Page 15

I slide the photographs back into my briefcase and snap it shut. It won’t matter. Jake Wesley is too arrogant and too stupid to leave.

Sure enough, raised voices echo down the hall moments later. Grace is arguing with him, clipped and furious. Then their footsteps approach, and the door swings open without permission.

Jake steps in first, wearing that infuriatingly smug grin. Grace follows, her expression tight with frustration and barely contained anger.

“Seriously?” Jake says, amusement lacing his voice. “Avoiding me now?”

My gaze locks onto his.

It takes every ounce of restraint I have not to stand up and knock that grin straight off his face.

I let the silence stretch long enough to become uncomfortable. Then I glance at Grace and exhale slowly, tilting my head in dismissal. She hesitates before leaving, shooting Jake the filthiest look I’ve ever seen her give anyone.

“What do you want?” I ask as he drops into the chair opposite me, that idiot grin lingering.

“Hello to you too,” he says, irritation sneaking into his tone. “You really should answer your calls, Tristan. It feels like you’re ignoring me just to make me chase after you.”

I tilt my head, studying the man I once fell head over heels for. Blonde hair, piercing green eyes, features good enough to drop anyone to their knees. A Greek god carved from chaos, the kind I once loved.

Twelve years ago, I was twenty, grinding through law school. His family’s company hired my Dad’s firm, and somehow, Jake and I clicked. Fast. Too fast. By twenty-four, we were inseparable, devouring each other. Married at twenty-six. Divorced at thirty. I poured almost a decade into him. Highs that scorched, lows that gutted me, joy laced with endless heartbreak. I cracked my chest open, again and again, until it scarred shut. Until I saw him for what he was: a stray dog, slinking back when hungry, leeching what he could. You can’t cage a man who thrives on freedom, no matter how deep you bleed for him.

“You know,” he says, folding his arms. “Honestly, I wish that psycho who’s obsessed with you were here. Maybe then you’d stop looking at me like you’re debating murder.”

“Last chance,” I say evenly. “Tell me why you’re here, or I’ll call security.”

His eyes darken. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would.”

We hold each other’s gaze. He breaks first, laughing softly like this is all a game.

“You seem to forget,” he says carefully, “that this firm works for my family.”

I blink. Then cock my head.

“Are you stupid?” I ask, genuinely curious.

He stiffens.

“You’re almost thirty-three,” I continue, my voice hardening. “Still riding on your father’s money as if it’s an accomplishment. Do something worthwhile with your life, Jake. Or don’t. But stop pretending you’ve got your life figured out.”

His face flushes. He opens his mouth to reply, but my phone vibrates, cutting him off.

I answer without looking at him.

“I’ve found him, Mr. Sinclair,” Kelly says. “Julian Spencer. He’s a private reporter working quietly with Channel One Entertainment.”

“Send the address,” I say, already standing.

“Should I inform Anton?”

I pause, my mind racing through contingencies.

“No,” I reply. “I’ll handle it.”

The call ends. Jake has been watching me the entire time, his expression unreadable.

“You can see yourself out,” I tell him as I head for the door. “Whenever you’re done sitting there.”