Page 13 of Xander

Jasper was scheduled to return home from boarding school the following month but dreaded spending the summer with Henry. As a college freshman, I had an apartment in the city and proposed that he stay with me.

Of course, Dad nixed the plan. He got off on controlling our lives, and there was nothing I could do to stop him. Not if I wanted him to continue supporting my mother with luxuries such as food, healthcare, and shelter.

Jordan was expected to move into our childhood home after the wedding. Initially, my feelings toward the arrangement were no warmer than their wedding. The mere idea of Jordan having a hand in raising Jasper made my skin crawl. However, it seemed she might be the one person to care about Jasper’s preferences and even look out for him.

As I finished my mini Wellington and turned to signal the bartender for water, my gaze landed on a sign I had previously missed.

Tonight’s signature drink is Manhattan

I had been ordering Manhattans all evening but didn’t realize it was the official drink of the event. While Jasper and I drank openly, Dad didn’t pay enough attention to our drink preferences.

It could only mean one thing—Jordan had a hand in this decision, just as she did with the food menu.

A sudden warmth washed over me at the all-consuming woman beside me, eyes darting pointedly between her and the cocktail list. “Was this your doing?” I tapped on the drink sign.

Jordan flashed me a sheepish smile. “Me again. Although I now realize this might be coming across a bit stalkerish.” An air of anxiety lingered in her expression, undoubtedly mindful of the strained dynamic we shared with Dad. He would’ve never made my preferred drink the signature cocktail of the night.

Suddenly, I itched to diffuse the awkwardness between us. The last thing I wanted to discuss was my father, and my knowledge of Jordan was limited to her work.

“How long have you been working at the PR firm?” I asked.

Her response faltered slightly. “Oh… er… I have owned the firm for the last twelve years.”

I was taken aback by the revelation. She owned the firm?

I asked a few follow-up questions about her work. Her smile dimmed at the corners of her mouth as if she were shy about being the big boss, but she answered with swift efficiency and displayed the knowledge of a seasoned professional.

Jordan’s mastery of the business intricacies surprised me. I had prematurely dismissed her as another of my father’s bimbos with a hobby career and superficial interests. On the contrary, Jordan was self-sufficient and driven, steadfast in her refusal to live under someone else’s thumb.

Just like me.

The notion of sharing common ground with her had never crossed my mind. Uncomfortable with how quickly Jordan had altered my perception of her, I sought a distraction from her unwavering presence. To have something—anything—to focus on besides her beaming smile.

Clearing my throat, I gestured to the decorated terrace—done in celebration of her engagement. “Are you happy with how everything turned out?”

Jordan huffed. “Honestly, this party is only fun for the guests. Henry expects me to host, so I can’t drink too much. I can barely move in this dress, let alone dance. I can’t even enjoy the food. This dress is tailored so tightly, I’ll pop like a balloon if I eat anything.”

My lips twitched at her candidness.

Jordan’s gaze tracked the area before settling on my father—King Maxwell was holding court for his royal subjects, shamelessly conducting business with blatant disregard for his new fiancée.

She turned to me with a forced smile. “I didn’t think I’d be so bored at my engagement party,” she admitted. The sadness in her eyes was more potent than the obligatory smile on her face.

Most of my father’s women knew they ranked low on his list of priorities—especially when millions of dollars were at stake—and were content playing second fiddle in exchange for a luxurious lifestyle. Something told me Jordan wasn’t privy to Henry Maxwell’s true nature.

Perhaps a distraction was in order.

“At least you’re having a better time than them.” I subtly gestured to the couple across from us. An attractive young couple—a man in a three-piece black suit and a woman in a long blue dress—radiated tension. The woman appeared furious with her husband-boyfriend-date and did not attempt to hide her contempt. She snatched her hand back when he tried to hold it. He seemed repentant for some undisclosed transgression and hung his head as the woman stormed off.

Jordan observed their interaction while my gaze lingered on her silky, golden strands that had fallen over one lithe shoulder.

Clearing my throat, I asked, “Do you know them?”

She studied the couple before shaking her head. “Must be your father’s friends or business associates.” She tsked sympathetically. “Poor guy.”

I chuckled. “Someone’s sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Jordan grimaced humorously. “What do you think he did to incur such wrath?”