So Wright: The Wrights

by Jordan, Skye

  “Is it a lot of money?”

  A look of dread crossed his expression before he closed his eyes on a sigh. “So much.” He slid a hand down her side and let it rest on her hip. “My dad didn’t come from money and continues to live a modest life even when he could afford so much more. He built the company from the ground up. His dependability and work ethic helped him get jobs. Solid values kept employees on board for decades. He knew how to grow, you know, slow and steady. He didn’t get ahead of himself, didn’t promise things he couldn’t deliver. This company is his life, second only to my mom and us kids. In a twisted way, I’m glad he doesn’t know what’s happening.”

  “Good God. Talk about heavy. How are you keeping things going?”

  “Since the company books wouldn’t be winning us any eager loan partners, Jen and I pulled everything from the line of credit Dad has on the house. Jen got a second loan on her home, and I mortgaged my loft. We both took cash advances from every card we have. I sold a few luxury toys I never use—an extra car, a sailboat. Jen, her husband, and I all took loans against our retirement accounts.” He exhaled and tightened his arm around her. “You’re not the only one living paycheck to paycheck at the moment.”

  “Jack, that’s insane. I can’t imagine how stressed you must be.”

  “You’ve helped more than you know.” He gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Sure, it’s nerve-racking to be on the edge of such a steep financial cliff, but honestly, I’d give up everything if I could have my dad back. You can always start over, make more money, but you can’t always bring back the people you love.”

  “Are you going to get through this?” she asked. “Will the company be okay?”

  “Things are looking up. Our lawyer won a judgment in court and froze funds in the partner’s account. We have an investigator tracking down the asshole so we can bring him back to the US and prosecute. And my dad had embezzlement insurance, so the insurance company is helping us meet payroll in the short term.”

  “Embezzlement insurance? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “Me either. We’re far from out of the woods. I don’t know how things will look when the dust clears. But we’ll figure it out.”

  She searched his eyes. “This sounds really complicated, worse because of your dad’s condition.”

  “We have a board of directors that’s steering the ship. My sister is a project manager at the company, and she’s been promoted to operations chief temporarily. We’ve both been in the business since we could walk. Jen got a business degree and returned. I took a different route, but we both know enough to keep things going until Dad gets better. It’s really a big sacrifice on her part. She loves her boys, and her husband travels a lot. This has been really hard on her family. Truth is, she’s the one who’s been making all the sacrifices over the last year.” His gaze went distant, and he went quiet. “I need to take some responsibility off her shoulders. I just don’t know how to carry the load here and back home.”

  Back home. Those words cooled some of the warmth building in her heart. He’d be leaving soon. She’d be smart to remember that. “What is the load back home?”

  “I made partner at my architecture firm about six months ago. It comes with a lot of responsibility, a lot of travel and long hours. I don’t want to let them down. I don’t want to let anyone down.” He refocused on her. “Which brings me to the reason I came to the bar tonight in the first place.”

  Dread sank in the pit of her stomach.

  “One of the other partners is pregnant and experiencing complications. She’s going to be out of commission for several months, pre- and post-baby. With all the work going on at the firm, they can’t afford to have two partners out. I need to pick up the slack, which means I’m heading to Los Angeles tomorrow to deal with an issue at one of her projects there.”

  This was inevitable, she knew. But disappointment and resignation still weighed her down.

  “I’ll only be gone a few days, but I didn’t want you to think that this is no big deal or that I ghosted you.”

  He stroked the backs of his fingers against her cheek. His gaze softened but was no less intense. She felt a little shaky in the spotlight of his focus.

  “Miranda, there’s something special here. You feel that, right? It’s not just great sex.”

  She found the surety in his words both curious and touching. Her family mess might be in her past—or would be once Gypsy moved on—but it was enough for others to make judgments and form opinions. She’d seen it her whole life.

