Page 21 of Middle Ground
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
For one, shining moment, I think he’s not going to bring it up and a little of my dignity will remain intact. But apparently, I’m not that lucky.
He smirks. “I thought I’d come to you this time,” he says. “Though I’m a little too sober. Have any good alcohol on hand?”
I glower, taking a step backwards. The door is just about closed when a foot is wedged in the gap.
“Wait,” Jackson says.
I swing the door back open. “What?”
“Give me six months.”
“For what? Your timely demise? That’s a lot to ask of me.”
Jackson looks like he’s trying to cling very hard to whatever is left of his patience. “Give me six months to show you that I’m an asset.”
“I don’t need six months to know that you’re a pain in myass,” I counter.
He sighs. “Ellison.”
“Vaughan.”
Another long-suffering sigh. “Alright, fine, you can play it your way. But I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here in Fraisier Creek, so whether you like it or not, I’ll be around.”
Make no mistake, I would neverlikehaving Jackson Vaughan in my space. In my town. His very presence is a reminder that the inn, and everything I’ve worked so hard for, isn’t truly mine. Not fully.
And that makes me hate him just a little bit more.
I go to reply, but my eye catches on a small gift bag sitting on my front step, right beside Jackson’s feet. It looks so out of place, just like the man in the fancy suit.
I point to it. “Did you bring me a gift to butter me up? Not so sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but that’s not going to work.”
His brows furrow as he glances down. “I have no idea what that is. It was already sitting there when I arrived.”
Not entirely believing him, I take another step outside and snatch the bag up. It’s bright pink and decorated in balloons, like something you would give someone for their birthday. But my birthday isn’t for another few months, and neither Pippa nor Declan would leave my gift outside. They’d force me to have dinner with them and then watch as I opened my presents.
I ignore Jackson completely as I dip a hand inside the bag. When I pull the solitary object out, my confusion grows. A small teddy bear, not dissimilar to ones I had as a kid, sitsin my hand. I peer inside the bag now, looking for a card or a note of some kind, but it’s empty.
“Is this some kind of joke?” I ask, thrusting the bear toward Jackson.
He shakes his head, hands up in placating surrender. “I have no reason to ply you with a child’s toy. It wasn’t me.”
My eyes narrow as I scrutinize him. After I showed up at his door, drunk, I wouldn’t blame him for wanting to get back at me in some way. Maybe giving me a toy insinuates he sees me as a child, just like everyone else seems to. But, more than that, if he’s telling the truth, that means there is some merit to the uneasy feeling in my gut, and Isodo not have time for that right now.
After a moment, I decide, begrudgingly, that I believe him. “Alright,” I say as I shove the bear back into the bag. Then I toss it to the floor just inside my front door, ready to forget it exists. “You’re serious about the whole six months thing?”
He nods. “I am. Cherie asked it of me, and I don’t intend to disappoint her.”
For a fraction of a second, something like sympathy dips low in my belly, but it’s gone before I can fully analyze it. That’s another thing I don’t have time for—feeling sorry for Jackson Vaughan. Luckily, an idea begins to form, pushing those feelings aside.
I cross my arms, cocking a hip. “Fine. You want to help, Hotshot? I’ll give you something to do.”
Rich boy, meet toilet brush.
When I show up to the inn, Jackson on my heels, and tell Trystan we are on our way to clean, he simply shakes his head, trying to contain his smile. He’s no stranger to the scheming gleam in my eye.
If there’s one thing I can safely assume about Jackson, it’s that any kind of physical labour is foreign to him. Anyone wearing shoes as nice as his has never had to get their hands dirty. Not on his own behalf, and certainly not on behalf of anyone else. That ends today.
