Page 27 of Burn With Me

“You need to eat something.” Sliding his plate a little closer to him, I keep nudging it until the au jus threatens to spill over the little dish and onto his work.

Finally, he puts his pen down and pushes the packet away. Picking up his French dip, he takes a small bite before putting it back on the plate. He barely chews, looking like he’d rather not be eating, and it takes him a few tries to swallow.

“Have you talked to Sadie?” Setting my fork down, I push my plate back. Suddenly, I’m not that hungry anymore.

He tenses, right hand straying to where his wedding ringstill sits on that third finger on his left. “No. And I don’t intend to. It doesn’t make any sense to tell her now.”

“She’d want to know. She’ll be furious when she finds out.” His ex-wife, Sadie Tailor-Michaelson, is a former model who lives in Jacksonville, Florida. They got divorced on their twentieth wedding anniversary last year because Scott had an infidelity streak a million miles long.

But the straw that broke the camel’s back was the secret he’s been keeping from everyone. She mistook it for another time he cheated on her—which was easy to do when he’d been photographed around town with multiple women—when in all actuality, if she knew the truth, she’d probably beat herself up over leaving him.

Which is exactly why Scott doesn’t want to tell her. Or Jackson.

When he doesn’t respond, seemingly lost in his thoughts, I change the subject. “So, did Jackson tell you about Wednesday?”

That snaps him out of it. A smirk crosses his face, reminding me too much of his nephew, as he grabs his papers again. “No, Stacey did. It seems like you’ve made quite the impression on him.”

“Please, we both know if I actually said yes to him, he’d dump me the second he got his happy ending.” Rolling my eyes, I pick my fork up again and stab at a strawberry. “What does his mother think about how much of a manwhore he is?”

Scott tenses, his pen stilling over the paper. “Jackson’s mother isn’t in the picture. She walked out right after he was born. His father—my brother—shot himself when he was a teen. He grew up watching my father and me, and how we conducted ourselves. And he idolizes his aunt. So when we got divorced, you could say that put the final nail in the coffin.”

He sets his pen back down and looks me right in the eyes. “Jackson is the way he is because of me. I won’t apologize for it because he’s a damn good businessman, and I’m proud ofhim. He’s a hard worker, but as far as his personal life goes? His whole life has been handed to him—women included. But the women are all after one thing—the money and the name. I’ll tell you right now, Ginny. It’s a lonely life. And I know for a fact that he’s not happy with it. He’s a good man. He just hasn’t found something worth dropping his defenses for.”

Well,fuck.

I really thought he was just an asshole.

But to have your mother walk out on you and then your dad kill himself? Most people would feel abandoned. Usually, people like that grow up with attachment issues—problems with intimacy. A lot of people put up a shield to protect themselves from the pain and hurt of those hardships.

Jackson Tailor doesn’t just have a shield around him. He’s got a whole goddamned fortress of coping mechanisms.

“Speak of the devil, and he shall appear,” Scott mutters under his breath.

My eyes widen, head whipping around sharply to see Jackson walking through the restaurant, heading straight for our table. His hands are in his pockets as he strolls through the room, catching the attention of every woman here in his charcoal gray suit and deep bronze tie. The color of which brings out the golden amber in his eyes, and I hate that I notice that.

Turning back around, I gather my dish and start to scoot out of the booth when Jackson sits down and swings an arm around my shoulders.

“Well, look who it is. My favorite warden,” he says with a grin.

Swiveling my head slowly in his direction, I narrow my eyes at him. “Go. Away.”

“Now, now. That’s no way to talk to your prisoner, is it?” he asks cheekily, grabbing my shoulder and squeezing me into him before letting me go.

“What are you going on about?” Scott asks, gathering the papers and settling them into his briefcase.

“You haven’t heard? Ginny here put me on a leash,” Jackson replies, unwinding his arm from my shoulder to reach across the table for a fry off his uncle’s plate.

“I didn’t put you on a leash. You put yourself on a leash. Now, let me out.” He doesn’t budge as I push against him.

“Apparently, Stacey didn’t tell me everything?” Scott’s comment is leading, waiting for one of us to explain what’s going on. He has an amused look on his face as his eyes dart back and forth between me and Jackson.

“He keeps asking me out, and I keep telling himno.However, I told him that if he can go thirty days without dating another woman or having sex, I’ll go out ononedate with him.”

“The number of dates was never determined,” Jackson cuts in.

“Oh, yes, it was!”

“Kids! Jesus, you already sound like an old married couple. I have to get to a meeting. Play nice,” Scott scolds before getting out of the booth, throwing a fifty-dollar bill on the table, even though my work meal is free, and he owns the restaurant.

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