Page 38 of Hidden & Held

“So, you joined her book club, Read Between the Wines, to get to know her?”

“Yes, and the stuff Mrs. Reynolds wanted to read would make a frat boy blush.”

I force back a smile at that one, knowing her smutty romance preferences are famous across town.

“And the last one.” I force a breath in, trying to keep my composure. “Who identified me as a potential threat, someone you needed to cozy up to?”

His expression does not change, but his eyelids tighten slightly, brows lowering. “I did.”

I close my eyes, needing a moment without staring into his hazel ones, holding my breath. Three, two, one. I exhale shakily, but I won’t let him see any more.

“Phoenix, you had the highest billable hours in family law. One of the most profitable departments in the firm, it made sense to look into the department.”

A laugh escapes me. “Do you have any idea what it took to get here?”

Jackson goes still.

“I graduated at the top of my class. I worked every holiday, every weekend. I missed birthdays, weddings, and funerals. I spent years proving I belonged in rooms that weren’t built for me.” My voice cracks on the last word. “And you filed me under liability.”

“Phoenix—”

“The question was asked and answered,” I deadpan.

Jackson runs a hand over his face, scrubbing at his eyes.

I redirect the conversation back on track. “So to summarize, you deliberately planned to get close to me.”

The silence before he answers has my stomach tied in knots.

“Yes.” His voice is quieter, but not small, still possessing the innate confidence he could never rid himself of.

“The diner,” I say. “You didn’t know who I was.”

Something shifts in his face. Briefly. “No, Sugar,” he asserts. “I didn’t, I swear. I saw a confident, beautiful woman eating French fries, with paperwork scattered around her, and knew I had to know her.”

I don’t let him see the relief. The diner—how we met—was real. And somehow that makes everything that happened later worse. “After?”

“Yes, after I saw you in the meeting, Cassandra pointed you out, gave me the rundown on who you are at the firm.”

“So you chose to pursue me as a what, colleague with benefits to get close? That was your best strategy?”

“Don’t cheapen what we have, Phoenix. We are so much more than colleagues.”

“Were. Past tense. And no, we clearly weren’t, not even fuck buddies, because nobody would treat a friend like you treated me.”

Jackson starts pacing. If a jury were here, they would be on my side, reading the guilt off the defendant. I’m building the record with clean precision, leaving no room for reasonable doubt in the case Jackson v. Phoenix.

I am also aware that my hands, held loosely at my sides, are not entirely steady. I hope he can’t see that from where he’s standing. But I know he does. Jackson rarely misses anything.

“In the four months or so that you have been here, you must have been communicating with your firm, with Cassie, about your findings. How?”

Jackson stops pacing, puts his hands in his pockets, and his jaw tightens. “I created a report and sent it in every Monday morning.”

My insides curdle at the thought, a cold sweat beginning to form. “Monday mornings? After—” The bile rises in my throat, but I force the question out. “After we would be together … all weekend? Did you write about our sex life?”

“What? Oh God—Sugar, no, absolutely not.” Jackson looks sick at the thought. “No, I would never do that to you, or to us. Our time together was the best time of my life; it was sacred, personal.”

“And hidden,” I add, quieter than expected.