Risky Business, page 28
In the background, you can hear Toni whisper, “Keep going.”
“My name is Carson. You might’ve seen me recently in a viral video. Or maybe with Jazmyn Starr at the Freedom Fest at Americana Land. But those things are not what this video is about.” My throat bobs visibly as I swallow.
“I’m here because I fell for someone. Hard and fast.”
The image whirls, refocusing on Toni’s grinning face. “No pun intended. He’s a dumbass, but not on a Dad-joke level yet.”
The video flashes back to me, and trying not to look annoyed and utterly failing, I continue. “As I was saying, this person I fell for, we had . . . have something special, and I need to talk to her to sort some things out—like my feelings for her, what size diamond she wants to wear on her finger, and how many kids she wants. We need to plan out our forever. Taya, if you’re seeing this . . . you know what I’m talking about. Who I’m talking about. I can’t find her—she won’t return my calls, and if she’s home, she won’t answer her door. Can you help me talk to her? Please.”
I meet my own eyes in the video, noting that I look empty and forlorn. No, I look lovesick without Jayme in my arms.
I sigh, putting my phone down.
“This had better work,” I tell Toni for the millionth time. I’m still not sure how I let her talk me into this, given how a viral video is what started all this, and Jayme told me that I’d be better served behind the camera rather than in front of it. But here I go again.
Toni doesn’t look up from her phone but rather scrolls to the next TikTok video. “Duh, of course it’ll work. It’s literally blowing up.”
When I’m not settled by her reassurance, she comes over to sit on the couch next to me and holds out her phone, letting me see the video I just watched on my own device. “Look, it’s been viewed two hundred thousand times in less than twenty-four hours and shared hundreds of times. Taya has been tagged dozens of times, so even if Jayme is avoiding you, Taya won’t. She’ll either respond to tell you to fuck off or to negotiate a settlement, hostage-style.”
“Jayme’s not a hostage,” I counter.
Toni laughs, pushing at my shoulder. “You are such a dumbass. Of course, she’s not. You’re Taya’s hostage. She’s got your dick in a vice, threatening your very future. Or at least your shot at happiness in whatever future you have. And she’s a quick draw. Everybody knows that.”
“Not helping,” I grunt morosely.
Toni posted the video first thing this morning, and it went big pretty quickly with the #helpmeTaya tag she added. I guess the speculation over what I did and just how profoundly I fucked up—because of course I did—is helping push views up too. Toni tells me that there’s even a debate going on because some people think my wanting to put a ring on Jayme’s finger and a baby in her belly is sexy as hell, and others think it sounds asshole-ish and crude.
I don’t care what they think at all.
I care what Jayme thinks. And what she wants. Ring or no ring? I don’t care. No baby or a houseful? Whatever. I just need to tell her that I love her and apologize for my shitshow of a family rearing its ugly head again, right when her amazing one showed up for her in a big way. And of course, for my horrible reaction to that in the moment.
I’m still beating myself up for freezing, and then for my lightning-fast flash through every trigger point I have from my own family history. Now, I’m stuck on desperation . . . for Jayme.
I still can’t believe her parents are the Brookses, but I’ve done some reading today. Not the tabloid fodder speculation stuff, but rather the real deal information that’s out there. I wasn’t surprised by anything I found.
There’s very little to nothing about Jayme’s brothers, and only Jayme’s PR work. And certainly nothing listing any of them as Jameson or Leah Brooks’s children. But there’s plenty about her mom and dad and their dedication to philanthropy, where they work in the trenches with hands-on help as well as their financial assistance.
Jayme is who she is because of her family. She spoke with love and affection about her brothers, and that’s because her whole family appears to be happy, healthy, and well-adjusted. I’m not sure what that’s like, given the clusterfuck that mine is, but I can appreciate that they are so close, they’re willing to circle the wagons protectively against anyone and anything that threatens them.
I won’t let that be me.
It’s not me.
