It’s been three days since he left me to go fetch his dad, but this time, things are different. He left me and went alone because I was actually ill with a twenty-four hour stomach virus the morning he left and couldn’t travel with him despite my begging. But, unlike when he left for London, he’s called the house about ten times a day to check on me. Several of those times, especially late at night, I would curl up in his bed and talk to him about my college days or when I worked at the busy law firm. He’d spill little tidbits of his own past and how he came to find his employees. It’s been nice getting to know him in such an intimate way.
Neither of us really dove into our pasts. I mentioned my brother a couple of times in passing as I’d recall a memory but nothing detrimental. And now, I’ve allowed myself to believe that Brax and I can be more. That perhaps he’ll want to keep me and together we’ll find a way to keep Jimmy from ruining both of our lives.
The thought of Jimmy sucks the air from my chest. Even though I’ve revealed a lot to Brax, he still doesn’t know much about my past. With Jimmy having been his client, I’m worried he’ll act irrationally—not on his behalf but on mine. Just like he defended me from Jimmy’s berating back in Vegas, I fear he’ll go after him in an attempt to avenge me.
Just like Trevor.
Just like Corgy.
I’m still unsure what he and Dubois did when they went to London but I have a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with Corgy considering he asked about him before he left. Knowing that Brax attacks first and asks questions later, I feel like he went on a mission to destroy the man. And as it was when Trevor poorly attempted to have his way with me, Brax nearly killed him. I have no doubt Corgy met the same fate.
“Why do I feel like I’m going to get killed for this?” Cartier complains as he peels the last of the tape from the door trim, dragging me from my thoughts.
I tuck the beige sheet into the bottom of the bed and turn to look at him. His dark, chocolate curls are speckled with a khaki color and his mouth is pursed together in a pout. He took off his shirt somewhere along the way and dazzles me with his sculpted perfection. It truly is a shame he bats for the other team.
“You’re not going to get killed. You and I both know that the purple was terrible. Plus, his father isn’t going to want to stay in the Princess Room. And there aren’t any other rooms available for him.”
He saunters over to me and helps me make the bed. We spent the first couple of days painting and all day yesterday shopping for decorations. Despite Cartier doing something that wasn’t a direct order, I knew he had fun helping me pick out everything. Plus, someone had to pay for it all.
“Yeah, but why couldn’t we have asked permission first?” he whines.
I toss a pillow at him. “Because, goofball, then it wouldn’t be a surprise!”
His anxiety is infectious and my heart starts thumping around in worry. What if he hates the surprise? What if I misjudged the progression of our relationship and was too forward in moving all my things to his bedroom? I swallow down fear that oddly reminds me of how I’d worry when I’d make a change back at my Georgian home with Jimmy. It was always hit or miss with him. If he loved it, I was rewarded with peace. If he hated it, I learned my lesson.
“Oh my!” Christine gasps from the doorway. “Jessica, you’ve simply outdone yourself. This room is absolutely stunning. Mr. Kennedy will be so proud of all your hard work.”
I toss Cartier a smug I told you so grin. “Good. Cart here was trying to give me a heart attack about it.”
She tsks at him but waves me to her. “Come on, sugar. I need your help in the kitchen. This meal is your show, I’m merely an assistant. But, Brax called a while ago and told me he’d be here by six. If we want to feed those three hungry men when they arrive, we’d better hop to it.”
“Cartier, you can help too,” I tell the pouting angel.
He follows as we head for the elevators, tugging his shirt back on along the way. “If Mr. Kennedy gets pissed, I was coerced and threatened. Just to be clear. Oh, and you stole my credit card.”
I laugh when Christine swats at him. “Grow some cahones you big loon. He’d be a fool not to recognize Jessica’s efforts to make his father feel welcome. If he has a fit, he’ll meet my rolling pin.”
We all chuckle at the older woman’s threats. Brax would take all three of us down in a second but something tells me despite his gritty exterior, he’d never want to hurt any of us.
The cooking becomes a flurry of chatter and easy banter. It’s the closest familial moment I’ve had in a long time and fills me with emotions I haven’t felt since before I met Jimmy. I’m happily frying the chicken strips while the whir of the mixer that Christine is mashing the potatoes with thunders from beside me, when I feel his presence.
His heat envelops me from behind and I sag in relief.
If I weren’t afraid I’d burn the chicken, I’d throw myself into his arms. He wraps his arms around my middle and inhales my hair. My knees wobble and thankfully, he holds me to him so I don’t collapse.
“Jessica’s Famous Fried Chicken?” he questions, boyish amusement lacing his voice. His voice is soft and echoes off the long-since turned off mixer that still rattles in my head.
