Man, sometimes she wanted to break out of the mold and show people who she really was, but the desire was short-lived. It was hard enough getting ahead in the business world without complicating things by putting too much of her personal life into public view. She wasn’t about sharing every meal on Instagram or typing out vague Facebook posts for attention. What she did when she was off the clock was nobody’s goddamn business.
Ryan’s pause gave her the chance to step in and control the situation. Checking her watch even though she knew the move made her look bitchy, Jen pushed aside the thought and delivered a pithy declaration of fact.
“A business lunch gets forty-five minutes. You have two choices. Don Juan’s Tacos or the Spaghetteria.” She’d pointed in different directions when listing the choices and waited for his decision.
“Get real,” he replied with a chuckle. Pointing across the street, he started off toward the crosswalk on the corner.
Huffing and puffing her annoyance, she glared at him when she caught up.
He was grinning like the idiot she knew him to be. “Best part of coming to the city is eating at The Thunderbird. Have you had their mozzarella sticks? Homemade!”
She was about to throw down a mozzarella stick food challenge but zipped her lips in time. The Thunderbird did an okay job, but when it came to the real deal, nobody did mozzarella appetizers better than the pasta house a few blocks from her apartment. But he didn’t need to know that.
Ryan practically dragged her across the busy intersection when it was time to walk, and she reluctantly loosened up because his boyish enthusiasm was kind of cute.
Holding open the door to the eatery, he ushered her inside where a tsunami of sensory input slammed into her. The aroma of roast beef hung in the air along with the heavy tantalizing ambiance of an Italian sauce.
The noisy lunch crowd and bustling wait staff suggested business for The Thunderbird was going great.
Ryan smiled, signed two autographs, and shook enough hands to earn them a corner table tucked behind a rack hung with bags of snack chips. The display made a buffer between them and the other customers and afforded a measure of privacy.
He started to slide onto the bench seat next to her, but she gave him a hearty shove and barked, “Cut me a break.”
When he sat opposite her and she got a closer look at his smirk, she realized for the first time that Ryan Lloyd was deliberately screwing with her. And she was falling for it!
Wanting to wipe that macho grin clear off his stupid face, she almost gave him an earful until the futility of going to his level stopped her.
Forty-five goddamn minutes. That was what he got. Forty-five.
An overly enthusiastic waitress who introduced herself as Tina descended on them, and without stopping for air, she proceeded to recite the daily specials. As she went through her spiel in a rat-a-tat-tat way while drawing attention to her boobs by keeping her pen in the cleavage, Jen studied Ryan, who was studying the tattooed server.
Her eyes narrowed, and she just barely strangled the hiss trying to leave her mouth. Why did every female with a pulse want to rub up against him, and why the goddamn hell did he always look so pleased about it?
She snatched a menu propped against the wall behind the condiments and slammed it on the wobbly table. Theatrically flipping the laminated folder open, she shot her companion a dirty look before switching to an ignore posture.
Screw him.
Jen squirmed on the bench when a wanton and totally unexpected vision of Ryan’s big, rugged hands covering her naked breasts invaded her thoughts. Embarrassed heat shot into her neck and spread to her face.
Refusing to be drawn into the nauseating flirtation happening right in front of her, she scanned the lunch menu and made a dozen hasty bad food choices.
“I’ll have the loaded fries. Extra crispy and extra cheese. No onions. And a chocolate milkshake.”
Tina and Ryan turned and looked at her strangely. Jen squirmed again. Had she yelled her order like a crazy person?
Tina plucked the pen from her cleavage and muttered, “Well, okay then.” She scribbled on her order pad and nodded. “Extra cheese, no onions. Heat level on the chili? On a scale of one to five.”
“Oh, god,” Jen snorted. “One. But bring a hot sauce.”
Ryan nodded his approval. “I’ll have what she’s having but add a sloppy joe on the side and make the shake into an iced tea. Extra lemon.”
Tina scribbled and smiled at Ryan before darting away.
A dozen snarky things sat easily on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t fall into the trap. Instead, she pointedly checked her watch as a reminder and gave her lunchtime antagonist a bored scowl.
“Forty minutes.”
Ryan’s brown eyes sparkled with her reminder. He surveyed her face, making her feel nervous and awkward.
