Page 12 of Jacob

He knew what she was seeing. She was seeing a man far removed from the tall, too-thin, rawboned youngster she’d watched pull out of a bus station a lifetime ago. The Navy had given him the tools to dominate the physical world and his business had given him so much money he dominated the social world.

The boy she knew dressed in rags he could never keep clean, no matter how hard he tried. Now he was wearing about twenty thousand bucks’ worth of clothes and five- hundred-dollar boots. He knew he was well dressed not because he knew how to pick clothes, or because he had a fashion sense, but because he had a tailor with an unlimited budget to make suits and shirts for him. The tailor’s only instructions were: nothing trendy, top quality. The tailor knew what he was doing because any time Jake walked into a room, he knew he was the best dressed man there. He himself didn’t give a shit, but dressing well was a metric in the world he lived in now, so just as he aced Hell Week, he aced this, too.

He wasn’t the kid she’d known. Every line of his body should have told her that. He’d changed in every way there was, except one. She couldn’t know what was in his heart, that a corner of it hadn’t changed. Every single thing about him was different except for that—the part of him that belonged and would always belong to Alex.

Finally, she sighed and he understood that whatever problem she had trumped her anger. It must be a very serious problem and fuck, that worried him.

“Do you want to sit down and tell me what’s wrong?” Jake indicated the couch. He never used the couch and armchairs for clients, only friends and employees. But sitting behind his big desk when talking to Alex seemed obscene. He wanted her within touching distance even if he couldn’t touch her.

Yet.

With a sharp glance at him, she sat in one of the armchairs and he sat down on the couch, at right angles.

She was still pale. He pressed a button on the small marble-topped side table and when the intercom light blinked on, he turned to Alex. “Coffee? Tea?” Though he knew the answer.

“Tea.” She hesitated then huffed out a breath. “Thank you.”

Bingo. She was still the best-mannered person he had ever met. She was angry at him, but it went against her grain not to thank him.

“Tea,” he said, knowing Catherine would arrange it. “Earl Gray, milk, sugar. The usual for me.” He’d helped a Colombian businessman get back his daughter who’d been kidnapped by one of the cartels. Besides doubling Jake’s fee, the businessman vowed to send shipments of the finest coffee on earth for the rest of Jake’s natural life. So, it would be coffee for him.

She said nothing but glanced at him sharply. Earl Gray had always been her favorite tea and she took it with milk and sugar. What? Did she think he’d forget? No way. He remembered everything about her. He remembered every conversation they’d ever had. Every moment spent with her.

Every time he had sex with a woman, he had to forcibly eject Alex out of his head.

So, yeah. He knew what kind of tea she liked.

She was sitting stiffly in the chair, back ramrod straight, looking everywhere but at him. She was biting her lips not to ask him how he’d gone from Bend to this. It had been a long hard road and he’d answer anything she asked, but she wasn’t asking.

Patience. Patience was the hidden virtue of the warrior and Jake had it in spades. They were going to have the rest of their lives to talk about it. For now, he wanted her to be at ease and he wanted to hear about a problem so bad she had to come to Black Inc.

Nobody came to him unless they had big, big trouble.

A discreet knock and Kevin from reception came in with a large tray, put it down on the coffee table and quietly left.

Alex seemed to barely notice. She was fixated on the floor, deep in thought.

Jake cleared his throat, gestured at the tray. There was a teapot, coffee pot, a cup and saucer and a mug. Milk and sugar doohickies, cubes, whatever they were called. “Do you want me to pour?” he asked, hoping she’d say no.

Alex gave a slight start as she came to herself. She looked up at him briefly, light blue eyes flashing almost silver. “No, of course not. I can pour my own tea.”

Thank you, God. Jake was sure he’d do something wrong. He wasn’t afraid of spilling boiling liquid on her. He could never do that. No, his hands were steady. It was just that it seemed tea people had all these fucking rules and he never understood them. Coffee people just wanted their coffee and didn’t have a ritual. He poured himself a cup, black, and sipped as she fussed.

Milk first. Then she checked inside the tea pot and seemed to be satisfied that there wasn’t a bag but loose leaves, poured herself a cup, gently stirred in some sugar. He’d finished his cup by the time she took her first sip.

Luckily, tea people were calmed by their tea. Alex sat back in the chair holding the cup and looked him full in the face for the first time in several minutes.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked quietly.

“No,” she replied. “I don’t want to tell you about it at all, but I have to. I’ve gone around this over and over in my head and I need to put this in someone’s hands. I wouldn’t have chosen you, but here you are.”

He nodded. Yes, here he was.

She took another sip then leaned forward to place the cup on the table. Jake leaned forward, too. He knew he wasn’t showing any signs of impatience, but they both knew it was time.

Alex’s eyes searched his. For a second, Jake was distracted. God, she was still so fucking beautiful. More than before. He drank in all the details—the curve of her cheek, those incredibly thick eyelashes, the long white neck…

But the whites of her eyes were bloodshot and the skin under her eyes looked bruised. She hadn’t been sleeping well and it showed.

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