Page 61 of Jett

As I walk out to the pool at the back, I hear loud music. A DJ is set up on one side, lights flashing around his area, and people are on the dance floor. Others are in the pool, or sitting on recliners. There’s a buzz in the air, an electric force that fizzles with potency. I feel energized being here and it’s a big change from the intense atmosphere around Jett.

Jacques comes up to me, greeting me with a soft kiss on my cheek. He’s wearing swim shorts, but it only reminds me of how Jett looked in his.

“You can change over there.” He points to a door which leads to washrooms.

“I didn’t bring my swimsuit.” I make an apologetic face.

He looks dismayed. “No? But at least you’re here. Off duty, right?”

“Off duty?”

“No childminding.”

I laugh. “No childminding. I could do with a night off.”

“I thought as much. Let’s get those cocktails in!” He whoops with excitement.

***

It’s past midnight by the time I get back. Jacques and his friends kept me out later than I’d planned—drinks at a bar in the hotel, then he introduced me to lots of his friends. Every now and then, we’d dance. It was fun, and the people I met were nice, but my mind wasn’t there.

Despite the distraction of Jacques and his friends, I couldn’t enjoy myself. Not fully. I kept thinking of the day with Jett and Brooke. It had been perfect—until I ruined it in the water. Now, everything feels off. Jett’s probably going to send me home early. Or maybe he’ll just fire me outright. The thought gnawed at me the entire evening.

By the time I let myself back into the house with the key Ruby gave me, I’m a little tipsy. Not drunk—not like I was at the Christmas party—but enough to stumble a bit as I tiptoe through the hallway, my heels dangling from my hand. My throat is parched, so I head to the kitchen for water, gulping it down in the dim light.

As I walk down the long hallway, heading towards the stairs, I pass by one of the rooms. I think it’s the bar. The door is slightly ajar and light spills out into the hall. I step closer and peer in. I notice a polished mahogany counter and vintage brass fixtures. Shelves behind the bar are stocked with a huge display of multi-colored concoctions.

Jett is sitting inside, a whiskey glass in hand. He looks up, and his eyes lock onto mine. “What time do you call this?” His smooth voice is edged with something sharp.

I freeze, my shoes slipping from my hand and clattering to the floor. His stare is hard, more intense than I’m used to. He’s dressed casually, in loungewear that hugs his body, and the sight sends a tingling sensation through me. Not what I need.

“You’re s-still up,” I stammer, feeling a little unsteady from the cocktails. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you think?” He takes a sip of his whiskey, his gaze moving over me slowly, deliberately.

I shift uncomfortably, tugging at the hem of my short dress and suddenly feeling very exposed, especially when his gaze settles on my bare shoulder. “Isn’t it late?” I ask.

“For what?” His brows push together in irritation.

I gulp, my brain scrambling. He looks annoyed. He's going to say something about what happened in the water. And he’s going to fire me. I crossed a line—groping him the way I did—and now I must face the consequences. “To … be … drinking by yourself,” I say slowly.

“Where were you?” His eyes are dark now, like an angry thundercloud.

“I went to a pool party with Jacques and some of his friends,” I mumble, suddenly feeling like a teenager caught sneaking out.

“A pool party?” he snarls, as if he’s having difficulty wrapping his head around the idea. “And you decided to come home now?”

“You said I could have weekends off,” I remind him, trying to stay calm, even though my heart is pounding.

“I still need to know where you’re going,” he growls. “I’m responsible for you.”

“I told Ruby. I didn’t think you’d care.”

He takes another sip of whiskey, his eyes never leaving mine. I’ve never seen him like this—drinking, alone, and late at night. It feels like I’ve caused more trouble than I even realized.

“Which bikini did you wear?”

His question shocks me, like a bucket of ice water thrown at me. “W-what?”

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