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Dad stops me before I can walk around him, planting his hands on either side of my shoulders. “You went out and got a personal loan to help me?” Emotion weighs his voice, and I choke down the bubble in my throat as I bob my head. “Is that why he was in here last week?”
Oh, god, he knows about that? Struggling to maintain an even smile, I pull out of his grip and shrug one shoulder. “I had visited his office before—right after you told me what was going on. When I called him last week to let him know the bank approved me, he wanted to speak to me again in person.” Dad pinches his lips in worry, so I stand on my toes and peck his cheek. “We’ll pay the loan back, I promise.”
Based on what Jackson had said before we disconnected our call last night—“Your ass is mine in a couple nights, Flick.”—I don’t think it will be long before I fulfill every part of my obligation.
“I didn’t want you to go through all the stress,” Dad complains, and I kiss his other cheek and roll my eyes up toward the ceiling.
“I’d stress more if we lost this place.”
“Your mother wouldn’t have wanted you to—”
“It’s over now,” I say firmly. Because like Jackson told me that first night in his penthouse, there are no refunds. Taking a step away from Dad, I focus on tying my apron strings and clear my throat. “And besides, this place was Mom’s baby. She would be happy we saved it.”
Dad pulls me to him and wraps me up tightly, burying his mouth in my hair. “Thank you, Flick. Just … thank you.”
“Anytime old man,” I murmur, moisture pricking at my eyes. “Now let me go before we start losing customers.”
I go through my shift on autopilot, smiling brightly at my customers. Taking order after order back to the kitchen. Feeling my sex throb because every few hours, Jackson updates me with a countdown on the ridiculously expensive phone he sent me as a gift yesterday. Just before I leave for the evening, he sends the final text:
6:01 PM: Twenty-three hours, Little Flick. I hope you get rest tonight.
I’m a flurry of nervous anticipation all throughout the next day, and when he sends me a text telling me he’ll pick me up at eight, my breath shudders. I never thought the day would come where I’d be so anxious about giving up my V-card to a Cade, but god if my body doesn’t hum whenever I get a new text alert from him.
Dressing in the red dress—my only frivolous splurge with the money that had cleared my account earlier this week—and my new strappy black sandals, I’m putting on lip gloss when the doorbell rings. Although Wendy’s out for the night, I almost break my neck trying to answer it. He stands in the hall, wearing a black suit that fits his perfectly sculpted body to perfection, and his customary smirk. It widens to a full grin as he takes me in.
“Red,” he drawls, pulling me to him and trailing his hands over me. He inhales appreciatively through his teeth while I hold my breath. “How fitting. Are you ready?”
As I’ll ever be. To him, I simply tilt my head back to stare into his turquoise eyes, nod and say, “Yes.”
He takes me to dinner—a swanky rooftop lounge with a view of the city I love so much. This part of the restaurant is exclusive, only a handful dine up here, but I don’t think I would have noticed even if we were shoulder-to-shoulder with other people. When Jackson is around, it’s hard to focus on anyone else because his presence is so commanding. The energy pulses between us.
“Thank you for taking care of the deed so quickly,” I say, chewing my grilled chicken salad. “I think it made my father’s decade.”
The smile he offers me is the softest I’ve ever seen from him. “Your father wasn’t the reason I had it handled so fast, Flick.”
He doesn’t say the words, but they hang in the air. I did it for you. My fingers shake nervously as I reach for my fruity cocktail and take a sip. “How was your trip?”
“Exhausting. My father made a mess of the company, and it’s been hell fixing his mistakes.” The corners of his mouth drag into a frown. “Fortunately, I’ve turned it all around. Here’s to rectifying the sins of our fathers.”
When he lifts his drink and downs it quickly, I work my lips together. He doesn’t talk about his father much, but whenever he does, there’s always an underlying anger. It’s not my place to ask questions—I shouldn’t ask questions—but my mouth fails my brain. “You don’t care for Alexander very much, do you?”
He sets his empty glass on the table and he tightens his fists. “I don’t. I admire you for what you did for your father—goddamn, I think you might be the most selfless person I ever met—but I would have never done it for mine.”
