JACKSON (The Billionaire Croft Brothers, Book One)

by Paige North

  “So I’m your second choice?” I tease her. Natalie and I are more like campus friends. We’ve only hung out a couple of times outside of school, and even that has revolved around studying or school issues. But I like her. She doesn’t take things too seriously.

  “You’re my first choice wingman. What do you say? Can you break away for a couple of hours?”

  I look back to Brent’s phone number. It’s not Brent I want or need, just someone. I need a full body and mind rinse from you-know-who. So I agree to go. Because I’m due for a little breakaway.

  The party is fine. It’s a graduate party, so there’s more wine than beer, more political talk than Hollywood gossip. The food is better too. And there’s a guy. His name is Nick or Mick, I’m not sure.

  He tells me the party was a bore until I showed up and that I’m the prettiest one there.

  I feel nothing as he compliments me. He asks me to put my number in his phone, and I do…although I may have accidentally-on-purpose typed in the number wrong. Maybe that was mean but he’s so eager—maybe it’s that eagerness that turns me off. It smells of desperation. Jackson would never do that.

  He slips into my mind that quickly, without warning, and without any control. I tell Natalie I want to get another hour of work done tonight, and the disappointed look she gives me fills me with guilt.

  By Monday, I’m determined to truly make a change. Be bolder in my social life.

  Brent calls me to stay after class later that week.

  “Hey,” I say at the front of the class. “What’s up? You got my paper, right?”

  “Yeah, I got it,” he says. He runs his palms down the front of his jeans like he’s drying them off. Wait, is he sweating? Does he have sweaty palms? He watches nervously as the students leave the room, waiting until the last one has gone.

  “Everything okay?” I ask, worried that I accidentally emailed the wrong document and Professor Stanwick got some random…I don’t know what. But Brent’s anxiety has me nervous.

  “Yeah, it’s great,” he says. Finally the door to the classroom shuts and he looks back to me. “I know you’ve been working on the CEF luncheon later this week.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I’ve done some mailings and phone calls. Basic stuff.”

  “You know how the university has partnered with CEF for the mentoring program? Well, since I’m a T.A. I got two tickets. I guess they feel bad for paying me so little.” He laughs nervously. “How about if you go with me? You could give me the insider’s view of what CEF’s future programs look, especially in coordination with the graduate program.”

  I pause, surprised. I’m not sure if he’s asking me as his date or as a colleague. I suppose it doesn’t matter. This is what I need. I need to be social, and being social in a charitable way is right up my alley. It might be fun to have a good lunch with Brent, talk about our goals and the future of education. It might also help me finally dust off the last remnants of Jackson Croft.

  “Yeah, that’d be great,” I say. “I’d love to.”

  “Great,” he says, beaming. “Do you want me to pick you up, or…? I don’t have a car but I can get a cab—”

  “Let’s just meet in the lobby and we can walk in together. Sound good?”

  “Perfect,” he says. “Awesome, I’ll see you then. Can’t wait.”

  As I head home, I feel lighter. Finally, I’m getting my head on straight again.

  Jackson

  “So you grew up here in Boston?”

  “Yes, Louisburg Square,” she says. I think her name is…Gwyneth? Genevieve? Yes, Genevieve, that’s it. She is slim, blond, well spoken and well educated. She can taste the difference between the Malbec wine and the Carménère.

  She dresses with sophisticated ease and, since we’re on a date, only the most tasteful amount of cleavage is showing. In short, she’s exactly the kind of woman I need for my future. She looks the part and won’t distract me from my job.

  Unfortunately, I’m bored out of my mind. It’s no fault of Genevieve’s, sweet as she is. Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought her to Prime & Tender.

  “The home has been in our family for generations,” she continues. “It’ll be passed to me once my children are of school age.”

  “But first you have to have those children,” I say.

  “Of course,” Genevieve says, blushing. “And the husband. It all has to line up.”

  “That’s something I can understand.” I’m trying so hard to make myself feel something. This woman is everything I need, and she’s practically telling me that I’m what she needs as well. An arrangement like this—both of us getting exactly what we require—is pretty common.

  Love isn’t what matters, it’s the union that counts. Our two families coming together would be the biggest thing to happen in New England society since my father married Sylvia Cornwell of the Connecticut Cornwells.

  But my eyes keep drifting over to the closed door that leads to the private room. I keep seeing Emily, her eyes looking into mine as she came on my mouth. I can feel her flesh beneath my hands, holding her tighter, my fingers digging into her skin as she muffled the cry she’d been desperate to release as her hips jerked. I tried to hold her down, riding out her orgasm and keeping my tongue working over her pumping clit until the very last drop. The way she said my name like a moan of desperation…

  “Jackson?”

  My eyes refocus, and I see Genevieve looking at me curiously. Without realizing it, I’m biting my knuckles.

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I say, placing my hand on the table.

  “I was just saying I have ballet tickets for the upcoming performance. I’d love for you to be my guest.”

  “Of course,” I say without thought. “Yes, I’d love to.” I shift in my chair, my dick hardening from the memory of Emily. I focus on the duck confit in front of me and listen to Genevieve talk about her winter ski trip to Klosters in Switzerland.

