Inevitable: A Billionaire Second Chance Romance (Stonewood Billionaire Brothers Series)

I stayed out of trouble by studying on my own for the next couple of days. I went to class on Tuesday with my assignment finished, handed it in, and smiled to myself, proud to have completed a full week on my own. I listened avidly as my professor droned on and on. I took precise notes, confident that I could handle it.

That night, I ate dinner with Vick and Katie, one I’d whipped up for all three of us, and smiled as we chatted about what we would do with the kids during our next visit.

“We could cook for them!” Vick exclaimed. She had taken volunteering to a whole new level and was visiting them even more than I had been in the past few weeks.

“Um, they have dinner every night, girl,” Katie deadpanned. “That’s legit the worst idea ever. They want to have fun when we visit.”

“Cooking can be fun. We can make something really nice and then make dessert and decorate it.” Her voice rose. “They will love it.”

I nodded. “It would be teaching them skills, and we could make it fun.”

Katie rolled her eyes. “Fine. But I hate cooking.” I laughed and moved to take my empty plate to the sink while my friends made more plans.

This was nice. This was what my summer was supposed to be.

Relaxing. Easy. Lighthearted.

We watched a show before I excused myself to get an hour of studying in before I went to sleep.

Rereading my notes for the day reaffirmed that I remembered the material and could apply it without anyone’s help.

I was independent and at peace with it.

I didn’t need Jax.

I didn’t need drama.

I needed distance and space to enjoy the rest of my summer.

So, when my phone beeped signaling a text, I thought I knew exactly how the conversation would happen.

Winner: See you tomorrow at 9. I have 2 hours.

Aubrey: I actually have a pretty good handle on the material this week. I appreciate all your help but I don’t think we need to meet tomorrow.

Winner: Real convenient Whitfield.

I could almost hear the low rumble in his voice when I read my name. I wiggled deeper into my blankets as chills ran up my spine.

Trying my best to hold on to the peace I was feeling that evening and not let him get under my skin, I replied as nice as I could again.

Aubrey: I know we had a rough conversation the other day but this isn’t about that. It really has nothing to do with convenience. I just would rather not take up your time when I understand the material.

Winner: Is that so?

Aubrey: Yes. Thank you for helping me get to this point.

I waited to see if he would respond and after a minute, I smiled when he didn’t. We handled that well.

I placed my phone on the nightstand and turned out the light.

A minute later, my phone buzzed. With it, my body zinged with anticipation.

I’d have to work on getting over that, I noted to myself.

I reached over and grabbed my phone. Laying back on my pillow, I stared at the screen.

Winner: Glad I could be of service. Any other services I could offer you tonight?

Instantly, my day flashed before my eyes. Nice, sweet, at peace.

I needed these days. I was in control of them.

I set my phone back on the nightstand, resolving to just ignore him. I needed to just act like I never read it, continue with my day of bliss.

The more I pushed myself to do that though, the more I considered the text.

What else could he offer me? Especially tonight? I knew he was just trying to get under my skin and make some ridiculous sexual advance but could he have really meant it? Would he follow through if I asked him to?

Not that I ever would. I hated everything he was doing. Hated his secrets, his lies and the way he made me feel out of control.

But I loved it too. So much so that I felt the wetness between my thighs.

Maybe I could keep control and see what he meant. I didn’t have to see him. I didn’t have to indulge in the emotional rollercoaster of being near him. Just a simple texting conversation. I rationalized.

I snatched my phone back up and typed a response quickly.

Aubrey: What exactly are you talking about, Jax?

Winner: I got a response. So, you’re interested. I never label shit between me and you. So, let’s just start with you telling me where you are and what you’re wearing.

My stomach flipped. This was wrong, still I didn’t hesitate to reply.

Aubrey: In bed. My tank and shorts.

Winner: Black?

I smiled.

Aubrey: Lucky guess.

Winner: Have you slipped your hand down those shorts yet?

My breath hitched. He was seriously going to do this. I’d never sexted or had phone sex before. Anticipation zinged through me.

I slid my hand in slow.

Aubrey: I just did.

Winner: Bad girl.

