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I nod, recalling the vision I’d laid out…the building’s glass exterior designed to capture light from every angle.
She continues, “At 1:00 p.m., there’s a scheduled walkthrough with potential tenants. Andrew Barron will be present. He mentioned interest from three high-profile companies, all looking for long-term leases. He’d like your input on tenant selection to ensure we’re aligned with the brand’s prestige.”
I lean back, already anticipating the types of questions these tenants will ask. They’ll want the best, and that’s exactly what we’re delivering…bespoke spaces that elevate their brands by association with ours.
“The mayor’s office also reached out regarding the zoning cooperation we discussed. They’re expecting you at City Hall on Wednesday. They’d like an update on the green spaces andpublic art facilities you proposed. The mayor’s keen to see this move forward…he sees it as a win for the community and good press for his office.”
“Good. We’re buying goodwill with that terrace. The press won’t miss the green space angle,” I say, picturing the public terrace we’d designed to break up the commercial density with open-air access and commissioned art. It’s another layer of appeal, not just for tenants but for the city, reinforcing our image of urban responsibility.
She hesitates briefly before adding, “There’s also the matter of air rights, as you mentioned to the mayor. We’re expected to finalize those agreements by Friday, assuming you want them completed before submitting the final plans next week.”
“Make sure everything’s aligned with the city’s expectations, and get me an update on those air rights,” I say. “We don’t want any hitches.”
As she wraps up, I consider shifting a few items around. The thought of taking time off feels foreign, but Rome calls. I clear my throat. “Push everything that isn’t critical to next week,” I say. “I’ll be out starting Thursday.”
There’s a pause. “Of course, Mr. Jackson. Should I move the zoning follow-up as well?”
“Yes, everything,” I confirm. Rome was originally scheduled months down the line, but it’s convenient to bring it forward. There’s more to handle there than just business, and the sooner I address it, the better.
“Understood,” she says, noting down the adjustments. "I'll make sure everything is coordinated for next week."
As I end the call, I look out the car window, catching a glimpse of the mansion’s conservatory as we pull away. The memory of her standing there lingers…fierce yet uncertain, a blend that gnaws at the edges of my thoughts. She’s reckless, stubborn, and clearly blind to the mess she’s stirring. But forthe first time, sending her off to Tod’s feels more strategic than cold…a way to give her the opportunity she craves and keep her from entangling herself any further here.
And if flying to Rome to oversee the start of her contract is what it takes, well, it’s simply part of the arrangement.
Chapter
Thirteen
JENNY
In the cramped, familiar space of my closet, I fold and refold clothes, barely believing that I’m about to leave this tiny apartment above the garage once again…my whole world since I was a kid. The scent of fabric softener mingles with the faint aroma of oil and car grease wafting up from below, grounding me in the familiarity of home. My fingers brush over the worn edge of my favorite sweater, one I know I won’t take with me. It’s not “fashionable,” not the polished image Tod’s would want from me now, but it represents everything about who I’ve been.
This time, packing feels different. Paris was my first step, working for a local brand, posing for quaint boutique campaigns. There was charm in it, but it felt limited, small. Tod’s is something else entirely…a giant, a name people know everywhere. It’s intimidating, thrilling, and maybe even the firsttime I’ll have to really prove myself on a stage much larger than I’ve ever been on.
I consider each piece I place in my suitcase carefully, choosing clothes that project a polished, professional image. Jackets with sharp lines, blouses that fit just right, pants that speak sophistication. I feel a mix of pride and nerves, knowing that every piece I take has to tell the story of someone who belongs in a high-end, international world.
Beside me, Lila, Mrs. Finnigan’s niece, hovers in awe, her wide eyes drinking in every piece I lay out. She’s only thirteen, but there’s a fierce curiosity in her, a spark I remember having myself once. She runs her hand over a neatly folded blouse and sighs, a wistful smile creeping onto her face.
“Do you know how lucky you are, Jenny?” She says, her voice a mix of admiration and longing. “You get to live here. You get to go to Rome.”
I pause, looking at her, and the reality sinks in. Lila probably thinks I’m living some kind of fairy tale, getting to live on the estate, going off to model in Rome. But she doesn’t see the flip side…the lingering feeling of not quite belonging, of knowing that everything could vanish in an instant because it’s not truly yours.
“I’m lucky, yeah,” I say softly, tucking a pair of jeans into my bag. “But it’s not as perfect as it looks.” I don’t want to disappoint her, though. She’s too young to see all the rough edges.
She gives me a small smile, her fingers brushing the hem of a dress. “I wish I was Mrs. Finnigan’s daughter, sometimes, you know? So, I could live here too.”
The words hit me harder than I expect, reminding me that despite being the chauffeur’s daughter, I’ve been treated with warmth and kindness. I’ve had chances that most in my position wouldn’t. The Jackson household itself may be distant, but the staff…Mrs. Finnigan, the cooks, the gardeners…they’ve embraced me like family. They’ve looked out for me, even encouraged me, and never made me feel like I was “the help.”
That’s why the thought of possibly interfering in Brett’s engagement, of stirring up tension with Zack, weighs on me. Yet, standing up to Zack still feels right. He may have the power, the influence, but he doesn’t control my heart. I love Brett, and I have to hold onto that, no matter what Zack thinks or how intimidating he makes himself out to be.
After Lila leaves, I run my fingers over the open suitcase and realize I haven’t even booked a flight yet. I glance at the Tod’s contract lying on my desk, the email from their office stark and professional. Zack had been right; they’ll cover everything once I’m in Rome. But until I’m officially signed, any travel is my responsibility.
I feel a pang of embarrassment. I don’t have the money for an international ticket on such short notice. It’s absurd, being so close to a dream and yet staring down a logistical wall because I’m just… me. With a grimace, I realize I’ll have to accept Zack’s offer to hitch a ride on his private plane.
I know his routine, so the next morning, I head downstairs toward the gym, hoping to catch him at a moment when he might actually listen to me. As I step inside, I’m met with the sight of him, striking the heavy bag with an intensity that makes my breath hitch.
Zack is a force, each punch steady, controlled. Muscles bunch under his skin, his shirt clinging to his back, damp with sweat, accentuating the solid lines of his body. I’d always thought Brett was attractive, with his easy smile and boyish charm, but Zack… he’s something else. His form is more intimidating, less playful…intense in a way that makes something unsteady flutter in my chest.