I would never do anything to hurt Jayme and will take her family secret to my grave if that’s what she wants. Because all I want is her in my arms again.
I sag into the couch, staring out the window blankly.
“Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh . . . my . . . God! Carson!!!” Toni yells from the kitchen, getting louder and louder with each exclamation point. “Look, look, look!”
She runs into the living room, jumping over the back of the couch and landing in a perfect crisscross position next to me with her phone shoved in my face. “We did it!”
“What?”
Toni scrolls up and then back down, restarting the TikTok video. Taya’s face fills the screen . . .
“Listen here, you motherfucking bitch boy. You got my girl drunk-singing sad songs, and I don’t put up with that kinda shit. Not over some dude who can’t get it together for the best thing to ever happen to him.”
Taya looks up and down, and though it’s through the screen, I feel as though she’s scanning me personally and finding me severely lacking.
My heart sinks. She’s not going to help me find Jayme. Sure, eventually, Jayme will go back to her apartment, and I could be the guy who stalks the front curb, desperately waiting for her. Or I could go stand outside the gates of her parents’ house and beg the security camera or guard I’m sure is stationed there. But by the time I get to plead my case with Jayme face-to-face, it’ll be too late. She’s already writing me off, I can feel it in my bones.
All I need is a chance to plead my case and apologize, time to explain and vow my silence.
“But for some asinine reason, she thinks you’re it. Though I’m not catching that vibe just yet. So I’mma tell you what . . . she ain’t home. She’s with me.”
Taya thumps her chest and lifts her brow to emphasize the words, daring me to not understand what she’s saying. But I get it loud and clear. Jayme is at Taya’s beach house in Los Angeles, where she took me.
“I need to get to LA right now!” I shout, standing up.
Toni grabs my arm and unceremoniously jerks me back to the couch. “Keep watching,” she orders.
“My crew got together with her peoples and set it all up. You do what you did before—like deja vu that shit—and get here by seven o’clock tonight. I’ll make sure she’s ready. Or sober, at least.”
She looks off-screen, her mean-mugging façade dropping for a split second, and I know she’s looking at Jayme. Why isn’t Jayme saying anything herself? Is this some plan of hers? If so, I’ll walk right into the lion’s den and play whatever games she wants to play for a chance at fixing this.
“The rest is up to you. You better use that tongue for something more than pussy licking too, boy, because my girl needs a first-class apology before you treat her like the queen that she is.”
She licks her lips obscenely, finishing with a smacking noise that leaves her meaning crystal clear, before clacking her now blood-red nails at the camera. And then the video starts over.
“I hope you got all that,” Toni tells me. “’Cuz I’m not sure what she’s talking about.”
“I understand,” I reply, nodding impatiently. “I have to get in touch with the private plane company right away to fly to LA.” I’m already up and running for my bedroom, throwing socks, underwear, jeans, and a T-shirt in a duffle bag. As I head into the bathroom for my toothbrush and deodorant, Toni stops me.
“Okay, so to the airport, get to Jayme . . . then what?”
“What?” I mutter, considering my razor. I haven’t shaved in a couple of days and my scruff is getting a bit prickly. If I’m going to spend some quality time between Jayme’s thighs, I don’t want to leave her scratched up. Hopefully, I toss it in the bag too.
Toni claps her hands sharply, demanding my attention. “You’re going step one to step ten, skipping all the in-between. What are you going to do? How are you going to apologize? What are you going to say?”
I freeze. She’s got a good point. But then again . . .
“I’ll wing it. Speak from the heart or whatever,” I growl, not wanting to slow down. I have to hurry. I glance at my watch.
“How long do you think it’ll take me to get to the airport? Plus flight and drive time in LA.” I’m trying to add in my head, making sure I can get there by seven o’clock. Did Taya set me up for failure by making an impossible deadline? I wouldn’t put it past her.
But I think I can make it.
No, I know I can.
“Yeah, that’s done so well for you in the past,” Toni says wryly. “Maybe just think about it on the flight? Write some notes on your hand or something,” she suggests.
