Page 13 of Just One Look

Maverick

“Out of everything I’ve done since I took over, this would be one of my proudest achievements.”

I swing open the door to my private bathroom, and Ollie hobbles past me.

It’s a week after the Fourth of July, and Ollie has returned to deliver some bad news to Wagner. After thoroughly reviewing all of the investors’ offers, he found issues with each and every one of them, stipulations that he rightfully guessed Wagner wouldn’t agree to. Like relinquishing equity and control rights. So it looks like my brother is back to square one. The poor bastard.

Ollie lets out a low whistle, taking in the luxury oasis that is my office bathroom with a ceiling-mounted rainfall shower, quartz vanity, and sleek dark-gray marble tiles.

“Good place to jerk off in,”

he observes dryly.

“Precisely why I did it,”

I say, chuckling.

“Best news is I got all of this for next to nothing.”

“How?”

“The bathroom supply store was closing down, so they were liquidating all their floor stock.”

“That’s awesome, man.”

Ollie ambles out of the bathroom. After getting way too many close-ups of his ass as I followed him up the stairs to get to my office, as well as watching him struggle as I gave him an abbreviated tour of the place—crutches and mud don’t mix well—an idea pops into my head.

“I’m going to need to make this place more accessible,”

I say.

“Seeing how hard it is for you to navigate around makes me realize how unfriendly it currently is to anyone who may have issues with mobility.”

“That sounds expensive.”

I follow him as he hobbles over to the window behind my desk. Perfect timing, too. It’s almost ten.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m adding it to the list.”

“How are you doing? Financially.”

Outside of our family, Ollie is the only person privy to the secret that our monetary situation isn’t as good as my parents have led the media to believe it is.

“So far, everything has come in on time and on budget. But then there are all the unexpected costs that keep popping up, like specialized feeds for malnourished horses, or corrective shoeing, or making the place wheelchair-friendly. It never ends. But I’m taking it one step at a time, scouring the internet for where I can get deals like the one I got on the bathroom and praying. Lots and lots of praying.”

We reach the window.

“Well, if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

I pull him in for a careful side-hug as Jackson comes into view, leading Chips, a golden buckskin with a dark dorsal stripe, into the pen.

“Is that the fabled Jackson Hunter?”

Ollie asks.

I break out into a huge smile.

“It sure is.”

“How have things been between you after you crashed his family’s Fourth of July party?”

“I didn’t crash anything.”

I give him a gentle nudge.

“I got invited after I did a nice thing. It’s called karma.”

“It’s called having a family more meddling than mine.”

“True,”

I admit, grinning at the thought of how many times Ollie’s mother has meddled in his love life.

“So, any progress?”

My grin deflates.

“Actually, no. We had a great night, spent most of it together, talking, getting to know each other. I kind of hoped that would translate to us being on friendlier terms at work…”

Ollie purses his lips.

“But nothing’s changed?”

he hedges.

“No. He’s been in a mood these past few days. I’ve been actively avoiding him.”

He draws a breath before saying.

“That’s not cool, Mav. Just because there may be something brewing between the two of you, that doesn’t give him the right to treat you like shit like you-know-who.”

“He hasn’t been rude,”

I say, frowning at the mention of Luca.

“There are some similarities, sure. They’re both extremely volatile. But it’s different with Jackson.”

I think back to the Fourth, spending time with him one-on-one, his sisters teasing him, the love and affection he has for Clancy.

“Sounds like you’re cowering.”

“I’m not. I’m just trying not to do anything that could ruin the good place we got to over the weekend.”

I’m met with a pointed glare, which I ignore by turning my attention to Jackson and the horse. All of his prickliness disappears whenever he’s around them. Sibella’s words about him possibly being too sensitive float back into my head, and I can totally see that. A lot of people put on stoic masks to protect their gentle spirits from being trodden on. I feel that’s the case with Wagner, and I feel that even more with Jackson.

I am disappointed we haven’t been able to ride the momentum from the weekend, but he’s had a rough few days. It started with him struggling with a new horse in the pen on Monday. The creature lunged sideways unexpectedly, sending Jackson flying into the air. Thankfully, he wasn’t hurt, but he’s been on the warpath ever since.

I caught him yelling at one of the stable hands for not putting away halters and lead ropes properly yesterday, he’s had to call the vet out twice to attend to a sick horse, and he flew off the handle for someone incorrectly handling a horse.

