by Violet Duke
Yesterday, he’d been just a man falling recklessly in love…with a woman who didn’t know his real name.
And today?
Hell, he didn’t know what today was going to bring.
All he knew was that he didn’t care about tomorrow, unless he knew for sure that Leila would be by his side. It was a lot to ask…of anyone.
“But I could turn it down, yes?” he questioned for the umpteenth time. “All of it?”
Caleb stopped and looked around at the rows of empty desks outside of Jackson’s office, before continuing. “Yes, you have the biggest decision-making and controlling percentage on the board. It’s your choice. You can choose to let the board run without you, the way your father did after he met your mother. But I have to advise you, Nate’s alleged acts of criminal financial misconduct weren’t without guidance and support. There’s an infestation. You need to clean house, quite frankly, if you don’t want to see your family legacy get burned down to ashes.”
“Nate didn’t have his hand in the textile end of things, correct? It was just his telecom dealings?”
“Yep. But all things wayward aside, Nate was very good at running Grayhurst Industries. He made the telecom holdings constitute well over half of the total revenue Grayhurst made last year, with that number growing exponentially this year.”
“But the DBC Sports Network and all our other cable networks were untouched?”
“Correct. But Jackson, I’m sorry, you simply cannot stay here in your current capacity. I know you love your job, but we can’t afford to let things continue the way they’ve been going. The company is in a tenuous position right now; the vultures are circling and we have massive weak points. Even though Nate has kept you from having an active role in your family’s business dealings, the board has always respected you. The old-timers were appreciative of how you took care of your father while he was battling his slow-progressing dementia, and the newcomers like what you’ve done behind the scenes to put Grayhurst officially on the map as a burgeoning media conglomerate.”
“But I haven’t been following the telecom industry.”
“It’s fine. You have a head for numbers that Nate never had. And you work well with people. Nate’s networking was slick, borderline oily. Effective in strong-arming folks to get what he wanted in the short run, but he never could inspire loyalty, respect, or any of the things that you need to pull Grayhurst Industries out of this mess. You possess those qualities, Jackson. You inspire that in people, and the board knows it.”
Jackson walked over to the mirror and barely recognized his own reflection.
Caleb came into view beside him, his eyes sympathetic but firm. “It won’t be forever, Jackson.”
“But it would be long enough to jeopardize my relationship with Leila.”
At the “r” word, Caleb looked up at him sharply. “You didn’t tell me you were serious about this one.”
“Caleb, have you ever known me to act the way I have been the past few months? Over any woman?”
“No. Still. A relationship at this time would be highly ill advised.”
Jackson turned and glared at him. “Are you telling me to schedule my relationship at a time more suitable to the company?”
Caleb sighed. “Of course not.” He hesitated. “At least let me fully vet her before things progress too far.”
“I trust her, Caleb.”
At that, Caleb damn near gaped at him. “Jackson, how much do you even know about her?”
“Enough.”
“Hardly,” countered Caleb with a frown. “Son, might I remind you that she kept an entire second identity—as a man—from you, along with an online business that’s a mere hairbreadth away from gambling? And probably worst of all, she’s linked to two unsavory politicians.”
“Both of whom she can’t stand.”
“Still. You don’t know what kind of influence they have on her, or by proxy via her mother and sister. And speaking of influence, isn’t it at all suspicious to you how quickly her career has taken off? Within a few months’ time, she’s managed to become one of the most famous sideline reporters out there. Doesn’t that ring just a touch familiar? Do you need a history lesson on how well our enemies can disguise themselves?”
“Dammit, Caleb. You’ve got this all wrong. She’s not like that. She is not like Bethany or Monica, or any of the other handful of women I made the mistake of dating as a Grayhurst. She doesn’t have designs on the Grayhurst family fortune. She is not some shrewd corporate spy plotting with some other genius to take over network holdings. She’s just a sideline reporter. A nice girl who loves what she does. Nothing more. Don’t worry, my future is safe. She won’t be messing up anything.”