I grab my bag, rushing for the door, but I take the time to do one last thing. “Hey. Thank you,” I tell her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Wish me luck?”
Toni’s lips lift incrementally. “You won’t need it. You’ve got love on your side.”
I hope that’s enough.
My motorcycle roars loudly, echoing against the metal of the hangars at the airport. I beeline for the one Jayme took me to last time and find a plane sitting on the runway out front. A flight attendant is standing at the steps.
I park quickly and run toward her. “I think you’ve got me down for a flight to LA?”
“Yes, sir. Please board. We’ll be departing momentarily now that all our guests have arrived,” she says politely.
All guests?
I climb the handful of steps into the plane and see exactly who the flight attendant was talking about. Jameson and Leah Brooks are sitting side by side, holding hands with stiff backs and straight faces, obviously waiting for me.
Shit.
Toni was right. I should’ve prepared.
But I’m not letting Jayme’s parents get in my way. If Jayme tells me to fuck off, I’ll consider it . . . after begging, pleading, and doing anything I can to get her back. But her parents? Nothing they can say or do is going to stop me, short of throwing my body out the door of the plane at ten thousand feet.
“Mr. Brooks. Mrs. Brooks,” I greet them, offering a handshake. Maybe next time, it’ll include an accompanying smile and some charm, but not now. I’m single-mindedly focused on one thing—Jayme.
Jameson Brooks, the most powerful, richest, most influential man on the face of the planet, looks to his wife. She smiles softly, and only then does he take my hand. There’s something intimate and meaningful about that moment between them, and I’m reminded of one of those cheesy sayings about there being a strong woman behind every successful man. I think Leah is that for Jameson.
With a start, I realize that Izzy is that for my dad, too, in a way my mother never was and never could be because they weren’t a partnership.
I want Jayme to be that for me, the way she has been through this whole Abby Burks thing and the Freedom Fest. She’s taught me so much, saving me from myself and showing me that I can be better, do better without taking stupid risks or turning my back on my family.
Equally as importantly, I want to be that for her. I want to learn all her history, not the edited version she’s forced to share to keep her secret safe. I want to make her dinner when she has a hard day and rub her feet while she bitches about some crazy celebrity she’s trying to help un-fuck their life. I want to know what she thinks about, dreams about, and more.
I want for us to be each other’s support systems, lifting each other up through hard times and celebrating good times together. I want us to be partners in every sense of the word. My strength behind her success, and hers behind mine.
“Carson. It seems we have some things to discuss,” he says gruffly, as though he’d rather discuss his last colonoscopy or get right to the no-parachute skydiving on my part.
“Before you get to threatening me or telling me why I’m not good enough for your daughter, I want you to know that I love her. I was about to tell her when you—”
“Oh, no!” Leah gasps in horror, her hands balled in front of her open mouth. “I’m so sorry!”
Jameson sighs, his shoulders dropping from their intimidating, widespread position. “Well, that changes things, now, doesn’t it?”
I risk a tiny smile. “It does?”
“Have a seat. We’re about to take off.” He waves at the flight attendant, and she closes the steps to the plane. A moment later, the engines begin to roar and my belly lifts along with the plane.
I’m coming, Jayme. You might’ve fixed my situation before, but I’m going to fix this deal between you and me. Once and for all.
CHAPTER 29
JAYME
“Fix your face. You’re sitting over here looking all squishy.” Taya smushes up her face with her fingers, pressing her cheeks up and temples down, while adding in a dramatic frown.
“Why? Let me brood in peace,” I whine. “You already made me put on clothes just to come sit out here when I could’ve just as easily sat on the back patio.”
Okay, clothes is probably pushing it. I changed from a robe into Taya-branded leggings and a fresh sweatshirt. Not exactly high fashion, but I’m only sitting on a blanket on the beach behind Taya’s house. The important thing is that I’m here when I could be curled up on the couch watching The Princess Bride for the seventy-third time. Or sitting on a pool lounger watching the same thing on the outdoor television.
