Club?” He whistles. “We’ve tried to land them several times.”
I drop into one of the chairs to the side of the desk, making a mental note to get nicer, less scratchy chairs than these ugly tweed ones. “You haven’t signed a new contract since Chris’s death.” I wasn’t sure if I’d broach this subject yet. I planned to see how big of a knot was on the side of Jax’s head before deciding to play nice or piss him off further.
It’s only a little red, so I choose to bring up the sensitive topic.
“Bullshit,” Jax bites out.
“You haven’t, so don’t lie to your business partner.”
“Don’t pretend to know shit.”
“I have access to the software, Jaxson.”
He winces. “How?”
“I kept Christopher’s passwords because he constantly forgot them. He also used my laptop from time to time or had me do things for him.” I cross my legs. “During my lunch break, I logged in to the software and skimmed some reports. Jax, what the hell have you been doing?”
He drops the papers. “I’ve been doing everything I can to keep this place running.”
“To run a business like this, you have to acquire new clients.”
“I am!” he roars, causing me to jump at his sudden change. “I’ve gone from having a partner to split responsibilities with to taking them all on my own. It’s hard, finding employees who know what they’re doing, and that’s also adding to payroll.” His eyes grow colder. “And news flash, Amelia: this isn’t 21st Amendment. We’re a new business with a new business budget, so we’re not raking in cash. So, don’t expect to become rich.”
“I wasn’t expecting to,” I whisper.
Christopher drained his savings into the brewery, and he didn’t take a large salary. I didn’t mind paying most of the bills while he got his career together, but that didn’t mean Christopher didn’t struggle with it.
Jax stares at me in torment and doesn’t stop talking. “I’m keeping this business running because it’s the only thing I have, and the person who swore to do it with me backed out.”
“Christopher didn’t back out,” I yell, swallowing thickly. “Don’t you dare say it like that.”
“How am I supposed to say it then?” He levels his palms on the desk, and I watch the muscles in his arms as he tenses before bringing himself to his feet. “Tell me, Amelia.”
I hold in a breath as he starts pacing the room.
“He fucked us both with this little partner bullshit.” It’s as if Jax is rambling off every thought he’s had for months, like these words can’t be held in any longer. He stops in front of me and drops down to one knee, so we’re eye-level. “Would he have done that if he had known what we did?” His breath smells like fresh mint and coffee. “If he’d known we were goddamn liars?”
I slowly release that breath as he reaches out and cups my chin.
“Do you think he’d want us to be good ole partners if he knew our history?”
My jaw trembles in his hold. “Does it matter now?”
His eyes meet mine.
Gone is the animosity.
Now replaced with sorrow. Hurt. So many emotions I connect with.
I shiver when his chilly finger runs along my skin.
I feel his brokenness in my blood. In my heart. In my soul.
I’ve experienced it so many times. I’ve lashed out. I’ve cried. I’ve wanted to throw every item in every room.
I want to comfort Jax, to tell him that I understand, but I do something else instead. Something dumb.
Without thinking, without hesitation, I lean forward, erasing the few inches separating our faces, and press my lips to his. He sucks in a breath, pulls back, and stands. Refusing to look at him and see the horror on his face, I scramble out of the chair, needing to get out of here.
“Don’t.” Jax grabs the back of my neck, turns me, and kisses me.
He doesn’t kiss me how young girls dream about their first kiss or how you see in Hallmark movies—all cute and sweet. No, he devours me, kissing me like I’ll provide his last breath and he’ll die if his lips break from mine.
It’s rough and aching with desperation.
With need.
I whimper into his mouth, and our lips don’t separate as he walks me backward. He grips the back of my head, his hands in my hair, until my back is shoved against the wall.
“Millie,” he groans into my mouth.
I shiver as his hand leaves my hair to travel down my shoulder and my arm before settling on my hip. His free hand drifts to the other hip, and he cups my waist, holding me in place. He holds me tight as if we were in a storm and I’d drift away if he released me.
Or in our case, reality will sink back in the second we pull apart.
Right now, Jax and I are in a different world as our tongues brush together. It’s Jax and Amelia, no problems, no thinking.
It’s a kiss so deep that it buries our thoughts of the consequences.
But those will be dug up later.
They will eat us alive.
We gasp for air when we separate, and he rains kisses along my jawline before licking the lobe of my ear.
“I want you,” he groans into it. “So bad.”
I hitch my leg up, wrapping it around his waist, and he grips my ass.
When he shifts himself, his hard erection brushes between my legs.
Then, everything crumbles at the sound of my ringtone.
He jumps back, as if he’d just stuck his hand on the stove.
“Goddamn it,” he yells.
My shoulders slump against the wall, my brain moving a thousand miles per minute, and Jax storms out of the room. I recoil when I hear a door slam.
I stand there, unmoving, until I regain my composure. There’s no Jax when I grab my bag and walk out of the office. His truck is gone when I leave the building, and I sag into the seat of my car.
What have I done?
I shuffle through my bag for my phone.
I grab it, then drop it, then grab it, then drop it again.
I scream into the silence of my car and manage to keep hold of it on the next try.
A call from Ava.
Then a text from her.
Ava: Don’t ignore my call. Girls’ night. You need this.
I start my Jeep and swerve out of the parking lot.
I’ve passed on every girls’ night invite since my life went up in flames.
But if I go home, all I’ll think about is Jax as I sit in my laundry room, consumed with guilt.
I guess I can consume liquor alongside that guilt.
A guilt cocktail, coming my way.
