Page 41 of Roots of the Wicked

Chapter Eighteen

Chase

My driver circled the block twice, to ensure the coast was clear from any media eager enough to follow me. I wanted to make a quick stop at a little vendor Travis had found that made handmade jewelry. I’d gotten a bracelet made for my mother’s upcoming birthday.

“Why are we stopping here?” She turned in the seat, taking in the busy streets surrounding us.

“I need to pick up something. It won’t take but a minute.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood as soon as I stepped out of the vehicle. Something was off. I turned and held my hand out, stopping Jax from exiting behind me.

The camera flashes caught my attention before the sound of shuffling feet and shouting found my ears. A small herd of paparazzi came out of nowhere, prepared to swarm us. Paul shoved me back into the vehicle and slammed the door, locking it with the key fob as the herd made attempts to jerk the door open.

Jax sat on the floor on the passenger side in a tight ball. Her face buried behind her knees that were tucked to her chest. When I tapped on her shoulder, she jumped before tucking herself tighter.

“It’s okay Jax. Were locked in.”

She shrugged my hand away from her shoulder. “I don’t want them seeing me. I don’t want my picture taken.”

The anguish projected in her shaky voice wasn’t missed.

“You can get up now. They can’t take your picture through the mirrored windows.”

She had told me from the start that she wanted nothing to do with the media attention, but it wasn’t until now that I understood how serious she had been. She had been adamant about protecting her privacy, but I got the impression Jax’s paranoia came from a deeper place. If I wasn’t mistaken, I would say she was traumatized, triggered in some way by the herd of photographers.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she answered quickly.

“You’re not fine Jax. You’re shaking.” How was I supposed to help her? The information she’d revealed at dinner resurfaced. She had been filmed without her consent, and I was starting to think it was some kind of film of a nefarious nature. “I want to help you, but I don’t know how.”

She lifted her head, putting on fake bravado. “Just let me sit here a moment I’ll be fine.” She didn’t sound fine. I slid even closer, being careful not to box her in too much as I placed an arm around her shoulders.

Once Paul managed to climb back into the front seat in one piece and relocked the doors, I told him to take the scenic route to Jax’s place. The last thing I wanted was the group following me to her apartment. It took me ten long minutes to coax her off the floor and back into the seat. She wouldn’t let me hold her, but I hung on to her hand, refusing to let it go, hoping she felt some level of comfort.

She didn’t make a sound in the seat next to me as we drove out of our way to ensure we weren’t being followed. Paul didn’t stop the car until he confirmed we had not been followed.

Instead of allowing Paul, I let myself out and quickly came around to her door to help her out.

“Let me walk you up. Since you’re my lady now, I need to ensure that you’re safe and cared for. I don’t want anyone else getting what belongs to me.”

Her dangerous side-eye was worth my bold words. She giggled, not knowing I wasn’t joking. However, I loved making her laugh, especially after witnessing how upset the rowdy crowd of paparazzi had made her.

This was uncharacteristic behavior for me with her. I believed I was shredding parts of who I was, to find pieces of who I wanted to be. She made me forget about the pressure of being a CEO, and I had allowed myself to have unrestricted fun.

She had been right. I was a workaholic because I had never found anything else to occupy me, nothing else was of interest or nothing had moved me, not like her.

We’d agreed to an unconventional relationship, but I believed a genuine connection had taken root. It was a bond that breathed depth and was growing in meaning. After a sample of her so called “acquired taste,” it was something I craved with a fierce need because it wasn’t one-dimensional.

***

After escorting Jax to her door, I invited myself in once she keyed the door open. She sat on her couch, kicked off her shoes and reached for the remote control. She began to flip through her channels, as I took a more thorough tour of her apartment. I thumbed through the stack of mail sitting by her door.

“Why two apartments?” I asked.

“I don’t want everyone knowing where I live.”

Understandable. “I know where you live. Does that make me a special case?”

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