Sure, sunsets are pretty. But there’s no big rush to see this particular one. There’ll be another one tomorrow, and maybe I’ll be in a better mental space to appreciate it then. Because right now, I wish the sky, which is beginning to fill with oranges and pinks as the sun starts to dip lower, would actually catch fire. That would bring me a little joy because it would reflect what I feel inside.
The wine last night seems to have washed away my sadness, and once the hangover wore off this morning, the only thing remaining is anger.
I gave Carson everything I could and was on the verge of giving him so much more. My truth. Now, however undeservedly, he knows it. I want to think he’s trustworthy with it, but I have doubts. And fears.
Fear that he’s broken my heart into irreparable shatters.
Fear that he’s mad at me for not telling him.
Fear that he’ll tell the media about my parents, and this life I’ve so carefully crafted will fall apart in his wake.
Fear that even now, I wish he’d tell me it was all a stupid dream fueled by anxiety and too many PassionFlix movies.
All that pisses me off. I am not a person who lives by fear or allows it to control me. I follow chosen paths with pre-plotted goals and strategized outcomes in every area of my life, both professional and personal. The one time I go astray, everything goes to hell in one of my mom’s Chanel purses without my predicting it.
That’s not true. You knew it would go like this.
I sigh, knowing that I’m right, at least on that. I warned myself before I ever gave in to this thing with Carson. I cautioned my own heart about getting too attached because I’ve had work relationships go full-stop once the job was over. People are finicky and don’t like being reminded of their shortcomings or their past bad acts. I’m a walking, talking reminder. I wanted it to be different this time, but . . . it wasn’t. And then, adding on the whole family surprise reveal didn’t help a bit.
I’m off my game, and I can’t have that. I need one of my own classic pep-talks, or maybe one of Taya’s no-bullshit ones, so I can get back on the right track. Not whatever wrong way roadway I’ve been on.
Okay, do what you do best, girl. Let’s examine the facts so I can figure out how to best back out of this mangled car wreck I’m calling my life . . .
Carson Steen. A client. A risk-taker who encouraged me to live dangerously. A tortured heart that I helped heal but that couldn’t handle my own family drama. A man who made love to me on this beach, just a few hundred feet away.
I look over to that spot . . . the one where he sat back on the sand and I straddled him until we were spent with exhaustion and sore with sand burns. Wistfully, I can almost see us there.
Well, him . . . I can see him there.
Wait.
“What the fuck?” I whisper, blinking and rubbing my eyes. But he’s still there . . . no illusion.
“Damn, he’s got finesse, I’ll give him that. I told him seven on the dot, and man is here at six-fifty-eight,” Taya says, tapping her gold watch.
“Huh?” I say dully.
“Girl, that man has been going viral trying to track you down. Best you listen to what he has to say.”
Without any explanation, she gets up from our blanket picnic and walks back through the sand toward her place. She calls out over her shoulder, “Yell for Carlo if you need help with the body! I’m sure he knows the tides or whatever shit you gotta know to make Prince Charm-Your-Pants-Off disappear.”
That’s exactly the kind of thing I should yell at her for saying. Public threats of murder are kinda frowned upon, after all. Or at the least, they’re admissible in a court of law. Thankfully, there’s no one around to testify against her, given the stretch of beach Taya owns.
Carson is stalking toward me in slow motion. His jeans are rolled up to his knees, and his bare feet are leaving imprints in the sand behind him. He looks dark and thunderous, backlit by the setting sun but also fearful that I might bolt like prey running from a predator.
I am no prey. I’m a predator all my own, with years of experience dealing with assholes who think they know best. Or certainly better than some young, blonde PR consultant bitch. I click into that well inside my core that takes no shit and kills any potential prisoners. Because I won’t risk my life for someone unworthy, and Carson proved himself that with his reaction . . . to my dealing with Archer and to my parents.
