“We had to hear about it online.”
I catch the pillow, and my breath catches, too. “What do you mean?” I ask. “What did you hear?”
Before Emmy can respond, there’s another knock on the door. My heart jumps. If those photos of Jack and I got out in the world, I’ll have lost all sense of security.
Chapter Eight
JACK
W hen the town car stops at the apartment complex, I try to swallow my sense of shock. I knew Tess worked at a casino, and I knew she must be living on her tips, but I can’t believe Ace pays his employees a wage that forces them to live in a place like this.
Walking up the three flights of stairs to Tess’s place—#308, according to the text Emmy sent—I tell myself that this is just an apartment. But, in my gut, I know it isn’t good enough for Tess.
Shit, what does it say about all of us, that we have so much money but one of our own lives in such a sketchy place?
I hear people screaming in one unit, and the strong scents of cat urine and cigarettes wafts down the hall. I see two men passing bags of weed to one another, and I drop my head, not wanting them to recognize me. Not here, not now.
Right now, all I care about is Tess.
Seeing her.
Making sure she’s okay.
After knocking on the door of her unit, I stuff my hands in my pockets to stop from fidgeting. I can’t think of the last time I felt so jumpy—but hell, I feel like shit for bringing Tess into my world when she so clearly told me she didn’t want me to.
“Jack,” she says, opening the door and moving to let me inside. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” She shuts the door, locks it.
She’s in sweats and a hoodie, and looks rumpled in a way that I find incredibly attractive. Most of the time Tess is trying to look put together, but here, now, I see more of who she really is. A girl, carving a life for herself.
Emmy and Claire are sitting here in this tiny studio, and a rush of embarrassment floods my veins as I think about my place, where I brought her last night. Thirty of her apartments would fit inside my ten-million-dollar loft.
Emmy jumps up from the bed. “Tess, actually, Claire and I are going to get out of your hair.”
“Don’t go. Tell me what you heard,” Tess says.
Emmy smirks, looking between Tess and me. “If Jack’s showing up at your place, I think what I read is true.”
Tess’s brows furrow, and confusion flashes over her face.
Claire stands from her chair. “You better not mess with our girl,” she says, while shooting me an evil eye.
Why does everyone think I’m gonna mess with Tess? First the guys, now these girls. Hell, since when did I get the reputation of being an asshole?
“I just can’t believe Ashley is so vindictive,” Emmy says, throwing her purse over her shoulder. “I mean, obviously she’s jealous of Tess, but who calls the paparazzi? That’s just lame.”
“You think it was Ashley?” I ask.
Claire and Emmy both snort. “Uh, you don’t?” Claire asks. “That girl is always looking for attention. Why else would the press be literally everywhere you go?”
“Your theory is pretty cold,” I tell Claire, watching as she kisses Tess goodbye.
“Well, Ashley was pretty icy,” Emmy says, shrugging. “Honestly, I never got your relationship. I always pictured you with someone warm, gentle. Someone less calculating.”
All three of us turn to look at Tess, and the innuendo is clear: Tess is all the things Ashley is not.
“Okay, well … Tess, call us later, okay? We love you.” Emmy gives her friend a hug, and then she and Claire leave.
With the door shut, I watch as Tess locks the deadbolt again. Once it’s secure, she leans against it, arms crossed. Eyes on the ground.
The Tess I’ve met—when we’ve been out socially—is bubbly, enthusiastic, and overly engaged. But the girl I see right now is withdrawn, a shell of the girl I was with last night.
She must know about the online stories.
“You okay, Tess?” I ask, not knowing if I
I catch the pillow, and my breath catches, too. “What do you mean?” I ask. “What did you hear?”
Before Emmy can respond, there’s another knock on the door. My heart jumps. If those photos of Jack and I got out in the world, I’ll have lost all sense of security.
Chapter Eight
JACK
W hen the town car stops at the apartment complex, I try to swallow my sense of shock. I knew Tess worked at a casino, and I knew she must be living on her tips, but I can’t believe Ace pays his employees a wage that forces them to live in a place like this.
Walking up the three flights of stairs to Tess’s place—#308, according to the text Emmy sent—I tell myself that this is just an apartment. But, in my gut, I know it isn’t good enough for Tess.
Shit, what does it say about all of us, that we have so much money but one of our own lives in such a sketchy place?
I hear people screaming in one unit, and the strong scents of cat urine and cigarettes wafts down the hall. I see two men passing bags of weed to one another, and I drop my head, not wanting them to recognize me. Not here, not now.
Right now, all I care about is Tess.
Seeing her.
Making sure she’s okay.
After knocking on the door of her unit, I stuff my hands in my pockets to stop from fidgeting. I can’t think of the last time I felt so jumpy—but hell, I feel like shit for bringing Tess into my world when she so clearly told me she didn’t want me to.
“Jack,” she says, opening the door and moving to let me inside. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” She shuts the door, locks it.
She’s in sweats and a hoodie, and looks rumpled in a way that I find incredibly attractive. Most of the time Tess is trying to look put together, but here, now, I see more of who she really is. A girl, carving a life for herself.
Emmy and Claire are sitting here in this tiny studio, and a rush of embarrassment floods my veins as I think about my place, where I brought her last night. Thirty of her apartments would fit inside my ten-million-dollar loft.
Emmy jumps up from the bed. “Tess, actually, Claire and I are going to get out of your hair.”
“Don’t go. Tell me what you heard,” Tess says.
Emmy smirks, looking between Tess and me. “If Jack’s showing up at your place, I think what I read is true.”
Tess’s brows furrow, and confusion flashes over her face.
Claire stands from her chair. “You better not mess with our girl,” she says, while shooting me an evil eye.
Why does everyone think I’m gonna mess with Tess? First the guys, now these girls. Hell, since when did I get the reputation of being an asshole?
“I just can’t believe Ashley is so vindictive,” Emmy says, throwing her purse over her shoulder. “I mean, obviously she’s jealous of Tess, but who calls the paparazzi? That’s just lame.”
“You think it was Ashley?” I ask.
Claire and Emmy both snort. “Uh, you don’t?” Claire asks. “That girl is always looking for attention. Why else would the press be literally everywhere you go?”
“Your theory is pretty cold,” I tell Claire, watching as she kisses Tess goodbye.
“Well, Ashley was pretty icy,” Emmy says, shrugging. “Honestly, I never got your relationship. I always pictured you with someone warm, gentle. Someone less calculating.”
All three of us turn to look at Tess, and the innuendo is clear: Tess is all the things Ashley is not.
“Okay, well … Tess, call us later, okay? We love you.” Emmy gives her friend a hug, and then she and Claire leave.
With the door shut, I watch as Tess locks the deadbolt again. Once it’s secure, she leans against it, arms crossed. Eyes on the ground.
The Tess I’ve met—when we’ve been out socially—is bubbly, enthusiastic, and overly engaged. But the girl I see right now is withdrawn, a shell of the girl I was with last night.
She must know about the online stories.
“You okay, Tess?” I ask, not knowing if I
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