Suddenly, Jackson felt a shot of unease thread down his spine.
He swiveled around and absorbed the shocked, hurt expression on Leila’s face like a bullet to his chest.
Alarmed, he replayed what he’d just said. What could have possibly put that heartbreaking look—
Shit.
When he tried to explain, she was gone. “Leila!” He ran out to the corridor, but she was nowhere to be found.
“Goddammit!”
He sprinted to the elevators just as Caleb came running after him. “Jackson, you have a press conference coming up.”
“Caleb, you want me to bring who I am and what I do to the table, well, this is it. I don’t exchange people’s feelings to appease a bunch of reporters and make myself look good. I need to talk to her; I need to make sure she’s okay.”
Caleb shook his head, incredulous. “So you’re going to stand up a room full of reporters and keep a dozen board members waiting…for a girl.”
“Not a girl. The girl. And yes. Every single time if need be, yes.”
A small smile crept into Caleb’s expression. “She does for you what your mother did for your father.”
“And what Kelly does for you,” Jackson volleyed back.
“Make me crazy beyond belief?” supplied Caleb helpfully, though he said it with the softened smile only reserved for his wife.
Holy hell, yes.
The elevator arrived, and Jackson jumped on. “Reschedule the press conference. And ask Kelly to call me. I need a favor.”
By the time he arrived at Leila’s apartment across town, Jackson was relieved to find her car there. And equally relieved to find Caleb’s wife there, awaiting his arrival.
Kelly was a shameless romantic, and her courtship with Caleb thirty years prior was rumored to have been an epic obstacle course of giant romantic hoops. He’d conquered in the quest for her heart, so Jackson was not at all surprised to see her beaming from ear to ear with the small delivery box he’d requested, held out to him excitedly. “Go get her. And call me afterward with all the details.”
Chapter 22
Jackson bypassed Leila’s glacial-paced building elevator and sprinted up the four flights of stairs to her apartment.
What he saw when he got there almost made him go postal.
That opportunistic prick of an ex of hers was back, harassing her on her doorstep. But instead of trying to shove a forest of lavender roses down her throat, this time, he’d brought lilies. Moron.
It was clear she’d been crying. The evidence of that was the equivalent of white-hot coals raking over Jackson’s heart. He knew without a doubt that the red eyes were all his doing.
But the red nose, he wasn’t taking the blame for.
She sneezed. Over and over again, all the while trying to stop long enough to slam the front door in Grant’s face. The asshole just kept waving those offensive flowers in her face and professing his love to her.
Enough was enough. Jackson stalked forward and yanked the vase out of the prick’s hands before running the flowers across the hall and shoving it down the trash chute. He returned and handed his suit handkerchief over to Leila. “She’s allergic to lilies, you idiot.”
Leila gave one final, gusty sneeze into the handkerchief and then fell ag
ainst the wall in relief. “Thank you.” Her watery eyes turned lethal a moment later. “Now you can both escort each other out of my building. I’m having the mother of all crappy days, and you two are to blame.”
“Leila,” rumbled Jackson in a low tone, just as she was stepping back to slam the door in their faces.
Leila halted in her tracks, and their gazes tangled as he stepped forward. He estimated that his calling her by her name would buy him a few precious seconds, at least. He had to make them count.
“Please, Leila. Give me a chance to explain. What you heard earlier, you heard out of context.”
The hurt in her eyes flashed forward again for a moment before she hardened her expression, closing him out completely. “It didn’t really need to have any context, Jackson. Your thoughts about me were pretty clear.”
“Only because you continue to believe what your father and this douche bag here have been drilling in your head all these years.”
Grant, who’d been silently watching the exchange with calculating eyes that hadn’t escaped Jackson’s attention, finally made his move. “Honey bear, who is this Neanderthal? What did he do to you? Say the word and I’ll make him pay for making you cry, sweetie.”
