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I laugh. “You havesixfavorites?”
“You betcha, baby, and the butter pecan is so good, I might kill for it.”
I arch a brow. “Kill for it? That’s some serious love.”
“You have no idea what I would do for what I love.” There’s a hint of something in his voice, in his eyes, that’s there and gone before I can name it. Like he’s not talking about ice cream, but then, I get the feeling most everything with Jax is layered and complex.
“Good thing I love butter pecan.”
He removes the lid and holds it out to me. I dig in and take a big bite, moaning with the delight of the sweet treat. “Hmmm. Wow. That’s so good it should be outlawed to protect all those who want to retain their waistline.”
“Truth,” he says, “and I only survived it while interning because I ran five miles a day and never slept. This ice cream is the only good thing my ex ever gave me.”
“Wait. We’re eating the ice cream your ex loved?”
“She was more of a fuck buddy, though she’d have happily married me for the North name and bank account.”
This is just another thing that we have in common, the way people want us for nothing but a name and a bank account but that hurts. I know it hurts. “Did you love her?”
“I didn’t love her and she didn’t love me.” He casts me a sideways look. “Did you love York?”
“The York I thought he was, yes.” My gaze lands on the journal where it lies on the floor, a symbol of how easily a person can hide behind a façade of themselves. Memories of York, bad memories, try to surface and I shake myself and look at Jax. I shake off the past. “Good thing I didn’t go to law school. I suck at reading people.”
He takes the pint from me and sets it down. “What does that mean?”
“It means that I’ve learned the hard way that people aren’t always what they seem. In York’s case, when he inherited, he showed his true colors. The York I knew and the York he really was after it was all his, were two different people.”
“And then what?”
“I thought grief and the new professional demands were taking a toll, so I stayed to support him but he wanted what you say your ex wanted. My name and my inheritance. Because even when people have their own, they get greedy and they want more.” I laugh. “I should tell you. I don’t inherit for a very long time and my father made Randall my executor. I don’t even own this apartment. I rent it from the company.”
He stares at me for several beats, his expression impenetrable. “There is much I could say about that, but why Randall and not your brother?”
“He knew my brother would just give me the money and that didn’t suit his agenda.”
“Which was what?”
“For me to decide I’d marry Randall—and no I haven’t and will not date Randall. He treats me like—” I stop myself before I say something I might regret.
“Like what, Emma?”
“Like he owns me, first because of my father’s actions and now because of the money, but money doesn’t get to own me. I’ve considered resigning, but my brother needs me. And I like my job. I see the world. I’m going to Germany in two weeks. Who gets to say that?”
He studies me a moment. “You’re angry with your father.”
I open my mouth to speak about the journal but again think twice. I can’t get wrapped up in the moment. There’s talk of death, maybe even murder in that journal. I settle on a more simplified answer. “I’m very confused about my father right now.”
“Death does that as well, sweetheart. It’s part of the process.”
There’s no push for me to hate my father, no insult delivered to my father. This isn’t the reply I expect from a man who I know hates my father. Instead, he picks up another pint. “Therapy time. Chocolate Éclair.”
My eyes light. “Chocolate Éclair. Okay, yes. I need that in my life.”
We sample all six flavors and the éclair ends up being my favorite. At some point, we both end up fully on the lounger, our backs to the cushion, our feet in front of us. “Have you ever been engaged, Jax?”
“Never.”
“And how old are you?”