“Are you always this pleasant, or is it just me?”
She didn’t catch her wince before it went public and mentally kicked herself for it.
“I’m a busy person, Ryan.” Realizing her explanation was glaringly lame, she added, “It’s not you. I really do need to be back on time.”
He tilted his head. “Understood. If that’s the way you want to do this, I’m fine getting straight to it. Care to explain Quinn Montgomery and your part in trying to punch my bachelor card?”
She swallowed and reflexively crossed her legs. Jen felt her cheeks flush but met his gaze head-on.
“Regardless of what you assume, I was opposed to Mrs. Brewster’s suggestion about Quinn. Your mother did not express the same reluctance. From my standpoint, your bachelor membership card is safe, but you’re on your own with your mom and aunt.”
Ryan’s brows went up. “Opposed? Why?”
Shit. She didn’t want to discuss this at all, but it wasn’t like she had a choice. The situation Connie Lloyd and Grace Brewster were hatching in their meddling minds was one of those shitshow scenarios that demanded her special touch so it didn’t blow back on John.
“Well, if you must know, I’m opposed to marriage as a business maneuver. Even if the business is about acquiring grandkids. Your mother and aunt are out of line, and I said so to John. Unfortunately, it turns out that Quinn planted the seed, and your mom fell for it. Ryan, she’s actively lobbying for a wedding ring.”
5
Ryan took an enormous mouthful of the sloppy joe Tina dropped on the table and chewed. He wasn’t surprised to learn that Quinn was on a crusade. She’d been trying to jump on his dick since their college days, and she had never made any secret of the fact that if he wasn’t available, John was option number two.
Jesus.
And he wasn’t thrilled with his mom or Aunt Grace. How could they fall for Quinn’s bullshit? Were grandchildren that big of a deal? Fuck! If a gaggle of rug rats was what his mom wanted, he could adopt half a dozen orphans from any of the third world areas where he exercised his humanitarian obligations. No need to tie him or John to a frigid succubus with an accountant always at the ready.
Grabbing a wad of gooey, cheese dripping chili fries, he dunked them in a mound of mayonnaise and crammed the slapdash mess into his mouth.
“That is disgusting,” Jen growled. “Mayo? Really?”
He grinned and swiped a napkin across the bottom third of his face. Eating was a full-body experience at times. If he could, he’d roll around in a vat of the cheesy chili—he liked it that much.
“Darlin’, a shelf stable packet of mayo is practically a gourmet treat when you’re wilderness camping hundreds of miles from a store. Don’t discount it until you’ve tried it. Go ahead.” He chortled, gesturing to her mound of fries. “Give it a try and tell me that’s not a winning combination.”
He saw her try to hide the hint of a smile playing around her lush, full lips. Jen Carlton had a mouth that he admittedly fantasized about. It was a guy thing—to visualize the things he hoped her sexy mouth was capable of.
She scooped up some fries and eyed th
e mayonnaise pile. “Is that real mayo? Tell me now if it’s Miracle Whip.”
He fought back a smirk. “Sacrilege!” he barked. “Is a Coke interchangeable with root beer? No. Just because they’re both sodas does not make them equal. It’s mayo. Cheap mayo, but still.”
Encouraging the whimsical taste test, he hovered as she dipped and took a tentative nibble. When the nibble led to a hearty mayo dunk, he ignored the double-dipping faux pas and laughed while she inhaled the new and improved order of crispy fries.
“What’d I tell you?” he crowed. “Stick with me, kid, and I’ll tickle your taste buds.”
She gasped and then choked on the food at his comment. He pondered what caused the response and decided Jen Carlton had a dirty mind. Suddenly, those fantasies about her luscious lips and tickling her taste buds with his dick took center stage. From out of nowhere, a high-definition snippet showing him rattling what he assumed was Miss Uptight’s well-ordered sex life sprang to life. She’d probably have a fucking heart attack if she knew what he was thinking.
The sudden and insistent hard-on invading his jeans caused him to shift rather uncomfortably.
He let the noise from the other diners distract from the onslaught of filthy selfies parading through his mind. She unnerved him.
“I’m doing what I can,” Jen mumbled through a mouthful of food.