He may be justified in reprimanding staff since performance issues are rife, but his manner is too hostile. I’ll have to step in at some point before he takes it too far and someone lodges a grievance against him.

It’s a tricky situation, balancing my role as his boss with my role as his…insert relationship status here.

“What’s so special about him?”

Ollie asks, hobbling away from the window.

“Wagner says you haven’t stopped talking about him since the day you ran into him at Bunny’s.”

“Wagner sure likes to gossip like a little bitch.”

“In all fairness, he didn’t say anything until I asked him what on earth would possess you to cook for someone. I was there, remember? I saw it. What the hell is going on, Mav? I get you buying this place as a way to figure out some shit, but the way you’re acting with Jackson is completely unlike you. The cooking. The monthlong deal. Michael Jackson.”

“How do you know about that?”

He lowers himself into the sofa, his crutches falling to the floor as he does, and then he gives me his shit-eating grin.

“I know everything.”

I shake my head and drop down next to him.

“Fucking Wagner.”

“Don’t blame him. It’s your fault for not keeping your bestie up to date with the latest. I don’t like having to interrogate your brother for information about your love life.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted. You can make it up to me by swearing you will give me all the details from now on.”

“Fine. I swear.”

“Good. Let’s start right now, shall we? Have you slept with him?”

“Nope.”

I pop the P extra loudly.

“A beej?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Hm. What about a handie in that swanky bathroom of yours?”

I swing my head from left to right.

“No. Nothing. Haven’t even kissed the guy.”

The night of firsts didn’t include a kiss with Jackson, unfortunately. After the fireworks, Sammy got sleepy, and the mood shifted again, returning a bit to how it was when we first got there. We left shortly after.

“We did almost kiss,”

I say.

“But the first time, we got interrupted by his vomiting grandfather.”

Ollie scrunches up his face.

“Okay. I definitely don’t want to know about that. You said first time?”

“Yeah. The second time, Sammy stormed in and ruined the moment.”

“Bummer.”

He assesses me for a moment.

“So what is it, then? What is it about this Jackson guy that’s got you all twisted up like this?”

I run my hands up and down my thighs a few times.

“I wish I fucking knew. I’ve been asking myself the same question.”

“Anything come to mind?”

My hands settle in my lap, and I speak softly when I say.

“He makes me feel something. For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel numb. You know this, but all my life, I feel like I’ve just been going through the motions. Doing what was expected of me without giving any thought to what I wanted to do. Even buying this place, it felt more like I was doing it for the sake of having something to do, ya know? But then Jackson comes along…”

A smile forms on my lips as I recall seeing him storming across the crowded bar to let that smug prick Ridge have it.

“I can’t explain it, man, but there’s something about him that gets me in here,”

I say, tapping my chest.

“Je-zus. I thought you’d say something about how hot his ass looks in those tight jeans he’s wearing today.”

When a possessive growl rumbles out of me, Ollie tips his head back and laughs.

“Don’t go all caveman on me. Mav. Wow. You’ve got it bad.”

“Tell me about it.”

I rest my elbows on my knees and drop my head.

Ollie places his hand on my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“You have to be careful here. One, you’re his boss. That could have legal implications if you cross a line and things go wrong. And two, make sure you look after yourself. You’re too nice, and people take advantage of that. Your sobriety has to be your top priority.”

“I know. And it is. I promise you.”

Ollie gives my shoulder another firm press, an understanding passing between us in the silence that follows.

He was there for my absolute worst, lowest moment.

Luca Van den Broek blew into my world like a hurricane. And the aftermath was just as bad.

Half-Dutch, half-Swiss, he was a couple of years older, an underground installation artist with a cult following in Europe, wildly attractive, and the most charismatic person I’d ever met.

Everyone in my closest social circle—a group of equally bored and lost nepo babies—wanted him.

But he chose me.

Or so I thought.

For a few months, we partied, we drank, and we fucked. Unfortunately, he only did the first two with me. The fucking? He did that with half of my friendship circle. The other half knew about it but never bothered to tell me.

The shine had started to fade before I found that out. His outgoing exuberance was a mask to hide his bitter, cruel personality. When I discovered what was going on behind my back, I cut my friends out of my life but stupidly let Luca convince me to give him another chance.

