“You’re fucking kidding me,” Dominick said from the other side of his desk. “Jo is Walter’s daughter?” His eyes went wide, his head shaking. “How the hell didn’t you figure that out?”
“Jo Cartwright is what’s listed on her Instagram. I assumed that was her last name. Turns out, it’s her middle name, and I’m the fucking moron who didn’t ask her.” I dropped my hands on the armrests, exhaling so loud. “If Walter finds out the things I’ve done to her …” My neck tilted back, I closed my eyes, imagining the scene that would go down if he got wind that I’d tied Jo to my fucking bed. “He’d hang me by the goddamn balls.”
“Especially if he knew your history with chicks.” He eyed me. “Oh fuck, he does, doesn’t he?”
I remembered a dinner we’d had where he asked if there was a skirt in LA I hadn’t looked under. “Yeah … he does.”
“Fuck.” Dominick shifted in his seat, adjusting his dick, like he was protecting his own balls. “Is she going to tell him?”
“Her father? Hell no. There’s no reason to say anything to him. We’re done.”
He lifted his coffee off his desk, watching me as he drank. “You said you two will be working together now?”
“On the Utah build-out, but once that ends, I don’t know if our paths will cross.” I clasped my hands behind my head, using my palms as a pillow. “Did I forget to mention she’s moving to LA? Fifteen minutes from my place.”
“Everything you wanted but wouldn’t admit.” He continued to stare at me. “But still, there has to be a way to make this work.”
I laughed.
In fact, I laughed so fucking hard that I almost rocked out of my chair. “What are you smoking?” I halted, waiting for him to change his mind. When he didn’t, I added, “Do you honestly think I can go to Walter, who pays me millions a year, and tell him I’ve been fucking his daughter, and now, I want to date her?”
He took a deep breath. “I don’t think I’d put it like that …”
“How would you put it, then?”
His stare moved to the top of his coffee. “I don’t know, but if I wanted to be with her—like I suspect you do—then I’d figure out a way.” His gaze returned to me. “I’m just having a hard time accepting that you two are finished.”
“We are, trust me.” I stood from his chair and walked to his office door, sighing. “And it’s too fucking bad because I’m really going to miss that girl.”
Jo: It’s been four days … can we talk?
Me: What is there to talk about?
Jo: Us.
Me: There is no us, Jo.
Jo: It hurts so bad to read those words. I can’t believe you can dismiss me so easily.
Me: There’s no dismissing. I’m just accepting the reality that we can’t be together.
Jo: But we can. If you care about me as much as I care about you, then we’ll find a way.
Me: We both know that’s not possible.
Jo: No, that’s what you believe. I believe in us.
My fingers hovered above the screen as I stared at her reply.
She thought I didn’t care, that I didn’t want her.
That I didn’t think about her non-fucking-stop.
When the truth was, Jo was the only thing on my mind.
And this was hurting me far worse than it was destroying her.
Engaging more would only make things worse.
I turned my phone around, placing the screen against my desk, and I returned to my computer to finish the email I had been typing.
“We’re going out,” Ford said from the doorway of my office.
I shook my head. “I have an early flight in the morning. I need a good night’s sleep.”
He laughed. “I’m sorry, when did you turn into the biggest pussy? And since when do you need sleep? Go home. Get changed. I’ll pick you up at eight, and don’t even think about coming up with an excuse. I’m the one with a kid, and my ass is still managing to go out.”
I dropped the folder I was holding. “If you’re doing this to get my mind off Jo, I’m all right. You don’t have to bother.”
Dominick popped in, leaning against the doorframe. “What’s happening? What did I miss?”
“We’re going out,” Ford told him, and then he looked at me. “Because I need a fucking drink.”
“Why didn’t you just say that in the first place?” I asked.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Ford groaned. “Dominick, either meet us at Jenner’s or we’ll see you at the bar.”
I checked the time at the top of my monitor.
I had three hours.
Except I needed that drink now.
Ford left, and I looked at Dominick. “Any reason we should wait until eight to start drinking?”
He came into my office and took a seat in front of my desk. “Hell no.”
