He gets up and makes quick work of it. The machine is one of those fancy ones that takes thirty seconds to brew an entire pot, so it’s only a brief pause before he slides a mug in front of me and resumes his seat. Jonas rotates his stool to face me. “Do you want the hard truth or do you want me to blow smoke up your ass?”
“I don’t need to be babied.” It’s something I’ve never asked for. Never wanted.
“In that case…” He shrugs. “You’re the reason this is happening.”
I jerk back as if he reached out and slapped me. “Wow, Jonas. Thanks for the hard truth. You think I don’t know that already?”
“Put your pride in the backseat and listen.” He arches his brows. “Or you can throw a fit and we can stop talking about this and get back to fucking.”
It would be simpler that way. I didn’t mean to confess my fears to him, and he’s obviously garbage at comfort. Still, I asked for hard truth and I need to be able to take it. I draw myself up. “Please continue.”
Something in his eyes softens a little at that, but his tone is just as no-nonsense as ever. “You are not your father, Blake. You’re trying to emulate the way he did business, and it’s not going to work. You need to find your own path and style, and that takes time. Some of those accounts are going to cancel because of a variety of reasons that are all beyond your control. Clinging to that as failure is just going to turn you into a self-fulfilling prophecy. And then you really will fail.”
“I don’t have time. If we keep losing accounts—”
“You have time. Stop prioritizing the wrong things and work on strengthening the relationships with the clients who already trust you. If you neglect them because you’re chasing the ones who are already gone, then you’re really in trouble.”
I stare. “It’s not that simple.”
“No. Fuck, no. It’s not simple. This kind of thing is why I got out of the business when I did. I’m too stubborn and I’m no good at the politicking bullshit. But your father is—and so are you. You just need to reprioritize.”
I pick up my mug, more for something to do than because the coffee is a drinkable temperature. “Doing things that way will change a lot.”
“Maybe things need to change.” He shrugs. “Victor wouldn’t have given you the company if he didn’t believe you could run it successfully. He loves the fuck out of you, but he’s not a fool. There are people whose livelihoods depend on you succeeding.”
“Thanks for that reminder,” I say faintly. “No pressure.”
He snorts. “You’re doing a hell of a job of putting pressure on yourself. Like this shit with the Henderson job.” He waves at himself. “I am not the only architect around, and I’m not even close to the best. There are plenty of up-and-coming people who can do what I do and do it better—and cheaper. You know that, but you let yourself get so afraid of failure that you stopped even registering the other options.”
He might be right. Hell, he probably is. It still stings something fierce. I set down my mug. “I really don’t want to talk about that client.”
“You have things covered, Blake. Trust yourself enough to see it through.”
Something like anger sparks in my chest. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I do or don’t have covered.”
“I know enough.” Now it’s his turn to look away. “You don’t think Victor talks about you all the fucking time? It’s annoying as hell.”
“So sorry that news about me is annoying. You should tell my father to stop.”
“If I do that, I have to tell him why.” He looks back at me, eyes almost too intense. “Then I have to tell him that I’ve been jacking to his daughter’s taste for six fucking years, and that is not a conversation I’m ever going to have.”
Shock steals my anger. “What?”
“Is that so surprising?” He gives a smile that’s more like a grimace. “Fuck, Blake. I didn’t even hesitate last night. You gave me the green light and I had my fingers in your pussy seconds later.”
I shiver. Obviously I know he wants me. Jonas isn’t the type to have sex with someone he isn’t interested in, let alone the kind of intense sex we’ve been having. But there’s something about hearing him admit that he’s wanted me just as long as I’ve wanted him washes away what little worry I had about this. “Well, you did find me fingering myself with my face in your pillow.”
“Yeah, I did.” His lips curve a little. “Shocked the fuck out of me.”
This conversation feels a bit like walking a tightrope over a pit of crocodiles. “He talks about you a lot, too,” I finally admit. “I find it equally annoying for the exact same reasons.”