Good lord. Time to make some use out of the billions Jackson had lining his pockets—anything to make this asshat stop talking.
“My apologies for not properly introducing myself,” Jackson offered in his best old-money voice, layered with just the right cocktail of bored snobbery that was practically encoded into the fabric of his designer suit. It was, after all, his brother’s.
Like the trained political monkey he was, the weasel immediately stepped back and gave Jackson the head-to-toe politician once-over, which mentally catalogued Jackson’s clothes and shoes to tally up his net worth. Knowing the man wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box, Jackson figured he’d help him get there quicker. “My full name is Reginald Jackson Grayhurst II.”
All the while, Jackson’s eyes never once left Leila’s. “My father was Nathaniel H. Grayhurst, and my half-brother is Nathaniel Junior, whom you’ve probably seen on every news channel today for the legal problems he is currently facing.”
Silence resounded in the hallway after he dropped that bomb.
Jackson paused to study the rush of emotions running across Leila’s features, spanning shock, hurt, and disbelief, and every emotion in between. Then he explained in the most clear-cut terms possible just what he’d meant by the “complicated” life he led: “Due to my brother’s legal issues, as of today, I will be reclaiming my managing seat on the board of Grayhurst Industries in Connecticut.”
When the gawping politician yanked out his phone and began typing away on his screen behind them, Jackson reached over to wipe the last of Leila’s tears away. “In case your data banks don’t store random corporate trivia, sweetheart, my family owns DBC Sports Network. The man you heard me talking to had been questioning if you were some sort of evil genius corporate spy. What you heard was my response to him. Thus, I repeat, you heard it out of context. But all the same, I hate that my words caused you any pain at all, baby. I’m so sorry to be the cause of these tears.”
As he stroked her cheek with his thumb, he watched some of the tension leave Leila’s shoulders, and the hurt in her eyes slowly ebbed away.
Soon, the fist around his heart loosened enough so he could breathe again. “Leila, I hid my family name out of necessity. You know more than most how sometimes we have to do that—be two people, even though we don’t want to be. But don’t believe for a second that I haven’t been sharing my real life and who I really am with you all along. Everything I’ve ever told you is the complete truth. Only now, you have the names to go along with the stories.”
“Jackson, this is way bigger than my keeping L. J. Hart from you, and you know it.”
At that opening, Grant shoved his phone back in his pocket and chimed in, “I agree. And the reasons behind the deception are also vastly different. Don’t be drawn in to his charm. Be strong, honey bear.” He stepped forward and reached out in a show of comfort for Leila as well.
Jackson let loose a feral growl before the asshole could lay a single finger on her.
“Don’t. Touch. Her.”
Grant froze. But he didn’t back down. Instead, he took an arrow and aimed it at Leila’s heart. “Honey bear, he lied to you. He can spin it any way he wants, but it doesn’t change the fact that he didn’t trust you enough with his name or his money. He clearly doesn’t think you’re good enough for him. Face it, all you’ve been is some billionaire’s tawdry, hidden mistress—”
Leila flinched, a split-second before Jackson’s hand shot out and grabbed Grant by the throat.
“Apologize,” he barked, in a voice so raggedly vicious, it sounded more animal than human.
Grant’s face turned red, and gasping gurgles bubbled out of him instead of air.
Jackson allowed him one breath, before roaring, “Now!”
“I-I’m s-sorry, Mr. Grayhurst—,” he sputtered.
For crying out loud, the man was a complete imbecile. “Not to me, you damn idiot. Apologize to Leila.”
At Grant’s baffled look—and moment-long hesitation—Jackson squeezed Grant’s throat and slid him up the wall a foot. Panicked, Grant started frantically clawing at Jackson’s viselike hold.
“Jackson! Enough. Let him go.”
Leila’s voice was his only saving grace. He released the sack of wasted air and watched him crumple into a puddle. “He still owes you an apology,” he snarled.
