Page 128 of Jett

The answer rises in my chest, raw and undeniable. Yes. I love her more than I have words for. But I can’t say it—not yet.

I try deflection. “Do you love her, sprout?”

Brooke nods, her curls bouncing. “I love her so much. We had fun.”

“Yeah,” I whisper, my throat tight. “We did.”

***

Last night, I made calls. Brooke starts day camp today—an eleventh-hour solution to a problem I didn’t expect to have. I wondered if it might be too soon, but I need to go into the office today, and I have no one to take care of her. This is the same problem I’ll face every morning until I figure out how to navigate this new mess of a life.

Cari isn’t a problem. She’s a puzzle. And every piece of her deserves care, precision, and effort to figure out what she wants. What she needs.

I drop Brooke off early, then head to the office before dawn. It’s too early for Cari. Too early for anyone. And that’s exactly how I want it.

The elevator hums as it rises. I close my eyes, bracing for the silence of my office, the endless loop of what-ifs in my head. But when the doors open, I forget to breathe.

She’s here.

Cari stands at her desk, a printer cartridge in hand, her back to me. Her pencil skirt hugs her hips, and her silk blouse shimmers under the light. Her hair is swept into a tidy updo, but all I see is her, barefoot in Bermuda, laughing under the moonlight.

She turns, her eyes meeting mine. Time slows.

“You’re here.” Her voice is calm, but her grip on the cartridge tightens. “And early.”

“I have meetings all day.”

Her brow lifts. “Were you trying to avoid me?”

“No.” The word comes out rougher than I intend, but I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s breathtaking. I’m remembering every second of her beneath me, her sighs and gasps filling the night. The scent of her skin, the taste of her on my tongue.

“We need to talk,” I say, barely managing to leash the growl clawing at my throat.

“This isn’t the time or place,” she answers, her guard firmly in place.

I step closer, my gaze locked on hers. “Is leaving what you really want?”

She straightens, her chin tilting up. “What do you want, Jett?”

Her words slice through me. She’s not just asking about her resignation. She’s asking about everything—us.

In a single step, we’re inches apart. The air crackles between us. She bites her lip, and I can’t stop my eyes from trailing down to the way her blouse clings to her curves.

“You look delectable, my little shortcake.”

Her lips curve into a faint smile. “And you have no idea what your dark blue Armani suit does to me.”

“You know this is Armani?”

She shrugs. “I pay attention.”

God, I want her. Every second with her floods me with memories of that vacation. Of her smile. Her moans. I lean in, ready to close the distance between us, but my phone vibrates and snaps me back to reality.

She steps back, her walls slamming back into place, and just like that, the moment is gone.

When I look at my phone, it’s that fucking disruptor of peace. The agent of chaos.

My father. ?

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