13. Jackson

Jackson Big of J.B. Tech may be hard at work on his new project dubbed Infinius, but behind the scenes, he's been working even harder to hide his single status. Has that all changed now?

I scoffed as I skimmed the article. Line after line it talked about my love life, my preferences in women—physical characteristics, body type, personality traits—and how they just happened tomatch Mandy. Hardly anything was said about the campus, the project, or my move to Boulder. Just nonsense that people want to read. Why do they insist on printing this shit?

I exited the news app, too annoyed to finish the article. I didn't care if they ended it with something about the project or who the most "eligible bachelor in the country" was dating. I dreaded the headlines that would be coming out after tonight, how little they would focus on my accomplishments, but I needed the media's surge so we could breathe when the tide waded out.

A little itch of a thought formed in the back of my mind, nagging me, telling me this was the worst idea I could have ever come up with. If anyone from ten years ago saw it and realized who I was, they could put the pieces together. Possibly put a threat out against her. Take her?—

The sound of knives and forks scraping against plates and glasses clinking together snapped me back into the moment and my attention turned to something—someone—else. Mandy walked through the doors of the Flagstaff House Restaurant, wearing the little black dress I'd left in the car for her. Briefly, I wondered if she'd changed in the backseat and if Steve had had the decency to pull over and step out instead of watching through the rearview mirror.

She looked otherworldly as her irritated gaze found mine. I was seated in the back, against one of the many windows that overlooked the city below from Flagstaff Mountain. I'd had to shell out thousands to ensure the seats around us were empty, save for a few that I knew would belong to reporters and journalists. I didn't want them close enough to hear us, just enough to see us.

I almost regretted letting anyone else see just how amazing she looked, though.

The satin swayed against her skin as she crossed the floor toward me, her long curls bouncing about her shoulders and breasts. I hadn't left heels for her; hadn't needed to, not when I saw the ones she was wearing earlier. They matched perfectly.

"Why are we at the fanciest restaurant in town?" She grumbled, sliding into her spot next to me as I beckoned for her to leave the chair opposite empty.

"Because I wanted to have dinner with you, sans the screaming match that happened last time."

"I have no problem screaming at you in a fancy restaurant." One of the straps on her dress fell down her shoulder. "Is someone else joining us?"

"No," I answered, slipping a finger beneath the strap and lifting it back into place.

"Then why am I sitting next to you?" Her glare could cut glass as she flinched from the brush of my fingers.

"Because I wanted you close."

"Whatever," she huffed, picking up the menu in front of her and studying it like it was written in another language. "Where are the prices?"

In the center of the table, a bucket of ice held a bottle of champagne. I plucked it from its home, popping the top off as silently as I could. "Places like this don't tend to have prices on their menus. If you're here, you can afford it. Simple as that."

She glared at me as I poured her a glass. "How much are we talking? I only have so much excess I can spend right now."

"I'm paying," I said simply, glancing across the room at those I knew were meant to be watching. "Try to look at least a little bit like you want to be here, Mandy."

"No," she chuckled, lifting her glass to her lips and taking a sip. I knew she would never admit it, but I saw the glimmer of satisfaction as she tasted it. "I don't have to pretend with you, right?"

"It's not for me," I said quietly, my hand twitching in my lap as I glanced at her bare thighs. Touch them. I cleared my throat to distract myself as I nonchalantly nodded in the direction of the reporters. "Press is over there. This is a publicity dinner."

She looked at me, her eyes glassing over. "This is a publicity dinner?" She asked, the glass in her hand shaking just slightly. I gave in to temptation in the hopes it would calm her, snaking my hand across my lap and grasping her knee gently.

"Yes," I whispered, trying desperately not to think about the little electric spark that shot through my hand when I touched her skin. So soft. I remember other soft parts of you, princess. "They shouldn't be able to hear us as long as you don't shout at me. But try to look like you're happy."

"You could have warned me," she said, her face turning upward in a soft grin but her tone dripping with venom. "Do you always have to be so cryptic?"

"You would have fought me on it if I told you it was public."

"I'll fight you on it anyway."

"I don't doubt that" I chuckled, giving her thigh a quick squeeze before moving my hand away.

One of the waiters, clad in a tailored suit and a silk tie, stepped up to our table. "Have we decided on our choices for the four courses tonight?"

Mandy glanced at me, a small nod of her head telling me to go ahead. "I'll have the venison pate, duck breast, filet mignon, and macerated raspberries, please."

The scratch of a pen on paper filled the silence between us until he turned to Mandy. She glanced down at the menu, her eye catching on something in particular. "Can I have the salad, Maine lobster, wagyu, and the cheesecake? Please."

I chuckled as I realized that she'd chosen the two items on the menu that had the extra charge star next to them, upping the price of her attendance by nearly double. It didn't bother me in the least.

As the waiter turned and walked away, Mandy seemed to sink in on herself. Whether it was because of my presence, the intimacy that occurred between us, or because of the eyes glancing at her every two seconds, I wasn't sure. But I didn't want her to feel awkward. I wanted this to still be a nice dinner, even if it was for the press.

"How are things going with the planning for the new campus?" I asked, turning my body toward her and resting my chin on my hand. "Do you have any new ideas?"

