Page 37 of Rival
“My office is just back here. But this is pretty much it. We’ve got reception out here, file room over there,” he points toward the corner with a close door, “and a conference room in there.” Again, he points toward a room with a large window and a screen mounted on the wall with a large table in the center.
“It’s really nice in here.” My compliment feels silly, but I’m not sure what to say. It’s really quite impressive to me. He’s got this amazing place that seems so organized and professional. A bit of jealousy slips in, but I don’t let it fester. It’s not jealousy that he’s successful, it’s more that I’ve never considered something like this as attainable for my life.
I slow, then stop in front of a large painting on the wall. It’s the only one in the hallway leading back to Jaxon’s office, and it’s absolutely stunning. It’s one of those abstract pictures where you aren’t quite sure what you’re seeing, but the colors are inviting and warm. Glancing at the corner of the canvas, I catch the initials JT just as Jaxon covers his hand over mine and tugs me away.
Does the JT stand for Jaxon Thorton?
The dark woods in his office distract me from wondering and my eyes fall on another half dozen paintings, each one with its own color theme. It’s as if the painter had an emotion and found one color to express it, but there are so many shades that the detail is extraordinary.
I’m left in the middle of his space while he collects his bag and I move to the first one to study it, then on to the next, and the next. Every painting has JT in the corner. Spinning around,I find Jaxon leaning against the edge of his desk, studying me as hard as I was the paintings.
There’s an array of emotions raging within his eyes, but the anger he had earlier seems to be gone. My eyes won’t stay away from the paintings for long and I’m drawn back to them.
“Did you do these? Is the JT for Jaxon Thorton?”
“No.” He’s not rude with the one-word answer, but I can’t tell if he doesn’t want me to ask more. My curiosity gets the best of me.
“Who—”
“My sister did them.” He picks up a photo on his desk before walking over to me, holding it out. There’s an absolutely stunning teenager grinning at the camera, her arms wrapped around a much younger Jaxon’s waist, a beach and water in the background. I take the frame and smile softly at how happy they are, their skin deeply tanned and glowing under the sun. He taps the glass. “She passed away a little over twenty years ago. At the end of the summer this was taken, actually.”
My head lifts when I hear the sadness in his voice, and my heart breaks for him. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Was she ill?”
“No.” This time his response is abrupt, and he plucks the photo from my hands, only to position it back on his desk carefully. He pauses after he moves it just right, then hikes his bag over his shoulder and gives me a forced smile. “You ready to head back? This is pretty much everything here. There’s not much more to see.”
Without waiting for an answer, I’m relieved when he takes my hand once more to walk me outside. I wave a small goodbye to the girl still stuck on the phone, and we climb back into his truck silently.
As soon as we’re driving, I can feel the tension pouring off him, just as frustrated as he was when he first showed up at the barn. I’m not great with words, but maybe just some comfort willbring him a bit of peace, since he’s obviously still affected greatly by his sister’s passing.
I undo my seatbelt and scoot to the middle of the bench, then redo the lap belt. Jaxon looks down at me, a bit confused. “What are you doing?”
Laying my head on his shoulder, I press my side against his and blow out a slow breath and relax. “I’m being a friend.”
He leans away for only a moment, but it’s to put his arm around my shoulder and tuck me into his side more firmly. I feel his lips graze the crown of my head just as he hugs me to him. “Thanks, Edith.”
“You’re welcome. I love the paintings.”
He chuckles softly. “I could tell. I love them too. She had a real gift in everything art related. My parents have a ton of them all over their house and I’ve got a few at my place as well.”
I want to ask what happened to her, but I think today I’ll just let him tell me what he wants. We finish the drive more slowly than our trip here, and the entire time I stay right against him, pushing my good thoughts in his direction.
It may take the full fifteen-minute drive for him to relax, but eventually he does, and we spend the rest of the afternoon chatting as if nothing changed from last week to this one.
Chapter Seventeen
Griffin
“Hey Jessie.” I press a kiss to my sister-in-law’s cheek and peek over her shoulder. “Whatcha makin’?”
My brother’s wife grins tiredly, but happily. “Just chili and cornbread. Nothin’ special. You have a good day at work?”
I grab a beer from the fridge and crack it open. “I did. Same shit, but nothing major happened. Where’s Corb?”
Jessie points her wooden spoon toward the back door. “He’s out there on the phone. Go tell him we’re gonna eat in fifteen, would ya?”
I nod and head through the house, stopping to pat my niece, Jennice, on the head. She tries to smack me, and I laugh as I jump out of the way, then slide the back door open. My brother is on the steps of the deck, and I only catch the tail of his last sentence.
“…thing that I saw. No one was there except ol’ Mrs. Danielson.” He pauses as he digs a stick into the crack between the boards, then huffs out a laugh. “I don’t know. But I think you got nothin’ to worry about. I’ll drive by again tomorrow, but it’s a waste of time… Yeah, I got you.”