  The evening ends with a respectful kiss on Genevieve’s cheek, and I head back to the privacy of my brownstone.

  My hand is down my pants the second I’m in the bathroom, leaning on the marble countertop. With my eyes closed I pull on my dick, feeling Emily on me. I only had one evening with her and I wonder how long I’ll be able to sustain myself on that alone. The way her mouth opened to mine so readily, her tongue on mine in the same eager way I felt.

  I pump faster when I see her up on that table, her legs spread open to me, wanting me, her sweet pussy so wet from my kisses and my touch.

  In my mind I want to take my dick and slide it into her beautiful, eager body. Would I take her slowly or would I not be able to control myself?

  The thought of being inside her, becoming one with that perfect body, that beautiful woman, is almost too much. My hand moves faster and faster across my long cock, hardly able to take the fantasy anymore of Emily as I see her mouth open as she pants, her head falling back from desire, her hips pushing up as I take more of her, pushing deeper and harder into her, both of us moaning and panting as finally we come together. Or rather I come alone, leaning further onto the counter, jerking my dick. As Emily’s face slowly fades from my mind, I look at myself in the mirror.

  “That’s the last time,” I tell my reflection. I have to put her out of my mind, and concentrate on the business.

  A few days later I’m tossing through a pile of mail on my desk at the office. Sandra sorts it, opens everything and organizes it into piles so I can sift through it all quickly and hand back whatever she needs to deal with.

  I’m thinking about my upcoming meeting with the head of security for our hotels when something catches my eye. An invitation. Sandra has stuck on Post-It on it with the one word scrawled.

  Regrets?

  Because she knows I turn down most of the invitations I receive. Galas, dinners, all the bullshit that comes with being the face of a huge corporation.

  But this one catches my eye when I realize it’s from the Childre
n’s Education Fund. They’d like to recognize me for my and few others for our contributions to the fund. Sounds like my hell, being publicly recognized for writing a check at a stuffy, boring luncheon. Still…

  If I am to take over Croft International, I suppose I need to do more things like this, get my face out there at charity events to show what a caring corporation we are. It certainly won’t hurt to have my picture snapped at an event for the children. It’d look great in our company newsletter.

  After all, I paid that money to them—the least I should do is make sure I get something out of it for myself.

  And then I think of Emily and I know deep inside that I got a hell of a lot more than I bargained for already…

  I have Sandra RSVP yes for me, and then get back to work. I have that meeting with our head of hotel security in fifteen minutes.

  As I walk through the lobby of the hotel I keep my eyes focused straight ahead. I don’t look into the faces of the people milling around the lobby or walking toward the ballroom with me. I don’t care who else is at the luncheon—I’m only here as the face of Croft International. This is purely work, and has nothing to do with a certain grad student and part-time employee of the fund. She’s probably in class…or out tutoring some kid in juvie.

  I shake my head and remind myself of my dinner with Genevieve this evening. We’ve kept in touch, and the coolness of her personality works for me. I don’t spend chunks of my day thinking about her, that’s for sure.

  “Mr. Croft?” a young man says as I walk into the ballroom.

  “Yes?”

  “Hi, I’m Derek with the fund.” He offers his right hand, which I shake. He’s holding a binder that’s opened to a page I can clearly see.

  Donors is written at the top and the page is filled with color headshots and short descriptions. I catch sight of my photo from the company website. “I’m helping out with the development team today. We’re so happy you could join us. Would you like a drink? Glass of wine, water?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  He leads me into a smaller room that’s set up with banners of kids’ faces and the organization’s name and logo. There’s a bar on either side of the room and two waiters with trays of hors d’oeuvres circling the small group of people chatting in clusters. Must be the high-rollers room.

  “I’d like you to meet Jules, our head of development,” Derek says, presenting me to a woman who had been busy with two elderly women with no wrinkles or gray hairs.

  “Mr. Croft,” Jules says with a bright smile, offering her hand to shake. “We’re so glad you could join us this afternoon. I know how busy your schedule must be.”

  “It’s no problem,” I say, my eyes darting about the room. “Happy to be here.”

  “Can we get you something to drink?”

  “No thank you,” I say, annoyed to be asked twice. Annoyed to be here. Why did I agree to this? There is so much work to do back at the office. This is a complete waste of my time.

  “We so appreciate your donation,” Jules says. “And the fact that you donated it to unrestricted funds really gives us the opportunity to put the money where it’s most needed.”

  I try to force a pleasant smile on my face and concentrate on Jules’s words.

  “We’d love to see if you’re interested in working directly with some of the kids who will benefit from your donation,” she continues. “We’re doing some wonderful mentoring programs with Boston University’s graduate program. We’ve been talking about taking that a step further and starting mentorships with people like yourself in the corporate world, really show the kids how the tools they’re learning from our standard programs actually fit out in the broader context. It’s good to show them that what they’re learning is practical and not just a bunch of fluff. Don’t you think?”

  “Yes, of course,” I say, even as I think to myself that it is all just a bunch of fluff. But I’m here and I’m being pleasant.

