Page 14 of Tempt Me

Even baby Valentine stopped her babbling.

“N-no one,” I said, glaring at her. She’d been a part of our family for so long that she knew exactly which levers to use.

“We met a nice young man on Friday, didn’t we, Charles?” Mother set down her fork.

Charles hummed into his coffee and didn’t meet my eyes.

“Augusto Moretti.”

“Sounds like one of Jackson’s cars,” I muttered.

“He’s from an exceptional family. They’re one of the top wine distributors in Italy.”

I made a noncommittal noise in my throat and rotated my pancake on my plate.

“Since you’re suddenly free, why don’t you show him around the city?” She produced a business card from her skirt pocket and handed it to Noah, who set it next to my plate.

I’d been ambushed.

Jamila stood. “More coffee, Charles?” Without waiting for his answer, she snatched his cup from the saucer and took it to the kitchen. I hoped she’d chipped a nail throwing me under the bus. I glanced at the card. It had grapes embossed in the corners. I could think of at least three ways to make it less cheesy.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve got a project I want to work on this week.”

Jackson snorted. “If Jamila’s your ‘project,’ give it up now. She doesn’t want your help. She’s just too nice to say it.”

Alicia shot him a sharp look. “What Jackson means to say is that she probably needs more…experienced help. Maybe you could help her find someone?” She handed the baby to Jackson and walked into the kitchen.

“Alicia’s right, darling,” Mother said. “Leave PR to the professionals. I’ll call Della and ask her for a referral. Go out with Augusto. Have fun.”

“No.” I didn’t stand up to her often, but with Jamila in the house, I couldn’t put on my socialite act. Not again.

“Fine.” Her icy blue eyes glinted. “Then you’ll spend time with Sam when she comes to stay. It’s been a while since you two spent time together. She’s made such a good connection with Niall. Maybe she can introduce you to one of his friends.”

“Sam’s staying here? But she has a place downtown.” My older sister split her time between her fiancé’s Ohio farmhouse and San Francisco, where she’d started up a gaming division within Jackson’s company.

“They’re doing renovations to the building, and Niall’s under a deadline. Since she’ll be alone this month, she’s staying here. Didn’t I tell you?” She looked down at her plate, having the good grace to blush. My relationship with my nerdy, accomplished sister was prickly at best.

“It’ll be good for both of you,” Charles said. “You won’t be lonely while your mother and I spend our anniversary in Paris.”

“Right.” They’d told me about that. “I’m sure Sam will be busy while she’s here. We’ll hardly see each other.” I hoped.

“You two can reconnect now that you won’t be at school.” He gave me what was probably meant to be an encouraging smile. “Take some time off. You’ll figure it out, kiddo.”

And that was that. They’d banished me to the kids’ table with a box of crayons. Not even my family had confidence in me. My plans to help Jamila were delusions of grandeur. And I’d get to spend a couple of weeks watching my sister accomplish her dreams. Maybe Mother was right, and the best plan for me was to make a good connection through some man. I twisted the ruby ring on my finger.

I didn’t want some man. I wanted what I could never have. At least, not while she saw me as nothing but Jackson’s little sister like they all did. Just pat me on the head and send me toddling off in my fancy dress, armed with small talk and a platinum credit card.

The memory of how I’d acted at that Christmas party, and what I’d said to Jamila, burned in my belly. Maybe if I acted like an adult and explained, then apologized, she might see me as a grown-up and let me help her. But confessing to my family about dropping out of culinary school had been hard enough. There was no way I’d attempt my apology in front of them.

I’d have to take it to her turf.

5

What better way todrive home the message that I was basically a child, far too young to be interesting to someone as brilliant and worldly as Jamila Jallow, than to roll up in my mother’s stodgy Benz in front of Jamila’s home in Menlo Park?

Because that’s exactly what I did.

I sat for a minute in the car. As I drove through the established neighborhood of midcentury bungalows, I’d thought it was another of Jackson’s practical jokes. Surely a billionaire like Jamila lived in a mansion. But when I pulled up to the address he’d given me, the clean lines of the gray house along with its black shutters, fresh white trim, Texas-yellow rosebushes bracketing the front-facing two-car garage, and the bold stylizedJhanging on the violet door told me Jamila Jallow lived here.

---