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Just give it to him.
End this now.
But then he throws me completely off guard. “You always take on too much, Cari.” His voice is soft, but it feels like he’s scolding me. Like it's my fault.
But it is my fault I missed the concert.
Still, I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “Maybe that’s the sort of person I am,” I snap, before composing myself. “I went because Brooke wanted me to come. That's what you said.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I shouldn't have told you that. I feel like I put too much on you, and I'm sorry.”
I blink a few times. Did this man get a heart and brain transplant over the weekend?
“You handled everything as brilliantly as you always do. The party was outstanding. Visually, it was a masterpiece. Brooke couldn’t stop talking about it all weekend.”
I’m not used to him heaping praise on me. I’m also not used to losing my temper. I can usually school my expression quite well, but right now I feel like we’ve switched personalities. “I'm glad she loved it.” I'm reminded of why I did this in the first place.
“You took charge because Anna was busy.” He snorts derisively. “You’re my PA, not my nanny, and I would do well to remember that.”
I startle at his words. Did he really just say that? He’s finally voicing the exact thing I’ve been telling myself over and over. I’m his PA, not a babysitter. Not his personal fixer.
“Look,” he sighs, wiping his large hand over his face. “I know how much you were looking forward to the concert. What can I do to make it up to you? Let me at least buy you some more tickets.”
“You can't buy any more tickets,” I scoff. “They were sold out within hours of going on sale over a year ago.” Every time I think of the concert with Eliana and Bianca there, I feel more disgusted with myself.
Jett steps back and peers down at me, looking all smug as a hint of a smile plays on his lips. “I canalwaysget tickets. How many do you need?”
“I don’t need your money or your tickets, Jett.” I want to scream. He doesn’t get the point. These Knights are always about money, but this isn’t about that. It's about my obsession with him, and how it always misfires on me. I hate that he riles me up. That he has such an effect on me. This man is bad for me. Because of him, I make decisions that are detrimental to my well-being. I can’t do this any longer. I won’t.
I'm just so mad at myself.
And I'm still not doing the thing that needs to be done.
Coward.
Chicken.
Weakling.
My hand twitches toward the envelope again. This is it. This is my chance to end it.
Before I can pull it out, Paul Knight strides in. His presence is like a storm, overwhelming the room. Big, booming, larger than life. He doesn’t even acknowledge me. He never does. He’s all business, all the time.
“You’re back.” He locks eyes with Jett. “We need to talk.Now.”
This man barely calls his sons by name, and they never call him Dad. They call him Father or old man, depending on the situation. I've never heard them talk about him in loving terms. It’s always business with him, because nothing else matters.
“You missed Brooke’s party,” Jett’s voice is tight, his face flushed with barely contained anger. I see the tension in his posture, the way his fists clench at his sides. The way his hand grips the handle of his black leather briefcase.
Paul scratches his nose, dismissive. “I was busy.”
“She’s your granddaughter. Couldn’t you make time to show up?”
He eyes Jett like a hawk, sharp and cold, and looking as if he's about to swoop in for the kill. There’s no warmth in him, no apology, no love.
“I’ll make it up to her. I had things I couldn’t get out of.” He brushes past the conversation.
“You should’ve made an appearance,” Jett snaps, his voice rising.