Page 86 of Jett

Being in an unfamiliar territory, in an exotic location, has caused havoc on my sensibilities. But now there is a chance to do something about it.

He gazes at me with an intensity that makes my jaw drop before leaning towards me again. “I love touching you. I know you loved it, too.”

I bite my lower lip again, trying hard to resist running my fingers across his face. I’m so desperate to touch him. I used to imagine these things in my daydreams, and now I want to reach out and do the unthinkable—skate my fingers across that five o’clock shadow lightly dusting his face.

He is not my boss here. All the guardrails between us have disintegrated.

“Jett!” Someone calls out for him, but he ignores them.

“Meet me. At midnight.”

Someone calls Jett over and he goes to them, leaving me standing there, feeling so aroused I’m almost giddy.

I try to take in a few calming breaths as I watch Brooke on her pony, but my thoughts are a jumbled mess. I feel like I’m on shifting ground. My boss has told me he wants me, and now that my fantasy has come true, I feel afraid and exhilarated.

When Brooke comes up to me and tells me she’s hungry, I’m grateful to have a distraction so that I don’t have to dwell on what Jett has asked me.

After getting Brooke to wash her hands, I take her over to the buffet tables, making sure to keep her by my side. I don't want to be left alone to face Jett or the party guests.

I plate up some food for Brooke, but I don't have an appetite myself. Brooke sits at a table with the twins, who seem to think of her as a cute little plaything. I hear them gush about how they’ve seen her grow up, from a baby to now. From the sounds of it, she’s been coming here every summer, while her father handles business meetings. She knows a lot of people, at least, and many seem to know her.

Jett holds court with a group of people nearby. He’s surrounded by women who are smiling and laughing. They run hands through their hair, rearrange their postures. Smooth down their outfits.

For him.

So many crave him. Even married women, like tonight’s hostess. She keeps touching his arm as she talks to him.

Brooke is ravenous, and has cleaned her plate and wants more. We go up to the buffet together because she can’t reach some of the platters.

She can reach the one with donuts. I let her, folding my arms and smiling at her as she picks one up and looks at me, then cheekily puts another small donut on her plate.

Jett walks over to us. “Daddy, these are delicious!” Brooke picks up another donut and hands it to him.

“Yeah?” He takes a bite. Behind him, a couple of the women are talking amongst themselves conspiratorially, like they were when I took Brooke to the lunch play date.

“You’re not eating?” Jett asks me.

“I’m not hungry.” The air is too charged with anticipation. I’m simmering with want for this man, so no, I’m not hungry for food.

“Do you mind just running into the house and fetching some more drinks?” The hostess, the gorgeous woman with her hair tied up in a severe bun, asks me. Someone who looks like she might be her sister joins in. “Grab a couple of bottles of Moët, would you?”

They stare at me as if they’re waiting for me to skip to the kitchen and do their bidding. I look back, stunned. The group of people behind them stop talking, and they’re all looking at me. Jett included.

I wait for him to say something, to stand up for me, but he doesn't. “I'm keeping an eye on Brooke,” I reply as calmly as I can.

The hostess waves her hand dismissively at Brooke. “Don’t you worry about her. She’ll be fine. The drinks are just on the kitchen table.” She waves a slender, perfectly manicured hand at one of the tables. “We need more champagne there.”

I stand my ground. “I'm not a server.”

“Oh, sweetie.” This time the younger woman talks. “Brooke's eating. Just run along and fetch the drinks. It’s not a big ask.”

“She's not a server. And if it's not a big ask, why don't you go and do it yourself, Nicole?” Jett's voice is laced with quiet fury.

I know that tone. It's the one he sometimes reserves for his father. Or the Italian Knights.

“What's the problem, old boy?” The big guy, the host, puts his arm around Jett. “The help is the help, eh?”

“Get your fucking arm off my shoulder,” Jett growls. “Cari is not the help. She's here as my guest, and therefore asyourguest. I'd appreciate you treating her with the respect she deserves.”

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