Page 29 of Finding Jacob
“Did I wake you?” I asked.
“I missed your body beside me. I knew you were gone before I even woke. I just hoped you hadn’t run for the hills,” he replied, smiling at me.
“Why would you think that?” Confusion laced my voice.
“We’ve met...what? Twice? And each time we’ve had the most unbelievable sex. Yet, you don’t even know my full name.”
I blinked rapidly, frowned, and then let out a laugh. “You’re right, on all counts. Although you did give me your card, remember?”
“The name on that card is my first and a middle name. I don’t share my surname often. No reason, other than most people can’t pronounce it.”
He held out his hand. “Jacob Daniel Santiago-Domínguez.” I took it in mine.
“Anna Roberts, no middle name and very easy to pronounce. Why Jacob?” He frowned at me. “It’s not very Spanish.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “No idea. Maybe after a relative I never knew. I will celebrate my fifty-third birthday in September.”
“That makes you twenty years older than me.” I hoped there wasn’t any kind of shock in my voice. “Not that you look that old, of course.”
He laughed. “I should hope not. Does that bother you?”
“No, not at all.” I stifled a yawn and he stood.
“Back to bed, I feel.” He glanced at his watch, a stainless-steel chunky type. “We can talk more in the morning if you have nowhere to be.”
I did, I had to go to work, but I didn’t tell him that. I wanted to stay all day if he’d let me. That’s when I’d tell him about the baby.
The next time I woke, the sun blazed through the window. I shielded my eyes from the glare. There wasn’t a clock in the room, and I didn’t wear a watch. I had no idea of the time but by the height of the sun, I was guessing it was nearing midday.
I slid from the bed and stretched. I couldn’t remember such a good night’s sleep in ages. Slipping on Jacob’s sweatpants and T-shirt again, I headed, barefoot, downstairs. I could hear talking in the kitchen.
“Afternoon,” Nathan said. He was lounging beside the countertop with Jacob beside him.
“Shit, what’s the time?” I asked.
“Nearly one. I didn’t want to wake you,” Jacob replied.
“Sadly, Boss, I did. We have anincidentyou’ll need to sort out.”
“What do you mean,incident?”
He handed me his phone.
Jules Hargreaves, model and TV presenter, was found passed out in an alley in the early hours of this morning. It appears that Hargreaves had been partying with her current royal beau, Prince Richard, at Ziggy’s in London. The model was seen downing bottles of champagne and then, following a very public argument with the prince, stormed off. Paramedics were called to a passed-out woman by a member of the public.
Of course, we could get no comment from either Prince Richard’s or Jules’s representative, but by the strange markings on Ms Hargreaves face, it wasn’t just the concrete that hit it.
“Fuck!” I said, reading the news report again.
It had been written by one of the sleeziest gossip reporters there was, one I hated having to deal with. There was an accompanying photograph of Jules sitting on the dirty ground with her back to a wall. A rubbish bin had fallen over, litter surrounded her. Her hair was a tangled mess, black mascara had run down her cheeks, and an obvious split lip was covered in dried blood. She was missing a shoe, and she still held a bottle of half-filled Jack Daniels.
Jules was one of my top models but so much of a socialite that her bookings were dropping off. She was way too likely to either turn up drunk or not at all and I’d had cause to pull her to one side many times.
I looked up at Jacob. “I have to go,” I said, my voice full of regret. We had an important conversation to have and as much as I appreciated the delay thisincidenthad caused—I wasn’t looking forward to telling him—he had a right to know sooner rather than later.
“A shame,” he said.
I looked between him and Nathan. “Shall I wait outside why you say your goodbyes?” Nathan asked. His smirk had me scowling at him.