In my heart, I knew it was the wrong decision. So, unhappy with the choice I made, we started drinking. Heavily. The relationship never recovered, and when I finally called it off, my alcohol consumption increased even more.

I was losing my shit, and my life was going downhill fast. I started skipping work. Drinking at home by myself every day. Distancing myself from my family. I hated who I was becoming, but the addiction took over. I felt powerless to fight back.

I was drowning in the pain Luca caused, mixed with years of feeling lost and like I was worthless and life was meaningless. It was made worse by losing the only friends I ever had at the same time. Even though I can now see they weren’t real friends, at the time, it wounded me. For better or for worse, I thought that I could trust them. When that trust shattered, it destroyed me. My whole world had been blown apart.

I had no one left. I’d isolated myself from my friends, my family, the people at work. Worse, I didn’t know who I could trust. Including myself. I was fucking up my life with all its privilege and potential, standing by helplessly as it circled down the drain.

But one person never gave up on me.

Ollie.

He came over one night, and I broke down, sobbing like I’ve never sobbed before. My rage at the betrayal of Luca and all my friends turned into a deep, whole-body sadness. I confessed and told him everything. That my life was out of control. That I was lost and miserable. That I had seriously considered drinking so much that I just wouldn’t wake up.

He held my shoulder, the way he is right now, and whispered into my ear.

“We’ll get help. You’ll get through this. I got you, Mav.”

He found one of the best rehab centers in the country, and the next day, he and I flew to Pennsylvania together. As he dropped me off, I vowed never to speak to Luca or anyone else from that circle ever again. Ollie truly saved my life, and I will never forget that for as long as I live. I owe it to him, as much as I owe it to myself, to stay on the right track.

“I should get going,”

he says, snapping me out of my memories.

“My car will be arriving soon.”

“Let me help you down the stairs.”

“I fucking hate these things,”

he says, shaking his crutches.

“Good. Remember how you feel right now should you ever decide that parkour is a good idea in the future.”

“Zip it, and give me a hand, would you?”

He gets to his feet, and I take his crutches, following as he clings to the railing and eases down the stairs, flinching with every step.

A random memory pops into my head. Of Jackson and the way he struggled with the three stairs that led from Clancy’s patio to the backyard. Ollie has a good reason for moving so slowly down the staircase. What was Jackson’s?

Ollie’s ride pulls up, and as we’re slowly making our way over to it, I spot the object of my obsession.

“Hey, Jackson!”

I call out.

“Come over and meet my friend.”

He wipes the back of his hand near his eyes and yells.

“Not in the mood, Benson.”

Ollie shoots me an unimpressed look. Irritation paws at my chest. I’ve just been trying to convince my best friend that Jackson isn’t a jerk, and then he goes and speaks to me in that way. We may not have a conventional boss-employee relationship, but he can’t talk to me like that.

“Jackson. Over here. Now!”

He flips me off over his shoulder and storms toward the barn.

“Dude. That is way out of line,”

Ollie mutters, his jaw clenching.

“You’re damn right it is. I’ll deal with him once you leave.”

We hug, and I help him get into the car, sliding the crutches into the back seat. As soon as the driver takes off, I stomp my way to the barn, anger brewing in my gut.

I’ve been nothing but nice to Jackson, bending over backward to accommodate him. Practically begging him to stay. Comforting him when he was sick. Cooking for him and his grandpa. I never did any of that expecting anything in return—but is it too much to ask for a little basic respect?

“Jackson!”

I yell-growl when I step into the barn.

He appears in the hall.

“Stop yelling.”

He lets out a venomous hiss, his frustration on full display.

“You’ll disturb the horses.”

He’s got a point. I lower my voice.

“My office. Five minutes.”

“Told you, I’m not in the mood.”

“I don’t care what mood you’re in.”

And with that, I spin on my heel and head for the exit. I have exactly five minutes to prepare myself for a showdown with Jackson.

Five minutes come.

And five minutes go.

No sign of Jackson.

I’m sitting at my desk, taking deep breaths through my nose, trying to remain calm and get into the right headspace for this. After all, I am the boss, and it would be hypocritical, not to mention extremely unprofessional, to demand Jackson treat me with respect while screaming at him. I wanted to approach this calmly. Like two normal grown-ass adults in any work setting.

So much for that idea.

I thunder down the stairs and charge outside, searching for him.

“Have you seen Jackson?”

