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Jackson

Andrew walks in without knocking and drops a red file on my desk.

“What’s this?” I look up. When he doesn’t say anything, I ask, “What are we doing? Charades? File. Red. Folder. I’m going to need more to work with here.”

He must be in a good mood because for a serious guy around the office, he chuckles. “Funny.”

“I try.”

Tapping the folder, he says, “That’s the evidence we need to clear CWM, and you, though I’m having second thoughts about getting you off the hook with your attitude.”

“My attitude is always the same.”

“That’s my point.”

Now I’m chuckling. I pick up the file and start flipping through it.

“That didn’t take long.” I shrug nonchalantly and then open a side drawer to pull out a blue file I’ve been holding on to for just this occasion.

Handing it to him, I say, “I mean, a week longer than my attorneys, but you guys got there in the end.”

Settling in on the couch, Nick smarts back, “Considering how many calls I had to field from your attorneys, you’re lucky I was there to guide them through the process.” The laughter is contagious, and he struggles to hold a straight face when he adds, “Amateurs.”

These guys are on fire today. It feels good to laugh without the dread of this lawsuit hanging over our heads. It’s not dismissed or even settled as a case, but to know it’s dead in the water gives much-needed relief.

I just wish I could share this victory with a certain blue-eyed beauty who likes to challenge every part of my life, especially my patience. Two months is too long without having her in my life, her kissing me good morning or falling asleep curled around me on the couch at night.

Does it matter anymore? We don’t even speak or text. I thought we were pausing so she could care for her dad. I didn’t realize her stay might become permanent.

There was no big fight or low blows exchanged.

Nothing was said to terminate our relationship.

No production was made at all. We didn’t end things on a keep-in-touch basis.

It was more of a cold turkey kind of thing.

Not sure why other than it would also give us time to reflect on—life, us, and how we see our futures playing out.

It was a whisper, a mutual understanding that our timing was off.

For the time being. Not forever.

Laughter brings me back to the conversation. Rad and Cade are my best friends, but the Christiansen brothers are damn good entertainment. And they’re my friends, but I like to give them a hard time since they’re also family. Family . . .

Get your mind in the game, St. James.

Chuckling, I set the files down. “Oh, yeah? So how did you crack the mystery?”

Andrew sits in the chair across from me, a smug smirk still on his face.

“We don’t have records for the calls Brent made on his cell to Morgenstern, though the subpoena may still come through, but we do have two employees willing to go on record that they overheard Brent advising Morgenstern to buy in on the stock. ”

“Brent went rogue? That fucking weasel.”

“Tell me about it,” he continues. “We hadn’t even put the stock in our index as it wasn’t verified.”

Nick leans forward. “He not only went rogue but he was also making shit up. After discovering what was overheard, it led to finding that stock’s company is hidden under an umbrella based in the Bahamas.

Ready for this? The company is listed under one of Brent’s old girlfriends.

He never went on a honeymoon. He never even got married. ”

“Fucking hell. The company gave him an expensive gift, too,” Andrew says.

“Let the gift go,” Nick says. “Brent was in the Bahamas setting up an offshore account.”

“The twists and turns are captivating.” I rub my chin. “Can we touch the offshore account?”

“We can’t, but the government can.” Nick kicks back with his feet on the coffee table. “And has.”

Andrew adds, “Nick isn’t heading up this case as it’s not in his wheelhouse, but the attorney working with the prosecutor said that even though the money will take time to process, if this all pans out, Morgenstern should get his money back minus the fees on the case.

The fees could be millions. The government loves a surcharge and those all-encompassing admin fees. ”

I glance at my phone, a habit I already had in place, but in the past two months, there’s only one name I want to see on the screen. The first month flew by since I was buried in work and dealing with this lawsuit. This month . . . slow as molasses.

A reminder plays on a loop in my head; she needs to be in LA as much as her father wants her there. He’s not a bad person. He’s just done bad things, but not unforgivable. Marlow needs this time with him to heal the wounds he made worse when he threw salt on them.

According to Tealey, she found a part-time job at a local gallery in Brentwood. I’m sure it’s a good distraction while her dad is getting treatments and in and out of doctor appointments. What do I expect her to do? Sit around and do nothing?

