The Sweetest Jerk #3 (Alpha Billionaire Romance)

by Ava Claire

  The screen blurred as tears filled my eyes.

  The subject line read, ‘I wouldn’t do that to you’.

  But how did I know that?

  What did I really know about him other than the fact that he made my body come alive with a single look? That he made me melt with a touch? That, like me, he knew the pain of longing for intimacy, for love, but was afraid the rug would be snatched away?

  Even though my heart wanted to read the words, even if it was more of the same—that she was lying, that he’d never felt this way before—I tapped the box beside the message and sent it to trash.

  What else did I know about him?

  I knew that he was a jerk, and we’d been on a collision course with this moment when I let him back in my life.

  I wouldn’t be made a fool of again.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN: JASON

  Everything about my loft in the heart of downtown was meant to exude freedom. When I made the previous owners an offer with enough zeroes that they’d be foolish to refuse it, I’d stripped the top floor of the McMillan Building down to its bones.

  Got rid of the floating staircase, and the walls that transformed the space into some sort of industrial mansion. Everything that screamed ‘I have money!’, that reeked of my childhood home, or was something that would make my mother swoon, was carted away.

  I had no interest in the antique chandelier that the real estate agent had boasted was imported from a chateau in Paris. The kitchen, made for a gourmet chef, was wasted on me. I basically saw a kitchen as the place where milk and eggs spoiled before I had the opportunity to even crack the fridge.

  I craved minimalism. White walls that were a far cry from the stark and palatial paint choices of my youth. I didn’t need an interior designer since the only furniture I required was a bad ass desk and a TV, with some flavor of a couch. That one was vital for the rare (but important) Netflix binges where I locked it in until my eyes bled. Plus, a TV made it look like someone lived here. That it wasn’t on the market, stripped down so prospective buyers could picture their own shit in it.

  Today, the very things I’d eschewed as superfluous made me hike the hood of my sweatshirt up, like I didn’t want to claim this sterile place as my own. That these bleached white walls and the metal beams that I used to think were edgy and quirky were now just...empty.

  I trudged to the kitchen, tossing a glare over my shoulder when my phone made the melodic jingle that told me someone was attempting to gain access to the loft. Probably some asshole photographer that was pretending they had a delivery. Someone who snagged a Cox Technologies t-shirt and was savvy enough to fool the front desk and security guard.

  Yesterday, two weasels had gotten as far as the private elevator before I realized that the only time a delivery wasn’t left downstairs was when I was roleplaying with a one night stand. The second giveaway was when one of them dropped the charade the moment they stepped into the elevator, reaching into their messenger bag for a massive camera that I definitely didn’t order.

  I cracked open the fridge with a sigh. It was filled with takeout containers, IPA, and a full carton of eggs from God knows when. Exhaustion must have gone right to my head because I unwisely took a whiff of a carton of milk near the back.

  I coughed, shuddering as the sour aroma filled the air around me and put it back on the shelf with a shrug.

  “Out of sight, out of mind,” I grumbled, opting for the beer.

  It wasn’t like I had any pressing engagements. Once the bullshit story about me and Cassidy went viral, spreading through the blogosphere and tabloids like wildfire, the board suggested I take a brief leave of absence until things calmed down. For the past ten years, my day began at 5AM and ended after I found someone warm and beautiful that was mine for the night.

  That is, until Scott’s wedding.

  Until Natalee...

  I threw back the beer, trying to dull the pangs in my chest. The physical reminder that this wasn’t just some run of the mill scandal that would go away and I’d carry on like usual in a few weeks. I had no interest in carrying on as usual. This was usual. An empty house. Paparazzi that hurled barbed comments about the man slut, Jason Cox. Jokes about the sounds the women made. How throughly I rocked their world before I moved on to the next.

  But it was Natalee that rocked my world. And as easy as it would be to chalk all that up to our undeniable chemistry, how her body felt with my body, it was only a fraction of what this was. What set this apart.

