Page 5 of What Happens In Vegas: Jessa & Jaxon
I pace the polishedItalian marble floors of my penthouse condo, phone in hand, trying JJ’s number again. The late afternoon sun pours through the floor-to-ceiling windows, splashing golden light across the minimalist furniture.
The call goes straight to voicemail. The sound of her voice on the recording twists something in my gut every time. I’m not used to being ignored.
Control isn’t just something I’m used to—it’s the foundation of my success. People don’t ignore my calls. They wait for them. They chase them. They need them.
Every obstacle in my life has eventually yielded to my careful planning and strategic execution. Business rivals, market challenges, technical hurdles—I’ve overcome them all by identifying the variables and manipulating them to my advantage.
It is a system that has never failed me. Until now. Until JJ.
I walk to the window where the city sprawls below. The swirling snow catches the sun’s golden rays like glitteringconfetti. My tired eyes, disheveled hair, designer suit wrinkled from the long flight home reflect back at me through the glass.
In the month since Vegas, I’ve been throwing myself into work, traveling across Europe with Antonio to scout locations for our new office. Board meetings, market analyzes, property viewings, but none of it keeps JJ from my thoughts.
Her defiant chin tilt when she’s gearing up for a fight haunts me across continents. I should have been focused on mergers and market trends. Instead, I was in meetings, wondering if she was thinking about me with the same restless urgency.
My fingers trace the cool glass of the window, leaving a momentary print against the backdrop of the snow globe world outside. JAK Innovations is thriving, our latest game release breaking sales records. We are on track to triple our revenue this year.
Yet here I stand in my multi-million-dollar condo, feeling completely powerless because one elementary school teacher won’t take my calls. Success means nothing if I can’t have her.
What good is conquering the world if she isn’t mine to share it with?
After years of watching from afar, of suppressing my feelings because of her brother’s friendship and my respect for her parents, JJ is legally mine. The thought stuns me sometimes.
The wild-haired girl who once put superglue on my gaming controller. The sharp-tongued teenager who called me an “egotistical asshat” at my graduation party. The stunning woman who married with me in Vegas, her body pressed against mine, looking up with those dark eyes that have haunted me since I was twelve years old was finally mine.
My wife.
The word sinks into my bones, a claim as real as the ink on our marriage certificate. She is mine. Mine on paper, but not yet where it matters.
I didn’t take advantage of her on our wedding night in Vegas. JJ deserves more than a drunken encounter. When I finally have her, she won’t be drunk. She won’t be caught up in alcohol-laced laughter and impulsive decisions. She will be fully aware, fully present. Sober enough to feel everything and to know it is me making her fall apart.
I intend to transform this Vegas union into the relationship I’ve wanted since before I even understood what wanting her meant. I will make JJ my wife in every sense of the word.
Running a hand through my hair, I steel myself for the confrontation ahead. Outside, snow continues to fall, transforming the city into something softer.
I didn’t build JAK Innovations from a dorm room project into a billion-dollar company by backing down from challenges. And JJ has always been my most intriguing provocation.
Tonight, my usual rituals fail to comfort me. The hot shower does nothing to clear my head. Neither does the shave. I pull on a cashmere sweater and tailored pants, but the tension in my body remains.
JJ is still ignoring me. That ends tonight.
By the time I pull into her apartment building, the snow is falling harder, accumulating on the car’s sleek black surface. The building is one of those modest red-brick walkups you find all over Winter Bay.
As I scan the parking lot, a fresh wave of frustration hits me. The Mercedes Benz Kamal gifted JJ on her birthday isn’t here.
I check my watch, then lean back against the headrest and exhale slowly, pulling out my phone. Emails, market reports and an acquisition proposal wait for my attention. If I’m going to wait, I’ll at least use the time productively.
An hour later, headlights cut through the storm, pulling my attention away from my screen.
I straighten in my seat as her car glides into an open space. JJ steps out and I forget everything else.
She’s a walking contradiction. Soft but sharp, delicate but untouchable. Snowflakes catch in her thick curls, the dark coils framing her face and making her look deceptively angelic for a woman who’s spent the better part of a decade driving me insane.
Her brown skin glows against the cold, her cheeks flushed from the wind, and her full lips—lips I’ve spent too many nights jerking off to—are pressed into an irritated line as she navigates opening her trunk.
My body moves on instinct, and I’m out of the car before I even make the conscious decision to approach her.
“I’ve got it,” I state, taking the bags from her trunk before she can protest.
