Page 36 of Big & Bossy

“We will be there soon to collect you.”

“How long?” I dug my fingers into the pillow as Mandy breathed against my back, her warmth spreading.

“Five minutes.”

I hung up the phone and set it gently on the bedside table. The temptation to slam it instead was raw and unhinged, but I didn’t want to scare her.

Slowly, I rolled, pulling her into my arms as softly as I could. I wanted to wake her, wanted to tell her I had to leave but that I’d be back soon. I didn’t want her to wake up alone, not after what we’d done tonight. She was mine, my girlfriend, my everything, and I didn’t want her to doubt that for a moment.

But at the same time, she was exhausted and she had class in the morning. I likely wouldn’t be gone more than a day; I could text her that something had come up and that I’d be back as soon as possible. I would make up an excuse, one that would be believable. I knew if I told her that I was leaving she’d want to come with me.

I planted a kiss on her forehead, just above her brow line before gently moving her arms and crawling from the bed. I found my clothes in the mess of her floor—scattered textbooks and sketchpads strewn everywhere. I wanted to kiss her, to fall back asleep holding her, to tell them to fuck off and let me have one night. But I knew I couldn’t.

A small knock at the bedroom door nearly sent me flying to the floor out of sheer fright. They could move silently, I knew that, but getting in the dorm without a single sound was impressive. The door opened as I pulled on my second sock.

Four of them. They’d sent four men, armed to the teeth.

“What’s happening?” I hissed, my eyes going wide as I watched them form a line between me and Mandy. Thankfully, she slept. “What’s with the fucking guns?”

“We don’t have time for questions,” one of them whispered, his finger resting on the trigger. This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t what usually happened—it had always been just one guy that came to collect me. Not four and definitely not with assault rifles. “Get your shoes on, Jackson.”

“Where are you taking me?” I breathed, slipping my shoes on one after the other. “How long will I be gone?”

“We can’t say. You’re going somewhere secure. It’ll be for a while,” the one on the far right answered. “We need to go now.”

“Can I leave a note?” I asked, my panic rising as I realized this wasn’t going to be like all the other times. I wouldn’t be gone for just a couple of hours, a day at most. This was serious. Something had happened. “Can I text her? I can’t just leave?—”

“There’s no time.” He replied before grabbing my phone from the bedside table and cracking it in half in his gloved hands. “You can’t be tracked.”

I was going to be fucking sick. I could buy a new phone, no problem, but what the fuck did that mean? “What about my family?”

“Your family is being informed now and are being taken to separate locations.”

“I don’t want to do this.” I stood my ground, my gaze caught on Mandy still sleeping soundly behind them, her hands resting where I had been. “I don’t want to go. Tell them to go fuck themselves.”

“That’s not an option, Jackson. We leave now.”

A face full of snow and an aching on my side brought me back to reality, the harsh glow of the sun reflecting off the white powder ground and blinding me temporarily. My goggles were somewhere off behind me, likely buried in my little crash site.

Pulling myself out of the trench I’d unintentionally made for myself, I shook my head, trying to forget. I hated that night. I hated it so much that I wished it had never happened, even with all of the good. I wished I’d woken her up. I wished I’d told her I loved her. At least then it would have been out in the open before my life changed for the worse.

My heart belonged to her. It always had, it always would. I had to win her back. I had to fight for this.

I had nothing without her.

Chapter 18

Mandy

Bitter air flowed between the high-rises on either side of us, whipping my hair about my face. Chicago was only a smidge warmer than the temps back in Boulder, but I couldn’t complain—we arrived here on a private jet.

Quincy, a native architect Jackson had reached out to, approached us. He was fairly quiet until I got him going on architecture. I kept the conversation going, even though he seemed to be speaking to me as if I were a student. Just because this was my first large-scale project didn’t make me any less of an interior designer, but he seemed to think it did.

Jackson’s hand rested at the small of my back, overtop of the wool coat that he’d given me. Absentmindedly, I spun the ring on my finger. I was getting used to it being there, no longer constantly aware of its presence.

I knew this wasn’t just a work trip, that it was PR as well. I didn’t have an issue with that, not when I was getting so much out of it. Not only was I getting inspiration, I was also getting advice and priceless knowledge from a seasoned architect. It was well worth it.

Quincy led us into The Rookery, an office building with a handful of shops in the lobby. It was number one on my list of places I wanted to go—Frank Lloyd Wright had designed the lobby back in the early 1900s. After several renovations, it had finally been restored to his original designs.

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