Junk Mail

by Kendall Ryan

  Let the seduction game commence.

  Chapter Ten

  Peyton

  “Come on, Gram! Our ride is here!”

  I put on my favorite gold chandelier earrings and checked my makeup one last time in the foyer’s full-length mirror. Josh’s last-minute invite to a formal corporate event might have thrown me if not for my stockpile of bridesmaid dresses. Luckily, this emerald-green dress from a wedding last winter still fits like a glove. It’s modest, to the knee, and has cap sleeves. It looks particularly good paired with my game face. I’m ready to network like a boss. Because, well, I am a boss.

  “Don’t get your panties in a bunch!” Gram squawks. “I’m comin’!”

  I peer out the window to make sure the sleek black town car in our driveway hasn’t left without us. I was perfectly satisfied with driving ourselves or taking public transit to the event, but Josh insisted on sending a company car to drive us there. I was tempted to ask if he sends town cars to the homes of all their prospective business partners, but it seemed safer to just assume this is standard practice.

  Moments later, Gram descends the stairs rocking a bright-red ankle-length dress speckled with gold sequins. Where the hell she got it, I haven’t a clue. I’m just glad she agreed to be my plus-one.

  When Josh mentioned the invitation was for me and a guest, I entertained the idea of bringing either Sabrina or Libby, but I wasn’t entirely certain I could trust either of them to play it cool with what they know about Josh. One poorly timed joke about a certain account manager’s impressive third leg, and I might as well start writing a eulogy for my deal with his and Brody’s company. Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to mourn the loss of a potential business deal, ruined by an inappropriate dick joke.

  With Gram in tow, I head down the driveway and slide into the back of the town car. I may not know much about cars, but I know this one is leagues above anything I’ve ridden in before. Heated seats in the back? Does the Queen of England normally ride in this thing?

  “Well, isn’t this swanky?” Gram clucks her tongue, running one age-spotted finger along the leather seats as we pull out of the drive. I guess the driver already knows the address of our destination. “You owe that Josh fellow a huge thank-you.”

  I force a smile, trying not to react to Gram using Josh and huge in the same sentence.

  “Yes . . . it was, um, very thoughtful of him,” I manage to say.

  Luckily, she doesn’t bring him up again, too dazzled by the view of Central Park at night to make much conversation. Traffic is actually cooperating for once. How very unlike Manhattan. It’s like all the stars have aligned to make this a special night for Gram and me. We make impressive time on the drive to the hotel, and after a quick thank-you to our driver, we twirl through the revolving doors and into a whole different universe.

  Holy bougie. Is this what it’s like to make it in corporate America? Deep breaths, Pey.

  “What a place,” Gram says in an astonished voice.

  I can’t help but agree, numbly nodding my head as I look around.

  The lobby looks fit for a king—from the sleek, sparkly tile to the modern chandeliers, everything is gold. Even the bright red Wine O’Clock banner hanging over the hors d’oeuvres table boasts flashy gold lettering. A dance floor is set up with a handful of couples stepping along to a band playing a familiar jazz tune. Everyone else is flitting about the room like a bunch of windup dolls in suits and ball gowns, sipping from wineglasses with the company logo frosted on the side.

  I scan the room for a familiar face, with a particular eye out for Josh, admittedly, but can’t seem to find anyone I know. My game face is slipping away, and the butterflies inside my belly are trying to make an escape.

  I feel more than a little out of my league with so many business professionals all gathered in one place. Apparently, working from home for the past two years in my pajamas has taken its toll on my social skills. Maybe I should just tell Gram that I’m not feeling well and head out. Josh would understand, I’m sure . . .

  “Free wine? Count me in!” Gram says, giving the air a fist pump. Then she takes off power walking toward the open bar, leaving me alone at the entrance to the ballroom.

  I should have known I’d lose her to the social scene. She’s outgoing and personable when she’s at the senior center, but at this event, it’s like Gram’s at a frat party. I’m sure she’ll have made a few new friends before the night is through.

