by Cindi Madsen
“Work for the enemy?” Jackson scowled, and I wasn’t sure what it said about me that I now considered his scowls a form of foreplay.
I did my best innocent shrug, and he looked to Savannah.
“Don’t glare at me,” she said. “Just the messenger here.” Using her tab system, she flipped to the section labeled “admin.” “These jobs don’t so much involve actual renovating, but they’re positions at companies who do them, which might eventually get you there. The truth is, unless you’re a contractor, not a lot of people hire someone who…” I could tell she was searching for the right word, so I filled it in for her.
“Isn’t qualified.”
“I was going to say someone who doesn’t have much experience and isn’t licensed. They don’t realize that when it comes to you, you figure out how to do whatever you set your mind to. That’s why you’d work in their offices and show them. You probably wouldn’t make as much as you do in tips at the bar at first, but you can juggle both for a while, and like I said, there’s always room for advancement.”
I let that sink in for a moment, and she turned to Jackson. “Actually, you’d qualify for a lot of the jobs I found. If you’d like, I could make a list of some of the companies who are looking to hire guys with your experience and qualifications. The pay is really impres—”
“I get plenty of jobs on my own, thank-you-very-much.”
“Oh, I know. And heaven forbid you recognize that your sister might have some good advice, whether it be career or, you know, dating, at which I happen to be an expert at, in case you forgot.”
“In the past day that you haven’t mentioned it? No, I haven’t.”
“Okay,” I said, diverting the conversation back to the subject at hand before I had to hear about the type of girl Savannah thought her brother should be with. Girls who had nothing in common with me, I was sure. She’d once told me that the way I viewed relationships was similar to the commitaphobe guys she warned her clients away from.
I couldn’t disagree, but that didn’t mean I wanted to hear about the kind of girl Jackson would settle down with someday. I might not want the picket fence and two-point-five kids lifestyle, but I couldn’t help envying the woman who’d have that with Jackson.
“Okay, what?” Savannah asked, and I realized I’d gotten a bit lost in disliking a hypothetical girl.
“What are my other options?”
“Well, since you can sell just about anything, especially to men, there’s always real estate. Not quite as hands on, but still a good way to make a living.” Savannah flipped to the handy-dandy “Real estate agent” tab, where a bullet point list greeted me.
—Complete a 75-hour Salesperson pre-license course
—Take the Georgia Salesperson Licensing Exam
—Apply for a license
—Start showing homes!
I pictured myself showing homes, helping people find the place they’d settle into with their families. It wasn’t what I’d originally envisioned, but Savannah was right—I could make it work.
“The last section details interior design degrees. There are two schools down on Peachtree, the American Intercontinental University and the Art Institute of Atlanta, both with bachelor’s degree programs, so it’d mean more school, but if it’s what you want…”
“Four more years of schooling. Wow.” I knew switching up my career wouldn’t be easy, but I was antsy to do something now. Locking myself into a four-year program brought back that squeezing, suffocating sensation.
Savannah bumped her shoulder into mine. “Breathe, girl. How did you ever commit to a major in college?”
“I was determined to prove I could get a degree. It was sheer, stubborn determination.” I dared a glance at Jackson, who had a contemplative crinkle in his forehead. “What?”
He shook himself out of wherever his thoughts had taken him. “Nothing. Just…thinking.”
“Care to share?” I asked.
That familiar evil gleam lit his eyes. “Nah.”
“You’re infuriating.”
“Thanks,” he said.
“We’re having a vocabulary issue again. You see, infuriating means aggravating, purposely provoking, or maddening.”
“So basically what you are, then. Thanks for providing me with such a perfect example.”
I grinned extra wide, baring my teeth. Yep, the foreplay had begun, and I telepathically told him to bring it. The desire darkening his gaze meant he understood and he was up for the challenge.
“You better be nice, or I won’t show you what I picked up.”
I glanced at the big box he’d brought in. “Wait. Is that the window?”
He nodded, and I fought the urge to clap and squee, which wasn’t usually in my repertoire of reactions to…well, anything.
“You want to see it, Savannah?” I asked. “Jackson’s putting in a reading nook, and it’s going to be so cool once it’s done.”
“Sure,” she said. “There are some other options in the folder that you can go over later, including a property acquisitions manager position that looked promising.”
“I’ll definitely check them out.” I placed the file on top of the stack of scrapbooks I was still making my way through for a mix of reverie and torture reasons. “Thank you, Savannah. I super appreciate all the work you did, and I can’t wait to figure out what I really want to be when I grow up.”
Jackson told us it’d be better to open the window in the bedroom so we didn’t break the thing before we got it in there, so Savannah and I followed him upstairs, then stood back for the big reveal.
The cardboard came off, and the three panes were worthy of the dramatic buildup and more.
“I love it,” I said.
“I’m going to do my best to get it installed by the end of the day so you can still sleep in the room, but you might have to move to another for a night.”
Or I could go to my actual home, the condo I owned, where I had my more comfortable bed. But I didn’t want to give up even a night in this house. I could make excuses about checking on the kittens and needing to be here early, which was so much easier if I could just roll out of bed, but I loved this house. Most of my memories here were good, from my childhood to the sexy times with Jackson.
