I shrug. “Uh, sure. You want to fatten me up or something?”
“Well sure, there’s that. But didn’t I tell you? I’m one of only three students from the culinary program who were selected to assist the Blair Rasmus at a fundraising gala for some of New York’s elite, no less.”
“Wow. No, you didn’t tell me…but I’ve been here all week, so it’s all good. Congrats, Em!”
She nods proudly, placing some sour cream and other containers in the free spaces of the moderately packed fridge, then moves over to the oven and fiddles with the heat settings to turn it on. “Thanks! Guess where it’s being held?”
“You’re so excited, you should just tell me,” I say with a grin.
“The Six-Twenty Loft! It’s the rooftop gardens at the Rockefeller Center.”
“That’s awesome, Em. That event space is gorgeous! Even if it is as a chef’s assistant, you’re one of the rare few to grace the place.”
“Thanks, Dahl.” She opens one of the containers she brought, and begins to spoon out what looks like scone batter on a nonstick baking tray. “So, can we go back to the hot neighbor?”
“There isn’t much more to share,” I tell her without admitting anything more than I need to. Not that there’s much more at all.
“Has he asked you out?”
“What? No. Why would he?”
“Because, well, it sounds like he might be into you.”
“No, he’s not.”
“You’re at least on his radar.”
“No, Sheba annoyed him, and if he keeps it up, it’ll be my ass on the line.” I look down at Sheba, Bailey, and Daisy resting on the floor beside me. Sheba whimpers and lifts his head off the floor. “You heard that, didn’t you, Sheba?”
He whimpers again and returns his head to his front paws, wagging his tail as he patiently waits to sample Emily’s hors d’oeuvres.
“I don’t think that’s all there is,” Emily says, placing the baking tray in the oven. “What wealthy, busy Manhattan native would ever take time out of their day to invite you up to their office like that? And don’t tell me he was just being neighborly.”
“I don’t know, hun.” Letting out a sigh, I shake my head and get to my feet. I’m not going to add fuel to the fire by admitting to the attraction I feel for Jackson. “I have a ton of readings, and three lab write-ups to finish this weekend. Give me a minute. I’ll grab my school stuff upstairs.”
She smiles and starts working on some mini sausages. “Take your time. I’m just getting warmed up.”
It takes me a few minutes to grab my backpack and notebooks from my room upstairs, and when I return downstairs, the terrace door is wide open.
“Emily? Are you out on the balcony?” I call out, hurrying down the hallway to check the door.
“I’m still working on these appetizers,” she shouts from somewhere in the direction of the kitchen. “Bailey and Daisy are with me. Well, Daisy left for a minute and came back. I don’t see Sheba in here.”
Alarm bells go off in my head and panic sets in. Crap. “Sheba, I swear! There won’t be any treats tonight if you snuck out again!”
I stick my head out through the open sliding door. Sheba sees me from his spot at the glass partition to Jackson’s section, barks wildly for a second, and as soon as I’m within arms-length of him, he ducks through the opening.
“No, Sheba! Get back here,” I call him, and start mumbling under my breath.
I don’t expect Jackson to be home. I thought he was dealing with something important at his office. Past tense. Was dealing. Because at the moment, he’s standing on the other side of the partition, and Sheba’s at his feet.
“You owe me now, doll,” Jackson says with a cocky half-smile.
“Mr. Knight, I’m…I was just upstairs for a minute. I didn’t think Daisy would let Sheba out. Please, he hasn’t done any damage. Can I just come to the front door for him?”
He shakes his head. “You can come get your mutt,” he barks. “But your apology won’t cut it. Not this time.”
“But he just got there.”
“And I told you if he does this again, you’ll have to pay. I wasn’t making idle conversation when I said you’ll be punished.”
I anxiously fold my arms across my chest as he steps up to the terrace railing. He can’t possibly be talking about pressing charges against me because of Sheba. Can he?
“How much?” I ask. “What do I owe you? And I hope you realize I don’t have much.”
“You’ve got plenty, doll,” he says, dragging his gaze as far down my body as he can see from his spot.
“Actually, I don’t,” I disagree. “I’m on student loans for college, and the money Vivian’s paying me to be here for these few weeks is already spoken for.”
Jackson’s brother shows up at his door and steps outside, but doesn’t see me right away. “Why the fuck are you out here when we have things to dis—” he says, then stops short when our eyes meet. “Oh. Hi.”
“Hello,” I answer. “I’m Dahlia.”
“Hey.” He returns his gaze to his brother. “So uh, I have to leave soon,” he tells Jackson with a smirk. “I’ll be in the study.”
“On my way.” Jackson turns to me. “Come to the front door for your puppy. I’ll think about your payment and get back to you.”
I walk through the condo unit and make it to the front door. Jackson’s already waiting for me. Sheba’s bouncing up and down around his feet as they wait.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket, unlocks the screen, and hands it over to me. “Put your number in there,” he instructs me.
I take it and silently add my number, then pass the phone back to him. “Can you please reconsider, Mr. Knight?” I plead. “I can’t afford to pay much, and I don’t own anything, so there’s no point trying to sue me.”
“You’ll pay what I tell you to pay,” he says confidently, turning back to his front door to go inside. “I’ll be in touch.”
Aww hell. I’m so screwed.
9
Jackson
Jace is a bull in a china shop when he gets an idea into his head. It’s early on Sunday morning, and instead of sleeping in on account of the crazy ass week we’ve had with this set of negotiations, we’re heading to the country club in separate cars to share a round of golf with Dad. This is all Jace’s brainchild. He wants to drop a few hints about these Mont Blanc irregularities, in the broadest of generalities, and see how our father reacts.
It’s not a bad idea at all, except I prefer to spend my Sunday mornings not wearing plaid or freezing my ass off. Jace knows we can just as easily meet up with Dad for breakfast later, although he’s less likely to be in a welcoming mood by then. He’s always wanted to have Jace and me at his side, partaking in his favorite sport, rather than passing the eggs Benedict. Showing up while he’s playing will help to ensure our conversation is well received if Gerald’s name ends up in the mix.