“Well, John, you never really forget the face of man who walks into your office and tells you to get the hell out of dodge.”
“That was a long time ago, kid, and it was just business. You’re not still sore about that are you?” he asked, gesturing around the room. “Look at all you’ve accomplished in three years. Perhaps you’ll be thanking me in your speech tonight.”
“Unlikely, you might have been a mentor to Jax Dennison,” I replied smoothly, trying to maintain my cool. “But to Jackson Hart—you’re no one special.”
My fists clenched as I picked up the champagne glasses and walked away before I said something that drew attention to the two of us.
Across the room I spotted Stevie standing by the table. She looked gorgeous wearing a red sleeveless dress. It was inspired—classy and elegant, reminiscent of Jackie Kennedy or Audrey Hepburn. The lights danced off her diamond earring when she turned her gaze towards mine.
I handed her a glass of champagne. “You look stunning, if I haven’t mentioned.”
“Why thank you, and you look handsome—dashing in this navy blue suit.
We took our seats and were joined by the head of the department and the president of the university and their respective dates. Throughout the dinner we slipped into casual conversation. It was pretty painless.
Stevie was a natural. She worked the table like a total pro and they hung on her every word.
I signaled to the waiter and ordered a glass of whiskey. The lights came up slightly, and a spotlight shone on the stage at the lectern.
“Ladies and gentleman, welcome to our annual winter fundraising gala. It is an enormous pleasure to have you here. Tonight, it is our honor to welcome Mister Jackson Hart, the CEO of Hart Hotels Incorporated and Florida International University graduate, as our keynote speaker.”
I smoothed my tie and buttoned my jacket as the room filled with applause. The crowd pushed to its feet as I made my way to the podium. The applause grew louder as I positioned myself in the spotlight—some clicked cutlery against their glasses. My gaze swung to Stevie who didn’t stand, but offered me the brightest smile and a thumbs up.
“Good evening, it is a tremendous honor to be here with all of you. When Bradley Andre asked me to speak at tonight’s event I wasn’t sure what I’d talk about. What bit of inspiration can I bring to this evening that isn’t a meme on Instagram? What words of wisdom can I offer? Well here they are—choose confidence. Give up fear. Appreciate your failures as much as your successes. Learn from those failures, but never forget them. Never allow the taste of success to fool you in thinking that you have arrived—stay hungry. A few years ago, I was faced with a choice . . .”
I told the crowd about my temporary setback which gave birth to Hart Hotels Inc. My eyes focused on John for a moment and I ended my speech on a high note.
“Embrace the storms in your life. Nothing grows without rain. It’s a simple as that. Thank you.”
John raised his glass to me. While the crowd was on their feet with applause I looked towards Stevie who was on her feet this time. I took one last look at John and then shook Bradley’s hand before leaving the podium.
“I had no idea about your first hotel,” Stevie said, hugging me.
“Yeah, actually we should talk about that.”
“Mister Hart,” Bradley suddenly stepped between us. “We need you for a few photographs.”
“Go on, we’ll chat in a bit,” Stevie said, before brushing her lips to mine.
Bradley ushered me to the other side of the room and I smiled and posed for at least two dozen photos. I chatted with various members of the administration, answering questions and turning down a guest lecturer position.
When I was finally relieved of my photo ops, the hum of low music piped through the speakers. My throat felt like sandpaper and I made a beeline for the bar.
“Whiskey neat, please,” I said, slapping down a ten.
“Excuse me, Mister Hart.”
I turned to see a young woman, standing next to me.
“Yes.”
“Hello, sir, I’m Riley Clark. I was wondering why you changed your last name from Dennison to Hart? In all the yearbook photos you’re listed as Jackson Dennison.”
“People reinvent themselves every day,” I replied curtly. “Would you stay at a Dennison Resort or a Hart Resort?”
“I think I see what you’re saying, sir,” Riley fluttered her brown eyes at me. “Was this something that your public relations team told you to do?”
“Are you a journalist for the school, Riley?”
“No, I’m just curious as to why you changed your name after you sold your first hotel—the Magnolia,” she pressed. “It was the hottest spot in Miami Beach, the profits that year you sold were the highest they’d ever been.”
“Right,” I said. “Buy low, sell high.”
She stared at me for a moment. “That’s it?”
“That’s it. Nice chatting with you, kid.”
She clenched her jaw, and I strode off. Calling her kid was payment for calling me sir. I spotted Stevie across the room engaged in a conversation. She threw her head back in laughter. As I got closer, my feet stopped moving. My blood ran cold at the sight of the man in the grey pinstriped suit dancing with her. His gaze met mine, and I stared into the blue eyes that matched my own.
“I CAN’T BELIEVE THAT YOU’RE here, James. I mean what are the chances?”
Before James had a chance to respond I saw an intense Jax stalking towards us. His eyes narrowed and his jaw ticked making it quite clear that he was upset. James let go of the hold he had on me and I stepped back.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Jax asked pointedly.
Confusion flashed through me as my gaze pinged between the two men. “Do you two know one another?”
“Which question do you want answered first, Jackson?”