My nipples tightened as I imagined him saying just that softly in my ear. My eyes fluttered shut as I brushed my finger over myself with one hand. As my phone vibrated with another text, my body responded to just knowing more of his words came in. I moaned and cracked one eye to read it.

Winner: Take it slow.

I bit my lower lip, knowing I should slow down but not wanting to. I rotated my hips into my hand, rubbing myself faster.

I jumped when my phone rang. I swiped the screen when I saw it was him.

“What the hell, Jax?” I answered.

“You’re supposed to be taking it slow, Peaches.” His voice was gravelly, like he was lying next to me, ready.

“I could not be taking this anywhere,” I retorted.

“Is that why you sound breathless?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

My body hijacked control, took over steering my common sense in the right direction. I veered into enemy territory, not worrying about each emotional landmine we could set off.

My skin tingled as I imagined him touching me everywhere, his hands where mine were, running between my legs in perfect rhythm.

“Tell me you want this, Peaches.”

I hummed into my phone, pulling my roaming hand out of my shorts. “I have to go.”

“You have to go or you have to come?”

Lashing out wouldn’t do me any good. I knew that. So, I tried to grab the steering wheel from my body and veer it back to sanity.

“Stop thinking, Whitfield. Slide your hand back down your shorts.”

“Jax, the moment …”

“Just started. I make the moments and rules with us, baby.”

“No, you don’t.” The words sounded weak even to me. My body held the reins and all it wanted was to turn toward Pleasure Road with Jax.

Jax chuckled at my sorry excuse for a denial. “Spread your legs and feel how wet you are. Rub back and forth just like I would for you, baby.”

He hypnotized me with his voice like a melody rocking away all my thoughts.

“I want to be around you, next to you, touching you, in you,” he breathed. “It feel like I’m making a moment for you yet?”

My fingers slid over my clit and inside myself again. I didn’t even contemplate admitting how slick I was.

“That’s okay, Peaches. The next time we do this, I’ll make sure you answer every question.” He stopped for a second and then growled, “I’ll make you beg for it, and believe me, you’ll like it.”

I should have stopped, hung up the phone, and gone to sleep. Instead, I hummed, “Jax,” as my fingers picked up speed.

“Keep it moving. Almost there. You need to unravel tonight, baby, just let it take you. Feel me with you.”

My body let go of the steering wheel. I let go of my perfectly planned, relaxing day. I unleashed the ball of unknown in me and just let it roll spontaneously through me.

My orgasm hit so unexpectedly I practically screamed into the phone. It was feral, unhinged, and more ferocious than I’d felt in a long time.

As I came down from its high, my body shook when I realized Jax was breathing heavily on the phone.

“Jax, you okay?” I hesitated to say more. I didn’t know where to start. Should I thank him for the phone sex? Ask what he was doing?

“You felt me with you, Sweet Sin. Next time, I sure as fuck will be.”

I wanted to tell him there wouldn’t be a next time, tell him how wrong this was and that we shouldn’t do things like that anymore. But he hung up by the time I’d gathered myself enough to respond.

I searched for the feeling of guilt for going that far with him over the phone. I’d never done anything like that in my life. Never even ventured into that type of territory and instead of testing the waters, I’d thrown caution to the wind and dove all the way in.

I should have felt bad, I knew that. This wasn’t what a proper girl who followed the rules did. This wasn’t what a girl who wanted to blend in and relax through her summer did either.

The idea that I wasn’t proper made me smile a little though. I stared at the new décor with pops of color in my room and reveled in post-orgasm bliss.

This wasn’t proper maybe, but I needed to be me. If me was inviting the enemy back into my sheets through just a phone call, then so be it.

The sleep that came after shouldn’t have been so peaceful but I slept so soundly, I woke up later than usual and wasn’t prepared for class.

I especially wasn’t prepared for the firing of questions and impossible assignments that came my way. “Ms. Whitfield, you chose to invest in a stock that tanked this week. You have a theory behind that?”

“The market, in general, didn’t do well this week. I realize my investments took a hit but—”

“Do you intend to tell your clients that?”

I cleared my throat, not really knowing how to answer. “I, of course, want to be honest …”

“Honestly, no one cares how the market is doing. They care about what’s theirs.”

