Her expression turned icy, and she set the glass down on the table with too much force, creating a thunk between them. “That was uncalled for.”
“Why? It’s the truth.”
A truth she’d always hated to recognize. Because Cam wasn’t just football royalty. Way before her dad had earned his first million with product endorsements, Cam’s mother had come from a long line of New York society royalty.
“Why do you always have to throw my money in my face?” she demanded.
“Why do people climb Mount Everest? Because it’s there, Cam.”
Rumor said her great-great grandfather had invested in one or two of Cornelius Vanderbilt’s ventures back in the nineteenth century, and the ensuing generations had managed to live off the interest from those investments ever since. Of course, each family member was also expected to increase the wealth with profits of their own, and not a single one of them had dared to disappoint.
Laurel Delgado Wallace Kiernan Moffit Ellison owned a string of designer jewelry stores and a major league baseball franchise (a not-too-subtle slap to Duke and Bertie, no doubt). Ironically, her never-ending cycle of marriage, divorce, marriage, divorce didn’t come from some need to constantly marry up. Her individual net worth exceeded that of all of her husbands combined—and the tightest prenups made sure her money stayed her money. No, Laurel never married for cash or clout. She married for love—every single time. Unfortunately, she tended to fall out of love as quickly as she fell in. And when she fell out of love, the former object of her affections became a target for her disgust.
Before being allowed to take over the running of the Delgado Foundation, Cam had had to prove herself. Like her mother, she earned her first million while still a freshman in college. In Cam’s case, she’d invested in green energy technology and financially backed a scientist who’d developed a hinge used in wind turbines around the world.
Unlike her mother, Cam didn’t believe in love and romance and happily ever after. Too many stepfathers in too few years, followed by heated arguments and flaming departures, had permanently soured her on the idea of becoming a part of any semblance of a couple.
The bitterness returned, ready to overwhelm him, and he couldn’t hold back the caustic words burning his tongue. “You try to pretend you’re just like the rest of us, but you’re not and you never were. Your money’s this enormous wall that keeps you closed in, closed up, closed off. Occasionally, you’ll let a peon like me into your world, but not forever. Never forever.”
For a while, like some smitten teenager with his first crush, Jordan had thought the two of them stood a chance of making their relationship work—especially if he could have convinced her to move to Texas. Away from the drama her mother routinely inflicted, out of sight of the press, starting over somewhere new as a relative unknown, she could have lived the kind of life she always claimed she wanted.
Turned out, her whispered wishes to run away with him, give up the relentless spotlight, and focus on just the two of them had all been a lie. A sham she created to make him feel better about his unpolished, unmoneyed background.
Across from him now, her complexion paled, and all the celebratory air deflated from their surroundings. “As I recall,” she retorted through gritted teeth, “you left me. I’m not the one who couldn’t wait to sign a contract and move two thousand miles away.”
Before he could respond, the waitress reappeared at his side with a tall glass of iced tea and a big smile. “All set to order?”
Jordan rolled back from the table. “On second thought, I can’t stay,” he replied. “Cam, I’ll have our legal team send the contracts to your legal team. It would probably be for the best if you and I let them iron out the details without us.”
Her lips tightened into a thin line. She took another sip of her wine and nodded. “I think you’re right.”
At her agreement, he turned and made his way back to the restaurant’s main doors without another word. Next time they met, he should probably be armored for battle.
Chapter 7
Jordan was still fuming about Cam on Wednesday night when he and a group of friends met to watch the Yankees game at Marcus’s apartment.
Marcus’s wife, Theresa, greeted him at the door. She was tall and regal, dressed in a yolk-yellow jumpsuit that made her skin glow. A hammered gold neckpiece circled her throat and matching squares the size of dominoes decorated her earlobes. Theresa Haines was every inch a strong, Black woman with an ocean-sized heart and a laugh that could make you dance to its music.
He offered her the six-pack on his lap and, taking the cans, she bent to gather him close and give him a kiss on the cheek. Instantly, he was enveloped in the scent of gardenias.
“How are you, Jordie?”
Theresa was the only person in the world he allowed to use that juvenile nickname. “I’m good, Reese.”
One ridiculous nickname deserved another.
“You sure? You seem a bit tense to me.” She squeezed his shoulder. “Like you’re carrying an awful lot of weight around here.”
Luckily, she didn’t wait to hear a denial. He’d hate to lie to her.
Releasing him, she pushed the door open wider with her hip then stepped back to give him room. “Come on in. Can I get you something to drink?” She held up the six-pack. “One of these, maybe?”
He shook his head. “Those are for you. Hard berry ciders. The ones we had at the vineyard out east last month.”
“You found them?” Theresa looked at the cans, then shimmied on her toes. “Mmm. Mmm. Mmm. Please don’t tell me you drove all the way out there again just to make me smile in the middle of the week.”
“You’d be worth it, but no. Believe it or not, I found them in the supermarket near my place last week. Grabbed