  It was the fact that I’d never noticed that green was everywhere; from the stoplight to the jasmine accents in the marble floor in the lobby downstairs. I caught glimmers of it, glimmering at me in the most unexpected ways, pulling me back to her green eyes.

  Nothing was as brilliant as her eyes.

  Eyes that haunted me in the best way. Defiant, like the rest of her soul wasn’t glittering there too. Eyes that dared me to take the leap. To risk it all. Warning me that if I did let go, if I dived in...I had to mean it.

  And I’d done the opposite. I’d pulled her into my world. A world of sex and intrigue and a torrid past of women that I’d used and tossed aside, waiting to make me pay for my sins.

  Women who’d caught my eye in passing, but their eyes had never even registered.

  But it was more than the color green. I saw Natalee in the moon, too.

  The moon, something that used to symbolize carnal escape and racking up notches for my bedpost was now a different kind of beast. I’d spent last night on the balcony just staring at it, remembering the way her skin glowed beneath it the last time we were together. Shining like hope, illuminating all the things I never thought I wanted.

  With Natalee, I wouldn’t settle for anything less than forever.

  Anything less than everything.

  Anything less than love.

  I was still holding the bottle even though I’d utterly drained it. I thought about grabbing a second, anything to dull that word. The ‘L’ word. I didn’t deserve that word in the face of the big, block letter ones in the tabloids that trumpeted, ‘A Billionaire In Love’.

  They got that part right, but not with the fair haired woman they’d slapped beside my picture. Not Cassidy. Not the woman I’d packed away with all my other youthful indiscretions. Burying my skeletons deep.

  The heart that I thought only beat for leaving my mark on the business world and chasing tail? It was all a lie. Me insulating myself from the thing that was impossible to deny in the silence. It shouted at the top of its lungs...louder, more powerful, and more real than anything I’d ever known.

  I was in love with Natalee.

  With the woman with the bold eyes and the sharp tongue. The woman who called me on my shit and made me work for her affections because I was the idiot that took them for granted. Who made me feel like I wasn’t Jason Cox at all because she tore down the walls and what was left was a man.

  A man who was falling.

  And it was fucking terrifying.

  Love...all signs pointed to it being a bad idea. When I brought home my first valentine, my mother had snickered and warned me it was the beginning of the end. Love made you crazy. Weak. Weak enough that you give up all you are for someone else, she said.

  I paused at the counter, suddenly regretting the sleek glass doors on my cabinets because I was getting a good look at myself.

  I raked a hand through my messy locks, sizing up the blue eyed fool that was reflected back at me. The jerk. That was me, right? Delia hadn’t even said ‘I told you so’ when I let her know I was taking some time off. I’d even shared that I ruined things with Natalee. Delia had just given me a tiny nod and told me she’d be available if I needed her.

  She probably knew it was just a matter of time before I screwed things up. And one of the other people that knew me, my best friend who still hadn’t spoken to me since the reception? Scott was clearly not losing a minute of sleep over me, our friendship, or my disaster of a life.

  And could I blame
him?

  Plenty of people bumped heads with their friend’s significant others, but I was the only genius who thought it was a good idea to take my beef public. And at their wedding, no less.

  I wrenched my eyes from the glass and dropped them to the counter, my knuckles pressing into the granite like I was debating whether I should punch something or just sink into the depths of this hell. The saddest part was, I couldn’t pawn it off on anyone else. The Cassidy Lie—even though it was bullshit, could I blame anyone, Natalee included, for taking the word of the gossip rags over me? With all the bad things I’d done, what did it mater that I didn’t do this bad thing?

  Karma was vicious, and all the things I’d done were catching up to me...and it would be cowardice to chalk this all up to Cassidy or whoever was behind this fake news bullshit. I could have sued everyone involved in the lie, from Cassidy down to the grubby photographers that were falling all over themselves to take a pic that would pad their bank account, but would that change the fact that I was here? Alone? Without an ally to my name because I’d opted to keep everyone at a distance?