  Instead of answering, she turned her head and kissed his palm. “Didn’t you promise me pictures of your work? I want to see what you’ve designed.”

  Confusion drifted across his face. “Seriously?”

  His reaction was familiar. She often felt surprised when someone showed real interest in her work. She smiled at the irony of it. “Seriously. I want to see the buildings. Your designs.”

  He hesitated, then reached for his phone and tapped into his pictures. Miranda slid her hand across his abdomen, his skin warm, muscles hard, and tucked it beneath him on the opposite side of his body. With her head on his chest, she watched him scroll through his photos before stopping on a rendering of twin skyscrapers depicted at dusk.

  He offered her the phone. “This is my project in Melbourne.”

  Shock rendered her speechless for long moments as she studied the stunning buildings. They gave the illusion of curving into the dusky sky, while also appearing to twist slightly. The exteriors slowly changed color from light gray at the base to black at the top. Various windows were lit up, as if some offices were still occupied. Each building seemed to have slivers cut from them where portions didn’t connect, a play on curved and rectangular shapes that worked in complete harmony together. She couldn’t begin to understand this kind of architecture. She could only marvel at the mind that created it.

  “Good God, Jack. This is… I don’t have words.”

  “Yeah?” he asked. “I’ve gotten a lot of mixed reactions.”

  She cut a look at him, frowning. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  He gave a shrug, and his gaze returned to the images. “Architecture is art. And like any art, perception is highly subjective. I learned a long time ago you can never please everyone.”

  She shook her head and studied the image again, still marveling. “Anyone who would criticize this is nothing but envious.” She tilted her head one way, then the other. “God, I could look at this for hours. Tell me about it.”

  “This area,” he pointed to a platform-like base, “is a shopping mall with high-end stores and rooftop restaurants.” He gestured toward the towers. “These are offices. The building is completely leased, and it’s only halfway built.”

  “Are there more?” Miranda automatically swiped to the next picture and found more renderings. The sheer beauty of it created a purr in her throat. She shook her head, swiped again and found different angles on the same buildings. “Jesus. It’s incredible, Jack.”

  She swiped again and found herself looking at a picture of Jack lying on the floor on his stomach in front of a Lego building along with two little boys. One right beside him, mirroring Jack with an intent gaze on the toy structure, the other, younger boy, lying on Jack’s back, his chin propped on Jack’s shoulder, looking at the building. The sight was so sweet. it made Miranda’s heart squeeze.

  “That’s all I have on my phone,” he said. “I have more on my computer if you’re interested.”

  “I am.” She couldn’t look away from the warmth of this new photo, a peek into his personal life. “Very.”

  “My nephews.” His voice held a note of affection she’d never heard before. When she looked at him, she saw a tenderness in his eyes she’d never seen. “Jacob’s a builder, James a destroyer. If I’m not there to referee while we’re building, those two would explode in the Lego fight of the century. Jen takes a million pictures.”

  Her gaze traveled back to the image
, and something completely foreign moved inside her. “I can’t believe how much they look like you.”

  “I look like my father. My father looks like my grandfather. I guess we have strong genes.”

  Even as the questions formed, she knew she shouldn’t voice them. But they just spilled out of her mouth. “Have you ever been married?”

  “No. You?”

  She snorted a laugh. “Do you have kids?”

  He grinned. “If I had kids, they’d be all over my phone. And I wouldn’t travel like I do now.”

  A whisper of disappointment fluttered through her stomach, but she wasn’t sure why. She glanced at him. “You want kids, then?”

  “I do.” His head tilted, his gaze scanning her expression. “You don’t?”

  “I’m…” She returned her gaze to the photo. What she was going to say, what she always said when someone asked—I’m not made for kids—faded away. There was something about the sight of an adorable boy who looked just like Jack that made her heart stir. “I’ve never thought about it.”

