Chapter 7— Sleepless

Jasmine pov

“Morning, Peaches.” He smiled, dimples, teeth, the whole thing, like a toothpaste ad come to life.

“Good morning, Mr. Montgomery. Your dad sent some documents that need to be signed by end of day.” I reached down to grab the folder.

He dropped onto the couch with a groan, rubbing his temples, and patted the space beside him. I stayed standing, arms crossed, until he noticed I wasn’t moving.

“Peaches, I have a killer headache. Can we deal with the paperwork later?”

*He’s feeling awfully familiar all of a sudden.*

My heart was doing something ridiculous, pounding like I’d run three miles.

“Why do you have my name tattooed on your back?”

He sat up straight, on his feet almost instantly. “Follow me. I need coffee.” It came out more like an order than a request.

He walked off. I kicked off my heels and followed him barefoot, half a step behind. “Mr. Montgomery!”

He stopped short. I nearly ran into him.

“Call me Mr. Montgomery one more time…”

“Or what?”

“Peaches.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Japheth,” he said instead, like that fixed anything.

“What?”

“You didn’t answer my question, *Japheth,*” I said, emphasizing his name the way he’d wanted. I followed him into the kitchen. “Why didn’t you go to work today?”

He didn’t answer that either, just pulled something from the fridge, popped two croissants into the microwave, and set the timer without a word.

“Sit,” was all he offered.

Fine. If he was going to ignore my questions, I’d ignore his instructions to sit and lean against the counter instead, no, actually, I sat. Whatever. He put a plate of pastries in front of me, black coffee for himself, and a second mug with cream in it, set down in front of me like it was nothing. Like he still remembered exactly how I took my coffee.

“I put sugar in it,” he said.

I looked up. Mistake, he was already watching me, one eyebrow raised.

I shook my head and drank it anyway. He’d gotten it right.

“I was drunk,” he said finally. “Tequila shot contest. I don’t remember getting it. I saw it in the mirror this morning and about had a heart attack.”

I studied my coffee instead of him. “Don’t worry. I’ll book you with a cosmetic surgeon  they can probably take it off while it’s still new.”

I nodded.

“I’ll work from here today. I don’t have it in me to go into the office.”

“Okay.”

“Which means you’re staying too. My office is through that door.”

“I know.”

“Where is he?” he asked, out of nowhere.

I blinked. “Who?”

“Luke.” His eyes dropped to my hand. “Your fiancé.”

I burst out laughing before I could stop myself. “Luke? My *fiancé*?”

He looked genuinely confused. Maybe a little hurt.

“Luke’s not my fiancé, Japheth. I’m not marrying a gay man.” I bit back a smile.

“Then who is he?”

My smile faded. “Luke’s my roommate. Has been since college. He’s engaged  to a guy named Ryker.”

I felt something drain out of me all at once. He genuinely had no idea. Kate must never have told him.

My shoulders dropped. “My fiancé died six months ago.”

His eyes went wide. He swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry, Peaches. I had no idea.”

“Of course you didn’t. Why would you? You’ve been busy living the life you wanted, on the other side of the ocean.”

“I do care, Peaches.”

“Sure you do.”

“Peaches.” He reached for my hand, and I gasped before I could stop myself. He felt it too. I saw it,  but he didn’t let go. If anything, he held on tighter. Heat crawled up from where his hand met mine, down through my whole body, all the way to my toes.

My chest went tight. I tried to pull back. He didn’t let me.

I looked at our hands, then up  his arm, his chest rising too fast, his throat working as he swallowed, his mouth, his eyes. Gray, steady, right on mine.

Neither of us looked away first. His thumb moved slowly across my knuckles, and something in me wanted to lean into it instead of pull back. I gripped his hand tighter without meaning to, like letting go might actually knock me off balance.

“Peaches.”

I couldn’t breathe.

“I’m here now.” His voice had gone low, rough with something that wasn’t just concern.

I pulled my hand free the second his grip eased.

“Let’s get back to work,” I said, standing too fast, taking my coffee with me toward the couch.

His office was bigger than my whole apartment dark wood, a mahogany desk with nothing but a laptop on it, two walls of built-in shelves. A long leather couch, a small liquor cabinet against the wall. And above the couch, framed, was the sketch he’d stolen from me the day we met.

“Is that the sketch you stole from me?”

He’d kept it. All these years.

He smirked. “Sit down, Peaches, and hand over Dad’s papers. Anything urgent on my schedule today?”

I handed him the folder. “Nothing today. Your dad said you can take the rest of the week if you need it, or work from here.”

“Really?”

“Confirm it with him yourself.”

“That’s not how you talk to your boss, goldfish.”

I didn’t answer.

“It still gets to you. The nickname.”

“It’s not appropriate to bully your assistant, Mr. Montgomery.” I walked to the couch and sat, arms crossed.

He just laughed.

*Why does my life have to be like this?*

“Peaches?”

My head snapped up.

“I mean it.”

“Mean what?”

“That I’m here now.”

“I don’t need you.”

He got up, crossed the room, and sat beside me, close, too close  and wrapped his arms around me before I could think of a reason to stop him. His chin came to rest on top of my head.

I could feel his heartbeat. His cologne. The warmth of him, solid against my side.

I let myself hold onto his arm instead of pushing it away. I closed my eyes and just listened, his breathing, his heart, the fact that mine was going twice as fast, for him.

“I need you, Peaches,” he said, quiet, against my hair.

I didn’t let go. Because I needed him too, and for the first time in a long time, I didn’t want to pretend I didn’t.