Within These Walls (Within These Walls #1)(80)

I nodded, scooting over to make a spot for her on the bed. I grabbed the remote and flipped on the TV. I figured watching something mindless would be far better than conversation.

Nope. Definitely wrong.

My gut twisted as the food in my stomach suddenly turned sour. There, on the nightly news, in bright HD quality was Jude in a polished three-piece suit, walking into the towering skyscraper of Cavanaugh Investments. Cameras and microphones were being shoved in his face, and he pushed them away.

The caption at the bottom read, Elusive Cavanaugh Son Returns to Spotlight.

“Jude!” a reporter shouted. “Where have you been?”

“Is the recent downfall of your family’s company the reason for your sudden reappearance?” another yelled.

He turned swiftly to address the crowd with glaring confidence. His eyes stared into the camera that was dead ahead, and my heart flip-flopped at the sight of him.

He looked regal. His tattoos were covered underneath the expensive fabric of his tailored gray suit. His hair had been cut shorter, accentuating his chiseled jawline and pale green eyes.

“While it is true that Cavanaugh Investments has had its share of hurdles in recent years, like most Americans, I can assure you, we are on the mend. My number one priority at this time is my family and the thousands of people we employ. Thank you,” he said, turning back, severing my view of his face.

I watched the last few seconds as the cameras followed him. Reporters shouted more questions that he ignored, and then he disappeared behind the double doors.

The TV shut off, but I continued to stare at the black screen.

“Are you okay?” my mom asked.

“No,” I answered honestly.

At least I had my answer. I knew where he was. He’d returned home, back to his normal life and far away from me.

I was too hard to love, too difficult to be around.

He’d chosen the easy path, the safe route.

I guessed I had, too.

Twenty-eight: Boxes—Jude

THE MINUTES TICKED by as I sat in my office, staring at the computer screen.

Things were far worse than Roman had let on.

Financially, the family was still well off, thanks to the mastermind who had been my grandfather, but the company was failing.

If I hadn’t come back when I had, layoffs would have been imminent. Even still, I would need to be pretty damn creative to keep people in their current jobs.

My eyes drifted up to the clock again and then back down to my phone.

Five minutes.

I tapped my pen against the glass desk, silently waiting, as the last few minutes wasted away, knowing I wouldn’t get shit done until my phone lit up.

Seven o’clock on the dot, Marcus’s name flashed across my screen.

I immediately picked it up and answered, “Hey.”

“Hey, J-Man.”

“How is she today?” I asked.

I could almost hear the smile through the phone line.

“You’re like a broken record.”

“Marcus.”

“Okay, damn. She’s okay. She’s finally eating. Grace and Molly have been staying with her around the clock, and she’s slowly returning to the land of the living.”

“It’s been three weeks.”

“Yeah, I understand, but you left her—in the middle of the night. How did you expect her to react?”

Leaning back in my ridiculously overpriced leather chair, I pinched the bridge of my nose. “When are you going to tell her?”

“Tomorrow. I’m going over there for dinner, and Molly is going to announce that she sent in the appeal, and it went through.”

“Think Lailah will believe her?”

“I don’t know, but that’s why I’ll be there. I’ll help back it up.”

“Good.”

“She’s not happy,” he confessed, his voice sounded tired and full of regret.

“That makes two of us. But I’d rather have her hate me and live a long, healthy life than have her love me and die tomorrow, knowing I could have done something to stop it.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Jude,” he stressed.

I ignored his comment entirely. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing anymore.

“You have the money. Make it happen. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” I said before ending the call and tossing the phone onto the desk.

“You know, when you asked for immediate access to your bank accounts, I didn’t think twice about it,” my brother said as he entered the office. Hands in his pockets, he leisurely walked to my desk and took a seat in front of me. “Rich kid on the streets for several years? I just figured you’d had enough. But now, I wonder, what did you need all that money for, Jude?”

“None of your f**king business,” I answered, rising from my chair.

His eyes wandered up my exposed forearms where the dark ink of my tattoos showed. “All right, but it will be my business if it turns into something illegal.”

Bending down, I placed my hands on the desk in front of me, so I could meet his smug stare. “Like you’re one to talk, jackass.”

He flew out of his chair, and his face came inches from me. “Don’t you dare judge me, Jude. You weren’t here. You left me with a f**king loon of a father and a board who thought I was a moron. Well, it turns out, they’re right. I’m good for one thing—public relations. Put me on a magazine, shove me in front of a camera, and I’m golden. But ask me to run a company, and this is what you get—absolute shit. So, congratulations, brother. I hope you enjoyed your extended vacation, pretending to be a commoner in California. This is your goddamn fault. Have fun cleaning it up.”