Page 5 of Pursuing Desire

My spine straight, my voice firm, I tell him, “Fine, stay here for now. You’ll be out soon enough.”

“Sweetie, once you calm down, you’ll see this isn’t a big deal. Take all the time you need, and we’ll talk when you’re more rational. Your emotions are high right now. It’s not the time to make rash decisions.”

“Rational? Screw you, jackass! I will never get back together with you. And also, I told you to stop calling me sweetie, and I fucking mean it!”

I feel Lana tugging at my hand, trying to get me to leave. “Come on, Jess, he’s not worth it.”

I want to stay and fight back, try to get him to leave. However, I also can’t stand the thought of being in the same room as him.

With a final look of disgust toward Anthony, I allow Lana to lead me out into the hallway. She closes the door behind me.

Unable to make my legs work, I sag against the wall. A feeling of hopelessness washes over me. Lana is looking at me with pity in her eyes, and it makes everything even worse. She was right, and I was wrong. How could I have been so stupid?

It’s bad enough to find out Anthony’s been cheating on me, and our entire relationship was a lie, but now I’m in a financial shitstorm because of it.

Lana takes my arm and forces me down the hall and to the elevator. Once in, she turns to me.

“What did he mean when he said he was the co-owner? Jess, please tell me he’s not on the mortgage with you.”

I shake my head. “No, the mortgage is all mine. However, he’s on the deed with me,” I confess sadly.

“Oh my God,” Lana breathes out. “He owns the place with you?”

“Yes.”

“But he’s not on the loan?”

I nod. “Yes, the financial burden is all on me. I messed up, Lana. I messed up really bad.”

As the truth hits me, a single tear runs down my cheek.

I don’t know how I’ll ever recover from this.

Chapter 1: Manhattan, New York

Dax

I need to get out of this office. Usually, the back-to-back phone calls, meetings, and constant wheeling and dealing fuel my blood. However, lately, I’ve been feeling restless. I’m tired of being confined to these four walls. My office’s huge floor-to-ceiling windows do nothing to ease my feeling of imprisonment. Where’s the excitement? The adventure? Surely life is not supposed to be a mass of endless meetings.

I feel so stuck. My family owns this company. My parents built it from the ground up, and it is now run by me and my two brothers. It’s not like I can just leave.

I know I can’t voice any of this out loud. I can imagine the responses I would get. Poor Dax, poor billionaire, he is bored. Even thinking about it myself makes me realize how petty it sounds.

Maybe I need a vacation. I haven’t had extended time off in probably two years. No, I think it’s been almost three years. Actually, I have no damn idea. I’m long overdue for a break from this place. The sixty-hour work weeks must finally be catching up to me. I’ve worked hard to prove my worth over the years. I never wanted anyone to think my job was handed to me because of my father. It’s not always easy to be the middle son of a wealthy entrepreneur.

Yes, a long vacation is what I need. Maybe I can go to a nice island somewhere, soak up the sun, and relax on the beach. I pull out my phone to look at my calendar—meeting, meeting, meeting. Yep, I’m booked up for pretty much the next month and a half. I grimace to myself, so much for that dumbass idea. I can’t just leave my brothers hanging to pick up my slack.

I’m in the process of closing the calendar on my phone when I notice the time. Damn. My idiotic daydreaming has made me late for a meeting with a photographer. I’m having my penthouse redecorated by my cousin. Leslie’s just starting her decorating business, and I agreed to help her out by allowing her to redo my place, top to bottom. Since she plans to showcase photos of my penthouse in her portfolio, she’s scheduled a professional photographer to come and take pictures before we begin the work.

I close up my laptop and pack it away before grabbing my jacket and heading to the elevators. As the elevator begins its descent, I rub my temples in a circular motion. The headache medicine should be starting to work soon, hopefully. The relentless pounding in my brain has been building up for most of the day and peaked about an hour ago.

I work my way outside through the busy lobby. As I step onto the sidewalk, I squint against the sun and the cloudless blue sky and head to the garage where my car is parked. I could’ve called for a valet to bring it, but I refuse to allow anyone to drive my sweet baby. My 1967 Shelby Mustang, Scarlet, never gets driven by anyone but me. She’s special.

No way am I going to risk allowing something to happen to her.

And there she is, right there in her reserved spot. Well, spots. I have two reserved spots so no one can ding my baby with their car door. The aged leather is smooth to the touch as I inch my way into the driver’s seat.

Within seconds, I’m headed home to meet the photographer.