“Perfect answer.”
I walked to the wet bar in the back of the room—one of the first things I’d had built when I took over this space. Fresh out of law school, I’d told my parents that clients would be impressed by it. In all actuality, it was for circumstances like this.
“Cheers,” I said, handing him a glass as I returned to my seat.
“Sounds like you’re over this day?”
I nodded. “Not just this day. This whole fucking week.”
“Have you spoken to her?”
“She’s texted.”
“And?”
I held the glass near my mouth. “And nothing. Unless she wakes up one morning and is no longer a Spade, she can’t fix the situation, and neither can I.”
“Do you think it’s worth having a conversation with Walter?”
I laughed. Which was exactly what I had done the last time he said something so fucking outlandish. “We’ve talked about this—and, no, I don’t.” I paused. “If you were in my shoes, would you?” I tried to think of a similar scenario, using one of his clients. “Would you request a meeting with Jerry Seinfeld to tell him you’re fucking his daughter?”
“Is she even of legal age?”
“Jo’s only twenty-two; she’s not that far off.”
He took a long drink. “Listen, if I couldn’t live without her, then yes. If she was a one-night stand, no. I’d move on and forget about her.”
“And if you lost Jerry as a client because of it?”
He smiled, but it was the kind of grin I hadn’t been prepared for. “I’m going to tell you something you don’t want to hear.”
“All right.”
“There is a whole world out there that doesn’t involve work. A world that’s more important than your clients and how much money they can make you.”
I exhaled. “I know that.”
“Do you?” His stare intensified. “I’m not so sure about that. From the way I understand it, you’d rather lose her than him.”
“It’s not like that.”
“No?” He placed his arms on my desk. “Then, tell me what it’s like, Jenner.” He held up his hand as I tried to chime in. “I remember when things were at a standstill with Kendall,” he said, referring to his girlfriend. “You and Ford practically had a goddamn intervention. If you remember—and it seems like you’ve forgotten—Kendall was my client’s sister. Now, Daisy might have been a client I wanted to drop, but she was still a client at the time. I wasn’t looking to settle down, and you and Ford whipped my ass.” He adjusted his tie, his cuff links hitting the desktop when his arm landed. “That’s what I’m doing right now, whipping your fucking ass because you’re making a horrible mistake.”
“And you know that … how?”
“Because whenever you talk about her, you’re happy. You smile. You’re a different person. And after her trip to LA, you were the giddiest motherfucker in the world. You never act that way, and I honestly can’t remember the last time I saw that side of you.” He leaned back in his chair, taking his drink with him. “You’ve denied wanting a relationship with her, but no one believes that bullshit. She does matter, and you do fucking care.”
“Well, shit.”
I went back to the bar, grabbed the whiskey, and brought it to my desk. Since I’d finished my glass, I twisted off the cap and drank straight from the bottle.
“Someone’s looking to get drunk.”
I wiped my lips. “Not drunk. Wasted.”
“You think that’s going to help?”
I stared at my brother, honesty ripping at my chest. “It’s certainly not going to help, but it’s fucking necessary.”
And that became the theme for the next three hours until Dominick and I stumbled out of my office. My driver was waiting outside to take us to the restaurant where I’d told Ford to meet us since there was no reason to go back to my place—we needed food and much more booze.
“You’re both a fucking mess,” Ford said as Dominick and I sat at his table.
Fifteen minutes late.
We were lucky we’d made it here at all.
“It’s Jenner’s fault,” Dominick slurred. “He poured, and it continued to go downhill from there.”
“Downhill?” I chugged the water in front of me and then grabbed Ford’s water glass and drank his too. “Uphill, brother. Way fucking uphill.”
“What’s he saying?” Dominick asked Ford.
Ford shook his head. “It’s going to be a long night …”
The server approached our table and said, “What can I get you to drink?”
“I’ll have whiskey—”
“He’ll have water,” Ford said, interrupting me. He then pointed at Dominick and added, “He’ll have water as well, and you can bring me a scotch. Make it a double.”
“We just got denied by our baby brother,” I told Dominick.
“Whose ass we had to fucking babysit when we were in Vegas,” Dominick said.
