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He stared hard at me. “There’s nothing confusing about it.”
“It was odd,” I said quickly.
He sat back in his chair, as if gearing up for a verbal brawl. “Perhaps it is odd.”
“Then why won’t you talk to me about it?”
“Talk to you about what? There’s nothing to say. I was awoken, took care of the problem that awoke me, and went back to bed.”
“There’s more to it than that. I saw more than that.”
“Really? Enlighten me then. What more is it you saw?”
“I saw fear,” I said quietly. “In your eyes. You were terrified when you heard the door squeak.”
I knew what it felt like to have someone come through the door. Someone you didn’t want to see. Everything in my body was reaching out for him, identifying with him, with whatever incident he’d survived that put that look on his face. I didn’t know the details, but I recognized what a shattered past looked like. And Jack was a master at hiding his past.
He sat, his face like stone, his body even stiller. It was like staring down a snake, waiting to see if he’d strike. A heartbeat passed, then another. He said nothing, but I felt him pulling away. Felt the air between us turn colder, and my own fear swept me up, nervous that I was losing him.
“Jack,” I whispered, and leaned into him, snagging his gaze with mine. “That night we met, you said you saw fear in my eyes. Do you remember?”
“Vividly.”
“And you reacted. That’s the same thing I’m doing. Reacting.”
“Why?”
I swallowed hard. “Because I care. Very much. About you.”
His jaw ticked, his brows sliced down, as if he were trying to determine the truth in my words. What had happened to this man? This amazing, strong, powerful, puzzle of a man. Last night, I’d caught my first glimpse of vulnerability in him. I wanted to help. To comfort, anything I could do.
“Pumpkin!” I jerked upright, surprised to hear my father’s voice booming right next to me. “I thought that was you.”
“Dad?” I looked up to find him and Brock, in suits even though it was a Sunday, standing on the other side of the rope that kept the café seating from the general walking area of downtown.
He opened his arms, as if awaiting a hug. Now I was really confused. But I stood, and he hugged me. It felt frigid and staged. My father wasn’t an affectionate man, not to mention the fact that last time we spoke, it ended with me quitting.
Jack stood, and my father finally let go of me. Brock reached out his hand and shook Jack’s.
“Brock VanBuren,” he shook continuously. “With Case-VanBuren Investing.”
“We’ve met,” Jack said in a calm voice. Brock, being the slithering liar that he was, nodded.
“That’s right.” He plastered on a fake smile. “Good to see you again.”
“Jack, this is my father, Carter Case.”
Jack reached out and shook my dad’s hand next. “Mr. Case, very nice to meet you.”
“And you, Mr. Powell. I didn’t realize you knew my daughter.”
Jack looked at me, and whatever internal button he pressed to turn on the corporate charm, he did it then. All traces of the emotion behind what’d we just been talking about were gone. But he looked at me with admiration, kindness, and interest.
Part of me loved that. That one look made me feel seen by him. His presence also made me feel, like for the first time, I wouldn’t get sick being this close to Brock. I was feeling stronger. And it was because of him.
But one thing terrified me in this skill of Jack’s. He had the ability to shift from business to personal to social, then back to business. One moment he could be saying the sweetest things, or on the brink of discussing something personal, the next he wore a mask of indifference. What was even more terrifying was that trait he harbored was the same as my father. He knew when to turn it on, and who was watching. Like right now.
My dad hadn’t reached out to me since I’d shown up at his house and quit. But now I was in the presence of a millionaire who owned resorts, and suddenly I was back to being “Pumpkin” and on his radar.
