There was only one right way to proceed. Let Jessie Kay do her thing, and resign herself to being Jase’s personal assistant, nothing more, nothing less. She would work hard—would give this her all. In return, Jase would treat her and her efforts with respect, never again requesting she do more than was humanly possible. And she would inform him of that the second he returned. She had balls, dang it. Yeah. That’s right. She had big, fat lady balls.
Hinges on the front door creaked. Footsteps sounded.
“—told you to take the long way,” Jase was saying.
“Don’t recall agreeing to that,” West said. “Do you?”
“Nope,” Beck replied, laughter in his tone. “But I do wonder why you wanted to be alone. Would it have anything to do with offering hands-on instruction to the staff?”
“You both suck,” Jase muttered.
In the kitchen, she gulped, her lady balls shriveling. Bossman had finally come home.
“Go ahead and admit— What the hell?” Beck demanded.
Silence.
Tense, oppressive silence.
They’d noticed the new decorations.
“I...don’t even know what to say right now,” West gasped out. “I think I need to add a breakdown to my schedule.”
Seconds ticked by. No reaction from Jase. Or maybe he’d spoken so quietly she hadn’t heard him. A real possibility. For the past hour, her inner ears had been itching as though bees buzzed inside. Never having experienced anything like it, she wasn’t exactly sure what was going on.
“Brook Lynn,” Jase called.
Well, she’d certainly heard that.
“Back here,” she replied, trying not to tremble.
Jase entered the kitchen alone, and oh, wow. His presence somehow caused the air in her lungs to evaporate in an instant, leaving her lightheaded. There would never be a better example of raw masculinity. He wore a black tee that hugged his muscular biceps and displayed a good portion of his tattoos. His jeans were ripped, the hems tucked haphazardly into combat boots. He wore his necklaces, his silver rings and the leather cuffs around each of his wrists.
Total bad-boy hot.
Never knew that was my thing.
He met her gaze, and she would have sworn she detected a hint of...mirth? Maybe even approval? But they were both so well contained, she couldn’t be sure.
“The changes are nice,” he said.
What! It was one thing to suspect approval, but quite another to have it confirmed. “Thank you?” She liked the changes; they were everything she would have wanted in her own home, if she hadn’t spent her entire adult life counting every penny.
“But you have to return everything to the way it was,” he added.
“What!” The word escaped her this time. “Everything?” she asked, her brows drawing together.
“Everything.”
“But...”
“No buts.”
Caveman speak for subject closed. “But why?” she insisted.
“Because I said so.”
The most frustrating words in the history of the world!
“I’m sorry,” she gritted out, “but that’s not good enough for me.”
Jase peered at her for a long while before saying, “You did too much too fast.” He looked past her, to the counter. “What are those?”
From cryptic to inquisitive in a blink. Someone needed to explain the effects of whiplash to him. “Those are special deliveries for Beck. An array of desserts from countless women who stopped by throughout the day.”
Charlene Burns had come with strawberry muffins and a word of warning: Do yourself a favor. Don’t get involved with these men, darlin’. They’re users, each one of them.
Brook Lynn had wanted to quip, And you will be the exception to their use-and-lose rule, which is why you’ve come back for more? but had somehow found the strength to hold her tongue.
Newly legal Missy Thompson had come with strawberry cake and questions. Has Beck said anything about me? Do you know if he likes brunettes or blondes better? Because I can rock either look. Will you give him my number?
Even Harlow Glass stopped by, though Brook Lynn had gotten the feeling she hadn’t come to scope out the guys. Instead, the black-haired, blue-eyed beauty had just thrust out a plastic bag of fresh wild strawberries she’d most likely plucked from the field out back—and had probably spit on. The girl had once been famous for her cruelty. But she had shyly—a trick, surely—asked to come inside to chat. Suspicious of her intentions, Brook Lynn had flatly refused.
But...I have to tell you...there’s a man... He’s come to the house and... the girl had stumbled out.
A man? Brook Lynn had finally relented and moved aside to allow the girl entrance, saying, If you’re doing this to hurt me in some way, there will be hell to pay.
Harlow scanned the foyer and turned puke green before backing up, apologizing a thousand times and leaving the house in a hurry.
Brook Lynn could hardly believe the seemingly timid, softly spoken mouse was the same bold femme fatale who’d once terrorized kids at school. Including Kenna. Brook Lynn remembered holding her friend time and time again while she sobbed about the awful things Harlow had said.
If her new demeanor was the real deal, something had happened to the girl. More than the loss of her mom and her home. Or maybe that was what Harlow wanted her to think. For once in this small town, rumors were scarce. All Brook Lynn knew? Harlow had left public school in the middle of her junior year in favor of being homeschooled. She’d stayed in town, but few people had seen her out and about. And when they had, she’d kept her head down and her pace swift, discouraging any kind of interaction.