Jax (Titan #9)(13)

"Because if that was a social call, you should know who you're dealing with."

"Who am I dealing with?"

Sidney folded his arms and studied Jax. "Someone I'm not sure you deserve."

"Why's that?"

"Because she's a sweet, pierced, hair-dyed saint."

Jax's brows arched. "Are you and her…"

Sidney shook his head. "Nah. I'm happily committed to the love of my life and his unending need to troll for news on Twitter."

"Sounds like a happy life."

Sidney motioned toward Seven's office. "Which is what she deserves. Did you want me to mention you liked the smoothie?" he asked, making his scrutiny of Jax's incoming answer clear.

"Nah. I'll tell her myself."

Things he'd learned about Seven—she was a business owner, Mayhem princess, and caretaker of her mother. Did she ever get a rest? And no wonder she'd slapped him. Maybe she wanted to sleep.





CHAPTER SEVEN


The pastry dough was almost at the perfect consistency. The sugar-scented air was as relaxing as kneading the giant bowl of scone mix for the batch of Main Street weekend snackers.

Normally, baking was Seven's version of self-care that she could control, unlike when she felt urges to fold blankets and linens a specific way. Some people did yoga. Seven contemplated piercings, strayed to a new hair color, and made pastries to relax. Oh, and coffee. She never stopped thinking about coffee. Whoever said that working on the same task for ten thousand hours would make a person an expert might have been right, but she also believed in such thing as status quo, and she didn't want to plateau. Complacency was boring.

"Seven," Sidney called from the front counter. "Phone call."

Her phone had rung a minute ago, but she was elbows deep in dough. One person had called in sick, and Seven and Sidney were slammed, prepping and preparing for the afternoon crowd to hit. "I'll call back. Can you take a message?"

"He said you're not answering your cell and it's important," Sidney called again.

Well, shit. Had that last call been Jax? Seven had set a special ring to alert her if he called, scone-dough hands or not. She rushed over to the wall phone, hands covered in batter, and went to grab the handset but decided to peck the speakerphone with her nose instead then turned to the sink. "Got it, Sidney."

The Perky Cup might have world-class coffee, but they still had a phone system straight out of the 1980s. No one used the landlines except for the vendors, and The Perky Cup's hold button was less than reliable.

"'Kay," Sidney said. "You are now on the phone with the goddess of blueberry scones. You can speak."

Seven froze halfway to the sink and waited for Jax's reaction. On any other call, that would've been funny. But Jax, in all his moody seriousness, likely didn't find it funny. Sidney clicked off, and Seven groaned, ready to apologize. "He didn't know—"

"Good thing you're talking to the god of we're going to do your job," a deeply masculine, non-Jax voice boomed through her kitchen.

Oh, fuck. She lunged for the phone's handset, doughy hands and all. "Well, this is all kinds of awkward."

His grumbly laughter met her ears. "Jared Westin. We've not spoken on the phone before."

"Nope." She resisted the urge to wipe her hands off. It wouldn't have done much good, and she would've still been stuck with buttery, doughy hands plus the shitty benefit of an apron that needed a heavy washing. "I generally keep my goddess-like qualities to myself the first time on the phone."

"Mm-hmm."

"And you probably don't work your god status into normal conversations. Maybe we should start over?" Seven had no idea how to handle a business call with Mr. Titan himself.

He laughed. "You'd be surprised how often I drop that reminder."

Actually, she could see that.

"Now," Jared continued, "you, personally, want Titan Group to do this job. Yes or no?"

He asked in a way that was more of an order than a question, and she almost wanted to snap to attention and salute him instead of saying yes. "Me, personally? Yes. I want Mayhem to stop."

"Mm-hmm. Okay."

"Can you do what people think you can?"

That time his laughter wasn't grumbly; it was almost amused. Or maybe he found the question comical. "More than that, Seven."

She'd had few interactions with Ryder's boss's boss. But the stories she'd heard were whoa. And then there was Sugar, Jared's wife. She wasn't necessarily a fan of Seven's. They'd butted heads, but Seven got the impression that Sugar butted heads with almost everybody at first, and Seven appreciated that apprehensive quality. Sugar seemed very Mayhem-like, protective over her people. "Are you going to do it?"

"I talked to Ryder and Victoria."

Seven's eyes widened. "On their don't-talk-to-us-unless-people-are-dying honeymoon?" Ryder had sworn up and down that, wherever they were going, the place was secluded enough that no one on the face of the earth would ever be able to get ahold of them, lest there was an emergency. The current situation, in Seven's mind, did not constitute an emergency, and the last thing she wanted to do was interrupt her best friend's honeymoon on day one. Did that not make her the worst best friend on earth? Yeah, it kind of did.