Page 97 of The Business of Love Box Set 1: Books 1 - 4

HAILEY

M y eyes fluttered open.

It was softly dark in Jackson’s living room.

The sun had set but the sky was still a light gray.

All the hard edges of furniture blurred into each other as I blinked around and waited for my vision to adjust. I rubbed at my eyes with the heels of my hands and fell still when I realized my cheek was resting upon Jackson’s thigh.

I twisted my head to peer up at him.

Jackson was asleep. One of his hands rested on my shoulder, and the other arm was draped carelessly over the back of the sofa.

His wrist was limp and his hand dangled off the edge of the couch.

His head was tilted back, neck resting against the plush pillows at his back, and I couldn’t see his face, only the sharp line of his jaw and the curve of his Adam’s apple.

His chest rose and fell in deep, steady breaths, and I found myself wondering how long we’d been asleep for.

When had we drifted off? Early afternoon? And why did I still feel so groggy and tired?

Food, I thought sharply. My stomach rolled with hunger in response.

Little bubbles danced in my belly and a low growl had me pressing one hand to my gut and willing it to be silent.

Jackson’s apartment was peacefully quiet and I did not want to suffer the jokes he would crack at my expense if my hunger noises woke him.

Carefully, I sat up. The couch cushions shifted beneath me and I inched away from Jackson before swinging my legs over the side and getting slowly to my feet.

I was greeted with just the slightest hint of dizziness, but it passed quickly.

On the tips of my toes, I padded across the sprawling living room, through the dining room, and up two stairs into the gourmet kitchen.

Jackson’s place was definitely fancier than the place he’d lived in back in Nashville, and that had been the nicest apartment I’d set foot in.

Until this one, of course.

This New York City apartment was something else entirely. I’d expected we’d be sharing a shoe box cut out of a condo. That was not the case. This place felt more like a house than an apartment building.

Where I stood at the kitchen island facing the living room and dining room, I could see straight out the other side at the city’s surrounding residential and office towers. Jackson had a floor with his own private terrace outside, complete with grass, a plunge pool, and a hot tub.

How did you get lucky enough to live in a place like this?

I smiled at myself as I opened Jackson’s fridge and began rummaging around in search of something I could throw together for dinner.

Jackson only had some odds and ends, so I had to get creative.

I whipped up a pot of macaroni and cheese from a small company I’d never heard of and popped some frozen chicken breasts in the oven.

I chopped up what veggies he had in his fridge and tossed them in a salad with a balsamic glaze.

As I worked, I caught myself mindlessly rubbing my stomach.

I’d never woken up feeling that rough before. Well, I couldn’t say never. When I was young, I was quite susceptible to the flu, so I’d spent many mornings and nights clinging to the porcelain throne for dear life. But in adulthood? No, I’d never felt quite that sick before.

Thank goodness for Jackson.

He’d stepped in and taken care of me. Now it was my turn to return the favor.

I caught myself smiling when I stared at him still sleeping on the sofa.

He hadn’t been feeling well this morning either. I could see it all over his face and the dark circles under his eyes. He’d been more than a little hungover but he didn’t speak a word of it. He focused on taking care of me. Now I could take care of him and get some real food in his belly.

It was quite literally the least I could do.

When the oven timer went off for the chicken, Jackson stirred on the sofa. He rubbed at his eyes while I pulled the chicken out of the oven and set it down to rest.

He let out a thick, masculine groan and stretched his arms over his head. “How long was I out?”

“I’m not sure.” I poured the balsamic glaze over the salad and added a dash of salt and pepper. “Sorry I woke you up. I meant to catch the timer before it went off.”

He pushed himself to his feet and indulged in another stretch. “Don’t be sorry. It smells great in here. What are you making?”

I listed off what I’d prepared. “I know it’s a bit of a hodgepodge of food but it was the best I could do with what you had.”

“Nonsense.” Jackson hopped up the two steps into the kitchen to join me and peered into the pot of macaroni. “I’m starving. This looks great.” He put his hand on the small of my back and his sharp green eyes fixed on me. “How are you feeling? Any better?”

“Much. Like a new woman.”

He grinned. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Jackson and I loaded up our plates and brought them to the dining room table.

Jackson flicked on a light and I took a seat.

As soon as his ass hit his chair, I started eating.

Jackson dug in as well, and over the course of the meal, he pointed several times at his plate with his fork and exclaimed that the food was delicious.

I liked cooking for Jackson. He knew how to make a cook feel appreciated.

When he finished the very last piece of food on his plate, he slumped back in his chair and rubbed his stomach. “Damn, Hailey. That was delicious. I feel like a new man.”

“Thank you for taking care of me today, even though you were hungover.”

“I wasn’t hungover.”

“Liar.”

