“I’ve never managed a company in my life!”
“You’re smart. You’ve got this.”
“People will think you handed Hotly to me because we’re boning! Which is the actual truth!”
“Why do you care what other people think?”
“Why wouldn’t I care since I have to work with them?”
“I care what you think. Just you. Only you.”
I twist so I’m straddling his lap. I need to see his face. “Why?”
“Because I fucking love you,” he growls. “There’s no point in owning Hotly if it doesn’t come with you. You like your job and you were there first, so this seems like the best solution. Alternatively, I could shut the whole thing down and then no one would have a job and I wouldn’t be the boss of you.”
“Wow.” I take a minute to process that. “That’s—”
“I thought I’d invite you out here, we’d play pirates, and then maybe you could see things my way. I love you. Deal with it.”
“That’s not very romantic.”
He growls some more. There’s also kissing. I hope no one is staring out their car window right now or they’ll drive off the bridge.
“I don’t need your company,” I whisper. “I need you.”
His mouth devours mine and it’s a freaking miracle there are any words getting said. “I want you to stay with me. I want you to have the job you like, the life you like, the future you like. And I want to be a part of those things, and since I get what I want, you can’t expect me to start playing fair now.”
“I love you, too. But you’re not dumping your stupid company on me.”
He cups my face in his hands. “How about we figure it out together then?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jax
I HAVE AN email from Lake.
The PI’s report is in and Lake has attached it for my review. She thinks I should take a look at it as soon as possible. She reemphasizes that I should be careful in how I approach Peony. In fact, I would advise you to avoid contact entirely. Let your legal team reach out, she writes.
I didn’t tell Lake that I’d found Peony.
She probably knows already because she would never work with a second-rate PI firm.
Peony mumbles something into her pillow. It’s early, not yet six o’clock, but I didn’t check my phone last night. Thursday night is movie night in the Valentine-Harding household, or so Peony has declared. No phones, no email, no internet distractions. Peony had won movie-choosing rights, and she’d milked it, proposing one chick flick after another. I’d have made her watch World War II documentaries, so it was only fair.
Eventually she’d settled on a Jane Austen movie, Pride and Prejudice, that had been every bit as bad as I’d feared. She’d made it up to me by disappearing under the covers while Mr. Darcy was busy screwing up his chances with Elizabeth and droning on. I’d been hard before she ducked under the covers because I love watching her laugh. Her whole face lights up and the silliest sounds come out of her mouth. Peony’s all-in when she finds something amusing.
Her mouth on my aching dick had definitely made the movie better. Darcy, that stupid, rich bastard, had still mucked everything up, but I’d come in Peony’s mouth and then she’d crawled back up the bed and curled up against me.
She’d given me mischievous side eye as Jane Bennet and her ridiculously impractical sisters had laid marital siege on all of the single men in the neighborhood and I’d pointed out that dancing and dinner parties were the Tinder of the early nineteenth century.
When the credits finally rolled, she’d pinched my side and grinned at me. “Do you feel the want of a wife, Mr. Valentine? Seeing as how you have a fortune?”
I’d tickled her side. “Are you proposing?”
“No,” she’d giggle-gasped, trying to throw herself across the bed.
I’d chased her, playing the game, my fingers dancing across her ribs and down her body. “Come here, you.”
When she’d been breathless and reaching for me, I’d rolled her beneath me, working her tank top up over her head. Then I’d leaned down and kissed her.
“I’m in want of you,” I’d said.
She’d called me Mr. Valentine. Over and over. I’d had to resort to kissing her senseless, starting with my favorite spot between her legs.
I look at her, sleeping next to me, taking up more than her fair share of the bed. Her hair’s twisted into a messy bun because otherwise, she claims, her hair either tickles her nose all night or gets trapped in her armpits. I have no idea how that would actually work, but I’ve started keeping a packet of hair ties in the bathroom drawer.
Do I want to know what secrets she’s been keeping from me?
You fucking bet I do.
But they’re Peony’s secrets to share, and this report...well, it feels like cheating. I want her to choose to share her past with me, to let me all the way into her life the way she has let me into her bed. In some ways, I’m far too much like Mr. Darcy. I’m rude; I’m an asshole; I know what’s best for everyone around me. But I’d also like to change for Peony.
I fire off a quick response to Lake—thanks—and then I delete her message without reading the report.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Peony
NOTHING LASTS. Jax calls me Firefly as a joke, but it’s true. Happiness is a spark that lights up the night and then winks out as quick as it came. And the thing about fireflies is that, from a distance, they look gorgeous. Up close, however, they’re nothing special.
That’s me. You don’t want to look too closely at what’s making the pretty light because you’re going to be turned off. Fireflies aren’t anywhere near as pretty in their unlit state; all that winking and flashing is to attract a mate. They’re creatures of summer, too. Coming out when it’s warm and disappearing when the weather turns colder and harsher.
Today, when we get to work, I’m still cautiously optimistic.
Jax and I are a couple.
We’re dating.