  I pushed away from the counter, ignoring a renewed flurry of beeps. Whoever was down there was damn persistent, but they’d have to wait for my reemergence like all the other paps stationed around the building.

  I continued my journey to the living room, or what should have been a living room, but there was just a couch and a TV affixed to the wall.

  I dropped onto the couch, cringing to myself when I finally put my finger on what this place was if it wasn’t a home.

  It was a waiting room.

  Waiting to die.

  And with my luck, I’d be doing that alone, too.

  Here lies Jason Cox—he was really good at pretending like he didn’t need anyone, and has finally gotten his wish.

  I flipped on the TV, then automatically flipped it off when I was greeted with a blurb on the home screen that read, ‘The Billionaire and The Baker’.

  I faded into the cushion, squeezing my eyes shut, wishing I could sleep but unable to shut my brain off. Unable to shut out that look on Natalee’s face. It was a look I’d seen before, and at my hand. Disappointment. The light snuffed out and replaced by something that kept me from blowing up her phone any further.

  A look that said she was angry. Angry at me. That weight I could handle, but what I couldn’t take was that she was angry at herself, too. Blamed herself for giving me the second chance I’d fought for.

  The second chance I didn’t deserve.

  I nearly crushed my remote when the buzzer went off again, this time, not letting up because the asshole downstairs decided to outdo himself and was holding the button. Forcing me to at least stomp over to the control panel and acknowledge their existence—or call security.

  “You’ve got some big ones, man,” I muttered to myself, deciding to not go with my gut and call security to physically remove the trespasser from the premises.

  I peered at the screen, curious about how creative this schmuck was.

  My profanity filled dismissal that I had locked and loaded froze in my throat.

  I saw a bespectacled and familiar face, red with annoyance because the one thing that drove him absolutely crazy was having to wait.

  I was smiling like a fool, but I couldn’t help myself. ‘Pissed’ had been Scott’s default mode when I was in his general vicinity since the wedding, if he wasn’t avoiding me altogether, so the snarl on his lips was business as usual.

  “Can I help you?” I said smoothly. “I’m currently on a leave of absence. Board’s orders.”

  Scott looked directly at me, his dark eyes scoring me to the bone. “Yeah, you can help me. Buzz me up before I regret this olive branch, asshole.”

  ~

  The scowl I was confronted with should have told me that now wasn’t the time for jokes. Despite the fact that it was really good to see my friend in the flesh instead of behind a memo or communicating through Mrs. Larson, grinning from ear to ear was probably unwise. I couldn’t help myself. Especially considering the fact that the arrival of Pissed Off Scott brought back all kinds of memories.

  Scott was the goofy, annoyingly optimistic one of us, so it was worth taking notice when he had anything on his face other than a smile. One of the notable instances was after he had a run in with Dr. McGregor.

  Scott had joined the professor’s legendary shit list when the ornery man learned he was buddies with me. I’d only lasted two lectures in his Business 101 class, foiling his attempts at punishing me when he caught me chatting with my sexy neighbor during his lecture.

  I had the audacity to answer his ‘Gotcha!’ question correctly.

  Scott actually gave a shit about his grades and tried to follow up after McGregor massacred his business plan. The good professor didn’t even let him get two words out before he held up a hand, his beady green eyes becoming slivers of disgust as he proclaimed loudly that the grade was final and not up for debate. Like that wasn’t enough rudeness to make most students tuck their tail between their legs and exit as quickly as possible, he twisted the knife by tossing out that Scott’s charm may work on the freshmen, but he saw right through him.

  I’d been waiting near the door, fuming, ready to charge in and defend my friend, but he’d given the professor a glare that made the cocky man swallow his tongue. The scowl had soured Scott’s sunny disposition as he let out a dig of his own: “We’ll see if my charm works on the dean.”

  I clapped Scott on the shoulder, putting aside the past and focusing on the now. He emerged from the elevator, but my smile wavered when I realized that I could count the number of times I’d seen the look he scalded me with on one hand—and the most recent instance of it was after my toast at the reception.

