“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jackson says very slowly. “And as for trust, I’m not seeing a lot of it from you, either.”

I take a deep breath and try to calm my temper. “Fine. Okay. Fine.” I drag my fingers through my hair and try to regroup. “Do you know Jeremiah Stark?”

“Stark’s father?”

“Damien thinks that his father may be behind some sabotage at the company.”

I try to read Jackson’s face, searching for knowledge, but I see nothing but confusion, and I’m relieved.

“Why?”

“It’s happened before. I can’t get into the details, but I’ve seen a lot, and I’ve seen that man do some pretty reprehensible things, and the fact that Damien’s his son only makes it worse. I mean, fathers should protect their kids, not use them.”

Jackson takes a step toward me, but right then, I do not want his compassion. I’ve let my own shit slide into this conversation, and that is not somewhere I need to go.

I lift my head, steeling my resolve, and ask him point-blank, “Are you working with Jeremiah Stark?”

He stops cold, and the gentleness I saw in him a moment ago vanishes. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Stark was at your documentary,” I say. “I saw him. And now I want an answer. Do you know him? Are you working with him?”

“I am absolutely not working with Jeremiah Stark,” he says, and I believe him.

I still don’t know what to think, though. I know what I saw with the memory disk. I remember what Trent told me about Jackson researching the island before he was even offered the project.

I think about all that—and I don’t know what it means.

“So what’s going on here?” Jackson says. “Is your boss firing me?”

I shake my head. “No. There’s no proof.” I meet his eyes. “Damien doesn’t know you took the memory disk.”

“I took the disk because I wanted a picture of us. I already told you that.”

“Yeah,” I say. “That’s what you said. You also said you wanted revenge.” I draw in a breath. “The truth is, I don’t know what’s going on, Jackson. But the bottom line is that I’m not letting you fuck up my resort because of some vendetta you have against Damien for some land deal that happened five years ago.”

“I guess you know what you know,” he says coldly.

“I know I need to be careful,” I say. “I know I need to be smart.” I’m afraid, so very afraid, that I’ve opened myself too much to this man. That I know better than to let myself trust. And that now I am paying the price.

“Then be smart,” he says. “Because if you use your head, you know that I would never, ever put this project in jeopardy. My reputation means too much to me. You mean too much to me. Everything you’ve told me? Every part of yourself that you’ve given me? Do you really believe I would violate that trust?”

“I don’t know,” I admit, and feel as though my heart is breaking. “I just don’t know.”

“No? Well, you should.”

“Jackson.”

“Go,” he says.

“Jackson, dammit, we need to—”

“Right now, Sylvia, I need you to leave.”

twenty-one

Right now, Sylvia, I need you to leave.

The words cut through me, hot and horrible. They’re my words, the ones I said to him so many years ago. And for over an hour they fill my head as I shower and redo my makeup in the women’s locker room.

When I can’t use that as an excuse for hiding anymore, I go up to my desk on twenty-seven and try to get some work done on the resort, hoping that poring over details will leave no room for my thoughts of Jackson.

But considering the project for the day is dealing with the FAA about the small landing strip, my mood has not improved much by the time I push my work aside so that I can walk down the hill to the offices of Bender, Twain & McGuire, where Cass is meeting Ollie for her franchise planning meeting.

I’ve been to this office dozens of times with Damien, so I’m not surprised when Cyndee, the receptionist, tells me to just go on back to the small conference room. The blinds are closed, and I feel a stab of guilt as I realize that I’m running five minutes late, and the meeting has started without me.

I tap on the door, then let myself in, my apology dying on my lips when I see Jackson sitting next to Cass.

Across the table from them, Ollie looks up. “Sylvia, we’re just getting started. Help yourself to a cookie,” he adds, pointing to the familiar tray of cookies and Danish, which is my favorite part of coming to meetings at this office. The snacks are awesome.