I ask a couple of stable hands.

“Went into the break room,”

one of them responds.

“Great. Thanks.”

I storm into the break room, my chest on fire. If Jackson wants to take the hard route and fight me on every little thing, I’m up for it. More than up for it. I’m a nice guy, but if he keeps pushing me, I can and will make his life difficult.

“What are you doing here?” I demand.

“What’s it look like I’m doing?”

he says without looking up from the coffee machine.

I stomp the floor in pure frustration.

“Why aren’t you in my office?”

He turns around, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“Did you just stamp your foot?”

“No.”

“Oh, I think you did. I think you’re used to everyone around you rolling over and giving you what you want.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You call out like I’m some fucking servant and just expect me to drop whatever I’m doing to come running over to you so I can meet a friend?”

What? That’s not what I did. Or, at least, it’s not what I intended. I just…wanted him to meet Ollie since he wasn’t there on the Fourth.

“That’s not the point,”

I counter.

“Then what is?”

He takes a step closer, lifting the mug to his lips, his green eyes squinting, locked on me with an unnerving intensity.

“My point is that you can’t speak to me like that. I’m your boss.”

“No. You’re the owner.”

“Same thing.”

“World of difference.”

“What is your problem, Jackson? I thought we were…”

I tighten my fists until I feel my nails dig into my skin. Keep things professional, Maverick.

“We can’t keep going on like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like pretending that we don’t have to work together. You’re right, I am the owner, and you’re the head handler. That means there are many areas where our responsibilities overlap. I’ve given you a month to get used to the fact that I’ve taken over, but I’m done acting like our work paths never cross because they do. They cross over a hell of a lot, in fact.”

“Oh, how convenient. We had a deal, remember? I leave you alone, and you stay the hell out of my way.”

My jaw pulses.

“Don’t speak to me like that again.”

He takes a slow sip of coffee, his eyes never leaving me. “Or what?”

I drift closer toward him.

“You don’t want to find out. Trust me.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“You did not just say that.”

That’s when I notice his eyes are a little red in the corners, almost like he’s been crying.

“Jackson.”

He lifts his nose defiantly.

“What? What are you going to do, Maverick? You can’t control me. I can say and do whatever I li?—”

My composure snaps. I erase the small gap between us, hook my fingers into the belt loops on his jeans, and tug him into me. Not a move HR would approve of. Thankfully, we don’t currently have an HR department.

I slide my fingers down his cheeks and across his jaw with one hand and remove the mug he’s holding with the other. Gently angling his head upward, I ghost my lips over his.

“What are you doing?”

His coffee-scented breath fans over my face.

“Shutting you the fuck up.”

And with that, I bring my lips to his. A shocked gasp of air escapes him, and I still. This is a mistake. This is wrong. You’re going to regret it. I wait for my internal alarm bells to heed the warnings, but they don’t. Seems my subconscious wants this kiss as much as the rest of me does.

I slide my tongue gently along the seam of his soft, plump lips. His eyes flutter to a close, his long, curly lashes glinting in the overhead lighting, casting delicate shadows across his freckled cheeks.

I should slow down, take a minute to process the thundering cascade of emotions racing inside me. Only Jackson is capable of making me feel like this, act like this, driving me past the point of common sense and logic until I finally crack. It’s borderline psychotic, but for some reason, it really turns me on.

Just like the tiny whimper he makes as his lips part. I waste no time sliding my tongue into his mouth, desperate to know what he tastes like. I’ve had two near kisses. Third time has to be the charm.

His calloused hands cradle my face, and my stomach drops. Shit. That’s it. I’ve gone too far. He’s going to shut this down.

But he doesn’t.

His fingers twist into my shirt near the collar, and he pulls me into his warm, hard body, his erection pressing into my thigh. Then his tongue pushes past my lips, probing the insides of my mouth with a furious, untamed intensity.

Rough and soft.

Light and dark.

There are so many sides to him. Jackson Hunter isn’t just complicated; he’s the most intriguing, multifaceted person I’ve ever met.

A faint warning bell goes off in my head.

This reminds me a lot of how I fell for Luca. Hard and fast. And look how that turned out.

I have to be careful. I need to keep my wits about me, and I can’t use Jackson as a means to feeling something. I shouldn’t rely on anyone for that. I have to do that on my own.

But man, do I feel so many things for this guy.