And though I rise and watch him move toward the stairwell, Jackson never once looks back.
seventeen
“Considering you’re the man of the hour, you’re awfully damn quiet, Jax.” Dallas Sykes leans back in his chair and pushes his dinner plate away before polishing off his third martini. The department store magnate is pretty much the walking definition of a sexy bad boy, complete with half-naked women often found draped casually over his arm. Jackson and I both crossed paths with him when our trip to the Cortez site fueled gossip, and we ended up in the tabloids alongside Dallas and his very married girlfriend.
“It’s Jackson, and I apologize. I have a lot on my mind.” He doesn’t look at me. Not that I expect him to. We’ve been managing to not look at each other for the last ninety minutes, ever since we arrived separately at the restaurant.
We’re at a round table, and I’d taken the chair next to Nikki. Aiden had to cancel dinner—apparently Trent took a long weekend, but there are issues at the Century City project that require immediate attention—so that means that we are at a five-top. Nikki, Damien, and I arrived first, and when Jackson came a few moments later, he had the choice of the seat next to me, or the seat next to Damien.
He chose to sit next to me. And though I have avoided his eyes all evening, I can’t avoid the tension that fills the air between us, so thick that I am amazed that no one else is drawn into it, like a black hole that sucks in everything that drifts too close.
I try my best to steer the conversation toward the resort in general. But Dallas—one of the primary investors—has heard it all before, and keeps his focus laser-sharp on Jackson.
“Bet you never knew you’d be such a celebrity when you were sketching your way through your childhood.” He grins. “I saw your documentary.”
Jackson smiles politely. “I hope you found it interesting.”
“Fascinating,” Dallas says. His eyes are as green as Jackson’s are blue, and he looks so earnest, that I can’t help but wonder if the bad boy, playboy thing is an act. The man is managing a multi-billion dollar company and doing a damn fine job. Plus, he’s no slouch intellectually. So what’s his story?
That’s going to remain a mystery, of course. It’s very bad form to poke into the personal lives of your investors. At least it is if you want them to keep investing.
The general topic of bad boys, however, is very much on the table as Dallas leans closer to Jackson. “I have to say, I thought I had one hell of a reputation for playing fast and loose. But you certainly did a number on that Reed guy. I gotta know. What was that about?”
“Just having a bad day.” I can almost see the tension pouring out of Jackson, like a red haze staining the air.
“We’ve started thinking about retail on the resort,” I say brightly to Dallas. “We want to keep it very high-end, boutique oriented, but I thought you and I should sit down at some point and talk about you possibly opening a retail space.”
“Happy to,” he says. “It’s the celebrity thing that gets me,” he continues to Jackson, undaunted. “Documentary. Feature film. I saw the pictures with you and Graham Elliott. Hell, you could star in the thing if you wanted. You’ve got the look.”
“Dallas,” Damien says firmly. “I think that considering the fact that Reed still might file a civil action, we should not expect Mr. Steele to talk about this.”
My stomach twists. Now that the criminal case has been resolved, I thought the courtroom drama was over. And I can’t help but wonder if Damien knows something, or if he’s just trying to shut Dallas up.
I hope it’s the latter. And, frankly, I applaud the effort.
“Hey, we can drop it. I was just curious about the movie. Of course, if you do want to star in it, probably best not to beat the shit out of the producer. So what was that about? You just didn’t like the script? When’s it hitting theaters, anyway?”
Beside me, Jackson’s posture stiffens. His left hand is in his lap, and now he moves it to my knee. He has barely brushed my skin when he seems to realize what he’s doing, and he yanks it away as if my body is on fire.
I don’t even hesitate. I reach for him and clutch his hand with mine. Because no matter what else might be between us, I won’t have him be alone right now.
“I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed,” Jackson says, his voice stiff but polite. His hand is clenched so tight with mine that I have to actually grit my teeth. “There’s not going to be a movie.”
“Uh-huh.” Dallas has the look of a dog with a bone, and I’m certain that he’s going to pursue this line.