Page 73

Jackson

“I’m starving.”

Marlow sits up, resting her hand on the mattress, tits exposed, so comfortable in her skin around me. “Was I not satisfying?” she asks, quirking an eyebrow.

I’m quick to pull her back down by the waist and lean over her. Slowly dragging my tongue along the side of her neck, I reply, “You were phenomenal, but now I need food.” I push up and pop off the bed, much to her dismay.

“What do you have?” I ask, walking into the bathroom to clean up. I turn on the shower, deciding I could use one after the long day.

“Not much.” Her voice carries from the bedroom, but soon, she’s walking in behind me and heading toward the toilet. “I have soggy dumplings on the coffee table if you want them.”

“As tempting as that is, I’ll pass.”

She slips inside the small room and closes the door. “We can order something.”

Sticking my hand under the water, I find it’s already hot, so I step under the showerhead, tilting my head to the side since I’m too tall. I close my eyes and let the warmth wash through me. “What are you in the mood for?”

I don’t see her, but I feel her close by. “ Wellllll . . . if you’re asking me . . .”

Opening my eyes, I pull her against me and under the water. Usually, she gets pissed when I get her hair wet, but not tonight. She closes her eyes with her body pressed against me and lets the water rain down over her.

I say, “I’m asking you. I always want to know what you want.” Tapping her nose, I then kiss it. “And what you’re craving.”

She swipes away at the makeup that’s started running down her face and then reaches for a tube of cleanser, squeezing some of the contents into her hand.

“Something small for me. I started eating before you arrived, but that doesn’t seem appealing anymore.

” Scrubbing the cleanser over her entire face and her closed eyes, she continues, “Just order whatever you want. I’m sure I can find something on the menu. ”

I’m sure she’ll say a salad, but I know her well enough to know she’ll pick at my food. From fries to tacos, she’ll order what she thinks she should, but then devour the junk I order. She’s lucky I’m a sharing kind of guy.

When she rinses her face, I can’t stop staring at her natural beauty. Cupping her cheeks, I kiss her forehead, lingering there for a moment. “I’m glad you texted.”

Holding my wrists, she replies, “I’m glad you mentioned that. How in the world did you get here so fast?”

I chuckle, leaning back and reaching for the shampoo behind her. “You want the truth?”

“Always.”

I squeeze the shampoo in the palm of my hand and then set the bottle down before I start running it through the length of her soaked strands. “I was already here.”

“That’s a good party trick.” Her body is so relaxed as I massage her scalp, but then she asks, “Are you a mind reader?”

“I wish. Selfishly, I just wanted to see you.”

The gentle smile that resided on her lips falters as her hands find my middle and hold tight to my ribs. “Jackson . . .” It’s not a question. It’s not even a statement. It’s just her emotions all wrapped up in my name.

“You busted me. I can’t stay away from you.”

She pauses, her gaze fixed on mine before she grants a peek inside her thoughts, and her smile grows again. Between kisses to my chest, she says, “I’m glad you can’t because I can’t either.”

I’m tempted to say maybe we shouldn’t force something that feels so unnatural to both of us, but that’s repeating the past, which I don’t want to do. We’re finding our way on solid footing. I’m just going to have to learn patience.

We finish showering and dry ourselves before she slips on silky pajamas, but I’m relegated to putting on my boxer briefs.

Leaving her to climb back under the sheets, I grab my phone and start making my way to the kitchen.

Passing every color of handbag imaginable, I stop to ask, “Why are your purses lined up like this?”

“Because I have to sell them.”

Whether it’s her casual response or her even tone, I don’t know why that makes me pause.

Standing in her living room looking at what seems to be a solid twenty or more high-end bags, I recognize the logos and signature styles.

This collection would be the envy of any woman in Manhattan.

My mom and Natalie even own some that are similar.

That’s got to be close to six figures or more in value. I scratch the back of my neck. No way is Marlow going to part with these. “You love your bags?” I don’t know what I’m asking, but this comes as a surprise.

“I do love them, but I need the money,” she says, her voice traveling from the bedroom. “Besides the furniture and a few art pieces, my designer items are all I have to sell.”

Does anyone need a bag that costs fifteen or twenty grand? If you’re asking me, the answer is obvious. No. But I understand the investment. These purses, if taken care of, can bring in a lot of money. Some even appreciate more than the price of gold, diamonds, and stocks.

But it once again cements what an asshole her father is since most, if not all of these, were gifts.

Every birthday, another one would arrive when we were celebrating.

On holidays when he was out of town filming, he sent a package.

I’m not sure where her mom’s been, but her dad was buying her affection when she took him for being sincere.

Now he’s left her to clean up this mess.

I don’t know why I take several photos of the bags, but maybe there’s something I can do to help her out.

Since my phone is out, I start searching for which restaurants are open to deliver at this hour.

“What’s her address?” I mumble, staring at the screen.

I’ve been here a million times, but it’s a habit by now, and I don’t even pay attention. I just know where she lives.

She must have something to tell me her street address, a piece of mail, or a package lying around.

I start searching the vicinity, but she keeps the place pretty damn clean.

I’m about to ask her when I start pulling open drawers, figuring she has to hide stuff somewhere. Don’t we all have a junk drawer?

Bingo.

A large envelope that has confidential stamped on one side has her address on the other. I pull it out and type in the location and apartment number since the maps pinpointed us at the building next door. That would have sucked to have our food delivered to the wrong address.

