Page 30 of Falling for Mr. Ruthless
Instead, he straightens, professional distance reasserting itself. "It's late. The guest room is made up. We can continue this in the morning."
The dismissal stings. "Fine. We'll talk tomorrow."
I turn to leave, disappointment and frustration leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.
"Chanel." His voice stops me at the threshold.
I look back, not trusting myself to speak.
"I am protecting you." His eyes hold mine, with something like regret burning a hole through me. "Even if you don't believe it."
“I can protect myself. What I need is honesty.”
I don't wait for his response. Just turn and walk down the hallway, following the path to the guest bedroom I've used twice in the past two weeks when work ran too late to justify the drive home.
I close the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment, eyes closed, breathing through the tangle of emotions.
Anger at Jakob's evasion. Frustration at the half-truths. Confusion about Megan's role in all this. And beneath it all, something more dangerous—a pull toward the man in the kitchen, the one whose presence has been slowly dismantling my defenses over two weeks of close proximity.
I push away from the door, dropping my phone on the nightstand and sinking onto the edge of the bed. The sheets are crisp, expensive, smelling faintly of lavender. I run my hand over them, remembering how Jakob always insisted on the highest thread count, the best quality, even for guest rooms.
A quiet knock at the door makes me look up.
"Yes?"
The door opens slightly, Jakob's tall frame silhouetted in the gap. "I thought you might need these."
He holds out a neatly folded stack of clothes—a T-shirt, sweatpants, and a new toothbrush still in its packaging. This is the third set he's provided, identical to the others, as if he's been preparing for these nights all along.
"Thank you." I take them, our fingers brushing again in the exchange. This time, neither of us pulls away quite as quickly.
He nods once, eyes moving past me to the room, as if checking that everything is in order. "If you need anything else, I'll be in my office for a while longer."
"I'm fine." I set the clothes beside me on the bed. "Goodnight, Jakob."
"Goodnight, Chanel." He lingers for a moment, then pulls the door closed.
I sit motionless, listening to his footsteps fade down the hallway. When silence returns, I change quickly—the borrowed T-shirt falling to mid-thigh, the sweatpants rolled several times at the waist to keep them from sliding off.
The clothes smell like laundry detergent, nothing more. No lingering scent of him. No emotional landmines. Just clean cotton and practical necessity.
I brush my teeth, wash my face, go through the motions of preparing for sleep in this space that's become almost familiar. Then I slide between the sheets, turning off the bedside lamp,plunging the room into darkness broken only by the city lights filtering through the blinds.
Sleep should come easily after such a long day. Instead, I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, mind racing through the day's revelations—the security breach, the half-truths Jakob offered about Megan.
Something doesn't fit. Some piece of the puzzle remains elusive, just beyond my grasp.
I turn onto my side, punching the pillow into a more comfortable shape. The bed is perfect—firm but yielding, expensive but not ostentatious. Like everything in Jakob's world, it walks the precise line between luxury and function.
I close my eyes, willing sleep to come. But instead of darkness, memories surface.
Jakob in the kitchen tonight, water running over his hands, shoulders tense with secrets he won't share.
Jakob at the table yesterday, fingers brushing mine as he passed a file, neither of us acknowledging the contact.
Jakob last week, voice low as he took a call in the hallway, tension radiating from his body when he returned.
And deeper, older memories—Jakob holding me after nightmares, his arms solid and warm around my body. Jakob teaching me to read financial statements, patient despite my frustration. Jakob creating safety in a world that always felt insecure.