The other students’ eyes ping ponged between us. Mr. Gremble—the gremlin—had chosen to target me today. Everyone knew it and everyone was secretly happy it wasn’t them.

Trying to get away only mildly embarrassed, I sank a little lower into my seat and glanced around.

So many eyes were on me, staring, prying, making assumptions.

My mind started to swirl.

Panic filled my bones while sweat dampened my hands.

Normally, I would have been prepared for an anxiety attack. Normally, I had a very perfectly laid out routine in the morning that prepared me for everything.

Today, I jumped up to just the stupid birds outside my window because I’d fallen into a post-orgasm coma so quickly I hadn’t set my alarm.

Normally, I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and picked out comfortable, loose-fitting clothes that didn’t draw attention.

Today, I threw on a bright pink tank that I’m pretty sure Vick left in my room because I didn’t have time to grab anything else.

Normally, I had a cup of water with toast.

Today, I’d grabbed a cup of steaming coffee that Vick held out as I ran out the door.

My hands shook from either everyone staring or from the amount of caffeine flowing through my blood.

They were waiting for me to reply.

I was waiting for the floor to open up and swallow me up.

I responded with a meek, “I understand,” hoping he would just move on. The sweat beading on my forehead told me I might be losing enough oxygen to cause a scene if everyone’s eyes didn’t shift from me soon.

He didn’t move on and the students’ eyes didn’t shift. Instead, his eyes turned as evil as those little gremlin creatures from the nineties movie. “Do you really understand? Because I’m looking here at your assignment,”—he gestured down at my paper—“and I can only see error upon error. I thought you were going in the right direction, but now I’m sure you’re not cut out for this.”

I’d never been a victim of word vomit. I actually believed it wasn’t a reality until that moment. A ripple of some foreign body surged through me though, and spilled out of my mouth. “If I’m not cut out for it, then why are you wasting your time on me? You want me to do the assignment again? I’m happy to. This exchange though, is a waste of my and the class’s time. And, quite frankly, we’re your clients at the moment.”

His mouth snapped shut, like I’d jostled him out of his evil rage. Maybe my lashing out had woken him from his evil hibernation.

A few students’ mouths dropped. Mine did too.

I knew better. I’d been taught from a very young age not to talk back. As I shut my eyes and moved to start packing up my bag, I waited for the wave of guilt for talking back to sink in. I waited for the panic and hyperventilation to start.

Every single person was staring at me so wide-eyed, I could just imagine what they were thinking.

But the oddest thing happened. I didn’t imagine it, didn’t even really care to think about it. And when I gasped for a breath of fresh air, it flowed into my lungs so clear and crisp, I actually smiled.

“Ms. Whitfield!” The professor snapped.

I looked up to face him as I slid my backpack on my shoulder. “Yes?”

“Where do you think you’re going?”

My spine straightened with a newfound spirit. “I figured you were going to kick me out of class. I’m happy to go.”

He humphed. “You’re all dismissed. You can thank your classmate here,”—he pointed to me—“for the early day and for the new assignment I’m giving you all.”

Everyone started to groan. He held up his hand. “Now, hold on. You all got below a C on your last one. I’m giving you the option, because Ms. Whitfield thinks she can do better, to redo it. Your choice.”

As students filed out, some grumbled thanks a lot as they passed but I stood there, still staring at our professor. As he sat down at his desk, he didn’t look up but slumped over the papers almost like I’d defeated him.

Every class, he looked menacing walking back and forth in front of us all, like an old bull pacing back and forth, ready to headbutt anyone who challenged him.

Sitting behind the desk though, he looked tired.

I walked up, bewildered with myself for even approaching and said, “Professor?”

He sighed and looked up over the glasses that sat on the rim of his nose. His eyebrows were too bushy for his face and his mouth pursed before he responded. “Yes, Ms. Whitfield?”

“Why did you do that?”

He smiled a little more to himself than me. “You’re right. You’re my client. You pay to go to school, and you pay to be in my class. I get carried away because I want all of you to actually get something from the transaction. You pay me, and I give you the knowledge to survive in the investment world.”

I nodded. “I appreciate the chance to redo my assignment.”

He nodded back. “I’ve enjoyed some of your assignments and your strategy. Don’t let me down with this one.”

