by Ivy Carter
Jackson
That was not how I intended the night to go.
That was bad.
Well, it was fucking amazing. The hottest sexual experience I’ve ever had in my life. But it’s bad because now I’m hooked on Emily Brown and I don’t like to be addicted to anything.
I need my wits about me now more than ever, and all Emily does is make me lose my mind.
Is it possible that she’s everything you never knew you wanted?
The question hangs in my mind for a brief moment before I shake it off.
No. I can’t allow myself to become weak, thinking that way. My father taught me all too well that emotions make you irrational and easy to beat.
Still. Maybe she is a good candidate to help me get what I want with the business. At first, I was convinced that she would just be an itch to scratch, but now I’m wondering if I can have my cake and eat it too.
Scratch that itch again and again, while also satisfying the ridiculous stipulation my father inserted in his will. Dad’s final, cruel joke, has forced me and my brothers into yet another competition over what I know is rightfully mine.
But now I have to get my head back in the game because I have some briefs to go over before the video conference call with my brothers tomorrow. They’re doing the exact same thing tonight in New York and Los Angeles, and I can’t let the sexiness of tonight’s dinner slow me down in my preparations for battle.
In fact, I shouldn’t have gone out tonight at all. I should have spent all evening in my study.
I can’t make this mistake again.
The thing is—it’s not just that Emily is sexy, although damn she is. It’s that she hooks into me in a way that no one ever has before. She’s got me second-guessing my watch, for Christ’s sake, which costs more than most people’s cars. It’s a classic.
Still, back at my brownstone I smile as I take it off and toss the watch into the velvet-lined drawer with all my others. I think of her fingers touching my skin, and how she felt when I held her tiny wrist.
How she tasted…like honey, only sweeter.
The way her legs were open, the way she smelled, the shivering of her skin as I touched it. And just like that, I’m rock hard once more.
I look at my phone, her number already secured in it, thanks to Sandra’s quick administrative skills.
Maybe I could call her, find some excuse to see her again. I could send a car to bring her here right now and we could finish what we started in the restaurant.
I shake my head. This is exactly the problem. When I should be working, I’m thinking about how I can get Emily here next to me.
I undress and change into flannel pants and a cotton shirt. In my office on the second floor, I open up my computer and start reviewing the agenda for the meeting and try to suss out what Rex and Miles will each fight me on, because there is always a fight. Our father called it competition but really it’s all-out war.
Dear old Dad loved nothing more than pitting brother against brother, even when it came to dinner. He’d purposely have the cook set out too few pieces of meat or not enough of our favorite sides just so he could watch us fight over it.
When Mother tried to give us some of her food he’d rail against her too.
I know people think I had this job handed to me by good old-fashioned nepotism but my father raised us to believe that if we weren’t competing, we were wasting space. It was nonstop, never ending, but it’s the only way I know.
I’ve never bothered with relationships—I spend time with women, of course, but usually more of a one-night stand variety. I don’t have time for dating bullshit and honestly I don’t want someone who is around all the time. Marriage is a burden of worrying about what someone else wants and needs and expects from me. Pretty much my nightmare. I just want to be left alone to work.
I give it a go for about twenty minutes, pretending to read contracts and proposals and make sure all my documents and points are ready for tomorrow but really, I’m just looking at these things. I’m not absorbing anything. It’s a waste of time so I head to bed with the intent to skip my regular six a.m. workout and get to the office even earlier than usual.
But it’s still no use. I can’t stop thinking about Emily.
I feel like I could replay the dinner in my mind for the rest of my life. Emily took me by complete surprise, which I suppose is why I had to take her.
As I lay in bed, I mentally undress Emily, taking her dress all the way off, seeing her completely naked before me.
I liked teasing her but right before I tasted her I wasn’t trying to tease her. I was thinking that if I went through with it, if I had a taste of her, I might not be able to go back. When my name came whimpering out of her mouth, I was done. She already had so much power over me, and I’d gone further with her than I ever planned. I realize now that the moment I saw her in that dress, her perfect body filling it out and those gorgeous eyes of hers, I was a goner. Nothing could have saved me.
As I finally fall asleep, I vow to myself to get my shit together the second I wake up in the morning.
“So the golden boy didn’t get the job,” my brother Rex says over the video screen. He leans back in his chair in Los Angeles and rests his head back on his hands and laughs. The bastard actually laughs.
“Don’t be a dick,” Miles scolds, but he doesn’t mean it. Miles is enjoying this as much if not more than Rex. “Really. The poor son of a bitch thought he had the job locked down and now he’s just like us.”
“Yeah, we send our condolences to the heir apparent,” Rex says. The contempt can’t be kept from his 25-year-old face. He’s the youngest, and the biggest smartass. “And you’ve treated us our whole lives like we were working for you, like you were higher than us. The arrogance on you is legendary, brother. Now we’re all on the same shit-level playing field. Miles and I have just as good of a chance of taking over Croft International as your sorry ass does.”