Her brows rose, a little twinkle in her eye shining. "Yes," she said, a grin lifting her lips. "I've got a few ideas."

"Tell me about them," I said. I let my wants get the best of me again, placing my hand on her thigh.

"Well, for one, I was thinking of possibly adding in a canteen," she started, and already, I could tell how much she loved to talk about her work. I didn't mind it—I loved watching the way she moved, the excited little gestures she gave, the way her face lit up. It felt like the Mandy I knew before, not the one that had turned into an angry, bitter woman. Though I suppose that was mostly on me. "I don't know if you had one before at your Chicago offices, but from my research, having a place where your employees can go to get lunch and hang out is really good for morale."

"We had one," I said, lightly tracing the tips of my fingers in slow, little circles on the inside of her thigh. "It was small. Couldn't fit more than ten or so people at a time, so something large enough for a good portion of the staff to take their break in would be great."

"I can definitely make that happen with the floor plans you gave me," she grinned, her eyes meeting mine for half a second before looking down to my fingers caressing her leg. It was like a mask slipped back into place. Her body stiffened, her eyes lost their spark, her brows furrowed. When she spoke again, her tone was harsher. "That is, if you don't want to make a million changes first."

"Why would I?" I asked, removing my hand, not wanting that to set her off.

"Well, you seem to have a problem with committing to things, Jackson."

Ouch. Her words hit me quick and fast, tearing open a little gash in my chest that I'd spent years trying to patch back up. My hands balled up in my lap, my knuckles cracking as I forced myself to open them back up, flexing my fingers. "Don't do that. You have problems, too." She opened her mouth to speak, but I cut her off before she could. "Don't. If you snap at me, Miranda, use your words and paste a smile on your face."

Her jaw quivered as she forced a fake smile. "Most of my problems are your fault," she seethed, the duality of her expression and the venom from her words conflicting. "So if we're going to talk about my issues, we should start with you."

"Me?" I scoffed, grinning right back at her. "I think we both know that the root of your distrust comes from things that happened far before I entered your life." I was not going to let her walk all over me and blame me for everything that had gone wrong in her life. We both knew that there were other reasons why she struggled with trust and besides, I'd risked so much for her. So much that she didn't even know about.

She leaned forward, her too-happy face less than a foot from mine. "You're right. I didn't and still don't trust people. But you shoved the knife further in and fucking twisted it when you came back into my life."

"At least I'm bringing profit to your failing business," I snapped, regretting the jab as soon as it left my lips.

"Fuck you, Jack."

"Not unless you beg."

"Real mature."

"Don't be a prude, Mandy," I spat, chuckling as her happy mask broke a little. She glared at me, the mask breaking even more, and fuck she'd always looked so sexy when she was angry. And with her this close… "You showed me earlier there's still a part of you that wants that."

"We were practicing."

"For what? When we're alone? Grow up and admit you liked it," I hissed, leaning even closer, enough that I could smell the hint of champagne on her breath. "You liked when I kissed you. You came to life in my arms. Just admit it, Miranda."

Her lips parted as her eyes flicked back and forth between mine, her breathing just a little too rough, too heavy. Having her so close, with that stupid half-happy, half-angry expression and that satin black dress, was too much. She was too much. She'd always been too much for me.

I wanted to take her right there on the fucking table.

"Why did you leave?"

It hit me like a bucket of cold water. I recoiled, pulling away from her, dropping my mask entirely. I wasn't expecting that, didn't want to talk about it. "It doesn't matter," I breathed, knocking back the rest of my glass of champagne before filling it too full so that it spilled.

It was the wrong answer. She leaned back in her chair, every trace of emotion gone from her features. The waiter came with our first courses, and not a word was said. She was drawing in on herself, cocooning, and I needed to say something, anything. Is this what you were like when it happened?

"Even if I tell you," I started, unable to watch her any longer as she folded into herself, "it's not like you'll understand, Mandy. All you need to know is that I did it for you."

————

Mandy picked at her cheesecake as she stole little glimpses at me. She could try to pretend that she hated me as much as she wanted, could pretend like I meant nothing to her anymore, but I knew deep down there was still something there, still a spark.

Dinner went by in silence, not a peep from either of us between our argument and dessert. We ate, we sipped, and we pretended like the other didn't exist. I needed this night to go smoothly, I needed the press to have something to talk about other than our complete, awkward silence. I needed to initiate phase two. I was already planning on doing it tonight and our current state proved that it was more important now than ever.

Without saying a word, I slid my arm around Mandy's waist, pulling her and her chair closer. She flinched, her eyes locking with mine for the first time in nearly an hour as she did her best to disguise her confusion.

"What are you doing?" She asked, her body instinctively leaning away from me. I pulled her back.

"Phase two," I mumbled, placing a small kiss on her temple. She flinched again.

"Jack, please, I can pretend to like you right now but I'm just not in the mood to be close?—"

"Come here," I snapped, painting a smile on my face as I looked down at her, "or I'll make you."

Her eyes went wide, her brows furrowed as she struggled to keep that mask in place. I kicked my chair out from under me, dropping down on one knee in front of her, and releasing her waist to search through my pocket instead. "Jack, what the fuck?—"

"Smile, princess," I hissed. I pulled the little wooden box from my pocket, flipping it open so she could see the ring sitting atop a bed of moss. "They're watching."