Page 26 of Falling for Mr. Ruthless
“Ms. Warren is headed to Park Slope,” he says, then turns to me. “Text me when you arrive.”
It’s not a request. Not quite a command. Something in between that makes my spine stiffen.
“I don’t need a babysitter, Jakob.”
“No.” His eyes hold mine, something fierce and unguarded flashing through them. “But you do need allies. Whether you want them or not.”
Before I can respond, he steps back, nodding once to the driver. I slide into the backseat, the door closing behind me with a solid thunk that feels like punctuation.
Through the tinted window, I watch Jakob standing on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, face composed but eyes tracking the car as it pulls away from the curb. He looks exactly as he did the day I moved out of the penthouse: controlled and untouchable.
Except for his eyes. His eyes give him away.
They always did.
The car drops me at my brownstone twenty-three minutes later. I unlock the door, reset the alarm, and drop my keys in the ceramic bowl.
The house is quiet—Jaden is with Latanya for the night, a last-minute arrangement made when I decided to meet with Jakob at his place because of the security concerns.
I move through the darkened rooms, turning on just enough lights to dispel shadows.
I pour myself a glass of water. Check my phone for messages. Then, I try to process everything I learned tonight.
Someone is targeting me. Using my credentials. Building a case against me.
And Jakob is protecting me. Not as a favor, but as a fact.
Because he trusts me.
After everything.
I sink onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. The day’s tension catches up all at once—muscles aching, head throbbing, emotions running amok—and I’m too tired to think beyond the obvious.
He wants to protect his reputation. Safeguard the company. Completing this audit puts Novare on the global map. To him, this is just a minor hiccup.
My phone buzzes with an incoming text. Jakob:What’s your status?
I type back:I’m home. Safe.
Three dots appear, then disappear. Appear again. Disappear. Finally:Good.
I stare at the single word, trying to decode what exists beneath it. Concern? Relief? Obligation? Something else entirely?
Before I can overthink it further, I set the phone down and head for the shower. I need to wash away the day, the confusion, the lingering scent of the penthouse that clings to my clothes and hair.
Under the hot spray, I close my eyes, letting water sluice over my face, my shoulders, my back. But instead of relaxation, memories surface.
Jakob at the window, telling me he was willing to sacrifice billions to keep me on the audit.
Jakob at the table, showing me the digital trail someone is building against me.
Jakob at the door, eyes giving away what his words concealed.
And then, like something so random it scrambles them all: Jakob at the piano.
It was just a moment, caught from the corner of my eye as I packed my laptop. He paused beside the baby grand—the one I bought him as an anniversary gift. The one that he played every night to signal the end of the day.
His hand hovered over the closed lid, not quite touching. His shoulders dropped a fraction. His guard slipped, just for a heartbeat.
