Chapter 297: Cannot Wait

Chapter 297: Cannot Wait
I couldn't hold back my laughter. "Kids, don't be mean. James really wants your uncle's support."

"Why?" Theo asked, his small face suddenly serious.

I hesitated, then decided on honesty. "Because he wants to be part of our family, and he knows your uncle and pop-pop have a lot of influence over you two."

They exchanged a look I couldn't quite decipher, but before I could probe further, my phone rang. James's name flashed on the screen.

"Mission accomplished," he said without preamble when I answered. "Nathan's agreed to talk to your father."

"That was fast. What did you offer him?"

"Charlotte's address. That information was worth its weight in gold." James sounded triumphant. "When I told him she was ill, he went from ice-cold to burning with questions in half a second. The man's still in love with her, no question."

"And he agreed to help?"

"Not at first. He asked why he should, and I laid out the simple facts—the twins deserve to know their father, and your father's prejudice is robbing them of that opportunity."

"He was unmoved until I mentioned Charlotte. The minute he asked which hospital, I knew I had him. We made a deal: he talks to your father, I give him all the details about Charlotte."

"So what's next?"

"Next, I meet your father. Without you."

"What? Why can't I—"

"Nathan says it needs to be just Liam and me. Man to man."

I sighed, worry already gnawing at me. My father could be ruthless when it came to protecting family. "When?"

"Tomorrow afternoon. Nathan's already setting it up."

"Good luck," I said softly. "You're going to need it."



The next day, I paced my apartment, checking my phone obsessively for updates. When none came, I took matters into my own hands, pulling up the security app Nathan had installed at our father's house. 

The garden cameras revealed my father in worn jeans and a sun hat, tending to his prized rose bushes. He looked up as James—impeccable in a charcoal Tom Ford suit—approached with a wrapped bottle in hand.

I couldn't hear what they said, but my father's dismissive gesture was clear enough. He pointed to a patch of unfinished garden work, then disappeared into the house, leaving James standing alone.

For a moment, James looked utterly lost, the expensive wine bottle dangling from his hand. Then he set it carefully aside, removed his suit jacket, rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, and got to work.

I watched, half in disbelief, as James Thornton—Wall Street titan, billionaire CEO, man who probably hadn't touched dirt since childhood—knelt in the soil and began pulling weeds. His movements were awkward at first, but he quickly found a rhythm, methodically clearing the flower bed just as my father would have done.

An hour passed, then two. Dark clouds gathered overhead, and soon rain began to fall—lightly at first, then in sheets. I expected James to retreat, but he simply worked faster, rain plastering his hair to his forehead, mud splattering his once-pristine trousers and shoes.

Through another camera, I could see my father watching from the window, his expression inscrutable.

Finally, the garden door opened and my father stepped out, sheltered under an umbrella. James straightened, his white shirt now nearly transparent and streaked with mud.

They spoke for several minutes, James gesturing occasionally with dirt-covered hands. My father's rigid posture gradually softened. When James finally turned to leave, my father extended his hand—not for a handshake, but offering his umbrella.

James declined with a small smile, walking back to his car in the downpour.

I quickly called my father.

"What happened with James?" I asked without preamble.

"We talked," he replied simply. "He's not what I expected."

"Meaning?"

A pause. "Meaning I'll talk to the kids."

Relief flooded through me. "Thank you, Dad."

"Don't thank me yet. I haven't decided if he's good enough for you."

I smiled at his gruffness. "But you'll give him a fair chance?"

Another pause. "Yes. I'll give him that much."



After ending the call, I texted Marcus to find out where James had gone.

Hotel Beacon, near your father's place. Changed his schedule to shower there before heading back to the office.

I grabbed my purse and keys, making a quick call to Mrs. Jenkins to confirm she could stay late with the twins.

Forty minutes later, I knocked on James's hotel room door, a garment bag containing fresh clothes slung over my arm. I'd intercepted his driver, volunteering to deliver the change of clothing myself.

The door swung open, revealing James with damp hair and a towel wrapped around his waist. His eyes widened in surprise.

"What are you doing here?"

I stepped inside, letting the door close behind me. "Delivering your clothes."

His surprise melted into something warmer, darker, as his eyes traveled over me. "You could have sent Marcus."

"I wanted to see you." I moved closer, my hand coming to rest on his chest. His skin was still warm from the shower, droplets of water clinging to his shoulders.

"I'm a mess," he said, self-deprecating smile playing at his lips. "You should have seen me earlier."

"I did. I watched the security feed."

His eyebrows rose. "Spying on me?"

"I was worried." My fingers traced the defined muscles of his abdomen, feeling them tense under my touch. "You impressed my father."

"Did I?" His voice dropped lower as his hands found my waist, pulling me against him. "And did I impress you?"

"Very much." I tilted my face up, breath catching as his lips brushed mine. "Though I have to say, mud and rain is a new look for you."

He chuckled against my mouth. "Not one I plan to repeat." His hands slid beneath my blouse, thumbs tracing circles on my ribs. "Right now, all I can think about is getting you out of these clothes."

"Then stop talking," I murmured, already working at his towel.

The garment bag hit the floor, forgotten, as James backed me against the wall. His mouth was hot and demanding against mine, tongue sliding past my parted lips in a deep, searching kiss. I moaned, fingers tangling in his damp hair as one of his hands slipped under my skirt.

"So many fucking layers," he growled, tugging impatiently at my clothing.

We stumbled toward the bathroom, leaving a trail of discarded garments in our wake. Steam still lingered from his shower as he lifted me onto the marble counter, pushing my knees apart to stand between them.

His mouth traced a burning path down my neck, teeth scraping my collarbone before descending to capture one nipple. I gasped, arching into him as his tongue swirled around the sensitive peak.

"James," I panted, nails digging into his shoulders. "Bed. Now."

He shook his head, fingers sliding between my thighs to find me already wet for him. "Can't wait that long."