I’d never seen Jax so worked up before—well, I had in the bedroom, but not in a professional setting. At work if something was wrong he was always the calmest person in the room. I suppose that made him intimidating to most people.
My arms folded over my chest, I narrowed my eyes towards Jax.
Silence.
They kept their blue eyes trained on one another. The same shade of blue. A hint of smile crossed James’ face and then Jax broke the silence.
“Stevie, this person is my father,” he said, before tossing back his entire drink and then slamming the glass to the tabletop.
A gasp slipped from my mouth. The weight of the world crashed around me and my legs threatened to give out. Words failed me as I watched two men that I had known separately engage in a silent war. Jax shot icy glares at his father. His father.
My hand touched Jax’s arm. “How can James be your father? His last name is Dennison.”
“I had my last name legally changed a few years ago. I didn’t much care for the name Dennison.”
James’ swung his gaze towards the dancefloor. It was the first time he’d broken eye contact with Jax. “I like Hart as a last name, excellent choice for you. Name change or not we’re still family, Jackson. Like it or not I am your father.”
“No, we’re not family,” Jax remarked, pointing a finger at his father. “The day you walked out on us was the day you made the choice to no longer be my father.”
“No matter what you think, we’re flesh and blood—we’re the same.”
The veins in Jax’s neck throbbed, every part of him bristling with anger. “We might share DNA, but that is where the similarities end—strictly biology. Don’t bother calling for a kidney, liver, or any other goddamn organ.” Jax grasped my arm. “Get your purse, we’re leaving.”
James shoved his hands into his pockets, sadness creeping over his face. “It was nice to see you, Stevie.”
“No fucking way.” Jax sneered and shook his head. “You stay the fuck away from her, and you stay the fuck away from me. We’re done here.” Jax grasped my hand, pulling me through th
e room and into the hallway.
“Jackson stop, please, my legs aren’t as long as yours.”
When we reached the lobby he finally stopped, releasing me from his grip. He paced a small path, running his hands through his hair. “How the hell do you know my father?” His brows pinched together.
I held up my hand. “Firstly, I had no idea that James Dennison was your father. Secondly, he does business with my father.”
Jax stilled, dropping his hands to his hips. “What do you mean business?”
“He’s a sales rep for a car wash supplies manufacturer. Actually, now I that I think about it, he might be an executive, but James and my dad have done business together for years.”
He let out deep breath. “Stay away from him.”
“I wasn’t planning on hanging out with him anytime soon.”
“I need you to go back to our hotel.”
“No, I want to stay with you.”
“Dammit, Stevie, I need you to listen to me and go back to the hotel.”
Shaking my head, I ignored the agonizing ache that bloomed in my chest. Emotion clogged my throat as I followed Jax outside. The smell of wet pavement and heat swirled around me when we pushed open the door.
Jax pulled his phone from the inside of his jacket pocket. “Yes, Fritz bring the car around please, I need to you to drive Miss Brockman back to the hotel. You escort her to the room. Then I want you stationed at that door until I get back. No one goes in or out without my knowledge. Not even room service.” When the call ended, his fingers flew over the screen of his phone and then he dropped it back into his pocket.
I swallowed past the lump in my throat, tightening the grip on my clutch. “Jax, you’re scaring me.”
“I have some business to take care of and then I will see you back at the hotel.”
“Does this have something to do with your father?”
“I don’t want you to worry about that.”
My hand gripped his wrist and his gaze met mine. “You gave a lovely speech tonight, it was the highlight of the evening.”
Abruptly he cursed, and realized his phone was vibrating. “I have to go.” His knuckles grazed down my cheek. “I’ll see you later.”
The car pulled up and then Fritz stepped out to open the door. Jax’s hand landed on the small of my back propelling me towards the car. Saying nothing, I climbed inside and when the door shut I felt a chill twirl up my spine. The car pulled away from valet stand and my eyes focused on the rearview mirror, he was gone.
STEPPING BACK INTO THE LOBBY, I kept my eyes on the car and lifted my phone to my ear. “What do you have for me, Archie?”
“Not much, yet,” he answered. “Your father is a managing partner of an industrial chemical supply company in Boca Raton. No personal social media accounts. There is a short bio on the company’s website. I have forwarded that to you. He is remarried.”
“I want a recent photo of his new wife and a detailed rundown of where he’s been the last week.”
“Got it.”
My fist curled at my side. “You call me immediately with anything on Martin Brockman. I want to know the connection to my father.”
“Understood,” he affirmed.
I ended the call and swiped to a photo of Stevie. I stared at her captivatingly beautiful face. It was a candid moment, one of her studying a piece of art at the farmer’s market. Yeah, she had me going to farmer’s markets on the weekends. I had her going to scotch tastings. My Netflix cue was filled with a plethora of rom-coms and teen dramas from the nineties. She spoke about the nostalgia of the era as if she hadn’t spent a majority of it in diapers. I’d managed to convince her that the only acceptable dessert between Halloween and Thanksgiving was pie. She convinced me that sometimes you needed to sing a Taylor Swift song out loud.
Somewhere in between, memories and life before Stevie had slipped into the dark recesses of my mind. I never dreamed that my past and my present would collide.
