I try to fall back asleep after he’s gone, but I can’t seem to manage it. And so I very carefully slide out of Cass’s embrace and go across the little hall to Jackson’s room. He’s not there, but I find him on deck in one of the oversized lounge chairs, asleep under the stars.
I slide in next to him, then pull up the blanket from the foot of the lounger to protect us from the cool night air.
He rolls over, then pulls me against him, enveloping me with his warmth. “I meant what I said,” he murmurs sleepily. “She needs you. You could have stayed.”
“I did stay,” I say. “And then I came here. Because you need me, too.”
He is silent for a moment. Then the arm that he has swung around my waist tightens just slightly. “Yes,” he says. “I do.”
fifteen
I’m pretty sure the items on my to-do list are breeding.
There’s no other explanation as to how I can spend the entire day tackling task after task after task and still have no end in sight.
Even so, I love it.
One of the Stark International drivers drove Jackson and me in to work together, and I spent this entire Friday morning on a conference call soliciting requests for proposals from five of the largest food service companies in the country. I’ve got an intern pulling the names of the top twenty chefs across the country, each of whom I intend to contact about the possibility of opening a signature restaurant on-site at the resort.
I’ve negotiated a tentative deal with the FAA to allow a short airstrip on the island, and I have even scheduled a meeting with the local EPA office to discuss my most favorite topic in the world—endangered cave crickets.
More specifically, endangered cave crickets that might actually hold up construction if we don’t get the little buggers squared away quickly.
All in all, I’m feeling pretty damn smug when Trent Leiter eases around my cubicle wall and leans against my filing cabinet.
“Heard the news,” he says. “Jackson’s back on the project. What did you do? Bribe Stark?” He frowns. “No, wait. Hard to bribe the man who owns half the world.”
“I think Mr. Stark just realized that the press from the assault doesn’t have to negatively impact the project.”
His brows lift as he grins. “Negatively impact? What, did public relations send around a memo?”
“Actually, yes.” The PR department had circulated a memo that morning addressing how anyone on staff who is not me, Damien, or Aiden should respond if approached about Jackson’s arrest. “The proper responses are ‘no comment,’ ‘no comment,’ and ‘no comment.’ I came up with the part about the lack of negative impact all on my own.”
“Catchy,” he says. “Wish I knew the whole story.”
He eyes me speculatively, but I just shrug. “I’ve worked directly for Mr. Stark for five years, but that doesn’t mean I’m in his head. And since when did you become such a gossip hound?”
“Just making conversation.”
“Yeah, how’s this? Jackson’s better than a good luck charm. Three problems tackled in just one morning. The FAA came through. I got the guest ferry all squared away—we can launch from San Pedro and Long Beach, and unless I miss my guess, I’ll have a launch site from Marina del Rey set up soon. And, I scored a meeting with the EPA dude.”
“That’s great,” he says, but he sounds distracted.
I can’t really hold that against him. It’s not his project, and I’m sure he’s got plenty of problems of his own to deal with. “So how’s the Century City site going?” I ask, more out of politeness than interest.
“Not as smoothly.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I guess I need to find my own good luck charm.”