  I weave through the crowd, following in her path until I find her, elbows propped up on the bar and chatting it up with a cute twenty-something bartender. He’s grinning at her as she fills him in on my big deal.

  I give him an awkward wave. “Hi.”

  Gram places one arm around my shoulder and pats it encouragingly. “This is her, my hotshot granddaughter. And she’s single.” She winks at the bartender, who is obviously a little horrified.

  Welcome to the club, dude.

  He’s close to ten years younger than me, and I’m operating under the assumption that he’s gay, unless my radar for that kind of thing is off, but this doesn’t stop Gram. She gives me a little shove in his direction.

  “I’ll have a glass of cabernet,” I say, hoping to end this little matchup attempt ASAP.

  “Green dress and red wine, huh?”

  I turn, glass in hand, to greet the low voice behind me.

  “Those are complementary colors, you know.”

  It’s Josh. He’s dressed in a black tuxedo that’s tailored so perfectly to his broad body, it’s almost sinful. His hair is styled without a strand out of place, and he smells freaking divine. He obviously has to dress well for work, of course, but tonight he looks like someone plucked him straight from the red carpet. I don’t think he’s ever looked better.

  Well, except maybe in the picture saved on my phone.

  “Red and green. Christmas colors,” I say, taking a sip of wine. It’s warm and velvety, just like Josh’s voice.

  “Well, I wouldn’t mind seeing you wearing a big red bow under my tree.”

  My mouth falls open, and Josh’s lips hint at a smile. There are dozens of company partners within earshot. Is he seriously flirting with me right now? My cheeks burn, probably turning the same color as my wine.

  “This must be the famous Gram I’ve heard so much about.” Josh gestures toward my grandmother, who turns around in mid-swig of wine upon hearing her name.

  One look at Josh, and her eyes widen to the size of golf balls. I’m pretty sure the bartender has been immediately forgotten.

  “Sure am.” She laughs, extending the hand that isn’t gripping her wineglass. “And you are?”

  “Josh Hanson. I’m in charge of the collaboration between Wine O’Clock and Wish Upon a Gift. It’s a pleasure to meet you . . .”

  I clear my throat as Gram hangs on to the handshake for a moment too long. Great. Even my grandmother is smitten.

  “Gram is fine,” she says.

  When she finally releases his hand, I try not to feel a little jealous that my grandmother has touched Josh more than I have. Then I silently correct myself. He’s not mine to touch—he’s just a guy I’m working with. That’s it. Keep your damn panties on, Peyton.

  Gram narrows her eyes at Josh. “How old are you?”

  He smiles wryly, clearly amused by her. “I’m thirty-four.”

  “And you’re single?” she fires out next.

  Holy hell, what is with this interrogation?

  “Very,” he says as he briefly meets my eyes, and the tingles in my belly spread south.

  Gram’s lips press into a line as she considers this information. “Thirty-four, huh. You’re no spring chicken. Why don’t you have a wife? Are you batting for the other team or something?”

  My eyes widen in horror but Josh only laughs, the rich, deep sound throbbing through me and leaving something warm in its wake.

  “That’s a very good question. I guess the reason I’m single is because I prioritized bu
ilding my company over pursuing a relationship, but I hope to rectify that in the future. And to answer your last question, I most assuredly love the company of a beautiful woman.” He shoots a quick glance my way, and I inhale sharply.

  Gram nods once, seemingly pleased by his answer. “Good. So you’re not one of those hit-it-and-quit-it player types, are you? You’re looking for something real?”

  Josh nods. “I’m not a player. And absolutely, someday I would love to settle down.”

  As my stomach twists itself into a gigantic knot, I feel Josh’s gaze rake over me. Please don’t hold my crazy grandma against me, I think, fake-smiling at him through my horror. I had no idea she was going to unleash the Spanish Inquisition on him.

  As I search for conversation topics that don’t start with Gram, this is the proud owner of the ham hock you caught a glimpse of, the band transitions into their next song. Gram wiggles in delight. Clearly, she knows this one.