Okay, so we’re actually married, but he likes to point out that it’s perfectly fine that we’ve done things backward. Put the cart before the horse. Flipped the script. It makes us innovative geniuses, he said right before he tackled me to the floor and had his wicked, bossy way with me. We have a house together. We have a life. Maybe this really could work and someday we’ll be making up stories to tell our grandkids about how grandpa and grandma met because meeting at a sex party isn’t the sort of thing you share publicly.
He stops in front of the building like he always does. He’ll drive down the block—and then probably around it a few more times—looking for San Francisco’s most elusive unicorn: the public parking space.
I unwrap my arms from around his waist and hop off. I’m tingly in the best possible way from his earlier attempts to convince me to stay in bed and the vibrations of his monster bike.
He snags me by the belt loop when I try to dance away. We do this every weekday morning. “Not escaping, Firefly.”
I go willingly into his arms, warming at his teasing tone. “Did you want something, big guy?”
He kisses me, which is expected. His mouth covers mine and I kiss him back, even though Hotly’s front door opens and closes while we’re locked together. It’s not the best kept secret that I’m the boss’s wife.
What is unexpected is the box he sets in my hand. “Open it.”
It’s a bright blue Tiffany’s box and it’s ring-size.
I stare at his face, trying to interpret what I see there. His eyes narrow and his fingers nudge mine. “Open it,” he repeats.
I have my suspicions but, sure enough, it’s a ring. A big, gorgeous, vintage-looking diamond ring with a matching wedding band. It’s also a billboard for Jax’s intentions.
“Holy shit.” That’s me, smooth as butter.
> This is supposed to be a normal morning, not a life changer.
The corner of his mouth tugs up. “Put it on for me, Firefly?”
I rub my fingertip over the shiny, shiny surface of the diamond. I totally want to put it on, but am I ready to make this commitment? The last time I tried to settle down a little, it went spectacularly wrong. That time I’d wanted a ring and forever, but it had turned out the guy I’d thought was my one and only hadn’t been interested in forever. He’d been my Wickham. Jax isn’t my past, though. He just might be my future.
“Too soon?”
“Do you really want to do this here?”
He mutters something, all growly and cranky, and then his fingers gently close the box in mine. “It’s yours, Firefly.”
He drops a kiss on my forehead and then goes off to park the bike. I...don’t know what to do. I think he just sort of proposed to me for real. Or possibly the third time if you count the sex party and then his gruff declaration that he wanted a chance at us when he told me that we might be for-real married. We still don’t have an answer about that, although the lawyers’ bills are impressive.
I duck inside the building and wave hello to the receptionist on my way to the archives. Jax’s rings are hidden in my tote, but I can’t stop peeking at the box. No one’s ever given me diamonds before. No one’s loved me like Jax does.
I think.
I jump when I hear footsteps in the stairwell, but it’s not Jax. He knows how I work. That I’ll need space to process the rings and to think about what he’s really asking from me. He chases and I retreat. Or flat-out run away. It’s how we’ve always worked, and I should be grateful that he gets me.
I need to get over the whole money thing, too. Sure he has a ton of money, the kind of fortune that lands him on lists and makes him a very popular party guest. To be honest, it makes me feel inadequate. What can I really bring to our relationship? Our chemistry in bed is off the charts, but sex won’t always be enough. What if he gets bored? What if I run out of kinky role-playing ideas? It’s not as if we stage elaborate scenes every time we have sex, but what if I stopped wanting to do that?
I try not to think about it for the rest of the morning. We’re about to launch a new Hotly channel, so there’s a palpable energy in the building. The cases of Monster the engineering team has drunk in the last week only adds to the jitters, although someone’s ordered in an enormous spread of food that’s laid out in the kitchen for anyone who wants it. Mostly it’s a nice gesture, although it also cuts down on the need to actually leave the building. Bring in food and your people can work around the clock.
By midmorning I’ve pulled a selection of scripts and props that were used to create some of Hotly’s most popular content. Marketing wants to do a Top Ten for the relaunch, and they’ve asked to see candidates. I think I’ve done a kick-ass job of pulling items and I’d kind of like to expand my role. Do more organizing and make it easier for people to find stuff in the archives. San Jose State has an online master’s degree in library science that could open some interesting doors for me. Hotly’s benefits package comes with a tuition rebate, and that would also help keep my costs down. I don’t want to ask Jax to pay for it, although I know he would. Plus, if we stay married, I’ll never qualify for financial aid. Ha, ha.
I’m so completely focused on this possible version of my future that I don’t see my past coming for me until I run it down. My rapid flight down the empty hallway stops abruptly when I plow into a big guy wearing a dark suit and a spicy cologne that brings back memories. The box goes flying, its contents emptying out onto the floor.
Ugh. Go me. I’ve just assaulted a visitor, probably the “future investor” kind based on the ritzy suit. I’ve learned a lot about custom tailoring from poking around in Jax’s closet, and the guy I’ve just bounced off of didn’t do his shopping in Macy’s. We both sink down on our haunches at the same time, reaching for a bound script. We’re so close that when my skirt bells out around me, it brushes his pant leg.