“I’m thinking a burger and fries,” I call out. “Sound good?”

“Just a small salad for me. Thanks.” I chuckle while I place the order, upsizing the fries from regular to large, and then pull two glasses from the cabinet to fill with water.

But that envelope . . . That envelope doesn’t look good.

I set the glasses down on the counter beside it, and even though I know I shouldn’t, I spread the ripped sides apart with my fingers, and read the title in bold red across the top of the document—Eviction Notice.

Shit.

“Is it too late to order some fries for me?” Marlow asks, padding toward the kitchen. “I’m hungrier than I thought.”

I drop the envelope to the counter like it burned my fingers and scramble to grab the glasses and hold them up. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll give you some of mine. Here’s some water.”

She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind but smiles. “Thanks.” Taking one from me, she sips, but then her gaze strays to the counter. Shit. The glass is slowly lowered, and I see her chest fill with a deep breath that she holds inside.

When she releases it, she says, “I forgot about that.”

“How do you forget about an eviction notice?”

Her hand goes to her hip, and she tilts her head. Accusations fill her eyes along with a spark of anger. “You opened my mail?”

“I was looking for your address to verify the order. And I might’ve also . . .” Fuck. There’s no getting out of this. “Yeah, I looked at your mail. It’s an eviction notice, Marlow.”

“I know.”

“Have you read it because it doesn’t look like you got further than ripping it open.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“You can’t be so busy that you didn’t read a fucking eviction notice.” Running my hand through my hair, I can’t keep the strain of frustration from tainting my words.

“What do you want me to say?” Her shoulders bounce in nonchalance as she leans against the counter. “I have a talent for ignoring things that make me sad. And eviction notices are really depressing.”

“They’re also legally binding.” I want to reach for it so badly, but I invest the temptation into squeezing my glass. “When do you have to be out of the apartment?” I ask.

She grabs the envelope and reaches inside to pull out the documents. “Let’s find out.”

I’m desperate to look over her shoulder, to see if I can help her out of this mess, but I have a feeling if she’s had this for a while, her time has run out.

She keeps me in suspense as her eyes trail across the document. When she shoves it back into the envelope, she takes another sip of water. At this point, I think she’s doing it on purpose to get back at me for reading it.

She turns with her glass of water in hand and walks into the living room. “How long until the food gets here?”

I set the glass down and push the palms of my hands against the cold stone of the counter. Trying to calm myself, I have to remember that I may not be familiar with eviction notices, but she has even less experience in this department. “I put a rush on it. Twenty. Thirty minutes tops.”

Standing in front of her row of bags, she says, “A week.”

“You have a week to be out?” I come around and stand next to her.

She takes another sip of water, and then her head bobbles. “Four days from receipt.”

I temper myself before speaking this time. Getting upset will not do her any good nor will it help my position in her life, which is something I’m not willing to risk. “When did you receive it?”

She turns and looks at me. “Technically, on New Year’s Eve. Right before you picked me up.” There’s no tension in her shoulders as she laughs like it’s an inside joke. “It’s a funny story, actually. I thought it was you at the door. Nope. It was some guy serving me papers.”

“Wait, how did he get into the building?” Some security system. That irritation can be dealt with another day.

“That’s still a mystery, but weasels always find a way.” She nudges my ribs with her elbow. “Am I right?”

“Marlow,” I caution. “This isn’t a joke. It’s Wednesday.”

“Trust me, Jackson. I don’t think this part of the story is funny at all, but it’s just another hit at this point. Also, it’s Thursday if we’re going by the actual time since it’s after midnight.”

“Do you mind if I look at it?”

She moves around me and heads toward the kitchen again. “Go right ahead.” She picks it up and hands it to me.

I pull the document out again and do a quick scan for dates. “I’m not even sure this is legal. Did you contact your lawyer?” When she doesn’t respond, I look up to see her shying away. “Do you have a lawyer?”

“Not anymore. Not since I can’t afford the retainer.”

Fuck. I take a deep breath and then exhale loudly. Looking back at the notice, I say, “Okay, so four days from Monday is Friday. You must vacate the premises by Friday evening. If you don’t, they can lock the doors on you and sell your belongings for payment or throw it out on the street.”

“What? No. That can’t be right.” She snaps the notice from my hands and starts reading it again. “I thought it meant I had to move out.”

“It does, but I’ve never heard of someone being given such short notice. Did you receive any others? Say forty-five days or a month ago? Or even ten days ago?”

She’s shaking her head. When she looks up at me, she says, “Oh, no.”

“What?”

Flipping the paper around, she taps it. “Look at the address for billing.”

My gaze rolls down until I see it. “Beverly Hills.”

“My dad.”

“Your dad got the other notices but didn’t tell you.” We didn’t know he could treat her any worse, but he succeeded. As soon as I see tears of that realization welling in her eyes, I pull her to me, wrapping her frame in my arms.

The paper falls to the floor as she takes another hit from her dad’s disregard for his own daughter’s welfare. Her arms come around me, and I feel the slight shake of her shoulders as her emotions get the best of her.

Rage wants to fuel my reaction, but that won’t help her. I kiss her head instead, and through gritted teeth, I growl, “Fuck him.”

She doesn’t say anything, but I feel her tears against my skin. Leaning back, I grasp her face in my hands, waiting for her eyes to reach mine. “You’re moving in with me.”