I hit the steering wheel with my palm, tears of frustration welling in my eyes. This was the last thing I needed—another expense when I was already drowning. My only transport home from this suddenly dangerous mess I was in. How was I going to get back home after quitting? How was I going to run away from this supposed mafia family?
A tap on my window made me jump. I looked up to see Jackson standing there, his brow furrowed in concern. My heart lurched into my throat at the sight of him.
Of course I was crushing on a guy who worked for a crime family. Go figure.
What if he suspected me?
I shoved the thought aside. I'd not done anything to raise suspicions, right?
Just breathe.
I wiped my eyes quickly and opened the door, not trusting the electric windows to work. He leaned against the frame, peering in at the dashboard where warning lights glowed.
"Looks like your little beast has finally given out on you," he stated the obvious.
"Yeah," I replied, my voice cracking. "So much for it lasting forever."
His dark eyes studied my face, but I couldn't tell if it was suspicion, concern, or annoyance in their depths. "Your mother okay? You seem quite flustered. You seemed bothered last night too."
The genuine concern in his voice caught me off guard, making me believe my worries were misplaced. He wasn't suspicious. I needed to relax.
I hesitated, then decided that a partial truth would serve my purpose.
"She's not doing too great," I admitted. "She has stage four ovarian cancer. I took this job hoping to afford the experimental treatment for her."
Something shifted in Jackson's expression—a softening around his eyes mixed with a strange hardness within them, and a tightness in his jaw. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said quietly. "Life isn't always fair. It sucks."
"Yeah, it does." My eyes filled with tears again, and I turned away, embarrassed by my lack of control.
"Let me help get your car properly parked," Jackson offered. "The company can deal with it. I'll give you a ride home after work."
I didn't bother to argue as he offered me his hand to exit the car. I undid my seatbelt and allowed him to help me out. The brief contact had my heart hammering, and I averted my eyes.
He leaned into the car, knocking it into neutral, and I stepped back as he leaned on the frame and began pushing it the last few feet into the parking lot.
Jackson's hand rested on the top of my car, his knuckles raw and scabbed. I almost asked what had happened but stopped myself. If Ivy was right about the Donatis, I didn't want to know how those wounds had been acquired.
"There, much better," he said once the car was fully in the parking space, and he removed the keys before pocketing them. "I'll get it sorted for you, don't worry about it."
"Thanks," I mumbled, not wanting to argue. It was clear my trusty steed had finally failed me, at the worst possible time too. I'd need to find another way to get away from here, one that hopefully didn't cost an arm and a leg. Maybe I could call upon a friend back home to come get us.
Jackson helped me gather my things from the car, then walked me into the building. In the elevator, he stood closer than necessary, his presence filling the small space. The scent of his cologne—something woodsy and subtle—made it hard to remember why I needed to keep my distance.
Why did he have to be so damn tempting?
But he was off-limits, for a list of reasons.
"Thank you," I said as the elevator doors opened on my floor. "For helping with the car."
Jackson nodded, his expression unreadable. "I'll come find you at the end of the day."
I watched him disappear as the doors closed, then made my way to my office, my mind a mess as I drew in steadying breaths, my heart still hammering wildly. Whether it was from his closeness or from this entire situation, I wasn't sure.
One day. I just needed to get through one more day, then I could walk away from all of this—from the Donatis, from the mystery of my father's death, from Jackson and whatever complicated feelings he stirred in me.
"I need to step out for a management meeting," Macey announced, gathering a stack of folders from her desk. "Should be about an hour. Can you keep working on those Lion Freight invoices? I should be back before we finish up for the day."
"Of course," I replied, keeping my voice neutral despite the surge of adrenaline. This was my chance—perhaps my only chance—to look for information before I quit. Ivy had suggested it, and I'd been against it. But the more I'd sat working, the more my mind had reeled. What if they'd been behind my father's death? What if he'd been involved somehow? What if my half-siblings were actually evil and had killed him off?