Jackson arched an eyebrow. “Okay. Fine. I was mildly hungover. Key word ‘mildly.’ Nothing a little cat nap couldn’t fix. What about you? Any ideas on what might have made you sick?”

I shook my head and pushed my nearly empty plate away from myself. “Nope. Not a clue. Maybe it was just a quick bug from the plane like you said. Seems realistic.”

“Well, I’m glad it went away. I got to reap the benefits.” Jackson gestured at the table. “Who knew you had it in you to be such a domestic housewife?”

“The mood strikes every now and then,” I said. I fixed him with a cool stare. “But don’t call me domestic. I am not domestic. Just because I like to cook and keep a clean home doesn’t mean—”

“What’s wrong with being domestic?”

“It implies all my value comes from taking care of your useless ass,” I teased.

Jackson feigned that I’d insulted him by pressing a hand to his chest and gasping. “Excuse me? Useless? Who held your hair back while you were throwing up today? Who put a cool cloth on your neck? One might argue I’m just as domestic as you are. And I, for one, don’t think it’s a bad word.”

“It is when one of the qualifications would be for me to quit my job and stay home to devote myself to taking care of others.”

Jackson frowned. “That’s a bad thing?”

“No. It’s just a thing I don’t want. Not yet anyway.”

“You’d rather get yelled at on the phone by strangers.”

My cool stare turned even cooler. “No. I’d rather be in a place where I can balance work and family life without having to sacrifice one or the other. I don’t want to be all of one thing. I want both.”

Jackson got to his feet and collected our plates. “You’re so easy to provoke, Hails. I swear, sometimes there’s a big red button on your forehead that just screams for me to push it.”

“Maybe you should exercise some self-control every once in a while.”

He turned to look at me over his shoulder with one foot on the bottom step into the kitchen. He flashed me a devilishly charming smile that I knew would haunt me in my dreams for years to come. “Me? Exercise self-control? You do know who you’re talking to, right?”

Laughing, I got up and followed him into the kitchen to help him with cleanup. “You’re such an ass.”

“You’re the one who followed me to New York.” Jackson rinsed the plates under hot water before loading them into the dishwasher. “I can’t be that much of an ass. Or you’re addicted to me like cocaine. I won’t lie. I kind of like the sound of that.”

I packed the leftover macaroni into a glass container and clipped the lid on. “Rest assured, I’m not addicted to you.”

“It feels like you are.” He lifted his hand and held his forefinger and thumb about an inch apart. “Just a little bit.”

I waved a warning serving spoon in his face. “I’ll give you something to feel, buddy.”

Jackson threw his head back with laughter. I swatted at him with the spoon and he lunged out of the way, barking at me that his shirt wasn’t cheap and he didn’t want me to ruin it with the cheesy macaroni spoon.

“You should’ve thought of that before you started harassing me,” I teased.

He ran around the other side of the island like a coward. “You know I kid, Hails.”

I twirled the spoon and flashed him a smile. “I don’t. Come here, Jack.”

“Stay away from me with that thing.”

“Don’t be such a sissy.”

He straightened. “A sissy?” His eyes darted around the kitchen. He lunged for the sink and grabbed the wooden stirring spoon I’d used to stir the cooking pasta. He brandished it like a sword, jabbed the air three times, and scurried along the side of the island toward me.

I let out a delighted shriek and retreated.

“Who’s the sissy now?” Jackson bellowed, following me as I tried to escape.

I screamed when he rushed around the island and caught up with me. In a panic, I threw the cheese-covered spoon in my hand into the sink as I passed it by and raced down the hall toward his bedroom, where he caught up with me just before I made it around the bed.

Jackson caught me around the waist, threw me down on the bed, and smacked me right on the ass with the flat end of the spoon.

We both descended into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

I laughed so hard my sides hurt and I had to beg him to stop so I could catch my breath.

Jackson slid off the end of the bed and sat on the floor with his wrists resting on his knees and his head resting against the bed.

I listened to his ragged breathing while I tried to catch my own breath.

“I can’t believe you just spanked me with a wooden spoon,” I said.

“You had it coming.”

I propped myself up on my hands and knees and turned around on the bed so I could rest my chin on my hands and be beside him.

Jackson gazed up at me and smiled. “Have I told you how glad I am you came to New York?”

“Only a dozen times.”

“Well, I’ll say it again. I’m glad you’re here, Hails.”

I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Me too.”

His defenses were down. I plucked the spoon from his hand, raised it over my head, and bellowed a battle cry as his eyes widened and he scrambled to get to his feet to escape my wrath.

I hopped off the bed and shot after him when he raced out of the bedroom laughing like a mad man.

“Come back here!” I roared. “Which cheek do you want it on? Left or right?”