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Jasper
YOU’D THINK THEtelevision in the staff quarters of the rented estate was a roaring fire, and I in need of its warmth the way I huddled in close, intently listening to the financial news commentary with fists clenched inside my trouser pockets.
I’d only caught a portion of the ticker text gliding along the screen, but it was more than enough to paint a picture. Nexcom’s star—as well as their stock—was on the rise. Now I couldn’t walk away from the televised discussion on the company if I wanted to.
“Nexcom Global has bought out another major player in the tech industry. Its third acquisition of this kind in a matter of months,” stated the burly anchorman seated in the center of the panel.
They debated what that would mean for the future of Artificial Intelligence, since Nexcom had dumped some of their smaller subsidiaries to focus their efforts on the big business of robotics engineering.
“Cole Kincaid has turned tragedy into a goldmine,” the redhead on the left pointed out heartlessly. “No one can dispute the company has flourished under his control. He’s done in a little over two years what his father—Franklin Kincaid—had tried for over two decades to accomplish.”
“I’d argue,” the stout, balding man at the other end interjected, “that Franklin paved the way for hisson to steer the company into the stratosphere. Building something of this magnitude doesn’t happen overnight. And I’m sure giving up the helm doesn’t mean giving up total control. Not completely. Men like Franklin don’t relinquish absolute control.” His co-anchors conceded to his point.
I couldn’t turn on a TV or radio station these days without being bombarded with news of another takeover by the tech giant. Daniel called it the Pac-Man effect. Nexcom ate up everything in its path, clearing the way for world domination. And apparently, New York was next on their hit list. Nexcom’s headquarters had made the inconvenient move to my city.
The debate now moved on to whether Nexcom’s founder should be heralded a modern-day genius, only rivaled by his son and predecessor, Cole Kincaid. I’d had enough, muting it once shallow phrases such as “broodingly handsome” and “world’s most eligible bachelor” started getting tossed around. If only they knew how deep things could get when wading into Cole’s waters.
“There you are.”
I whirled toward the intrigued voice.“Jesus, Daniel, you scared the crap out of me.”
My husband approached with a smile and two champagne-filled flutes, extending one in my direction. “I knocked before entering.Twice. I actually didn’t expect to find you hiding in here, but it was the only place I hadn’t searched.”
I downed the drink in one go.
“Are you alright?” he asked, eyeing my empty glass with concern. “Exactly whyareyou hiding in here? It’s your birthday. Yourtwenty-eighthbirthday,” he stressed, as if it was the milestone it wasn’t. “You should be celebrating, not holed up in…” He scanned the sparse room with its wall of staff lockers and the tattered loveseat in the corner. “…in this…closet?”
“It’s a room, and you know it.” I chuckled, giving him what he wanted. “I’m fine. I promise,” I lied.
Daniel wasn’t domineering, jealous, nor possessive. None of the unhealthy things I occasionally craved but didn’t need. He was ambitious, funny, smart, and generous with me. I should’ve loved him. Ididlove him.
“I still can’t believe you threw me a party. Actually, make that a ball. Or a gala? A freaking concert, Daniel?” We both laughed, only his was genuine.
Thumbing my brow, I resisted the urge to travel my hand to my aching heart. The platinum band on my finger burned as a reminder he deserved better.
“A live band doesn’t make it a concert,” he said with uncharacteristic modesty, his hazel eyes shimmering with awed adoration for me.
“You rented out the Lincoln Center Orchestra,” I deadpanned, straightening his bow tie. “Who are all these people anyway?”
“Colleagues, friends…potential contacts,” he finished sheepishly, setting his glass on the table next to mine.
“I have two friends—including you. And I don’t need you to help me find a job. I already have one I love,” I said firmly.
“I know, I know,” he said, smoothing his hands up my chest, calming me. “You want to defend the defenseless. Help those in need gain a fighting chance against the unjust, oppressive system, yada, yada…” He waved a hand vaguely, and I rolled my eyes at the theatrical spin he put on it. He splayed his palms along my waist, gently guiding me into his chest. Daniel did everything gently. “I love your tender heart the most, you know.”
“Well, now the rest of me is jealous,” I quipped.
“Don’t be. Your lovely place comes in a close second.” He squeezed my ass.
“Mylovelyplace?” I fought my grin.
He shrugged. “Sounds more romantic than butthole, doesn’t it?”
My grin won the battle.
“Seriously,” he started, taking on his courtroom tone. “Your brilliance is sitting on a shelf collecting dust. Can’t you do both? Be the powerhouse attorney negotiating corporate takeovers, who also happens to help the needy on occasion. You can be the lawyer equivalent of Robin Hood in your spare time.”
Having been born into affluence and entitlement made Daniel an unintentional asshole sometimes. I’d spent enough of my childhood living in poverty before being catapulted into wealth. It had afforded me a healthy dose of empathy, and I was more connected to that side of myself. This world—Daniel’s world—had never gotten its claws in me.
