Page 45 of Falling for Mr. Ruthless
"But?"
I turn back to him. "But it means living together. Spending all our time together. Acting like..." I can't finish the sentence.
"Like we don't hate each other?" A muscle ticks in his jaw. "I think we can manage that."
"I don't hate you, Jakob." The confession slips out before I can swallow it.
Something flares in his eyes—a dangerous spark in dry tinder. "Good. That will make this easier."
We both know it's a lie. Nothing about this will be easy. Nothing about this is safe.
"There have to be boundaries," I say, needing the illusion of control even as I'm agreeing to surrender it. "Professional and personal."
"Of course." His expression gives nothing away, but his eyes don't lie. They never could. Not to me.
"I mean it." I hold his gaze, needing him to understand. Needing to believe I'm not already drowning. "This is business. Nothing more."
"Understood." He studies me for a long moment, seeing too much. Always seeing too much. "Crystal clear."
"Good." I smooth my skirt, fingers trembling slightly against the fabric. "How do we start?"
"The Kensington Gala. Tonight." He checks his watch. "The Meyer Foundation's annual fundraiser. Half of Manhattan's financial elite will be there. It’s the perfect opportunity to introduce the narrative."
"Tonight?" My pulse kicks against my throat. "I'm not prepared?—"
"Everything's arranged." He interrupts smoothly, the puppet master who's already plotted every move. "A dress will be waiting in the guest room. Car arrives at eight."
Of course."You assumed I'd agree to this."
"I hoped you would see the advantage." His lips curve slightly—almost a smile. Almost. "I didn't assume anything."
Footsteps pound down the hallway before I can respond. Jaden barrels back into the kitchen, face freshly washed, eyes bright with anticipation.
"Ice cream time!" he announces.
Jakob's expression softens instantly. "Coming right up, buddy."
I watch him move to the freezer, pulling out three flavors because he remembers Jaden likes to mix chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry into what he callsNeapolitan soup.
These are the moments that gut me.
The casual reminders that beneath the corporate shark, the ruthless strategist, the man who walked away—there's still this: a father who knows his son's ice cream preference. A man who remembers the small details that make up a life.
"Mom, you want some?" Jaden looks at me expectantly.
I shake my head. "Not tonight, baby. I need to get ready for a work event."
Disappointment clouds his face. "But you just got here."
"I know." I smooth his hair back from his forehead, skin against skin, the tangible reminder of what matters most. "But I'll see you tomorrow after school. And we'll be together for parents' day on Friday, remember?"
He brightens slightly. "Both of you?"
"Both of us," Jakob confirms, setting a bowl of multi-colored ice cream in front of him. "Together."
The word hangs between us—together—heavy with promise and threat.
Jakob meets my eyes over our son's head, resolution passing between us.
