I Wish You Were Mine (Oxford #2)(54)

Her lips parted in surprise before a wide smile spread across her face. A genuine smile.

“I’m so glad, Jackson. Truly. For the Redhawks? I bet Jerry is dying to have you.”

He shrugged. “Not really. Wants me to get my image cleaned up. Seems he’s worried that my shitty rep means the guys won’t listen to me.”

Her smile disappeared. “So if you don’t get this, it’s because of me.”

“You and your lies,” he said. “Pretty much.”

Her teeth dug into her bottom lip. “I’m sorry. You don’t know how sorry.”

“You could fix it, you know,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “You could go to the press. Tell them you lied.” She looked away, and he laughed. “Yeah. Thought so.”

“Jackson—”

“Don’t worry about it, Mad. I’ve got my own plan for damage control.”

Her eyes narrowed just slightly before she resumed a placid smile. “How?”

“I’m going to tell my side of the story.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I’m doing a tell-all interview.”

She snorted. “You’ve always had a firm policy against talking to the press.”

“Something you counted on when you spread your toxic lies, huh?”

For the first time since entering his office she lost her smooth control and her eyes went a little wide in panic. “This is ridiculous. Too much time has passed. You’ll just look like you’re shoveling pathetic excuses. Nobody will believe you.”

She was spitting her sentences out rapid-fire, and he gave her a soothing smile he knew would piss her off. “If nobody will believe me, why are you so worried?”

Madison didn’t respond. Her scarlet nails were tapping against the arm of the chair, and he knew her well enough to be aware that her mind was racing.

“What if there was another way?” she asked.

“Another way for what?”

“For you to get the coaching job.”

“There’s not,” he said flatly. “The NFL won’t touch me with a ten-foot pole so long as I’m public enemy number one.”

She stood and picked up her purse. “Don’t give that interview just yet. Promise me.”

“I’m not promising you shit.”

“Two days.” She held up a couple of fingers. “I need two days.”

“For what?”

Instead of answering she spun on her heel and went to the door, turning back once she was in the doorway. “I’m not done with you, Jackson. And like it or not, you’re not done with me either.”

Madison was gone before he could reply, leaving only the faint scent of her favorite Jimmy Choo perfume behind.

“You’re wrong,” Jackson said, even though nobody was around to hear him. Because somehow he felt it was important to say it out loud.

But even after speaking the words, Jackson couldn’t ignore the gnawing worry that Madison was about to make his life a hell of a lot more complicated.





Chapter 22


Mollie wasn’t much of a cook, but she did have one pretty kick-ass specialty: grilled cheese.

She made a killer grilled cheese sandwich. She knew the secret. See, people thought it was all about the cheese, but that actually wasn’t true. Any kind of cheese was delicious when it was all gooey and melty.

No, the difference between an average grilled cheese sandwich and an exceptional one was the bread.

Mollie was partial to sourdough. Nothing beat a grilled cheese sandwich with freshly baked sourdough and perfectly melted Swiss.

Lucky for her, New York City wasn’t short on bakeries, and it had taken only a couple of minutes of googling before she’d found a bakery that had sourdough bread within walking distance of their apartment. Add in a stop for some cheese, a bottle of wine for her, beer for Jackson, and she was in business—the business of making dinner for Jackson Burke.

She was singing along with a Dixie Chicks oldie, sipping a glass of wine and spreading the perfectly softened butter onto the bread, when she heard the front door open.

“Hey there!” she called as she heard the clink of his keys hitting the silver key tray in the foyer.

Jackson appeared in the kitchen. He tossed his suit jacket on the back of the barstool, his finger already hooking into his tie in the now familiar gesture of loosening it.

Big dope that she was, her heart swelled at the sight of him—at least until she realized that he hadn’t said anything in greeting. Hadn’t even looked at her.

She frowned as he walked to the fridge and pulled out one of the bottles of beer she’d bought him—a local craft brew he’d mentioned liking—without acknowledging its appearance in his kitchen. He flipped the top off and took a long sip.

Her eyes took on a worried look as she gazed at him. This tense, angry Jackson wasn’t the Jackson who’d left her naked in bed this morning. This was the same Jackson she’d met in the bar weeks ago. What the hell could have happened to change him from—

Then it hit her.

Madison.

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. Madison was the only one who could have done this to him.

Thinking about her next move, she took a sip of wine, then set the butter knife aside. No way was she wasting one of her perfect grilled cheese sandwiches on him until she knew what was going on here.