Ford slipped off his jacket and placed it on the back of his seat. “Sometimes, we have to sit out a round. When we get to the club, you can resume the whiskey drinking.”
“You’re taking this”—Dominick pressed his thumbs against his own chest—“to the club?”
“I might need to rethink that idea,” Ford admitted.
I nodded toward Dominick. “I’m not as fucked up as him.”
“Yes, you are,” they both said at the same time.
I laughed so fucking hard that I almost spilled Ford’s water.
The server returned with Ford’s drink and a basket of bread that I immediately reached for.
“This is delicious.” I moaned, chewing the sourdough. “What club are we going to?”
“Why?” Ford asked. “Is someone eager to hook up?”
Mid-bite, I replied, “Fuck no.”
“No?” He took a piece of bread and handed the basket to Dominick. “Why? Suddenly feeling … taken?”
“Ahhh.” I tossed my napkin at him. “I see where this is going.”
“Do you?”
“Fuck, don’t you start with me too.” I got up from my chair, holding the wooden frame, and said, “I’m going to the head. When I return, no more Jo talk. Understood?”
I flipped them off when they laughed and stumbled toward the back of the restaurant in search of the restroom. Once I got inside, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I took it out, the screen showing a notification from Instagram that Jo had posted a new photo.
At some point, I’d set those up.
And I never stopped them.
Why the fuck did I do that to myself?
The alcohol flowing through my body caused me to slide my finger across my phone, pulling up the picture. She was standing near the water, a set of keys dangling from her hand, looking at the Miami skyline. The caption read: Until next time, Miami.
Damn it, she was fucking gorgeous. That body—that perfect, delicious, curvy body—was in a pair of cutoffs and a tank top, sneakers and a baseball hat.
She made casual look as sexy as naked.
“Mmm,” I moaned as I stared at her, my dick getting hard, my hands clutching my phone, wishing it were her instead.
I knew her move date was coming up.
And I knew the next photo she posted would be in LA.
I didn’t want to see it.
I didn’t want to be tempted.
That girl was my weakness, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t forget her.
But still, I needed more.
I pulled up her last message and read it again.
Jo: No, that’s what you believe. I believe in us.
My thumbs were hitting the screen, and suddenly, I was pressing Send.
Me: If you believed in us, then why did you do this to US?
Jo: Would it have changed anything if I’d told you sooner? Wouldn’t the outcome be the same? You’d still want nothing to do with me. I’d still be heartbroken over you.
Me: You should have told me before I touched you. Not after.
Jo: That’s what you want to take back? How loud you made me scream? The way you ravished my body? Jenner, you could barely keep your hands off me. But if that’s the part you wish you could do over, then good luck with that.
She was right.
I fucking hated that.
That despite how many women I’d slept with, none of them compared to her.
That even if I had known she was Walter’s daughter, I didn’t know if I’d have been able to stop myself. Because from the moment she’d sat next to me in the sportsbook, I had known I had to have her.
And the moment my lips touched hers, I knew I couldn’t stop with just a kiss.
I’d needed to taste her.
I’d needed to touch her.
The same way I needed her right now.
Me: Why are you Walter’s daughter?
Jo: Don’t say it like that. Don’t make it a bad thing. It doesn’t have to be.
Me: Bullshit.
Jo: Stop being afraid that my father will fire you.
Me: I feel like a shady motherfucker who stabbed him in the back. He trusts me, Jo, and this would ruin that.
Me: Do you know what my other clients would say if they found out? Jesus, the whole fucking town would be locking up their daughters. I don’t want my reputation to be hit that way.
Jo: Really? Because I’m pretty sure you’ve already slept your way through LA, and you weren’t worried about your reputation then …
Me: You should have been a lawyer.
Jo: My smart mouth is one of the things you love about me.
Love.
Was that true?
Is that what this is?
What I felt?
What was fucking eating at me?
My thumbs stayed on the screen as I tried to come up with a reply.
But I had nothing.
No answer.
All I wanted was to tell her to get her ass to this restaurant right now.
But I shoved my phone back into my pocket instead.