Even though, I swore I was never drinking again, there is a myriad of reasons why I’m attending girls’ night tonight.
- Sleeping at Jax’s and his mom catching me coming out of his room this morning.
- Overhearing him and Toby talk in the office. I pretended I hadn’t—like I’d arrived at the end of the conversation. I acted like I hadn’t stood against the wall, my chest heaving in and out as Toby said things neither of us wanted to hear. Jax and I have a past, yes. But that’s it. Nothing happened beyond that … until earlier today.
- And the topmost reason: the mistake of kissing him. Not only did I drop my walls and press my lips to his, but we also didn’t stop there. No, we consumed each other, as if that thought had been sitting dormant in us for years.
And because of that, I park on the side of the road in front of Callie’s Bake Shop. It’s a dainty place, resembling something you’d see in a fairy tale. My friend and Jax’s cousin, Callie, opened the restaurant last year. Her parents purchased the building and helped her remodel it into the place it is today with its hanging chandelier, French doors, and pink walls.
I draw in steady breaths before stepping out of my car. A sense of relief hits me that girls’ night is here and not in some bar or club. I’ll take mimosas, sandwiches, and cupcakes over dudes hitting on me any day of the week.
The hostess greets me by name and points me in the direction of the corner table, crowded by my friends.
“Amelia,” Ava calls out, waving me over, a grin taking over her red lips.
Everyone’s attention swings to me as I grow closer. Also at the table are Jax’s cousins, Callie and Essie, and Mia.
Every girl at this table and I have been friends since childhood.
Callie smiles at me, her blue eyes wide. “You came.”
Essie pushes her black glasses up her nose. “I honestly didn’t think you would.” She opens her bag, pulls out a twenty, and slides it to Ava.
Ava rubs her hands together. “I love it when I win bets.”
“And I hate it when you wager if I’ll go somewhere or not,” I say, drawing out the chair next to Callie and sitting down.
Callie leans in and gives me a side hug.
Callie is the sweetest of the group, the positive one who never has anything negative to say about anyone. Ava and Essie are the loudest of the group, and Mia is the most closed off.
Not that I blame Mia. She’s been called a rich bitch her entire life due to her mother being a wealthy celebrity, and she’s always worried she’s being used.
Frankie—the same bartender from Down Home—stops at our table to take our drink order. She splits her time between here and the pub. I order a mimosa—something that’ll give me a little kick, but not strong enough for me to end up in someone else’s bed again.
We go back and forth on what to order, and when Frankie returns with our drinks, Essie asks, “Amelia, have you and Jax talked since the whole Chris leaving you part of the brewery situation?”
Frankie shoots me a quick glance, most likely because she knows Jax and I left the pub together, but doesn’t mutter a word.
I wait until she leaves before answering. I don’t know Frankie well, and though she’s always been nice to me, she still sometimes works with Jax. I’ll steer clear of mentioning his name around anyone who can report back to him.
“We have,” I mutter, taking a sip of my mimosa.
“And?” she stresses, pointing her glass at me.
“We’re attempting to co-work,” is the best response I can muster.
“Co-work?” Callie repeats.
“Is that even possible between you two?” Mia asks, leaning toward me.
“I don’t know.” I collect fake lint from my shirt, looking away from them. “I guess we’ll see.”
So far, it’s not working out well.
I’ve slept in his bed, thrown a stapler at his head, and made out with him as he practically dry-humped me against a wall.
I’m not sure how much of that could be considered co-working.
Essie perks up in her seat. “I have a great idea.”
“That’s scary,” Ava says, bumping her shoulder against Essie’s.
Essie’s attention stays pinned on me. “Maybe you two should finally admit that you like each other.”
“Essie!” Callie hisses, slapping Essie’s arm.
“What?” Essie asks, leaning back in her chair. “We’ve kept our mouths shut for years, but come on. She needs to know we’re not blind.”
A cold tremor runs through my body.
Is today everyone bring up Jax and Amelia together day?
I should’ve stayed in my laundry room.
Stuff like this doesn’t happen there.
I open my mouth to say something, but no words come.
All I have in me is denial, but I’m not sure if I can look my friends in the eyes when I had my tongue down Jax’s throat earlier. I’m easy to read and not a good liar. That’s why I’m shocked that I’ve been able to keep my secret with Jax.
“Don’t you think it’d be weird?” Mia asks Essie. “Telling them to get together is easy for you because you wouldn’t be the one gossiped about.”
“I mean, I’ve heard worse situations,” Essie says. “It’s not like it’s immoral.”
“You’re right,” Mia says. “But Blue Beech would rip her apart for it.” She shoots me a sympathetic look.
I give her a thankful nod.
Mia doesn’t speak much, but when she does, it’s always facts. If anyone knows how harsh the Blue Beech critics can be, it’s her.
My heart flutters wildly, and I’m racking my brain for ways to move this conversation away from me.
“How’s working at the new firm?” Mia asks Essie, changing the subject for me.
“Stressful,” Essie says. “Thank God for coffee, energy drinks, and Mario Kart–themed music.”
“Mario Kart–themed music?” Callie asks.
Essie nods. “If you need to stay awake, blast it. I promise you, no sleeping will occur.”
The conversation then moves to Callie telling her that lack of sleep is unhealthy, to Ava saying she chugs more coffee than she breathes to stay awake for doubles, until we’re discussing the pros and cons of getting a good night’s sleep.
I don’t bother adding that I had the best sleep than I’d had in months in Jax Bridges’s bed.