His father huffed down the line. “Don’t be a smartass, Jackson. I didn’t mean today. But I need to know we’re back on track for next week, since you told Rufus you’d deal with it and now you’re off playing houses again.”
“I told Rufus I’d deal with it because I am dealing with it.” Jackson wiped his face with the shoulder of his t-shirt. “I spoke with them on Friday and I’ll be back in the office tomorrow.”
For the next four minutes, he bit the inside of his cheek as his father listed all the ways in which he had taken his eye off the ball, was failing to keep his boots on the ground and give one hundred and ten percent to their current portfolio, plus a ton of other business-related clichés.
Jackson was treated to some version of this lecture on a regular basis and yet, every time, it grated like a hyena gnawing on a carcass. Even now, when his dad was relying on Amity Court to get them out of the hole he’d gotten them into, there was nothingconciliatory in his attitude. Alistair Hale was an attack dog by nature, Hale Evolution his premier focus. Any hope of gaining his respect meant adopting the same principles, and Jackson was well used to tuning out the majority of these diatribes, providing his dad didn’t step over that one line in the sand.
Don’t fucking mention Dominic.Don’t you dare.
“Your brother always understood that duty comes before pleasure.” His father’s words bit with the lash of a whip.
“I’m not here stripping down a ceiling for my health!” Jackson snapped. “I’m doing whatever I can to make this place more saleable for you. The site work is in hand, the granite delivery is sorted, the end dates are achievable, and I’m not a fucking slacker.”
“There’s no need—”
“There’s every need.” He forced the emotion out of his voice and continued, cold and controlled. That was the only way to handle his father. “Let’s talk tomorrow.”
Jackson hung up without waiting for a reply. Picking up his drill, he forced himself to relax his jaw; his teeth hurt, he was clenching so tightly. Storm clouds, which had seeped insidiously through the 5G connection, settled above his head, obscuring any enjoyment he’d found in the morning’s work.
When Leah appeared from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee and held one out to him, he was still rattled and raging. Taking it without a word, he swallowed a big, burning gulp before leaving it on the mantelpiece. He climbed the ladder again. They worked on in a stiff silence while his dad’s “duty before pleasure” dig tumbled, washing machine–style, around the inside of Jackson’s head.
“My car needs a couple of new tires. I thought I’d get it sorted now I’ve been paid.” Leah spoke suddenly, as she rested a board in the crook of her elbow, one end on the floor. “Is it better to go to a shop or get someone to come out here, d’you think?”
He considered not answering; blanking people was his superpower. Persistence, however, was one of Leah’s, and he sensed the clunky segue was her attempt to ease the billowing tension within the room. Undaunted by his brooding, he felt her studying his back with an intensity that suggested she could read his every thought—something that incensed and unsettled him in equal measure.
“There are mobile tire fitters who might come to the house,” he growled eventually. “You’d have to check if they cover this area. If they do, you can order the tires you need and book online.”
“I want black ones.” He could hear the smile in her voice, and irritation rippled under his skin.
“There are different sizes and standards.”
“Tires come in sizes?”
Jackson shot a glance at her and found Leah’s eyebrows kinked, pure interest lighting up her face.
“Some Queen of Research. You realize you just set feminism back thirty years with that comment?”
“Maya Angelou would be so disappointed.” With a roll of her eyes, she laughed at herself.
Who the fuck is Maya Angelou?Jackson knew his face had gone blank. And that Leah had noticed.
She reached for her coffee, and took another sip. “I mainly rode a bike or took the bus when I was growing up. I bought my car after moving in with Esther. I’ve always wanted to walk into an auto shop, wait for someone to try to mansplain my carburetor to me, and blind them with my superior knowledge of a choke valve—see, I even got as far as looking up the parts. But I never followed it through. I’m not interested enough. I know a carburetor has a choke valve but I don’t know what it does, and I didn’t know tires came in sizes. Even though it stands to reason they do. I’ll needto find another way to smash oppressive gender roles.” A lightning grin flashed over her face, there and then gone.
Jackson’s head spun a little; it was a challenge to follow her chaotic thought patterns. But what he did grasp was that Leah had spotted the gap in his own knowledge and skated right over it to poke fun at her own. There wasn’t much he hated more than feeling stupid.
“Christ, you use a whole load of words to say very little sometimes.”
Leah twisted the plank she held in her hands, flipping it over and over—varnished side to unvarnished side and back around again. “That sounds like something my ex-boyfriend would have said,” she murmured finally. Her lips, tighter than normal, still turned up at the corners, but it was a ghost smile. And, once again, Jackson felt like a dick.
The doorbell rang in the foyer.
Hefting the board, Leah turned away without another word. He heard her wrench the front door free from its frame. There was an instant barrage of indistinct chatter and Sam appeared in the doorway to the living room, Kash following behind.
“Reinforcements have arrived! I’ve brought the wit, good looks, and encouragement. Kash has some proper tools and actual know-how.”
Both were dressed down in scruffy jeans and old t-shirts.
“What are you doing here?” He wondered if Leah had called them.
