Page 20 of The Rules We Broke
It made me feel ill. Sicker than ill, if that was a thing.
Though maybe that was just Brady’s excuse. Because he didn’t hesitate to fall into Amber Capshaw’s arms—not even a pause.
Not that any of that mattered now. What mattered was they hated me. And now, they’d see I was back.
Mr. Howard must not have been clued in to the Jackson-Eaton drama. He didn’t consult me, didn’t even glance my way.
“Perfect,” he said. “Lead the way.”
It wasn’t perfect. It was anything but.
As we walked toward the back, my heels clicking loudly against the gleaming wood floors, I repeated the same mantra over and over:
I’m not seventeen anymore. I’m successful. I have more money than the Queen of England.
I wouldn’t let Mr. Isaac Jackson intimidate me. Not today. Not ever again.
There was only one problem.
It wasn’t Mr. Isaac Jackson I was meeting with.
Chapter Three
Whyhadn’tAuntLutold me Brady Jackson was the vice president of the bank? She had to have known. Of course, she knew. Letting the drama unfold face-to-face was her signature move.
I froze as we were ushered into his office.
Brady stood immediately—but paused. His eyes drifted over me slowly, blinking like he wasn’t sure I was real.
I felt the same. Seeing him was like watching a ghost breathe again.
After a few beats, he crossed the room. His gaze locked on mine with that familiar look—the one that, long ago, had always said he saw me.
Mr. Howard extended his hand to greet him.
Brady didn’t even glance his way.
He came straight to me.
His sandy hair had deepened over the years, but his eyes . . . those piercing, gentle blue eyes were unchanged. Unmistakable.
He didn’t look like a boy anymore. He looked like a man—broader shoulders, a five o’clock shadow, a presence that made him hard to ignore.
In a nutshell, he was too attractive.
“Ellie,” he whispered, like my name still meant something to him.
I refused to believe that.
“It’s Elle now, Mr. Jackson,” I said as steadily as possible, even though I was shaking inside.
His countenance fell, but he recovered quickly. “Well, Elle, please have a seat.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jackson.”
“Maybe you forgot, but it’s Brady,” he said, slipping into that Southern boy charm I used to fall for so easily. That was so not happening. Not today. Not ever. Surely, he didn’t want that anyway. He was, after all, the one who left me.
Refusing to respond, I sat down, along with Mr. Howard, and let him take it from there.