A soft hand stroked over his arm, bringing his blood pressure down out of the rafters. “No, he doesn’t need to apologize. I don’t need it. Nothing he says means anything to me.”
Jackson turned to cup her beautiful face. “Do my words mean something, sunshine? Does my apology? That hurt I saw in your eyes today…” He shut his eyes in pain. “That about killed me. I never want to be the cause of any pain for you again, sweetheart. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”
From his puddle on the ground, Grant snorted. “You can’t possibly be buying any of this, Leila. All you’ll ever have with him is pain. He’s a multibillionaire. Wake up. You know well enough that you’ll never be good enough for him. With him, you’ll be nothing more than his dirty little secret. Just another notch on his bedpost. With me, you can be so much more. So much more than you are now, and more than you ever imagined. You can be a politician’s wife.”
Teeth clenched in fury, Jackson gritted out—slowly so the idiot would get it through his thick skull—“Leila is already so much more than you and your pea-sized brain could ever fathom. She’s talented, one of the most incredible reporters I’ve ever met. Brilliant, quick, dedicated, and resourceful. She’s made a lasting name for herself in the media with her fans and with some of the world’s greatest athletes and coaches. Leila isn’t now nor will she ever be just anything. And if she’ll let me, I’ll spend my lifetime helping her celebrate that remarkable fact, along with every single amazing thing she’s surely going to accomplish.”
Chapter 23
While Leila was busy trying to keep her knees locked under her, the bane of her existence now finally crawling up to a standing position again was stifling another derisive snort.
The insulting sound was soundtracked a moment later by the ringtone that belonged to the other man in her life who’d managed to hurt her over and over.
She sighed, knowing exactly what the phone call was going to bring—the level of invasive excavating political PR teams did on politician daughters, and all known acquaintances, was downright colonoscopic. But at least it would serve in an extermination capacity for her current pest problem.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Leila, sweetheart, why didn’t you ever mention that the young fellow you work with is the heir to the Grayhurst f…family.”
“You almost said ‘fortune,’ didn’t you?” she asked dryly. “The Grayhurst family fortune that’s probably wor
th, what? More than twenty billion dollars?”
“Thirty-six, actually,” whispered Jackson for her ears—and Grant’s—only.
Oh boy, she wished she had a spare camera. She’d never seen Grant stunned into silence before.
“You can’t blame your old dad for being impressed by a man’s longstanding fortune. So again, why didn’t you tell me? I had to find out from my campaign manager that you were dating such a remarkable young man.”
Right, because he’d ever bothered to ask her anything about her life that didn’t affect him. Lacking the energy to call her dad on this silly little caring-father farce he was putting on for Jackson’s benefit, she simply answered with the truth. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know Jackson was a Grayhurst. And frankly, I’m not so sure I would’ve dated him if I had known.”
A wide, amused smile broke out across Jackson’s face.
Damn, the man really did have a great smile.
“Dad, can I help you with something? I have company.”
“Oh, of course, of course. Busy life for my famous TV daughter.” Impressively, he was holding strong to that doting fatherly tone. With billions entering into the picture, he was certainly upping his game. “I’m just calling to invite you and Jackson over next weekend for dinner.”
“Speaking of things I have and haven’t told you…Remember how I mentioned that I took down my Gridiron locks-and-picks site you and your campaign manager were so fond of?” She didn’t bother diffusing the sarcasm out of her voice—it had been no government secret that her whole family had tried to get her to shut down her site for years. “I don’t have a lot of spare money to just fly over to Utah for dinner anymore.”
He didn’t even miss a beat. “Well, I’m sure for Jackson, it’d be a drop in the—”
“Dad, before you finish that sentence, I should probably mention that Jackson’s standing right here.”
“Oh! No harm, no foul. It’s a pleasure to meet you, son.”
Okay, enough was enough. She’d had just about enough of the freaky body snatcher version of her dad. “I also forgot to mention that Grant stopped by as well.”