Red-hot cinnamon.
Sparkling blue sin.
Salt rocks breaking my heart.
* * *
Chapter 1: Jack
Ten years and eleven months later…
“Last one in has to ride home naked!” Tiffany hurls her silky red dress over her head and runs through the trees headed for the lake.
The wheels on my black Audi R8 have barely stopped moving. I haven’t even killed the engine. An empty wine bottle clatters against an empty tequila bottle rolling around on the floorboards, and I briefly think I should toss them in a nearby trashcan.
Propping my elbow on the steering wheel, I scrub the back of my neck with my fingers. My hair is so short now, it’s the best I can do.
I haven’t had a drink in almost an hour. I’d finished a bottle of scotch in my office, standing in front of my floor to ceiling glass windows looking down on the city, disbelief vibrating in my chest.
My career…
My reputation…
It’s over.
All of it.
File after file, telling me my win, my multi-million dollar defense… all of it is based on lies.
“Fuck!” I shout, slamming my palm against the wheel.
The buzzing in my head is gone along with the numbness in my chest, and all the shock and pain and pure, unadulterated outrage rush back like a wall of water before a hurricane.
A hurricane that will send everything I’ve worked for these last ten years crashing down around me.
Pulling the handle on the door, I push it open and step out into the darkness. The ground is covered in moldering leaves, and it smells like faintly mildewed canvas, damp lichens, and dirt.
“Jackson! What are you doing?” Tiffany shrieks between splashes out in the black water of the lake.
Exactly. “What the fuck am I doing here?”
My chest is tight, and each inhale is like claws ripping my lungs from the ins
ide.
It took an hour to drive from my Eighth Avenue high-rise corner office building to this lonely, two-lane highway leading to the lake. Somewhere along the way, I realized I didn’t know what the fuck Tiffany was talking about or why she was even in my car. She followed me down the elevator, into the parking garage, laughing and pouring another shot of tequila on the way.
I’ve got the fucking receptionist with me.
I need to get her back to the city.
Digging in the pocket of my blazer, I pull out my phone and stare at the face. My lock screen is a photo of crystal blue waters, and for a moment, my thoughts blur. I left my home near the ocean with big dreams.
Half of them came true.
I finished undergrad at the top of my class, went to law school on a free-ride, headed straight into a Top Five firm when I graduated, and now I’m one of the highest-paid litigators handling mostly corporate corruption with the occasional car crash thrown in for variety.
My face is in every “Top Thirty under Thirty” feature in the city and online. My phone never stops ringing.