“Look, can we just focus on the business at hand?” I say, desperately trying to keep all emotion from my face.
These calls are always bad enough.
When our father passed recently, we had all expected that I would take the reins of this company as president and CEO of all of Croft International, across all operations and platforms. That would have made me the big boss to my little brothers Miles and Rex.
It’s what I’ve been told my entire life—when Father passed, the company would become mine, the eldest.
But Edward Croft was a ruthless man, in business and in life. In his will he changed the rules. He deemed all three of us a disappointment because none of us has settled down and become family men—a key ingredient he felt was necessary to running a corporation.
So in his will he decreed that the first of us to marry will become the true president and CEO.
Father was not a great family man, but he made himself look the part. Around the time he expanded his business from luxury hotels to resort destinations, our mother, always quiet and proper, packed up her monogrammed Louis Vuitton cases and moved to Monaco.
I was ten.
The last time I saw her was for my college graduation. She flew in for the ceremony, but Father insisted we accompany him to a wedding for the daughter of the U.S. senator to Vermont.
He wanted to present me to all the bigwigs at the wedding as if it were my coming out into the family business. Mom and I did our Croft duties all night, shaking hands, being proper, and not having more than two glasses of champagne during the entire seven-hour evening. Mother flew back the next afternoon on a company jet. That was my graduation celebration, and the last time I saw her.
The new terms of his will is just one final middle finger to the three sons—but most of all me.
Nobody sacrificed more than I did for this damn business.
I keep my voice calm, but in reality I’d like to punch through the window of my thirty-second floor office. My brothers’ faces are vivid on the screens before me, and the glee in thei
r eyes is undeniable. My brothers and I are never a team, but when we have these calls we have to pretend to come together for the good of the company.
“Well, that’s enough chit chat,” Miles says, breaking me from my reverie. “Jackson, where are the reports you were supposed to send us?”
For a moment I don’t say anything.
“Hello? The quarterly reports for the Madrid properties?”
“Yeah, I didn’t get them either,” Rex adds.
I fumble through the files on my computer. I did look at it last night. I thought I’d sent it. Or had I meant to look at it one more time early this morning before sending?
“I have it, I just needed to confirm a couple of numbers,” I say.
“Somebody didn’t do his homework,” Rex chides.
“Jackson, I need that report for my meeting with the investors at noon,” Miles says.
“I said I have it,” I snap. I’m frantically clicking through the files. I don’t get rattled. It’s one of the things Father instilled in us—the ability to roll with the punches (both literal and figurative). He was known to damage our sporting equipment before big matches just to see how we’d handle the sudden crisis.
“Has finance seen it?” Miles asks. “Because you know it has to through them before I can present it here in New York.”
Shit, how could I forget that? I should have sent it last night before I went to dinner with Emily. This is a significant screw up.
“What’s wrong with you, Jackson?” Miles asks. “My meeting is in two hours. What am I supposed to do?”
“Frank is going to be pissed,” Rex unhelpfully adds. “He hates having his time wasted.”
“We all do,” Miles says. “Not to mention it makes me look like I’m slacking on my job. Thanks a lot, Jackson.”
“I said I’d get it to you as soon as I can.”
“You better hope it’s in time for my meeting,” Miles says. “Will I even have time to review it or are you going to send it two seconds before the meeting? It starts at noon.”
“I know what time your meeting starts.”
“Do you?” Miles sits back in his chair, exasperated. “God, you don’t care about anyone but yourself. I’m so glad Father amended his will because you’d run this company into the ground.”
“Watch yourself, Miles,” I say. “You both can say what you want about me but don’t question my abilities in this company.”
“You’re proving him right,” Rex pipes in. “You don’t have the report—basic stuff, Jackson.”
“Your entire life you’ve had this chip on your shoulder,” Miles says. “You don’t just think you’re better than me and Rex, you think you’re better than everyone. And on one of my most important meetings of the quarter you can’t get me what I need.”
“I’ve contributed more to this company than the two of you combined,” I say, the heat flowing up me faster than I can possibly contain it. They have no idea the sacrifices I’ve made for the sake of Croft International. “Do not question my ability and do not question my authority.”
“God, you can’t help yourself,” Miles says. “Selfish and arrogant as always.”
“You still can’t see it, big brother,” Rex says. “You have no authority over us anymore. There was the idea that you would someday, but that day is over.”
I can see the glow of the morning sun behind him, three hours earlier in Los Angeles, and something about that whole dawning of a new day gets me. He’s right. It’s like my whole future is down to a foot race between my brothers and me.
Whoever makes it to the altar first, wins.
“I can’t even stand to look you bastards right now,” Rex says. “Is there anything else? Another thing Jackson screwed up or some more fortune cookie words of wisdom you want to share, Miles?”
“Do you have to be a dick every second of the day?” Miles shoots back.
Rex chuckles. “What can I say, you bring out the best in me.”