Our shoulders bump, I look up to apologize and my face freezes. My stomach, on the other hand, gets that swooping, nauseous feeling. I know this guy. He’s my first bad boss, the one who gaslit me so smoothly that I didn’t realize how he’d made me doubt myself until it was almost too late.
“Why are you here?” I snatch the script from his hands and cram it into the box. Nothing good happens when Carter Ren is around. He’s usually followed by career carnage, apocalyptic life changes, and a nauseating level of sleaze because Carter gets what Carter wants and he thinks almost exclusively with his dick.
He shoves to his feet, which leaves me crouched on the floor like a pet. It’s not the power position I’d choose. I stretch for another script and then have to waddle-crouch for the third. There’s nothing dignified about my cleanup and when I glare up at him, it’s clear he’s enjoying this.
He smirks at me. “Come down in the world, have we?”
“None of your business.”
The first time Carter and I met, I was at a disadvantage, too. He was interviewing me for a position as his personal assistant. It wasn’t a job I’d held before, but it hadn’t sounded particularly hard. Make phone calls and reservations, pick his stuff up, generally organize his life and be his beck-and-call girl. He’d blathered on about slide decks and emails, travel arrangements and his super-important, very busy meal schedule, which apparently starred him, the Bay Area’s top-ranked restaurants, and the biggest players in the hedge fund world. He’d had an ego. I hadn’t been that blind.
The temp agency had said he could be difficult because he was a perfectionist, but that was why his job offer came with an extremely generous compensation package. I’d taken it and then I’d slowly come to realize that Carter had drunk his own Kool-Aid. In his mind, he was the best player on a vast financial chessboard, and everyone around him should worship at the shrine of Carter.
He’d wanted me to do that worshipping on my knees.
“You’re not supposed to be within two hundred yards of me,” I remind him.
His smirk deepens. “I’m at a business meeting.”
I shove the last script into the box and stand, balancing the carton on my hip. “This is you and me in a hallway. It’s not a business meeting.”
I mentally flip through the terms of our settlement. He’s contractually obligated to keep two hundred yards between us at all times, but there’s a list of exceptions and if we suddenly find ourselves sharing oxygen, that list gets longer if it’s not a circumstance he should have anticipated. When I signed the agreement, I was just sad that meant he wouldn’t have to jump out of a plane at twenty-thousand feet if we were both on the flight. I certainly hadn’t thought about what would happen if he showed up at my work.
“I’m getting a feel for the place.” He eyes me, taking in my fifties-style skirt and Hotly T-shirt. His gaze lingers far too long on my boobs. Ugh.
“Leave. I have work to do, and a meeting of my own.” I try to walk away but he gets up in my space, his shoulder brushing mine. “This isn’t two hundred yards.”
“Are you sure?”
Carter can be super charming when he wants to be. Usually, this is when he wants to convince you that black is white, a.m. is p.m., or whatever twisted version of the world helps his bottom line the most. His skills in this area are quicksand-like, as I can attest to firsthand. The smartest thing to do is to not engage because one minute you’re standing on what looks like a perfectly solid surface and the next moment you’re doing some fatal sinking. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”
His perfect teeth flash. I used to schedule his whitening appointments so I’m pretty much beyond being impressed. “I think you can’t. I seem to recall you were paid very, very well to shut up.”
That paid silence doesn’t sit well with me. At the time, it seemed like the practical thing to do, accepting his money in
exchange for keeping quiet. I’d felt like a tree falling in the forest when I’d tried to speak out before: if there was no one around to hear me, did it even matter?
“I do have a business meeting here,” he continues. “I’m meeting with Jax Valentine and he’s bringing me on board.”
I’m seriously tempted to hit him with the box. I just wish one of our props had included a baseball bat. Or a tire iron. “You can’t do that.”
He smirks at me. “I think you’ll find I can.”
“We had a settlement agreement that said you wouldn’t come near me.”
“You set me up. You got a very nice payday for it, but I’m not giving you anything else. I want this deal. Jax Valentine makes a fortune for his team when it comes to startups and this one is going to make him another fortune. I’m getting my piece of it, and you’re not going to stop me. How do you think it’s going to look when I let it slip that you accused me of sexual harassment and shut up as soon as a check was cut?”
I turn around. I’ll go back to my archive. “You were a predatory bastard. You came onto me in the freaking office and told me you were adding sex to my job description.”
I’m pretty much vibrating with anger that the karma bus hasn’t rolled over this asshole yet. He totally deserves it and yet he’s here, threatening my job. He’s wearing an expensive suit and a gold Rolex winks from his wrist, so I suspect that he has not been living in a leaky RV or wondering how he’ll pay his bills. He’s just gotten on with his life as if what he did to me didn’t matter at all.
“I’m going to have an ownership stake here by lunchtime,” he says, stepping in front of me.
“You can’t do that.” I’ve already said that, but WTF is it with this guy?
“You’re going to quit this job, like you’ve quit all the jobs you’ve held before.”
“I left last time, you asshole. That makes it your turn.”
“You left with my money. You got paid for sex, so I think we both know what that makes you.”
Harlequin Dare May 2021 Box Set Page 29
