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Anna and Becky’s eyes were on him as he strode out of the dining room toward the front bar.
“Oh, my, gosh,” Becky said, leaning in, her eyes widening. “He is so hot. And so nice. You should’ve told Diaz to get lost and gone home with him instead,” she said, shaking her head and letting out a soft whistle.
Anna laughed—both at Becky’s reaction and at her comment, which they both knew were absurd. Anna could never leave Diaz. She would only get out of that relationship if Diaz wanted her gone, and even then, she didn’t think he’d let her leave alive.
Not a man like Diaz. He was too possessive. Too controlling. And Anna knew too much—even if it wasn’t enough to take him down.
No, the only way Anna would leave was in a box.
Or a barrel—Diaz’s preferred choice.
Unless she destroyed him first.
ANNA
Anna’s eyes dropped to her watch. Four minutes. Becky was talking about something, but she didn’t hear a word she said.
A debate was going on in her head. One part of her knew meeting Jackson in the office would change everything, and it could destroy everything she’d worked to achieve over the past few years.
But so much of her wanted to meet him. She wanted to know what he knew about Olivia—she had to know.
More than that, though, despite her best efforts, she’d allowed herself to feel something for him, and now she wanted more. Anna put it down to being tired—tired of this life and pretending to love Diaz.
She wanted an out. And she wanted to lay Olivia to rest.
She made up her mind to meet Jackson and use this meeting to her advantage, like she did with everything. Anna was in this for herself, and for Olivia—she’d never lied to herself about that. She’d use the information as motivation to finish what she’d started.
The minutes seemed like hours. Becky was still talking, which Anna was grateful for. She stayed sitting until she had thirty seconds to spare.
“Hold that thought,” Anna interrupted. “I need to use the washroom. I’ll be back in five.” By some small miracle she managed to keep the nerves out of her voice—nerves, because once she’d made this decision, she knew she had to stay alive long enough to see the fruits of her labor.
She excused herself and headed toward the washrooms, which adjoined Damon’s office.
Why did Jackson choose Damon’s office?
He must’ve scoped this place out before he suggested meeting there. Otherwise, how would he know where Damon’s office was?
Damon should lock his office—Anna had always told him that.
But he said he was too busy, he was always going in and out and anyway, and there was nothing in there that anyone couldn’t see, so what was the point?
Anna had agreed at the time, but now she wasn’t so sure.
With every step toward the office, Anna’s throat felt a little tighter, but she kept reminding herself she could use this to her advantage. She’d find a way; she was resourceful.
She opened the door just wide enough to fit through and closed it behind her. Jackson sat on the edge of Damon’s desk, his legs extended in front of him, his palms resting on the desk, looking impossibly relaxed. Her heart raced a little faster when their eyes met.
He didn’t smile when she walked in, but his expression softened.
Anna locked the door then took a step toward him, her heart pounding so loudly she wondered if he could hear it. There was something about Jackson: his cool demeanor, his effortless swag. He was the opposite of Diaz, and they were both playing with fire.
“Make this quick,” she said. “If he finds out I’m here, I’m dead.”
He didn’t attempt to reassure her otherwise, nor did he waste her time.
Instead, he stood and took two steps toward her. As he looked down at her, their eyes locked.
“I don’t know what you’re doing, exactly, or why you’re doing this. But I think it has everything to do with Olivia King. If so, there are some answers on this,” he said, opening his palm to reveal a red memory card—it looked exactly like the one he’d taken from her house.