“That’s it,” I tell them, raising my voice. “Do I always have to be the grown up here? Stop acting like children.”
Now Miles leans towards the screen. “Send me those reports.”
“You don’t give the orders around here,” I warn him. My temper is flaring up and I feel my emotions starting to give way.
“Neither do you, anymore,” Miles reminds me. “So let’s just agree on one thing: we don’t talk to each other again unless absolutely necessary.”
“I’m good with that,” Rex says.
“That’s fine,” I say. I don’t need to see their faces again or hear their voices. Especially with this new boastful attitude they have. “We’ll stop these regular video conferences and communicate only when necessary and only through our assistants.”
“Great,” Miles says.
“Agreed,” Rex says.
“That’s it then,” I say, and with that, I push the button that ends the conference and erases their smug faces from the room.
I let out a deep breath, collapsing back against my chair. My brothers and I never get along and these calls are always continuous, but that was a real shit show. Not only did I drop the ball on the reports I was supposed to have sent out, but I lost my cool. A man can only be pushed so much and God knows my brothers know what buttons to push.
A text pings on my phone. My heart clenches when I see it’s from Emily.
Thanks again for last night. Totally amazing on all counts.
I stare at the words for a moment, Emily’s face floating through my mind. My instinct has been to get back to her as quickly as possible. Drop everything and have her by my side.
She has my mind spinning—spinning so much that even after just one night I’m already slipping on the job.
What would happen if I actually dated her seriously or, God forbid, married her? Even though I can see it, that stupid, childish institution of marriage with Emily Brown, I shake it from my head. If I do what Father’s will asks and marry to keep the company, I need someone who doesn’t make me screw up on the job. Emily wouldn’t help me with the company—she could only hurt me.
How ironic that the one woman I’ve found who stands out from the rest is the exact woman I know I can’t afford to get wrapped up with.
No distractions—not now, not ever.
But especially not now.
I look back at the text, sitting there on my phone. I picture Emily at the other end of that text, waiting for me to reply, probably excited and nervous, wondering what I’ll say and when we’ll see each other again.
No, I can’t have that. I can’t spend time with these flirting games, texting each other on the sly in meetings and planning fun outings. I
have a job to do, and now it’s two-fold: keep my end of the business running smoothly like I always have, and find a way to beat my brothers to the top of this company.
What I need is a woman who’s already used to my lifestyle—someone refined, elegant, someone who understands social etiquette and doesn’t get excited by little things like a private dining room.
Someone who dresses the part, speaks the part, a blue blood through and through.
I need someone like the girls I grew up with, the ones I met at the socials when we’d bus over to Dana Hall, the girls’ boarding school not far from my own. They were beautiful, well spoken, had hobbies like equestrian, and were basically being groomed for a life of social galas and luncheons. It’s a life we’d both understand.
There’s an empty tightening in my gut, imagining myself pursuing such a woman. They are all the same—they are all I’ve ever known—and they bore me.
But Emily is a risk.
I do not respond to Emily’s text. I know it’s better this way.
Emily doesn’t need someone like me—selfish and arrogant, just like my brothers said. She needs someone good and giving, someone more like her. How could we possibly work together as a couple, especially long term? She’s already more to me than the things we did last night—the good in
her goes so deep, and I’d only ruin that in her.
Yes, this is for the best. I just have to keep telling myself that, and hope someday I actually start believing it.
Emily
“And don’t forget, the paper is due a week from today so if you need any help or have questions about it, make an appointment during my office hours,” Brent, the TA for my class says as he wraps up. “Professor Stanwick is a real stickler for anything late, or any excuses so make sure you’re on it and if not, well, that’s what I’m here for. Okay, that’s it for today.”
It’s been another long day that began with work at CEF, transitioned into classes at school, and will end with me working on this paper. Brent Fuller is a good and fair teaching assistant and his knowledge of School Law is ridiculously intense, especially for someone who is only in his late twenties. More than once I’ve holed in his office as he helped me understand the tricky legal aspects of school policy.
“Emily,” Brent calls before I head out the door. He nods me over to him. “How are you holding up?” he asks once I’ve made my way through the exiting students.
“Fine,” I say, curious. “Why?”
He shrugs. “You just seem a little distracted, that’s all. Or maybe my lecture was just boring you?”
“No, it’s not that,” I say quickly.
He grins. “I’m kidding. I mean, I hope the lecture wasn’t too boring…”
“No, really,” I say. “It’s not you, it’s me.” I stop and shake my head at the odd, cliché statement. “I just mean, yeah, I was a little zoned out today but it had nothing to do with your lecture. I’m just tired. That’s all.”
Lie, lie, lie. I am not tired. In fact, lately I can’t even sleep. Jackson Croft floats in my mind every night, every day, every freaking waking moment since that night at the restaurant—and especially since I haven’t heard a peep from him since.
“Okay,” Brent says, grinning. “I’d hate to think you weren’t utterly fascinated by recent developments in school law.”