I turn my head so I can see his handsome face. Eyes so blue stare back at me, all traces of grey as gone as yesterday’s rainstorm. His facial hair has grown out once again and I sigh like a lovesick girl.
“One taste and you’ll be mine,” I assure him with a southern drawl that now feels as forced as the British dialect I use daily.
He chuckles and gives me a kiss. “I was yours the moment I first tasted you, Bunny.”
My skin heats even as he pulls away to leave me cooking. I scoop the last piece and put it on the plate before turning off the stove and turning to see where he went. I’m surprised to see two men wearing matching suits chatting in the doorway. Christine bosses Cartier around in the kitchen to finish up the side dishes while I make my way over to the men.
“Dad, this is, Jessica,” Brax says, introducing me by my name.
I flash him a pleased grin and I swear he seems embarrassed. Turning to his father, I turn on my southern charm, accent and all.
“So good to meet you, Mr. Kennedy.”
The man is tall and built for an older fellow. His dark hair is mostly grey but the youth in his eyes is ever present. He’s truly a good-looking guy but he looks nothing like Brax.
“A true southern belle. I can see why my son is smitten with you. You’re every bit the darling he assured me,” he says with a smooth, velvety voice and takes my hand in greeting. “Please call me Rich.”
“Dad, she’s British. Don’t let her fool you with her acting skills,” Brax tattles.
I swat at him. “Spoilsport,” I huff, this time without the accent. “Go sit your butt down and let me dazzle you with my southern cooking. We’ll see who’s acting then.”
“Little lady, you are quite a delight,” Rich says with a chuckle and pats his belly. “I could get used to this cooking.”
Brax shakes his head and pins him with a firm glare. “I wouldn’t get used to it if I were you. Consider this your last meal, Dad. After tonight, I want Christine to cook you low cholesterol meals. There won’t be any more heart attacks on my watch.”
Richard grumbles but doesn’t seem terribly hurt by Brax’s words. In fact, he seems happy. His son cares about him and it’s written all over his handsome face.
“I want you to work out too,” Brax says. “I could use a gym partner upstairs.”
“You have a gym?” I blurt out.
Richard looks over at me quizzically and Brax’s eyes widen. I still haven’t seen the second floor.
“Yes,” he says, clearing his throat. “I haven’t gotten to show it to you yet because you distract me from working out in it,” he groans playfully to save the fact that his father doesn’t know about our arrangement and the parameters of my stay. Despite his easy manner, anxiety darkens his blue eyes to their stormy grey. “I’m tired, guys. I need to sort out where Dad is going to sleep and—”
“About that.” I interrupt him, my stomach flopping in anxiety now that his mood has changed. His jaw is clenched and his eyes are on mine. Swallowing, I quickly stand. “I took it upon myself to, um, redecorate.”
Brax narrows his eyes at me and everyone else disappears but him. I try to smile at him but he isn’t amused. He looks apprehensive about my little surprise. Clearly, Brax isn’t one you simply “surprise.”
“On that note, I’m turning in early,” Cartier murmurs and makes a hasty retreat from the dinner table. Chicken shit.
Christine, clearly sensing the mood, excuses herself from the table to clean the kitchen. Dubois, apparently doesn’t need to say anything and escapes the pending storm. They’re scattering like cats. At least Rich hasn’t fled the scene. I flash him an appreciative smile. The old man may not know all of Brax’s secrets but he’d be a fool to miss the sudden shift in the air.
Brax stands and holds a hand out to me. “Which room did you redecorate?”
I swallow and point upward. “The ugly-arse purple one.”
His lips quirk up on one side and his eyes lighten a few shades. It gives me hope. Rich snorts, clearly amused by my behavior.
“I also, um, locked the ‘storage’ room next to it. It’s a mess in there and Christine didn’t have time to spruce it up for your dad,” I tell him in a rush as I take his hand.
Cold fingers tighten around mine and I grow dizzy with worry. As we make our way upstairs, Brax and Rich discuss the family business and I distract myself with listening. Rich, even though he’s technically retired, gushes about Kennedy Toys with a pride that makes my heart swell. Brax may not look like his father, but they are both so similar—in the way they dress, their love and dedication to their business, and an undeniable love for each other. It makes me think of my own father and once again, my stomach churns.
“This home is beautiful,” Rich compliments. “Your mother would have loved it.”
Brax’s gasp is inaudible to the old man but I hear it. Rich speaks of her in a fond tone and it makes me wonder what happened to the two of them—why they’re no longer together.
“Are you two divorced?” The question slips out of my curious little mouth before I have the sense to stop it.