  “It’s lovely to meet you, Josh, but I just can’t miss this song. You’ll have to excuse me.”

  I take a deep breath and watch her sashay toward the parquet dance floor at the center of the ballroom. I’m not sure if Gram dancing will embarrass me more or less than the game of twenty questions we just played, but something tells me I’m about to find out.

  Pausing in her mission only long enough to grab some random older gentleman in a navy suit to dance with her, Gram shimmies off toward the dance floor, disappearing out of sight into the crowd. I hope to someday have half the confidence with men that my grandmother has.

  “Your grandma is wild. That’s the CEO of one of our biggest whiskey distributors.” Josh laughs, shaking his head in disbelief.

  That laugh. Low and deep . . . it does something to me. Clearly, I’m a little overdue for some male interaction if a laugh is what’s lighting my fire.

  “Never a dull moment with her,” I say, distracting my lips with my wineglass so I don’t do anything stupid, like try to take a nibble from his Adam’s apple that’s peeking out above his knotted black tie. “I’m really sorry about her asking you all of those personal questions. I’m not sure what got into her. Actually, scratch that, I know exactly what’s gotten into her. She has this idea that I need to be set up and find a good man. Before you arrived, she was trying to make a love connection between me and the bartender.”

  Josh’s eyes settle on my mouth for just a moment, before they lift to mine once again. “I highly doubt you have any trouble finding a male companion, Peyton.”

  Then his gaze cuts over to the bartender, and he smiles. “But I don’t think the bartender is quite your type—or that you’re his.”

  I grin and take another sip of my wine, enjoying the pleasant warmth as it settles in my stomach.

  We’re quiet for a moment as we sip our drinks, our focus straying toward the dance floor. Gram is clearly having an amazing time with the man in the navy suit. He actually knows how to dance, and they’re making it look fun.

  “She’s one of the most incredible women I’ve ever met,” I say, watching her in awe.

  Josh takes a step toward me, close enough that the toes of our shoes almost touch. “You must take after her, then.”

  I open my mouth, looking for a quick or witty response, but I’m at a loss for words. He’s not making this keeping it professional thing easy. I manage to squeak out a “thank you” as my gaze shifts to my feet. Our feet. The toes of our shoes look like they’re kissing, and I’m not-so-secretly jealous of them.

  “Excuse me.”

  An unfamiliar voice brings my focus back up. A tall, broad-shouldered man with well-combed blond hair is holding out a hand to me.

  “Would you like to dance, miss?”

  Unsure of the protocol here, I glance from Josh to this blond stranger, then back to Josh. His jaw is clenched, his chest slightly puffed. Is he . . . threatened by this guy?

  “She’s with me,” Josh finally says, grabbing my hand and lacing my fingers with his. My palm nestles into his, a perfect fit.

  “My apologies, I beg your pardon.” The blond stranger gives us an apologetic nod and, with no further questions, turns to offer his hand to another potential dance partner.

  “I’m with you, huh?” I smile up at Josh, squeezing his hand ever so slightly, just enough to remind him he’s still holding on to mine. And to my surprise, he doesn’t let go.

  “Sorry, that came out wrong. I just meant work wise, we’re here to pound it out, right?”

  I chuckle at his failed attempt at a joke while Josh shakes his head.

  “Why is it that so much of the business jargon that’s used in offices and networking events around the country sounds so perverted?”

  I raise one brow at him. “Maybe because it is?”

  “Burning the midnight oil.” He winks.

  “Doing the grunt work,” I say, my tone airy and flirtatious, and he chuckles.

  “Sliding into your in-box.”

  “I’m ready to go balls to the wall if you are.”

  He smirks. “As long as I don’t get the shaft.”

  My smile turns into laughter, and Josh puts on a mock serious face.

  “In all seriousness, I think we can get some great penetration for your product, Peyton.”