  He stopped short of entering the main space, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his nostrils flaring like I was dressed in red and he was ready to gore me to death.

  His dark eyes slashed across the room and cut me down to size. “Since when do you make visitors blow up your buzzer for fifteen minutes?”

  I crossed my arms against my chest and took a sobering breath before I answered. I reminded myself that he had every right to be angry. To march in and and hurl words at me like daggers after what I’d done. But when you’re used to most people kissing your ass or being afraid of you, option C definitely ruffled a feather or two. “Since two of those camera clutching fools posed as delivery people so they could get an exclusive with the jerk of the year.”

  His eyes widened. “No shit.” He covered the moment of something other than anger quickly with a shrug. He turned his back to me, striding toward the main room. “Just the jerk of the year, huh?”

  I smirked and followed him, relaxing at him making light of this mess. It was a joke that would have stung a little if it was delivered by anyone else.

  If it was delivered by her...

  I dusted my hands off on the front of my jeans and headed into the kitchen, pulling out a couple of glasses. “Can I get you a drink?”

  I didn’t wait for him to answer before I retrieved the Scotch. Scott had two options in the seating department, the couch that was currently being occupied by laundry and my laptop, or my solo barstool at the counter. He chose the stool, hopping onto the seat with a sigh.

  I plunked his glass in front of him and took a gulp of my own, wincing as it went down. Scott didn’t touch his, taking a hesitant sniff like he could already smell the reek of alcohol oozing from my pores.

  “It’s barely noon, Jason.”

  “What’s that saying?” I countered, almost holding up my glass to toast then deciding with my track record, I should just put it down.

  “It’s 5:00 somewhere?” he offered warily, passing on his drink and leaning back in his chair. All he had to do was shake his head and this would be a familiar scene. Jason being Jason, while Scott was the voice of reason. The adult in the situation.

  “I was thinking more along the lines of, I’m on vacation,” I said, point
edly not masking the bite behind my words. “A vacation that you had a hand in, so thanks!” I decided to hold my glass up after all. Scott answered me by doing nothing at all, which made me feel even worse.

  “What would you have had me do, Jason?” he asked quietly, his voice infuriatingly measured. Reminding me that he wasn’t the enemy. “The photos were disrupting business. And with all the projects we have in the works, the last thing we need is to have Cox Technologies anywhere near this mess.”

  He was right, but I decided to take another swig, denying him the satisfaction of hearing me say the words. I exited the kitchen altogether, trying to ignore the answering silence that was filled with tension and regret and anger.

  “I’m not trying to get you all liquored up so we can play nice. And I’m not oblivious to the mess I’ve made,” I added, before he could sneak in another friendly reminder. “Make yourself at home. I’d love to hear what’s behind this impromptu visit.”

  I perched on the edge of the couch, still nursing my scotch, expecting him to say that I still owed him an apology.

  “I’m here because I wanted to see how you were doing,” he said finally, swiveling toward the couch. Drinking in my glass before he veered to my face.

  If he expected to see any truth there, after I’d perfected the art of the poker face, he was gonna be disappointed. “Me? I’m living the life. Haven’t you heard? I have a fiancé and a piece of ass on the side.”

  Scott cleared his throat uncomfortably. “The life? Is that what this is?” He took in the space, cringing like I had condom wrappers, pizza boxes, and porn all over the place. “You should buy some furniture. Some artwork. Something to make this place look like someone actually lives here.”

  “Maybe I could ask Denise for a tip or two.” It was a bad habit and rolled off my tongue before I could squash it.

  The impact of it turned Scott to stone. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to talk about my wife.”

  Apologies weren’t something that came to me easily, but I wasted no time giving him one. “I’m sorry, man. About everything.” I paused, realizing that I needed to do more than generalize , and even though liquor would give me a dose of courage, I put my glass aside and got serious. “My toast at your wedding-”