After that meeting, I need to sit down with a glass of wine—maybe two—and fit my head around everything that happened.

Naturally, I was not one to sit down and take the brush-off from that Lowell asshole, but when I called back a third time, Jasper was still out.

I stewed all day, waiting for my cell phone to ring, but it didn’t. Either it was one long meeting or Jasper was avoiding me—who the hell knew? In the end, the urge to move forward was stronger than the desire to play the part of the cool, collected professional one hundred percent of the time.

So I went to the Pace, Inc. building. I waited as long as I could. 

My heart was in my throat as I took the elevator up to the floor with the executive offices, a giddy triumph rising in my chest to eclipse the nervousness that had been building all day.

But Jasper wasn’t the one in the hallway when I stepped through the doors.

It was empty except for an older man, silver haired, wearing an impeccable suit, and a younger man in a shirt and tie, the shirt looking slightly rumpled. They were standing together, heads bent over a folder. I tried to move past them, but the older man lifted his eyes, a broad, familiar smile on his face. 

I returned the smile. “You must be Mr. Pace.”

“And you must be Isabella Gabriel.”

I extended my hand for him to shake, forcing myself not to show any suspicion in my face. “I don’t think we’ve met before.”

“Not in person, no.” The senior Mr. Pace leaned in, a twinkle in his eye. “But I’ve read about you in the press. Your business is growing quite quickly, isn’t it?”

There was an article in Forbes not long ago about Gabriel Luxe, but somehow it surprises me that this man would have any interest in a fashion company. “I have big plans for expansion.”

He’d chuckled then, as if it were a joke. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Isabella, but my son is downstairs in an investor meeting. Is there anything I can help you with, beyond leaving a message?”

It was reckless, in retrospect, but I felt ready to burst, ready to implode if I couldn’t take at least a single step toward buying the building. “Actually, there is.”

“Come on down to my office. Mike, sit in on this, would you?”

That’s how it started, and by the time I left—well after the time Jasper and I had arranged to meet at his penthouse—I’d signed a preliminary agreement to buy the Hamilton Heights building pending approval from my financer. Bernadette is already in contact with our man at the bank. Full approval should be done by Friday, with a push on the timeline because his wife loves my clothes. I’m willing to give the woman an entirely new wardrobe if that’s what it takes to get this done, so I can move on from this with Jasper and into a life that doesn’t hinge on me being a damsel in distress.

My heart is in my throat on the elevator ride up to his penthouse. I didn’t text him when I got into the car. I should have, but the last thing I wanted was to explain in tiny text chunks the incredibly bizarre meeting I’d had, even if it did end in triumph. 

He’s probably not going to be thrilled about it, but at the very least, there’s going to be dinner. I won’t mind if we retreat to the bedroom for a while before we eat. That would be more effective than wine at helping me unwind. It’ll be the first time since all this began—can it really be only a few weeks?—that there will be no strings attached.

My chest goes warm at the thought of it. Now that the hurdle has been jumped, I’m free to figure out what the hell makes me so in love with Jasper.

I grin, alone in the elevator. I’m in love with Jasper Pace—every arrogant, cocky, relentless, funny, generous, protective inch of him.

The elevator glides to a stop.

The doors open.

The warmth in my chest shatters in a burst of ice. 

Jasper is standing in the lobby, and this isn’t the look of a man who might want to playfully spank me. His blue eyes are sharp, cutting, and though he’s wearing shorts and a button-down he looks so poised to explode that a full-body shiver cascades from my head to my toes.

“Jasper—” I start talking without knowing where I’m going with this to try to heat the silence. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

He smiles. It’s not a kind smile. “I’m not sorry.”

“You’re not?” I step off the elevator, but there’s such an undercurrent of rage surrounding him that I’m afraid to get any closer. I give him a halfhearted smile, in case this is the setup for—I don’t know, rushing off to the bedroom?—but the expression on his face doesn’t change.

“Not in the least.” He takes a big breath in, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m relieved, actually. This solves many problems for me.”

I swallow hard. “What kinds of problems?” I’m keeping my tone soothing and low, because I have no idea what’s going on here. Yes, it was strange as hell that his father met with me and caved to me like that, but I was hoping to get some kind of explanation from Jasper. 

“For one, I don’t need to continue wasting my time on you. Not after today.”

My mouth drops open. His words register—he couldn’t be clearer—but what the hell? My stomach twists into a painful knot. “What happened?”

He laughs, the sound bitter and cruel. “Don’t play dumb with me, Isabella. You know exactly what happened.”

“I really don’t.” Does this have to do with the meeting? The papers are burning a hole through my purse, and I’m desperate to know what all of this means, but it’s clear that I’m not going to get an answer if Jasper is reacting like this. My hand trembles around the purse’s handle. Less than a week ago, he was confessing his love for me, eyes alight with it. And now?

“Let me refresh your memory. You’re coming here right now from a meeting, are you not?”

“Yes.”

“And who was that meeting with?”

“Your father.” The ache spreads into my chest, along with a spike of anger. He doesn’t need to be such an asshole. “Why are you acting like this?”

Jasper raises his eyebrows in exaggerated surprise. “Me? Why am I acting like this?”

“That’s what I said. Do I need to find you some kind of hearing aid?”

He laughs again, and somehow, it’s even worse than before. “Oh, good. Try that act on me again.”

“I’m not acting. I’m frustrated, Jasper, and hurt.”

“That makes two of us, doesn’t it?”

I shove my rage deep down, grasping for a last shred of calm. “Why don’t you tell me why—”

“Fuck that,” spits Jasper. “Why don’t you tell me why you’ve been using me since the first day we met, like some kind of gold-digging bitch?”