Page 3 of Jett

“It's almost ten in the morning over here,” Zach says helpfully, ever the diligent son. Of the three of us—six if you count the other Knights— I called them the half-Knights once. My father heard and rebuked me for it. Brothers by another mother. The secret family that upended our world and our mother’s.

Of us all, Zach is the one who seems desperate for our father's love and attention. He’s the only one who calls him “Dad.” The rest of us don’t call him anything. ?We meet every so often at the Knight family dinners that our father hosts at his place, with me and my brothers and the other Knights. We all sit around the table, eating and talking shop. It’s a painful evening for everyone—except, possibly, our father. He relishes in the torture of putting us all together. I’m certain that he insists on it, not because he cares for unity, or about us being a family, but because a united front is vital to keeping his empire intact.

“I’m looking at AO Eletronica. The owner, a hugely successful businessman, is worth billions. I like their business—it’s in the telecoms and electronics space—but I need to get to know him better as a person to see how we can help one another. Wine and dine him and his management board,”our father says. “And until I do that, I don’t trust them.”

You don't trust anyone.

“Don't worry. I’m sure you’ll suss them out, Dad.” Zach reassures him again and I nod in agreement, my contribution minimal. Why isn’t Dex on this call? I was just talking to him earlier. The smart guy probably wised-up and found something to keep him busy. No one likes a meeting with Paul Knight, but a morning meeting just sets the day up wrong.

“Are we done?” I ask, feeling a tightness at the back of my neck.

“For now.” Our father hangs up.

“Speak to you later,” I say to Zach, and hang up, before standing up and stretching. The tension in my shoulders ease with a satisfying crack. The air smells like coffee and wet fabric but my desk is spotless now, thanks to Cari.

I step out of the office to find her. She’s standing at the copier with her back to me, still wearing that same damp dress. The soft hum of the photocopier fills the room. I clear my throat, but she doesn’t turn around. I wonder if she’s ignoring me on purpose?

“Isn’t that still wet?” I ask, making my way toward her.

She jerks her head toward me, cheeks flushed. She’s always been terrible at hiding her emotions.

“Your dress,” I explain, gesturing toward the fabric clinging to her. “It's still looks wet.”

Nose up in the air, she swipes her photocopied sheets and swans away. “I'll live.”

She’s been quieter lately, and it doesn’t sit right with me. Normally, we trade banter—her sharp comebacks, my dry humor. Direct orders work best with Cari. She responds to those.

She sits down, placing the pile of papers on her desk before continuing with her work. She doesn’t engage in small talk. I talk; she works.

“Go buy yourself a new dress.” I pull out my credit card and offer it to her. Just as I expected, her brown eyes flash with defiance as she glances at the card, as though I’ve handed her a dead rat. I don’t understand why she looks confused. I’ve given her the card before—to pick up gifts, jewelry, and lingerie for my girlfriends; things I don’t put on the company card.

“I have my own money, Jett.” Her voice is low, almost wounded.

“It’s just a suggestion,” I huff, trying to shake off the tension. It certainly wasn’t my intention to make her feel like she couldn’t afford it herself. She shakes her head, and I slip the card back into my wallet. “Have it your way. But this,” I motion her outfit with my hand, “is a bad look for the office, especially if a client walks in and sees that.”

“I’ll dry it with a hand dryer in the washroom.” She goes back to her work, still not meeting my eyes. Come to think of it, she’s been off for a while now. Even when I sent her to pick up those earrings for Alicia from Cartier, she didn’t throw her usual quips at me. I miss the barbed comments, the verbal sparring. I miss the old Cari.

“We’re leaving early tomorrow,” I say, changing the subject. I'm going on a short business trip to Monaco, and when Alicia heard about it she wanted to come along. So, we’re going a few days early to have some time to enjoy the sights. I don’t care for it much, but Alicia says she could do with a break. “I won’t be in the office for the rest of the week.”

“Enjoy your vacation,” Cari mutters without looking up.

“It’s not a vacation.” I grit my teeth. “It’s business.” Of the seven days, five are for business, meetings with investors and shareholders, then more meetings with a couple of startups I’m interested in. Plenty of things to keep me busy.

She meets my gaze, and something flickers there—something dark, simmering beneath the surface of those russet-brown eyes, something that has me feeling instantly restless and edgy.

“Okay then ... Enjoy your business, Mr. Knight.”

I’m about to make a comment. She doesn’t usually call me Mr. Knight, but recently, in prickly moments, she has been.

***

“Daddy!” My little girl’s cheeky smile welcomes me.

I open my arms, and she rushes towards me in her pink unicorn nightshirt, her damp hair still smelling like shampoo. “Gotcha, sprout,” I say, settling her on my hip as she wraps her arms around my neck.

“Anything I should know?” I ask Anna, my live-in nanny.

“She's been waiting up for you, Mr. Knight. She’s had dinner, a bath, we’ve done some coloring, and the homework school sent. She didn't want to go to bed without seeing you.”

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