  “So it’d be okay if we reached out to you about the mentorship?”

  Shit, what did I just agree to? I have to squash this immediately. “Jules, I love the programs you’re working on. Very innovative, really preparing the future entrepreneurs of America. My schedule is very tight—I had to move several meetings around in order to attend today’s luncheon, which I’m happy to do.”

  Jules smiles and holds up her hand. “Say no more. I’m sorry, I just get rolling when I talk about the fund. Still, if there’s someone at Croft International—a little lower down the food chain—who would like to be a mentor to some of our kids, we’d be happy to set that up.”

  “Of course,” I say amicably.

  Jules looks around the room—maybe for more conversation since I’m not helping her out. I can be good at this sort of cocktail-party talk, but once again I’m off my game.

  “Oh, look,” Jules says, spotting someone in the crowd. “It’s Emily. You know Emily—obviously you know Emily.” She grins. “She’s the reason you’re here, after all.”

  “Excuse me?” I say, taken aback by her blatant assumption.

  “Emily is the one who talked you into donating in the first place,” Jules reminds me, her brow creasing. “You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for her.”

  My eyes dart around the room, searching her out. I spot her across the room, talking pleasantly to two ladies.

  “How could I forget Emily Brown?” I say, watching her. It’s almost as if she can feel my eyes on her. She turns slightly and our eyes meet. We both freeze for a moment. I can feel my heart picking up speed. It’s the first time I’ve seen her in so long, and the urge to plow my way through the room to reach her is real.

  She’s every inch as beautiful as she was at dinner, and in my fantasies. The hunter green cocktail dress she wears makes her eyes glow, and the way her lips are parted as she watches me, makes me swallow hard.

  “I should call her over,” Jules says, raising her hand to get Emily’s attention, but Emily is already looking away from us.

  She glances down at the floor as her hair falls in her face. She’s so pretty but…then someone appears beside her.

  Some guy. When he puts his arm around her waist she jumps slightly but seems to relax when she sees who it is. I feel my chest tightening and my stomach burning like it’s filling with acid.

  He says something to her that makes her smile. If I’d taken a glass of wine or water I’d crush it in my hand right now.

  Jules is still babbling. “…Emily has really been working hard in bringing in new donors like yourself. She’s a real asset to the team…”

  Meanwhile, Emily and this guy begin to move through the room, together. The anger is rising up through my throat as Jules goes on and on about Emily. Meanwhile I feel as though I’m about to explode, even if my expression hasn’t chanced an iota.

  I glance at my watch and tell Jules, “You know, I’ll just pop over there quickly and say hello to her,” I tell Jules, not wanting to bother waiting for a second longer.

  Emily is so close but she’s moving away now, perhaps on purpose.

  I start toward her, politely nudging my way through the crowd with Jules close at my heels, damn her.

  Emily sees me, and there’s a panicked look in her eyes. The closer I get to her the more quickly she moves toward the exit. I’ve got Jules following me and Emily has that guy stalking her.

  What is his deal? Why won’t he leave her alone?

  Emily moves out of the room and is absorbed by the crowd moving like cows into the ballroom. I slow down.

  “That was strange,” Jules says. “I swore she saw us. Let’s head into the ballroom and find your table.” She waves off Emily. “We’ll catch up with her later.”

  How will I sit through this hell of a luncheon knowing Emily is in the same room? Sure, the room is probably the size of a hockey rink but she’s here, and I have to speak to her. I don’t know yet what I’ll say, but one thing is for sure—I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind.

 
; And I need to know who the hell that guy is that she’s with.

  Emily

  Are you kidding me?

  What is he doing here? I knew it was a possibility but I also know enough about Jackson Croft to know that charity luncheons are not his thing.

  As soon as I spotted him my heart dropped to the floor, and I immediately tried to move across the room, getting as far away from him as possible.

  Is he here to torment me? I’m finally moving on from the humiliation of getting dumped by a guy after one date—and it wasn’t even a real date! And he has to show up here, and when I’m with Brent.

  Although I’m still not sure I’m here with Brent, but we arrived together and are sitting together so as far as Jackson Croft knows, I’m with Brent.

  God, I went on one maybe-but-not-really date with Jackson and now I’m on the same with Brent. I’m a twenty-three-year-old grad student at one of the country’s top universities and I can’t figure out when I’m on a date with a guy and when we’re just eating food at the same table.

  Pathetic.

  More pathetic still is the fact that I’d much rather be on a maybe kind of date with Jackson, then a definite date with Brent—and I hate that I feel this way.

  Brent and I are seated in the back of the room, which is just fine with me. The further away from Jackson Croft I am, the better. Only the big donors and top people in CEF will be sitting with him, up front near the stage for an afternoon of speeches, photos and back-clapping awards. I take a little solace in knowing Jackson will be absolutely miserable during the entire lunch. Wait until he sees the video of the children. He’ll really be miserable.

  Brent and I find our table in the back. It’s near a pillar that partially obscures the stage and near the swinging kitchen door where wait staff is knocking through in rapid pace. Do I care? Not a bit. I’m getting a free meal and distance from the city’s biggest egomaniac.