  Miranda shook her head and swiped to the next image. Her breath caught in her lungs. It was of Jack with a baby. He was outside, sitting on a porch swing. He had the baby lifted in the air, his head back, smiling up at the boy, who was clearly laughing, overjoyed with Jack’s playfulness.

  “Wow.” The word came out as a breath, and the stirring in her heart quickened. It was as if the universe had dug into her deepest, most unrealistic desires and thrown them at her in a photograph. As if to whisper, You could have this. A family of your own. “What an incredible photo.”

  “One of my favorites.” That softness was back in his voice. “That’s Joshua. You should come to the house. Meet my family.”

  That suggestion cut through her like a hot knife. Before she had to respond, room service knocked on the door. Miranda silently thanked the universe for interrupting a discussion she didn’t want to even begin.

  Miranda rolled off him, and Jack moaned as he straightened out his clothes and pried himself from bed. She swiped back to the images of the building. Something she was far more comfortable with. “Bring your computer back with you. I want to see your other projects.”

  He tossed a smile over his shoulder on the way out. Miranda rolled to her back and closed her eyes. She needed to end this. She really needed to end this. For both of them. He was starting to look at her with that dreamy quality that usually made her want to run. Her subconscious was betraying her with fantasies of a family of her own. The fact that she wanted to stay right here, tangled in high-thread-count sheets with this amazing man, was one hell of a red flag.

  When Jack thanked whoever had brought the meal and closed the hotel room door, Miranda forced herself upright, grabbed one of Jack’s dress shirts from the back of a chair, and slid it on. It smelled like him, felt like him. She fastened three of the middle buttons, then brought the fabric to her face and inhaled, wishing she could memorize all this. Because soon, it would all be over.

  Just as the loss began to register, he appeared with a tray of food in one hand and a laptop in the other. “Energy,” he said, indicating the food, then gestured with the laptop. “And a little downtime entertainment.”

  12

  Escaping Gypsy had been easier than Miranda had expected. For the last three days, she’d gone to the Warrior Homes site directly from her Pinnacle day job to inch the project along. By the time she’d returned home a little past eight and taken a shower, Gypsy was passed out on the sofa, which led to the likelihood of her job as a club manager being yet another lie.

  Now, as Miranda sauntered toward her truck in the parking lot of Pinnacle’s construction site along with four of her coworkers, she spotted Gypsy sitting on the open tailgate and swore under her breath.

  Miranda could easily deal with confrontation on a professional level. Even on a personal level if that conflict involved facts. Emotions were a whole different animal. One she’d rather leave caged. But it looked like the tiger had escaped Miranda’s mental zoo.

  “Who’s the babe at your truck?” Michael was one of the welders on Miranda’s team. He was six and a half feet of twenty-eight-year-old muscle with a nice face and a killer smile. A literal magnet for women.

  “My sister.” Miranda added a warning to her answer and met every man’s gaze in turn. “Don’t even think about it.”

  That was all she had to say for all of them to scatter to their vehicles with mumbled goodbyes.

  Gypsy was swinging her feet and smiling as Miranda approached. An intense flashback struck Miranda. One of Gypsy as a young girl, sitting on a park swing, doing exactly what she was doing now. The realization of how much they’d lost over the past twenty years lodged a stone of regret in her gut.

  She stopped at the bumper of her truck, hoping Gypsy had come to tell her the visit was over, and she was moving on with her life. “Hey.” She pointed to the gray powder in the bed and made a mental note to bitch at Alex for letting his guys leave it dirty after they’d used it. “That looks like cement powder. You don’t want that on your clothes.”

  Gypsy didn’t seem to care. She gave the truck bed a cursory glance and shrugged. Her gaze drifted to the men as they continued off the jobsite in small groups. “You sure do work with some serious hotties.”

  “You think they’re hot because you don’t work with them. If you had to listen to their guy talk all day, you’d never date again.”

  Gypsy laughed. “Probably true.”

  Miranda hefted her equipment over the side of the truck and into the bed. “Tired of the couch? Headed out of town?”