I walked out of the classroom questioning whether or not I should pinch myself. With my morning routine destroyed, and word vomit coming out to play, nothing should have panned out well for me.

I hovered over Jay’s name because he would have been the first person I should have wanted to call. I thought about each of those Stonewood boys as I leaned against the hallway wall. They each evoked such a different emotion in me.

Jay was home, my anchor, my foundation. He lifted me up just as much as I did him. He’d celebrate the moment with me but he’d also worry about my panic.

Jett didn’t know much about me, yet he knew everything about everyone. I’d never shared anything about my life with him other than my finances he controlled, and then every time I talked to him, there was no doubt in my mind that he was somehow omniscient. If I called him, he’d listen, but I’d never called him for something so trivial like my monumental life moments.

I scrolled to find “Winner” at the bottom of my contacts. Although he was at the bottom, he was at the top, ruling everything in my life even when I wanted him to be a mere afterthought.

I highlighted his name and hit the green call button.

It rang twice before he picked up. “Peaches, you told me we weren’t meeting today.”

His voice sounded detached and far away.

“I know. And we aren’t.” I clarified.

He hummed like he wasn’t paying much attention.

“Jax, what are you doing?”

“Working …”

“Working on your investments or songwriting?”

I heard rustling, typing, and a sigh. “I retired from music. I’m writing code for my app launch.”

The word retirement sounded so final on his lips, I wanted to ask why and pry from him the reason.

I ignored the need though. He wasn’t mine to figure out anymore.

“You don’t hire someone for that?” I stopped walking to wait for traffic to pass before I crossed the street.

He chuckled. “I would if I could find anyone I trusted to do it better than me.”

There it was again. Jax being king of everything without even trying. “Well, I might need your help with something I thought I could do better than you.” My voice was a little more breathless as I picked up my pace to cross the street. I blamed it on that, although I admit the night before crossed my mind. Begging, even asking him for something, ignited a small fire in me.

It must have done the same in him because I heard a grunt before he said, “Ask me and say please, Sweet Sin.”

I licked my lips. “I should tell you that you are being inappropriate. But today, I’ve decided I don’t care about appropriateness. Want to know why?”

“You sound like you might tell me even if I say no.”

“Yes, I will because today, I overcame a panic attack all on my own by just being me, Jax.”

“You had an attack?”

“Yes, well, almost. I was—”

“Where are you?” His voice boomed over the phone loud enough to have me stopping mid stride on my street.

“I’m about to be home.”

“I’m coming over.”

“What? No! Why?” I stuttered.

“You had an attack! Last time you could barely breathe …”

“You’re not listening, Jax!” I nearly yelled back. “You, of all people, know not to freak out and baby me. “

I heard his breath, in and out. Then, “Okay, I’m listening.”

I let the smile slip from my lips as I relayed the story to him. I unlocked the door to my apartment and went straight to my room. “I probably seemed a little unhinged. And I think I was. It was like I was dealing with …”

You.

Catching myself, I cleared my throat.

He pushed me. “Like you were dealing with? Me?”

I cleared my throat again. “Not necessarily …”

“Why can’t you admit it, Whitfield? I make you the kind of crazy you want to be.”

“You make me crazy, that’s for sure.”

He chuckled. “I’ll take it. So, it sounds like you still need my help investing.”

“I think I can handle—”

“We can study tonight if you want to.” His voice, normally so full of confidence, carried a hint of vulnerability. I almost invited him with us.

“I can’t tonight. I have plans.”

The silence that stretched over the line scraped at my nerves. It would have been polite to fill it with small talk, to delve into my plans, to share more. I sacrificed my most precious formalities for those kids though.

So, my mouth stayed shut long enough for him to concede. I expected a harsh response or a question. Instead, he sighed. “Tomorrow I’m going back to Chicago. We’ll have to plan for early next week.”

Now, the tables turned. I wanted to ask the questions and pry for information.

Why this weekend?

Was it for work? For play? For visiting purposes?

I cleared my throat. “See you next week then.”

True to himself, he hung up before a goodbye could be exchanged. I stared at the colors of the pictures I’d hung on my wall for a long while after the call. I teetered on the edge of calling him back and inviting him to go with me to see the kids.