All Good Things(11)

"Really?" I needed her to continue talking. I hadn't known his last name before now. I decided then, I would Google him as soon as I got a minute away from Trisha's worry-filled eyes. For now, I was soaking up every miniscule tidbit of information she threw me. I was a woman possessed.

"I know, right? Who goes by their last name?" She shook her head. "It's so cold."

"Totally." I agreed, in hopes she would give me something more.

"Anyway," she shook her head. I felt my heart sink into the pit of my stomach. Suddenly, the half bowl of oatmeal I gorged didn't make me feel so hot. The nerves were back. "I thought we would go visit the site for your café bookstore today. You should really get back to work or you'll never get it open."

I nodded. She was right. My dream of opening something simple and homey was being stomped on by the memory of a brutally egotistical man. Opening a café bookstore had been a dream of mine since I was a little girl. My parents tried relentlessly to dissuade me from the idea over the years, but I adamantly refused to be swayed. It was a feat I was proud of.

My parents had wanted me to partner with my brother in hopes the two of us would take over my fathers practice. But, law had never held a smidgen of interest for me. It was so stuffy, and serious, and well...it was depressing. I wanted to find happiness in my life. As a child, there had been little to no joy available.

I was well aware that a café bookstore wouldn't offer me the kind of lifestyle I had been raised to desire, but I knew first-hand what money did to a family. I hadn't decided for certain if I even wanted a family. I was only twenty-two and in my opinion, that was far too young to bring a child into my life. But, I knew what I did want. I wanted to wake up everyday with the knowledge that I was fulfilling a deep routed passion. I wanted to be happy.

I pushed away from the island counter and stood. "I'm going to get into the shower."

Trisha clapped her hands excitedly and a high-pitched squeal of self-satisfied excitement echoed behind me as I made my way down the hall to my bedroom. Our condo was nice, but it was nothing spectacular. There were two bedrooms, each with their own bathroom attached. I'd had enough money from my grandfather's inheritance to lease the apartment for one year. I paid my half and Trisha's parents paid hers. I spent the rest of his money opening my café bookstore. I hoped to God my risk paid off, because I really could not afford to live in New York any other way. And, I could not ask my parents for a dime. I hadn't spoken to them since moving across the globe. They disowned me when I decided to follow my own dreams rather than obliging to theirs. I knew it was going to be hard, but I was determined. Nothing worth it in life ever came easy.

I closed the door of my bedroom before twisting the lock on the knob. I rarely ever locked my door. There was nothing I desired to hide from Trisha...but I wanted to hide this.

I folded my arms over my chest as I stared through narrowed eyes at the silver laptop that sat untouched on my desk. I hadn't fired it up since the accident. I still didn't remember the accident. The only thing I remembered was waking up and seeing Jace and his glistening chest.

I shook my head, trying to shoo away my nerves as I crossed the distance from my door to my desk. I opened the laptop, clicked the Google icon I had stored on my desktop and typed in his name. Jace Rush.

Oh. My. Goodness.

This man was a God in every sense of the word that mattered. I would swear over my grandfather's grave he owned half of New York. I scanned through image after image of Jace, and in each picture there was a different beauty on his arm. This man had it all. The cars, the clothes, the looks...the life. He didn't appear to want for a single thing. I didn't even know if he knew what wanting entailed. It's not like I was born into a life of poverty, and I was no expert on the aspects of yearning for something physical. But, regardless of the materials I'd had lavished on me throughout my life, there had always been something missing. I realized, as I grew older, it was affection. In my home, dreams didn't exist, and in their place, sat cold, hard cash.

Jace didn't look as though he wanted for anything and from what I'd read he'd only ever lived through one tragedy. The suicide of his father. My heart felt heavy as I read through clippings of the businessman who had raised Jace. He appeared to have been a hard, determined man. He didn't seem a thing like Jace. He looked almost like my own father. And, I couldn't help but wonder, if he too had been haunted by his need to succeed.

I read further, clicking on another article with Jace's name printed in bold. He had taken over Rush Industries when his father passed, expanding the company far beyond any reach his father ever could have dreamed. I didn't really understand companies like Jace's. But, they bought companies that were struggling to thrive against the challenges presented by the world and broke them into smaller divisions and somehow made a profit off it. In my opinion, it was gambling of the most lethal kind. A risk like that...well, it was just unfathomable. My little café bookstore was enough to give me an aneurism. I couldn't imagine how he slept at night with the pressure he had weighing down on him twenty-five hours a day, eight days a week.