  Gypsy’s legs stopped swinging. She braced her hands against the edge of the tailgate. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that. Thought I could catch you here before you went to your next project.”

  This wasn’t what Miranda wanted to hear. Before she could answer, her cell dinged with a message. Miranda pulled her phone from her back pocket, hoping for a text from Jack, but it was Pete, the vet who watched the Warrior Homes work site during the day asking about access for a roofing team.

  She tapped out a return message, keenly aware she hadn’t heard from Jack in over twenty-four hours. They’d been texting from the moment he left. Nothing heavy, just flirty snippets that reinforced their fiery attraction and kept her thinking about him. But his texts had dropped off abruptly, and Miranda wondered if someone else had caught his interest. Another architect or a designer or a project director. Someone with an education, who could relate to him on his Ivy League level.

  Her insecurities flared whenever she let her mind wander too far. Insecurities that didn’t rise to the surface with other men. She wasn’t sure if that was because she cared more for Jack or because he simply triggered her in ways other men didn’t. Whatever the reason, she didn’t see it as a good sign.

  Miranda pushed her phone into her pocket and looked at Gypsy. “What’s up?”

  Her sister lifted her chin toward the phone. “Your new guy?”

  “I don’t have a new guy.” Miranda leaned her hip against the truck. “You’re here because…?”

  “Because you’re so damn good at avoiding me.”

  “You go to bed at eight o’clock. I don’t even have to try.” Despite telling herself to keep her distance, she asked, “Do you feel okay? Are you coming down with something?”

  “Oh no, I’m fine. I think I’m just worn out from the stress.”

  Miranda crossed her arms and waited. If Gypsy didn’t jump at the chance to tell Miranda she was leaving, then she was probably here to tell her she was staying. And Miranda had a lot of mixed feelings about that.

  “How’s your veterans project going?” Gypsy asked.

  “Good, but we’re running out of welding wire. We might stall on the last group of homes to complete the community until we find a donor.”

  And that would screw with a lot of veterans who were bumming couches from friends or family, transitioning from long-term care facilities, or curre
ntly living on the streets.

  “Pinnacle won’t donate?” Gypsy asked.

  “They have, several times. In fact, they donated the last lot of building materials, so I don’t want to ask again so soon.”

  “I’d love to see it sometime,” Gypsy said. “I came across your drawings while I was cleaning. Really creative, cool stuff you’re designing.”

  Miranda’s spine stiffened. She didn’t like people digging into her dream. Even when they praised and supported her, Miranda felt awkward about it. Marty continually told her she had to get over it. She needed to talk more about her dream if she wanted to be taken seriously, if she wanted to find investors. But it still felt fragile, as if the idea would shatter into a million pieces if she were criticized or laughed at.

  “Thanks,” was all she could manage. “So, what do you want to talk about?”

  Gypsy took a slow, deep breath, and Miranda realized her sister wasn’t any more thrilled about this conversation than she was. “I hate the bad blood between us.” The regret in her voice told Miranda she was sincere. “And I know it’s mostly my doing. But, in the last few years, I’ve grown up a lot. I’ve had time to think about things—life, family, goals. I really fucked up with you. I should have come to help when Mom was sick. I should have been there for the funeral. For you. I was being selfish, and it was wrong of me. I’m really sorry about that, Miranda.”

  This was coming out of left field. “Sounds like you’ve been talking to Marty and Elaina.”

  “About the bar, not about this.” She paused, looked at her hands. “When Mom died, I didn’t even think of her as my mom. As little time as I spent with her, she was more of a nuisance than family. The only reason I didn’t fight what little visitation we had was because I knew I’d get to see you.”

  She lifted her head and met Miranda’s gaze. “I was in my second year of college when she was sick. I had a full load of classes, and I was working two jobs. Her funeral was right smack in the middle of finals week, and I had to ace my tests to keep my scholarship.”