Which I shouldn’t be thinking about with his sister in the room. She was already watching our exchanges too carefully.
“You’ve been sleeping here?” she asked, and Jackson’s eyes widened for a second before he seemed to realize she was talking to me.
“Helps me get an early start,” I said. “Plus, with the kittens…”
“Oh, yeah! I need to see the kittens. How did I miss them?”
Just like that, the best friend was successfully distracted. I gestured her toward the door. “Black Widow moved them so they’re partially hidden by the long curtains that’ll probably be shredded soon.”
She started down the stairs, and I called out that I’d be right there before turning back to the open doorway of my bedroom. “Thanks, Jackson. For the window. For…everything.”
I almost added that I’d thank him properly tonight, because my thank you was dangerously close to crossing into mushy, not-sex-only territory. But I meant everything—his help with this place and for caring about a reading nook and whether I’d have to skip sleeping here for a night, and for his help moving my mom yesterday, and the list could go on and on.
I didn’t want to cheapen it by turning it into an “only physically” joke.
But now it felt so heavy, out there in the air between us. Vulnerability and shakiness set in, and I was in serious danger of overanalyzing everything and blurting out that we needed to end things now, because I, Ivy Clarke, was starting to experience feelings.
Jackson crossed the room, glanced past me into the hallway—assumedly to check that his sister was out of view—then lowered his lips to mine. “You’re welcome,” he whispered, and a shiver ran down my spine. “For the record, this is the most I’ve ever enjoyed
a job, and I’m not talking about the fun we have after work, although I’m enjoying that, too.” His thumb slipped under my shirt and rubbed the skin on my hipbone. “I’m talking during the hours we’re working, and yes, even arguing over things like flooring and paint. I’d take this over an easy, boring job—an easy, boring girl—any day of the week.”
Starting-to-experience-feelings moved into officially-having-full-blown-feelings territory. It was a good thing his sister was downstairs, because if he and I were alone in the house, I might let myself be swept up in his words and forget that we had an expiration date, not just on the job, but on us.
As it was, I was thinking that forgetting for the tiniest while might not be the biggest deal.
Ah, denial, my old friend. Always there when I needed to figure out a way to screw myself over down the road.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I’d displayed so much baggage over the past week that any sane man would’ve run. Unfortunately—or fortunately, I couldn’t quite decide—Jackson didn’t run.
And somehow, I’d let him talk me into going to Sunday dinner with his family. In case there was any question, it definitely broke one of my ways to avoid a broken heart.
Way #11: Never go into enemy territory. No getting close to his friends, no family events. They only serve as complications and more ties that’ll screw you over when the end comes.
I told myself that this was different, because I already knew Jackson’s family, but I also knew that my coming with him would raise questions. If Savannah brought me along to dinner, no one would think twice. Instead, I arrived in the same vehicle as Jackson, and while I’d eat slugs before admitting it, he’d held my hand the entire drive over and I’d loved every second.
“This is a bad idea,” I said, withdrawing my hand and looking toward the lit-up windows of the two-story peachy-colored brick house that was much nicer than any place I had ever lived. My stomach rose higher and higher until it was fighting it out with my lungs for space.
“They’ll never buy us as just friends.” I turned to Jackson to see if any of my concerns were sinking in, but he was miles away from worried, his heated gaze too busy traveling over my body. “Especially not with you giving me that look like you’ve seen me naked in the past hour.”
“I have seen you naked in the past hour, and if I close my eyes…” Jackson shut them. “Naked Ivy.”
I smacked his arm, fighting back the laugh that wanted to push through the panic and burst free. “Stop. You’re going to give us away.”
“So what? Would it really be so bad if they knew?”
A tight band formed around my chest. “Knew what? That we’re fooling around? Um, don’t you remember how we agreed that Savannah would get ideas, and your mom and Aunt Velma would freak and stage an intervention? They might tolerate me as Savannah’s friend, but they’d never think I was good enough for you.”
“That’s not true.”
“It’s true, and you know it. And because of our temporary status, it doesn’t really matter. I don’t want them to hate me afterward. We’re going to eventually cross paths at these kinds of shindigs and, oh, Savannah and Linc’s wedding.”
Jackson’s hand inched toward my bare legs. “And I’m supposed to pretend that I don’t want to whisk you into a bedroom and have my wicked way with you when we’re at those events together?”
“Yes.”
“You’re asking for the impossible.”
“You’re being impossible,” I said. “Which makes me repeat my original point. This is a bad idea.”
“Well, as you see from the pulled back curtains and figures at the window, we’ve been spotted, so there’s no going back now.”
“Okay. But just…do a better job putting out the friends-only vibe.”
Jackson saluted me, and I figured it was as close to an agreement as I’d get, so I pushed out of his truck and smoothed down my dress. What the hell was I thinking? I blamed being under-caffeinated, overly tired, and still feeling vulnerable from this morning’s surprise stop in to check on my mom. Stan hadn’t come home during the hours we’d spent unloading her stuff on Thursday, and when I told Jackson I couldn’t stop worrying about her, he’d dropped what he was doing at the house and said, “Let’s go check on her, then.”
