The fact that I have all these questions makes it clear the right decision was made. I can’t sleep with him, even if it is for only one night.
I open my laptop, seeing an email from Gavin. I go through what he’s got so far for the story. The pictures turned out awesome. Sending an email back to him, I ask him to send me everything before it goes to print.
Then my eyelids fall closed as I lean my head back on the headrest, thinking that I probably need to get laid. It’s been way too long, and if I can just sleep with someone, maybe all these thoughts about Ford will disappear.
I walk into the Jacobs’ house, surprised to hear Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs arguing in his office. Usually, he’d be at the Jacobs Enterprises office at this time of day. But I tend to do most of my work here with Mrs. Jacobs. I thought it’d be a light day, especially since the whole Ford baby mama crisis is well on its way to being spun to show Ford as a glowing single dad.
Deciding to head to the kitchen and hopefully convince Bennie to make me a sandwich for lunch, I find Imogen, Morgan, and Bennie huddled around a plate of small triangle sandwiches.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“They’re at it again,” Imogen says. “Dad’s birthday party.”
His party isn’t for two more weeks. Usually, Mrs. Jacobs does whatever she wants for their parties and Mr. Jacobs just shows up in whatever she tells him to wear.
“They’re arguing about the agreement they made,” Imogen says, taking a triangle sandwich.
Before I can ask what she’s talking about, Bennie says, “Heard you got stranded in Florida.” There’s a hint of mischief in his eyes.
“I did.” I pick up one of the sandwiches, starved from not eating anything on the plane.
“And?” Morgan asks.
I still with the sandwich halfway to my mouth. “And what?”
They all stare at me, then Imogen pulls out her phone, types out something, and slides it over to me. There’s a picture of me with Annabelle on my chest and a suit-laden Ford walking to his car. The caption reads, “Ford Jacobs sports new car and new baby mama.” I laugh and slide it back, not bothering to read the article.
“They don’t know it’s you. It was too dark. You’re described as a sandy-blonde with a resting bitch face.” Morgan laughs.
I take the phone back, more interested in the article now. “The puck bunnies took this?”
They all nod, even Bennie in his Hawaiian shirt. The man is always wearing Hawaiian shirts and complains all the time about how he’s never been to Hawaii but how he’s prepared in case anyone wants to have sympathy and take him. You’d think the Jacobs would at this point.
I shake my head. “People are the worst.” I give the phone back after seeing the women said I was a bitch the entire time and wouldn’t let them look at the baby.
“You took what they want,” Imogen says with a smugness to her voice.
I scoff. “I don’t want your brother.”
Silence. No one says a word.
“What? I don’t.”
“Where did you stay last night?” Morgan asks with a shit-eating grin.
“There was a Merfest going on, so there weren’t any hotel rooms available.” My tone already sounds like I’m making excuses.
“Merfest?” Bennie asks. “There cannot be that many people who think they’re mermaids.”
Bennie might have a point. Especially since I didn’t call every hotel before Ford offered up his place.
“I slept in my own room.”
“Did you bring extra clothes?” Morgan asks.
“I borrowed a shirt and shorts to sleep in.” I shrug, feigning nonchalance.
Morgan elbows Imogen. “Right out of a movie.”
They both laugh. Bennie shakes his head and pulls a cake out of the oven. It’s chocolate and it looks delicious. I knew I smelled something good when I came in here.
“It’s not out of a movie. The plane needed a repair. I needed a place to stay, so I stayed at your brother’s. You’ve seen us. We don’t exactly see eye to eye on everything. On anything really.”
“That’s the point, darling,” Bennie says. “All that animosity boils up until you can’t control your hunger for one another.”
I tilt my chin down and look at him from under my brows. “Okay, Bennie, put down the romance novels for a night. This was nothing of the sort.”
A door slams from elsewhere in the penthouse and we all quiet for a moment to see what might follow, but don’t hear anything else.
“I take offense to the romance novel comment.” Bennie turns his head away from me as if he’s mad.
“I’m sorry, it’s just…”
“What?” Morgan asks.
“I don’t like your brother!”
“Well, that’s clear, but those pictures are incriminating,” Mrs. Jacobs comes into the kitchen. “Oh, are you doing the practice cakes for the party in a couple of weeks?”
“Sure am,” Bennie says with a smile.
“This is the chocolate, right?” she asks.
Bennie nods. “Mr. Jacobs doesn’t eat chocolate though?”
Mrs. Jacobs waves him off. “He won’t even eat the cake. The majority of people like chocolate, so that’s what we’re having.”
Morgan walks over to her mom and lays her head on her shoulder. “Are you and Daddy getting a divorce?” Morgan has a personality much like her brother—not much is ever taken seriously.
“He’s trying to go back on his word. He told me that at sixty, he’d retire. We’re still young enough to travel and see the parts of the world that don’t have anything to do with Jacobs Enterprises.” She takes a sandwich from the tray and bites off a piece of it.
“He’s retiring?” I ask. If he retires, the family might not need a full-time PR person, which means I would be out of a job. The familiar anxiety about how I might shelter and feed myself makes my chest tighten and my breath come out shallow.
Mrs. Jacobs blows out a breath. “The man will probably never retire. I told him I’m going to start going away without him. Said I’d go to Africa on one of those safaris where there’s hardly any signal. He told me that if I didn’t have such an ungrateful son, he could’ve retired three years ago.”
“Once again, he has one child who’s involved in the company.” Imogen shakes her head.
Imogen works part time at Jacobs Enterprises, but her position isn’t high up on the food chain. She has to finish graduate school this year first.
I don’t say anything about how Imogen has confessed to me that she too wants nothing to do with the family legacy. I think she’s just hurt that her dad doesn’t see her as an option.
“Anyway, on to more important things, the plane, okay?” Mrs. Jacobs asks me.
I nod, swallowing my second small triangle sandwich. “Yeah, it’s all good.”
“I’m glad Ford took you in.” She runs her hand down my arm.
Then Mr. Jacobs comes into the kitchen with a severe look on his face. “Fine, you can have your way, but I want six months to make the transition.” He shoves his hands in his pockets.