“Jackson.” My father approached me slowly, the light from the terrible fluorescent bulbs passed over the deep lines of his forehead.
“James.” My voice seethed with disgust.
“Do you still prefer drinking coffee after dinner or have you moved on to something stronger?”
“You actually remembered something about me?” I held his gaze.
“Join me for a drink.” He jutted his chin towards the bar area. “We have some catching up to do.”
“There will be no catching up,” I remarked, sidestepping him. “There will be questions asked by me and answers provided by you.”
We grabbed a high top in the back of the bar. My father ordered a beer and I ordered a very expensive scotch—a double.
“I’ve followed your career—you’ve done very well for yourself. Opening two hotels in three years and three more scheduled over the next two years.”
“If this is the part where you ask me for money, you can forget it.”
He laughed, and sat back adjusting his cufflinks. The server placed our drinks on the table and then walked away.
“No, I don’t need money,” he replied, picking up his bottle. “I do okay for myself and . . .”
“Your new wife,” I interjected. “You can spare me the sharing of family photos, because I don’t give a fuck. How did you even find me?”
He took a long pull from the bottle. “It wasn’t hard. Your brother was swayed with a carton of cigarettes and a conjugal visit from a friend of mine. One of the guards owed me a favor.”
“I won’t bother asking as to why a prison guard owed you a favor.” I tossed back part of my drink. “Is that the kind of thing that you do, collect favors for information?”
He snickered. “Information is one of the most valuable commodities.”
I eyed him over my tumbler. “Why did you leave?”
“I suppose I do owe you an explanation.” He ran his thumb along his jawline. “Things with your mom and me, they weren’t that great once we’d moved to Fort Lauderdale. She never wanted to move and I couldn’t blame her for feeling the way she did. I picked you guys up and moved you across the country away from family and friends at an important time in your lives. As the years went by one thing led to another—finances were tight . . .” he hesitated. “With two kids in college, and then Jason’s legal fees, and a second mortgage on the house, our paychecks just never seemed to be enough.”
“So you left, great story. You left because things were tight financially.” I tossed back the rest of my drink and then stood.
“Sit down, Jackson, I’m not finished.”
“I am. This was a waste of my time.”
He grabbed the sleeve of my jacket. “Please sit. That is not why I left.” My father signaled to the server for another round as I returned to my seat. He waited until she was out of earshot before continuing. “In college, I sold drugs.”
I laughed. “Wow, that is the last thing that I expected. You were a drug dealer?”
My father sipped his drink. “Yeah, it was the seventies—a different time. Anyway, a year after we moved here, I met up with some college buddies in Atlanta. I confessed things had not been so great and times were tough. He presented me with an offer I couldn’t pass up. It was easy money—shipping drugs from Miami to Atlanta. Since I was already familiar with the business . . .”
“The business of drug dealing,” I interrupted, shaking my head. “And how did you do this?”
My father cocked a brow. “The specifics aren’t important here, and even if you are my son, I don’t trust you. What is important is that your mother found out about what I was doing and then she kicked me out.”
“That’s very interesting. If you were in such financial despair, why didn’t you just ask Uncle Robert or Uncle Larry for help?”
“Right, and have them hold that over my head for years, no thanks. Besides, it wouldn’t have mattered, your mother was done with me and this was her way out. She agreed to keep the real reason from you, your b
rother and your sister if I’d just walk away.”
“And you just went without a fight?”
“What was there to fight for, Jackson? She made her choice. We would have divorced eventually.”
“Well, this has been enlightening. I think I’ll be going now.” I pulled my cell from my jacket pocket to check the time.
“A few months after Jason got out of jail in Montana for robbing the convenience store, he came to see me. He tracked me down and invited me to lunch, said he needed a job.” He took a long drink. “So I got him a job at the chemical company I was working for in Miami at the time in the maintenance division.”
“So while I was finishing up my time at Yale, you and Jason were in contact?” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Never mind, I don’t care. Cut to the chase.”
“I’m trying here,” he said, blowing out a sharp breath. “There are things you should know.”
“And why is that, exactly?”
“I’m dying.”
“Let me guess this is your deathbed confessional?”
“If that is what you’d like to call it.”
“I think you sought me out at this event so that you could clear your conscience.”
“I tried to keep Jason on the up and up, but he found out about the side operation and wanted in on the profits. So after some convincing on his part, Jason ran a crew for me, from Miami to Atlanta,” he said, shifting to lean closer. “The mayor’s kid, he was also part of that crew. Flores Junior was skimming off the top. Jason went to confront him and get the money back. What Jason stumbled upon was Flores Junior and King running a sex trafficking ring. That’s why he stopped at the gas station that day—to call the police. It was a dumb move—thinking purely on emotion.”
My mind was whirling. This was like a bad Lifetime movie or one of those cliché romance novels Stevie was always reading.
“Given what you’re telling me—the incident that day with Jason, Flores Junior and King wasn’t a drug deal gone badly?”
My father nodded. “The story was a fabrication by the press courtesy of the mayor’s office. Better to have your son be the victim of a robbery than be forever remembered as a sex trafficker.”
Wicked Gentleman Page 17