We reach the doorway to the former Princess Room and they stop. Brax’s gaze falls to his feet shadowing his features. I want to reach out to him but Rich’s broken face stops me.
“Jessica, she passed away,” Rich tells me, his eyes fixated on Brax. “Drugs stole away my boy’s mother. She’s in a better place.”
Tears well in my eyes and the tightness in my chest is physically painful. “I’m so sorry for the both of you. I didn’t know—I thought that—”
“Enough, Jessica,” Brax snaps, startling both myself and his dad. “Just show us the damn room.”
His words sting and now I can’t stand that I’m about to show him the room. He’ll hate it. Reaching past them, I turn the knob and push the door open.
“I don’t know what it looked like before, but this is really nice, sweetheart,” Rich says in a soft tone.
I shrug my shoulders and survey the room. The furniture is no longer white but instead mahogany. Every single element in the room is masculine aside from the white carpet but I couldn’t really do anything about that on such short notice. I’ve decorated it well and it would easily grace any magazine cover.
Brax thunders past us and into the closet. He rattles some empty hangers and curses. Now, I’m barely holding it together. All I wanted to do was help and surprise him. But it’s like I’ve done something terrible. I have royally pissed him off.
“Um, Rich, it was so good to meet you but I’m feeling unwell. I think I’m going to retire for the evening. I’ll see you at breakfast. I will abstain from the bacon and eggs as well—we can suffer the no cholesterol thing together,” I tell him with a shaky voice that was meant to be light and playful.
He frowns and holds his arms open. Such a simple gesture—one a father would do for his daughter—and yet it means so much. I all but run to him and let the old man, who smells almost identical to Brax, collect me into his arms.
He squeezes me and kisses the top of my head. He’s everything my father should have been—warm, accepting, loving.
“Sweetheart, Braxxy needs more love than most. It takes a special person to love all the rigid parts of him. On the outside he is rough around the edges but I can assure you his heart is pure gold. Hang in there with him,” he says in a whisper. “He needs a woman like you by his side.”
I nod my promise to him before pulling away. Scrambling from the room, I barely make it into the elevators before a foot stops it from closing. Anxiety blooms in my chest as I remember the last time an elevator was stopped by a foot. That time, Jimmy invaded my world. He hurt me. And I worry about what it is Braxton will do now.
Because he’s pissed.
It ripples from him.
There’s no escaping his fury.
“Where exactly do you think you’ll be retiring to?” His voice has a sharp edge and I dare a glance at him as he stands on the opposite side. I follow his gaze to the control panel. My finger hovers over the numbers that I know will gain me access to the third floor—his floor.
“I guess the couch,” I say and drop my hand.
“Look at me.”
Lifting my gaze, I stare at the predator before me. In one evening we went from equals to me being his prey. It makes me sick just thinking about how easily it all got turned upside down.
“Don’t you think,” he asks me with a growl, “that little whores should sleep in the Hole?” He punches the numbers on the keypad and I fidget.
“Brax—”
“Don’t!” he thunders. I wince when he stalks over to me and snatches my hand. His grip is firm but not brutal. The doors open to the third floor and he drags me along behind him. I’m emotional today and he’s making it worse with his shitty mood. By the time we reach his room, I decide the Hole is preferable in comparison to being near him.
“Punch it in.”
I swallow and risk a glance at him. His eyes are grey and they hold a fierce glint to them. “Punch what in?”
We both know I’m stalling.
We both know I know.
“Punch it in, toy, before I whip your ass.”
I don’t mind the name. Normally. Today though, it’s as if he’s trying to cut me with it. Harnessing my inner fire, I meet his gaze with a blazing one.
“Sure thing, master. Always bowing down to you, master,” I seethe. With exaggerated movements, I punch in 1982 as if I want to hurt the keypad.
He curses but storms inside. I’ve already placed my belongings in the closet on one side and now I wonder if he’ll rip them all from the hangers.
“Did you forget your goddamned place here?” he snarls.
Despite his anger, he’s hiding something. Pain. Hurt. Sadness. I let it infect my heart and I can’t find my own anger because of it. Instead, I want to hold him. Run my fingers through his soft, dark hair. Murmur reassurances to him.
“Why are you so mad at me?” I challenge back, letting my tears spill over.
He yanks off his jacket and works at the knot in his tie. I stare stupidly at the man who looks like a sexy demon standing in front of the flames of his fireplace. My mind becomes a daze as he undresses, each garment getting heaved to the floor as if he has the power to split the ground with the force at which he throws them.
When he’s finally naked in all of his beautiful glory, I stare at him.
“What now, Ken Doll?”
The vein pulsates.
And he becomes enraged.