He said nothing as he walked by me on the way to the elevator, but I followed him inside, waiting for his eyes to land on me.
But they didn’t.
He wouldn’t even glance in my direction.
The door slid open at the fifth floor, and we walked down the hallway to his suite. The moment he stepped in, he left his suitcase right by the door and went over to the minibar.
He had a few gulps of whiskey down his throat when he finally faced me. His back was pressed against the counter. He looked so incredibly handsome in his black suit, but it was his eyes that haunted me.
That made the tears instantly want to flow.
His chest rose and fell several times, moving so fast when he said, “Did you know?”
I dropped my Gucci bag into the nearest chair, holding the hard, sturdy wooden back. “Not at first.”
His teeth ground together. “When did it dawn on you?”
My eyes burned from trying to hold back the tears, my throat on fire as I swallowed. “Lawyer, LA, Jenner—I put it together.”
“So, you fucking knew …”
“Jenner—”
“You lied to me.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I just didn’t tell you, but I wanted to—”
“What the fuck is the difference?”
My heart was beating so fast that I was having a hard time talking, but I needed to get the words out, and I needed to get my shit together. Now more than ever.
I took a deep breath and said, “Please listen to me. Let me explain myself.”
I didn’t know how much longer my knees were going to support me, so I walked over to the large bed and sat on the edge, gripping the blanket between both hands.
“My father has spoken about you before, brief mentions where he would discuss projects you two were completing together, but that’s it, nothing more. You have a memorable name, and while we were chatting in the sportsbook, I assumed it was you. But to be honest, I was already so invested at that point that I certainly wasn’t going to ruin the moment and tell you who I was and derail the chemistry exploding between us. And then we were suddenly hanging out nonstop in Vegas, and the opportunity sort of got lost. I didn’t expect to hear from you once I got back to Miami.” I took several deep breaths, remembering the pain I’d felt when I left his room, when I’d cried in Monica’s arms. “But you came to visit, and things started to progress and—”
“And you should have fucking told me.” He took a drink. “During any of those moments—either of my trips to Miami, when you came to LA, when I took you to my fucking parents’ house—you should have said who you are.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Do you realize your father is my largest client? Do you know what he would do to me if he knew I was fucking his daughter?”
Fucking his daughter.
A description that was so cold.
So emotionless.
“I should have told you,” I admitted, squeezing the comforter so hard that I swore the down was giving me rug burn. “I’m sorry. I wish you hadn’t found out this way. I wish you hadn’t been in the air this morning when I tried to call you and tell you, but I can’t change how this all went down.” I fought my eyes, refusing to let them drip, negotiating with my chest to let up a little.
“But if I’m really being honest, I don’t know that I would have told you in Vegas even if I could do this all over because then you never would have slept with me, and then I never would have known what this feels like.” My voice softened. “What you feel like. What it’s like to be in l—”
“Don’t say it.”
It felt like he’d cut off all my air.
My lungs wheezing for more.
“Don’t even think it, Jo, because those days are gone.” He downed the rest of his glass and reached into the fridge for another bottle. He poured it into his tumbler and held it against his chest, not too far from his lips. “You’re Walter’s daughter. You’re so fucking off-limits—on a level I don’t think you can even understand. What happened between us, whatever was starting, it’s over.”
“What?” My stomach was stabbing, to the point where I knew I was going to be sick. “Because I didn’t tell you?”
“Because your last name is Spade.” He laughed, although I could tell he didn’t think this was funny. “Why the hell do you have Jo Cartwright on your Instagram account? Did you change it just for me, so I wouldn’t figure it out?”
He really thought I was a liar.
That I would go to any lengths to manipulate him.
“Cartwright is my middle name, which is my mother’s maiden name, and what I prefer to go by. Spade comes with attention, with assumptions, and I don’t want to be the next Paris Hilton, Jenner. I wanted to go to college across the country and fit in just like everyone else.”
It took him several seconds to respond, and when he did, he said, “Your humbleness changes nothing. You still didn’t tell me who you were, who your father was. And now that you work for Spade Hotels, you’re my client too.”
“I’m just in entry-level marketing. I’m not your client, and we won’t be working together.”
“Aren’t you here in Utah?”
I released the bed to push against my chest, hoping the pressure would stop my heart from breaking. “Yes.”
“Are you going to be assisting your father with the build-out?”
I nodded.
“Then, we’re working together.”
I let the news pulse through me, my body reacting in so many different ways that I didn’t know whether to cover my face or look for a trash can. But before I did anything, I needed to get this out. “I was going to tell you tomorrow, when I flew in. I had the whole thing planned out in my head—how I was going to explain Vegas, how I was going to surprise you with my move to LA.” My head dropped, and I stared at the carpet. “I knew you were going to be angry. I knew it was going to cause a fight.” I finally glanced up. “But I didn’t expect this.”
He sat in one of the chairs and crossed his legs. He was closer than before, but he still felt a mile away. “I don’t think you understand the relationship I have with your father. I’ve worked with him since the start of my career. He was one of my very first clients. We don’t have a personal relationship, meaning we don’t travel together, I don’t meet the women he dates, nor did I know much about you other than the few times he’s referred to his daughter—his pride and joy, Joanna—but I respect him.” His legs uncrossed, his hands and the whiskey resting between them as he exhaled. “I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize the trust he has in me.”
I sucked in a mouthful of air. “Do you think that would happen if he found out about us? That he would … fire you?”
He chuckled. “You’re kidding, right?” He was looking at me like I was an alien. “Jo, do you not understand how this works? You don’t fuck your client’s daughter, especially when she’s only twenty-two years old and still in college. I make decisions regarding your father’s business, his investments, his wealth. I have access to his confidential records, things only he and I know. If he found out what I did—what we did—the trust would be gone.”