Page 44 of When Glitter Meets Gold

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JACK ‘J’

Jsmirks down at his phone when his friend’s name lights up the screen. Enrique has left several messages asking why the hell he’s not at Midas yet.

Taking care of other business was why. J made Burke circle Central Park a couple times while he exchanged a few words with another of his associates. The opening of his new bar didn’t mean he could ignore his other investments when they needed him. They were, after all, the reason why it was possible to open establishment after establishment.

However, as the car rounds its final lap, he’s eager to give all his attention to his new venture. Eager to watch it come to life at last.

“Ready?” Burke calls from the driver’s seat, glancing through his aviators at J in the rearview mirror as they pull up in front of Midas.

“Hell yeah,” J replies with that subdued enthusiasm he’s renowned for. Yet beneath the calm exterior, a stray pulse of adrenaline surges through him as he prepares to get out of the car.

It’s the feeling he gets before every opening and the birth of each new venture. The feeling of success, growth, progression.

There’s also another feeling too, one he can’t quite explain. It’s like an inkling, a promise of something big hanging in the air, a gut instinct that tonight’s going to be different somehow, bigger, greater.

Burke rarely does the whole door opening thing for J, but when there’s this much press attention around, he plays the part.

J steps out, his smirk muted, understated as usual. The columns loved to remark on his emotions, or lack thereof. Better not give them a story for tomorrow’s headlines:CEO Smiles for the First Time in his Life.

Instead, he gives a couple familiar faces a respectful nod before stepping inside.

Enrique is the first to greet him. Drenched in a gold shirt, gold shoes, and lots of gold jewelry. It’s a lot, but the guy does know how to dress. It works for him, and it’ll work for Midas. Enrique knows what he’s doing. He’s one of the good guys. One of the few J can still trust.

“Magdalena is here. She loves the place obviously, but she’s talking about leaving to go to the game’s afterparty.” Enrique walks at J’s side, waiting patiently while he greets old friends here and there.

“She’s got her report, what’s the big deal?” J asks.

“Because she’s leaving before you make the announcement.”

J’s jaw tightens.

“Then find out what the NBA’s paying her and tell her we’ll double it,” J replies. He pats Enrique on the back before watching him disappear up the marble staircase tofind the hotshot journalist who’s sure to give them a glowing review come Monday.

Satisfied he’s regained control over the situation, he lets his shoulders drop.

That’s before his windpipe shrinks to the size of a piece of string and he can’t catch his breath.

His chest pangs with something akin to shock because in the center of the staircase stands a woman he never expected to see inhisworld. His ruthless, cutthroat, and often merciless world. What the hell is she doing here?

And in that dress…

Jesus fucking wept, that dress.

It’s glistening, sticks to her unbelievable figure, and is turning the heads of everyone who passes by. He even witnessed Enrique, a man who had unforgiving standards when it came to style, admire her as he passed.

Glittering against the golden landscape.

The rarest beauty he’s ever seen.

Another pang, this one more like a jolt.

And her hair…

It’s combed, styled half-up, with loose waves cascading down her backless dress. Not a frizzy end or imbedded twig in sight. Her eyes are bright, makeup flawless, skin glowing like a ripe peach. This isn’t the girl he’d watched lose a shoe a dozen times in the wilderness.

It made sense now. She wasn’t dressed for the outdoors because she didn’t know how, because she didn’tbelongthere.

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