I hum but don’t comment on that. I’m currently reviewing staff performance, and he’s right: most of them are useless. Many have been here for a long time, and they’ve grown accustomed to not having to put in much effort or take any accountability for anything. That will be changing very soon. I may be a rich asshole, but I’m a rich asshole who works hard. Everyone in my family does. Something we inherited from our mother. I expect the same from the people who get a paycheck from me.
I steer the conversation back to Pip. “I know he only comes in once a week, but when he does, you two are inseparable.” I clearmy throat to remove even the slightest possibility of jealousy seeping into my tone. “Are you guys together?”
“And if we were?”
I turn sharply to look at him. “Are you?”
He holds my gaze, leaving me hanging for several excruciatingly long seconds. “No. We’re not. He’s my best friend.”
Good.
I return my attention to Sammy and do my best to ignore the rising question of why I want to know about Jackson’s dating situation in the first place.
But I can’t.
Because I know full well the reason. It’s the same reason why I’ve been babbling about him to Wagner from the first day I met him at Bunny’s. Why I plan my mornings around his schedule, making sure I always leave his 10:00 a.m. training time in the pen free so that I can watch him like some demented perv. Why a spike of jealousy tore through me when he left me hanging and let me think for a second he might be dating Pip.
For the first time in a long time, my senses have reawakened. I feel something.
Something I shouldn’t.
Something that could be very dangerous for me at this point in my life.
But I don’t care. This feeling feels good.
I cast my eyes over Jackson watching Sammy riding his bike, and my chest throbs, sending warm ripples throughout my body.
Under the same tree on the same bench I spent so many summers with my grandpa, I let the fullness of the emotion I’m feeling wash over me.
I like Jackson Hunter.
7
Jackson
“You seem…happy?”
I ignore the teasing smirk playing on Clancy’s lips in favor of inspecting the sushi rolls he’s laid out on a serving tray instead. Drawn to a spicy tuna and a dragon roll, I scoop one of each onto my plate.
“Why are you phrasing it as a question?” I ask. “And why do you seem so surprised?”
Clancy takes a bite of his salmon roll before answering. “I’m framing it as a question because I don’t want to assume anything. And I’m not surprised. Just hopeful that I am, in fact, correct.”
I chew my sushi in silence, not sure how to respond to any of that. Clancy is the best carer, grandpa, and parent, all rolled into one. He’s always only wanted the very best for me and my sisters, and even though I can be prickly and challenging at times, his love and devotion has never wavered.
Doesn’t mean I like where this conversation is heading.
He picks up another roll and studies it carefully. He recently watched a documentary about some old dude in Tokyo who dedicated his whole life to sushi. Despite making Michelin-star-quality food, the guy owned an unassuming hole-in-the-wall restaurant with seating for fewer than ten people in a subway station. It inspired Clancy to get into Japanese cuisine, starting with sushi rolls.
He takes another bite, chewing carefully as his gaze returns to me. “Maverick has been running the sanctuary for close to a month now. I was expecting murder, not…” He waves what’s left of his sushi roll in front of my face. “…this.”
“Why does everyone seem to think I’m capable of murder?”
“Well, I have known you all my life.”
I fling some sticky rice across the table at him, and his warm, hearty laugh fills the entire room.
“Didn’t you guys have a loose, monthlong arrangement or something?”