  It’s all so easy with him. The joking, the small talk, the laughing. It feels like the most natural thing in the world. And something about that scares me a little. Why does the biggest professional thing I’ve ever had happen and the best-looking guy I’ve ever met have to intersect? I just hope I play this the right way and don’t screw up either opportunity—or worse, both of them.

  “That’s why we’re here, right?” I say after a moment.

  He blinks down at me, his smile slowly fading. “You’re right. That’s exactly why we’re here.”

  I finish off my glass of cab just as the song crescendos to a big finish. The band announces that they’ll be taking a fifteen-minute break, and a smattering of contained applause emerges from the crowd as people wander off the dance floor to get a refill on their beverage.

  “We should get out of the way,” Josh says. “Everyone’s about to flood this bar behind us. Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the hotel.”

  With my stomach still tight with nerves, Josh takes my hand again, leading me through the crowd and down a quieter corridor. As we get farther and farther from the noise, he points out the different amenities we pass like he’s a real estate agent trying to sell me the place. He could be reading me the phone book for all I care. Just watching his lips move is all the entertainment I need.

  “You know I’m not staying here tonight, right?” I ask as we turn down another hallway. “I don’t exactly need to know where the pool and workout facilities are.”

  “I know.” Josh glances my way. “But I needed you to myself for a moment. I’m greedy like that.”

  My tongue touches my bottom lip, and when I meet his eyes, the heat reflected back at me is hot enough to melt the panties off of a nun.

  “You look beautiful tonight.”

  “Thank you.” My voice is little more than a whisper, but, jeez, I’m way out of practice at this flirting thing.

  “I don’t know what this is between us, Peyton, this chemistry . . .”

  I give him a curious look. I didn’t expect this tonight, assuming his invite was purely for business purposes. Josh is probably just flirty with everyone. I figured it was his personality, he’s so playful and easygoing.

  But then his face falls. He thinks I’m rejecting him.

  “I’ll escort you back to the ballroom, and we can continue working together like none of this ever happened,” he says, his tone several degrees cooler than before.

  Placing one hand on the lapel of his jacket, right over his firm chest muscles, I hold him in place as I murmur, “I feel it too.”

  His gaze darkens on mine, and then Josh spins me around until I’m pressed against him, my left hand still pressed against his chest while my right steadies m
y balance on his shoulder. Slowly, he leans down, bringing his mouth to mine. He pauses for a second, maybe to read my reaction, I’m not sure, and then he’s kissing me.

  Gently at first, then harder, greedier, as his mouth claims mine in the most intense kiss I’ve ever had. His hands move to cup my jaw, and his tongue slides over mine. This is everything a kiss should be. Hot. Tender. Passionate.

  When he pulls back, my lips burn in longing. Come back. Kiss me again.

  Josh swivels his head to check that we’re still alone, then meets my eyes. “Are you okay?” he says, his deep voice little more than a strained whisper.

  “Very.” I nod, touching my lips with the pads of my fingers. I can’t believe he just kissed me. I can’t believe he thinks I’m beautiful.

  Before I can process anything else, he grabs my hand again, pulling me around yet another turn. “This way.” He reaches for the first door handle he sees. Maybe he has a room here tonight.

  When the door opens to reveal a coat closet, we both smirk. Not the most romantic setting, but it’s private, and right now, we need privacy desperately, because I’m nowhere near done with that kiss. I lead the way in, tugging Josh by his lapel. The door swings closed behind us, and we collide.

  His lips on my neck.

  His fingers in my hair.

  My hands roaming his broad shoulders.

  My heart threatening to leap out of my chest.

  As his lips find their way back to mine, he palms my breasts through my dress, his thumbs drawing a quick circle around my nipples. They go instantly stiff at his touch, even with a layer of fabric in the way.

  It isn’t until I pull back slightly to catch my breath that I notice the firmness of his erection pressed against my belly. Clearly, I’m not the only one enjoying myself.

  Oh my God . . . holy chemistry, Batman.

  “I thought you said you could be professional, that you wanted this to remain professional,” I whisper against his neck, nudging his erection with my hip. “This doesn’t feel very professional to me.”