His brow furrows. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt. I didn’t know there was anyone else in here.” Jackson studies Matt, and I can see him trying to figure out where he knows him from. Jackson and I watched lots of Toronto games together, both on television and in person, so he’s familiar with many of the players. After a few seconds, it clicks. “Wait—are you Matt Eriksson?”
Jackson’s long delay allows me to gather my composure, and my tone sounds steady and professional as I make the introductions. “Jax, Matt’s one of our clients. Matt, this is Jackson Emery, the co-owner of Fetch.”
Even if I hadn’t already told Matt that I work with my ex, the last name would have given it away. I still haven’t gotten around to dropping “Emery” and going back to just “Taylor.” I should probably do that, I know, but the idea of filing the name change paperwork feels so…final. Like it’ll make the divorce…real.
It is real.
Fuck. Yes. I know it’s real. I’m just a sappy fool, I guess.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Matt says politely. He extends a hand, and Jackson shakes it.
“Nice to meet you, too.” Jackson smiles. “It’s kind of cool that our client roster has a professional hockey player on it.”
“And Hailey’s opera date,” Matt says, winking at me.
Jackson frowns.
I gulp. Oh my God. Why did Matt say that?
“You’re going to the opera together?” Jackson’s gaze slowly shifts from me to Matt and then back to me. “Since when do you enjoy the opera, Hails?”
“I don’t,” I stammer. “But…”
“I twisted her arm,” Matt finishes for me.
“I see.” Jackson pauses. When he speaks again, there’s a bite to his tone. “Melinda is actually a big fan of the opera. I should take her one of these days.”
My entire body clenches. Painfully. Did he seriously just bring up the woman he’s seeing? Something burns like acid in my throat. Anger. Or maybe a sense of betrayal? Not jealousy, though. I’m not jealous that Jackson is dating someone.
But that doesn’t mean I want to hear about her.
“Anyway.” Matt sounds wary now as he looks from me to Jackson. “I’ll call you later to go over the details,” he tells me.
I manage a nod. “Okay.”
“Later, Hottie.”
Jackson frowns again.
To my disbelief, Matt smacks my butt lightly before strolling out the door.
I gape after him, unsure whether to be pissed or amused. I think he might have been trying to make Jackson jealous on purpose by calling me Hottie and touching my butt, but…why? Maybe he saw the way I flinched when Jackson mentioned Melinda?
When I turn back, I find Jackson’s eyes burning with annoyance.
“What was that?” he demands.
“I should be asking you the same thing,” I shoot back.
His jaw falls open. “Are you kidding me? What did I do?”
“We talked about this,” I bite out. “We agreed not to discuss our love lives with each other, and you brought up how your new girlfriend is a huge fan of the opera.”
“You brought up that you’re going to the opera with Matt Eriksson!”
“He brought it up,” I grumble.
“Well, either way, it was brought up.” Jackson glowers at me. “Since when are you dating Matt Eriksson?”
“I’m not.”
His jaw tightens. “So I just imagined this entire fucking conversation?”
I flinch at his sharp words, because Jackson typically doesn’t curse. “I mean, we haven’t gone out yet,” I amend awkwardly. “The opera will be our first date. He came by today to ask me.”
“And you said yes.”
“Should I have said no?”
“Yes!” His face turns red. “He’s a client, Hails! You can’t fraternize with clients. It’s against the rules.”
“The rules we laid out are for our employees, Jax. We’re the co-owners of this company.”
“Exactly,” he snaps. “You’re the co-owner. Which means you need to lead by example. We can’t have our staff thinking it’s okay to date clients!”
“Nobody even knows Matt is a client. Only we have that information,” I answer tightly. “And me dating him doesn’t affect the business.” I’m not about to tell him which rules I’m breaking to walk Rufus, though. Crap.
“What if it goes south and you break up, and then we lose him as a client?” Jackson challenges. “Did you ever think of that?”
“Matt and I are adults. Even if it doesn’t work out, we won’t lose a client.” God, I don’t think we will. “If you really think it’s a big deal, I can stop handling his requests.”
Jackson runs an agitated hand through his hair. “I don’t know. This just seems unprofessional, Hails.”
Indignation sticks in my throat. “Really? And you gushing about your girlfriend in front of a client is professional?”
“I wasn’t gushing,” he says coolly. “You’re saying you can flaunt your hockey player in my face, but I can’t mention the woman I’m seeing?”
Another arrow of pain pierces my heart.
We stare at each other for a moment.
I let out a heavy breath.
So does he.
“Jackson…” Misery hangs onto those two syllables. “What’s going on here?”
“I don’t know.” He sounds equally bleak.
After a long beat, we sit side by side on the edge of my desk, both of us staring straight ahead. God, how did this happen? Where did this distance come from? This is the boy I grew up with. The boy I fell in love with and married. Jackson and I never raised our voices to each other—not even once—during our eight-year marriage. It’s disheartening that we’re doing it now.
So many questions bite at my tongue as I peer at his handsome profile. Does he want to buy me out of the business? Stop working together? Why is it so hard to think about him with another woman? And why am I secretly happy that it bugs him to think about me with another man?
How did we get here?
Jackson clears his throat. Then he finally speaks. “I knew it was going to be rough, but I didn’t think it would be this rough,” he admits.
I swallow again. “What?”
“Dating other people. I mean, we’re divorced, but I still care about you, Hails.”
“I care about you, too.”
“I…” He stops awkwardly. “I’m sorry I mentioned Melinda out of the blue like that. I was caught off guard, and it was just a knee-jerk thing.”
“I know. It’s okay. I probably overreacted a little.”
After a moment of hesitation, he puts his arm around me. I lean my head on his shoulder, and it’s such a familiar pose that my throat tightens.
His voice is thick with emotion. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
I wrinkle my forehead. “Why would I get hurt?”
“Eriksson is a professional hockey player,” Jackson points out. “Pro athletes have a certain type of reputation, you know? I don’t want him to play games with you.”
“He’s not like that, Jax.”
I can’t explain why I’m so certain of that, but I am. I saw Matt with his daughters, how gentle and loving he was with them. I know he’s home most nights when he doesn’t have a game, because that’s when he sends his Fetch requests, and he’s always there to accept deliveries. A lot of the other guys on the Toronto team are all over the Internet, all the time. Like that O’Connor guy—the hockey forums constantly say how he was spotted at some nightclub on Richmond or canoodling with a model on some rooftop bar. Matt’s name, on the other hand, barely ever shows up on those sites.
“Do you want me to stop handling his account?” I offer.
“No.” Jackson sighs. “We’re friends, aren’t we, Hails?”