Stan didn’t seem very excited to see us, but Mom went on and on about how happy she was as she fussed over him. Did he need a refill on his drink? What would he like for dinner? She was thinking of changing out the curtains but only if it was okay with him, etcetera, etcetera. She was trying so hard, and as far as I could tell, Stan was unmoved. He sure as hell didn’t thank her or shower her with any kind of affection.
As we’d said our good-byes, Jackson pulled Stan aside and made good on his promise to talk to him about how my mother deserved to be treated. Then he patted Stan on the back extra hard and took me home.
Home to the Victorian, anyway. And after he’d used his body to make me forget my worries for a while—ah, yes, the other thing to blame for my congenial mood—he told me I could use a break and a good meal. I agreed, my mind conjuring an evening of takeout in bed with him.
One minor lapse in judgment later, I found myself here in my Sunday best, about to have dinner with the whole extended Gamble clan.
Jackson put his hand on the small of my back, and I glanced at him, eyebrows raised.
He looked right back at me, his hand remaining firmly in place. We were so going to get busted. I hoped my best friend didn’t hate me afterward.
The door swung open, and we were pulled into the melee of several families, multiple conversations going on at once, and a whole lot of hugging.
Jackson hugged his mom and then returned his hand to my back. “Ivy’s had a long week, so I told her she should come relax and enjoy some good food.”
Savannah looked from him to me but didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Linc gave me a nod that had an edge of “thanks for taking the heat off me” to it.
“Of course,” Lucinda said, throwing her arms around me and giving me a tight squeeze. “You know you’re welcome anytime.” She asked one of the kids to set a place for me, adding, “Put her next to Savannah.”
Jackson opened his mouth, no doubt to request I sit by him instead, but he took in my wide-eyed, don’t-say-anything expression and let it drop.
His mom patted his cheek. “Can you be a dear and go into the garage and get an extra chair?”
“Sure thing, Ma.”
A swirl of affection wound its way through me. I loved that he was this big tough guy who cared for his family so fiercely, even during the times they were also driving him crazy by constantly calling and meddling in his life. Through my years of friendship with Savannah, I’d occasionally experienced twinges of jealousy over her family, but I’d always told myself I didn’t need the complications of people in my business, demanding my time and giving unsolicited opinions.
Case in point: the austere look Velma was giving the hem of my dress, her pursed lips making it clear she thought it was too short, even though it was my longest one.
It was the same way the grandmother of one of my step-siblings looked at me before saying, “Lawd, people will be able to see Christmas when you sit down.” She’d been the one to insist Mom and I attend church with them, but she’d changed her mind mighty quick once she saw what we planned on wearing. Evidently, she’d decided that she’d rather people gossip about our lack of religion than our lack of suitable church-going outfits.
I waited for Velma to go with the usual and tell me how great love was and how I should get on finding it because I was missing out. Unless she’d realized that I might be trying to get my love on Jackson and wanted to steer me away. Next thing I knew, she’d probably start spouting the merits of being single and how it was the right choice for me.
Which I knew.
The doorbell rang. “Oh, I bet that’s the Porters,” Velma said. She walked over and swung open
the door.
The name and why it sounded familiar clicked about one millisecond before the Porters walked in, Caroline included. Heavy awkwardness crept through the room. Although I was probably the only one who felt it, considering everyone else thought Jackson and I were just friends.
Which we were.
But I still had one more week with him, so homegirl needed to back off.
Savannah put her hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
I quickly rearranged my features to hide my annoyance. “Of course. Sorry, I was just thinking about everything I needed to do this next week.”
“Mm-hm. I’m starting to wonder about all the things you’re doing.”
Shit. Lucinda instructed everyone to “come take your seat for dinner” before I could figure out how to respond—I was going to have to come clean, and soon. Bobbing and weaving around the truth was one thing, but I couldn’t lie right to Savannah’s face. I just had to hope that she’d understand, even if she was also pissed. I have a feeling the lecture she’s going to give me is gonna make her workshop sessions seem short. At least Jackson will have to suffer through one, too.
On the way over to the table, I saw eight-year-old Evan, one of my favorite of Savannah and Jackson’s cousins. Probably because he was the kid who was forever in trouble for things like pulling out a sling shot or arriving for the family photo covered with a thick layer of mud that he’d somehow found in the five minutes the adults took their eyes off him. Oh, maybe kids like him are why people are so obsessed with flooring that also hides dirt.
Evan was tugging at his tie, grunting like he was on the verge of suffocating.
I cast a quick glance around and squatted down—carefully, so no one had to endure even more of my scandalous bare thighs. “Want me to show you a trick?”
Proving he deserved to be my favorite, he leaned in and asked, “Is it how to hide your vegetables? Because I sneak mine into my napkin, then when I lay it on my lap like a proper gentleman”—the mimicked tone made me suspect Velma was the one responsible for that nugget—“I just shake it out and kick them away, so it looks like my baby sister spilled them off her tray.” He leaned closer. “Don’t worry. She’s too young to get in trouble for not eating vegetables. I’m not sure what I’m going to do when she gets older.”