It only bothers me because I didn’t get the information directly from her.

It sows the seeds that the fear of losing her instilled.

My nightmare come true, making the nights even more brutal.

The space beside me in bed remains empty, waiting for her to return, but little by little, she’s settling back into her old life in LA.

Maybe she’s still a California girl at heart.

At least it sounds like her father might have found his miracle.

“You don’t seem happy,” Nick says, his brows lowered in confusion.

I rock back in my chair. “I’ve been thinking about it, and then I did some research.

When a brokerage discovers insider trading or anything along those lines, and it makes headlines, business booms fifteen percent on average.

Why do you think that is?” I lean forward again, my mind spinning from the possibilities.

“I’ll tell you why. Because the headline may seem like bad PR for the brokerage, but the average investor sees it as an opportunity to work with brokers who have the inside track. ”

Andrew laughs. “You’re saying not to worry about the dirty headlines, but roll with the punches and let the clients come to us?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Nick chuckles. “That’s brilliant.” Standing, he walks to the door. “Hey, Jackson?”

I glance up from that black phone screen again. “What?”

“While you have a good point, several, in fact, I wasn’t referring to the case. I wasn’t referring to work at all.”

“You don’t have to worry about me. I’m a grown-ass man. I can handle it. I can handle anything thrown my way.”

“Yeah, you’ve always been so determined to prove you can do anything, to do things on your own, to do them your way, whether it was right or wrong, but you’ve let that bleed into your personal life. And you know where that will get you?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

Nick sighs, and I see an ounce of disappointment enter his eyes. “Sitting in this office working all hours of the night to avoid returning to an empty house.”

“I’m leaving early today,” I lie. My eyes redirect to Andrew, who looks away. He’s not calling me on my bullshit because he’s above that.

“Bullshit.” My brother-in-law is apparently not above it.

I start packing my stuff because I’ll run this lie into the ground to win an argument. Argument? We’re not fighting, and they’re not my enemies. “Okay, today I’m leaving early.”

Andrew says, “It’s six thirty.”

“Not early, but earlier than usual.” They both have shit-eating grins on their faces. “Whatever.”

Snapping his fingers, he says, “I almost forgot to ask. Are you coming over this weekend?”

I’ve been going over every weekend to play with James and hang with my family—Mom, Dad, sister, nephew, and Nick. There’s just one person always missing.

I don’t think I realized how larger than life Marlow used to be until she was replaced by silence. “I’ll let you know tomorrow. I might just lay low this weekend.”

“Let Natalie know. She’s planning a cookout on Sunday since the weather will be nice.” He leaves, and Andrew gets up right after. “How are you really doing?”

“Are we going to talk about our feelings? Because I might need to pour a drink for this.”

“Your sarcasm is on point. Lots of fucking feelings buried by those comebacks.”

Comebacks . . . I grin, remembering how Marlow would always call me out on the delayed comeback. She didn’t get that arguing with her was too distracting for me to be clever.

He’s just about to leave when I hold up the file, and say, “Thanks.”

Tipping his chin, he replies, “Anytime, St. James.”

Left alone again, I read the details in the red file to compare to mine.

The district attorney filing charges didn’t come as a surprise.

There are ramifications when stocks and exchanges aren’t dealt with properly.

The company is protected. I may not have the resolution I’m seeking yet, but the suit against me should be dropped once the paperwork is filed.

I should feel better than I do, at least more than superficial relief, but what’s a victory if you have no one to celebrate with?

Slipping my arms into my jacket, I straighten my tie and lock up for the day because fuck it, I’ll prove them wrong and leave before night falls.

I don’t call cars or use cabs much these days. I take the subway, needing to be around people who can take my mind off . . . “Marlow.”

There. I say her name out loud for the first time since I can remember. I half-expected it to sound foreign to my ears. It doesn’t. It’s smooth and melodic, natural like it’s such a part of me. Still.

The only downside to riding the subway is I lose cell service for thirty minutes while underground. Or maybe that’s a blessing. It’s the only time I leave all expectations on the sidewalk above the train station, ready to pick up where I left off when I return.