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His gaze lowers to my mouth and lifts. “Maybe I’m a lot simpler than you think.”
“No,” I say, my rejection coming easy. “No, you’re not a simple man, Jax North. A simple man would not be in this Starbucks with me while wearing last night’s tuxedo. Not a simple man at all.”
“And that means what to you, Emma?”
“It’s simply an observation.”
“There is nothing simple about that comment and we both know it. You’re trying to figure out if I’m like York. I’m not.”
Guilt stabs at me because on some level, I know he’s right. I’m comparing him to York. It’s the curse he inherits by having me after that man, but on the other hand, I want to know who I’m dealing with. I want to know Jax. “There’s more to you than meets the eye.”
“I really am a simple man, Emma. Family. Work. Focus on my goals.”
I’m about to point out the reference to him boxing indicating something more, but they call our coffee order. “I’ll be right back.” He winks. “I need that Vanilla latte to keep up with this conversation.”
I watch him walk to grab our orders, tall and broad, and even in a well-worn tuxedo, he owns the room. The women at a nearby table are watching him, admiring him, and I can’t blame them. I’m doing the same. He’s one of those men that women want, and men want to be, one of those men who has the world in his hands, and that shapes character. It shapes outlook. It shapes how he lives his life, and how he might shape mine if I let him.
My cellphone buzzes with a text and I dig it from my purse to find a message from Chance: Running late.
Jax rejoins me and sits down, placing the coffees on the table. “White mocha and a very vanilla latte.”
“For the not very vanilla guy,” I say, eager to get back to where we were minutes before. Back to who he is and who I am. More importantly, how who I am reflects on who Chance is, before my brother arrives. “Jax, I know my dad wasn’t a nice person. I didn’t know until I read that journal, but I know now. Chance isn’t him, though. I haven’t even let him read the journal. We idolized that man. I don’t want to ruin him for my brother, too.”
“How much time did you spend with your father, Emma?”
That question punches me in the chest. “Not much. My father was—well, he tasked me to travel, which I can hardly complain about, and bottom line, we were never close.”
“And Chance?”
“They worked together daily,” I say, the stark difference between me and my father and my brother and my father always a cutting one. “Chance was his protégé.”
“Then do you really think that he doesn’t know who your father really was? Do you think he wasn’t learning to do things the way your father did things?”
“I think he may know more than I knew,” I concede. “But I spend time with Chance. I know him. I don’t know what happened between your brother and my father, but I talked to Chance about this. He wasn’t involved. Those things that you said were important to you—family and work—that’s what matters to Chance, too.”
“Who does Randall work for, Emma?”
“Chance.”
“And he takes all of his direction from Chance?”
“Yes,” I say, not sure where this is going. “Why?”
“Randall was involved in this situation with my brother.”
Now I know where he’s going with this. Chance is the reason Randall was involved. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“You have to give me more than that,” I say. “How?”
“I saw him at the castle a week before my brother died, and if that’s not enough, I saw my brother’s work notes. They had references to Randall, but oddly, nothing that told me what the hell was going on.”
“Nothing else? Nothing about why my father wanted to buy the castle?”
“Nothing, but the castle is a part of the whiskey operation. He wasn’t trying to buy the castle. He was trying to buy us. There isn’t one without the other.”
None of this matches what Chance told me. “This is crazy. We need to just talk to Chance. We need to be direct. We’ll just go right at him and find out the truth. It can’t be as bad as it seems or Chance wouldn’t be giving us that chance. He wouldn’t be joining us for coffee.”
Jax arches a brow. “You sure you want to do that with me here?”
“Yes. I want you to know the truth. Then we both know that what’s between us is real.”
He turns his chair and pulls me around to him, his hand settling on my leg. “This is real. Remember that.”
“Why do I need to remember that, Jax? What’s going to happen to make me forget?”