Oh, right. They were talking about his mother auctioning him or John off to a well-vetted bride. He processed her words and searched for a meaning. Before he could ask what she meant, Ryan sat back and gaped in wonder when she picked up the chocolate milkshake, swirled the straw a few times, wrapped her lips in slow motion around it, and sucked.
Seriously? Was his brain in perpetual dog mode? Fuck! He had to stop thinking about her lips.
He wasn’t finished with this subject—not by a long shot—but she distracted him with her eager sucking. Before he knew it, half the shake was gone, and she was murmuring soft mmm’s and ahh’s.
Shaking off the swelling ache happening in his pants, he was gathering his thoughts when she put the glass down and startled him with a comment he wasn’t expecting.
“What you’re doing for Samantha’s daughter is really nice. She’s a good kid.”
Shrugging off his involvement in a rare opportunity for a behind-the-scenes visit to the museum where his pal Ken Lyons worked, he made to dismiss the matter.
“No big deal. She mentioned her kid was into science and history. I just thought an up-close view of how a major museum operated might be fun.”
He shrugged again.
Jen actually smiled, and it was a very pleasant smile. He liked the way his heart felt when she looked at him with approval.
“It’s a very big deal, Ryan. Chelsea is a smart little girl. Samantha does her best, and anything the rest of us can do to help them is important. Thank you.”
By habit, his brow furrowed as he thought about what she said. “You like Samantha.” He said it as a fact, not a question.
“Oh, very much. She’s the real deal, know what I mean?”
The conversation was just getting interesting when she checked her watch. With a quick napkin swipe, she sighed and looked him in the eye while he took a mouthful of the sloppy sandwich.
“Time’s up. Gotta go.”
She scooted her butt on the bench and shimmied to the edge. Hurriedly trying to empty his mouth, Ryan chewed and gulped. He slugged down a third of the iced tea to wash his throat open. Rushing to stop her departure, he blurted out an example of manly stupidity that made him inwardly groan.
“Why the rush? Got a hot date?”
The expression on her face from his hastily voiced dumbassery burned into his mind. She went from being not quite as tight-assed and slightly loosened up back to absolute butt-clenching rigidity in a nanosecond.
The icicles hanging from her response should have clued him in, but his common sense was currently on a break.
“Did you say something?”
He heard the warning in her voice but stupidly walked straight into the trap she gave him an opportunity to avoid.
“I said what’s the damn hurry. As in, who’s the lucky guy?”
His balls shriveled and the hard-on disappeared when she leaned down, put her hands on the table, and spoke to him at eyeball level.
“Remember that expense account I just charged this lunch to? Well, that charge means this is a business lunch and I’m on the clock. I duly informed you of my time allowance and clearly indicated I needed to be back in forty-five minutes. Almost sixty have gone by. I am leaving, Mr. Lloyd, because your time is up. The ignorant, misogynistic question you asked, at a business lunch,” she pointedly sneered, “just earned you a visit to HR.”
Ryan shook his head. “What?” he barked. “Are you fucking serious?”
She straightened, yanked on the bottom of her suit jacket, and glowered. He felt like a misbehaving kid in third grade getting a scowl from the teacher.
“This, Mr. Lloyd,” she snippily announced, “is what the ass stick is for. To remind dipshidiots like you that not every female is here for your amusement. You picked the wrong woman to disrespect.”
She whirled around and headed for the door, leaving him speechless.
“What the fuck just happened?” he murmured aloud.
Reaching for his wallet, he left Tina a ridiculous tip before scurrying after the newly crowned ice queen of Lloyd Global.
Jen exhausted her library storehouse of snarky pejoratives by the time she furiously yanked on one of the enormous glass doors of the Lloyd building.
Ryan Lloyd was an idiot.
Pursing her lips, she put her head down and stomped toward the bank of elevators. The lobby was teeming with people she refused to see. Her fury over his breach of protocol soured her mood.
When her elevator arrived, she stepped in and caught a brief glimpse of a worried looking Ryan Lloyd bursting through the lobby doors.
Asshole. Served him right for treating her like one of his obnoxious groupies.
She punched the express button and arrived at the floor for the executive suites within seconds. She rarely employed the bypass option because she wasn’t a dick. Tying up an elevator for her exclusive use was a shitty thing to do, but she was late and had no time to spare.
Whizzing past the reception desk where one of the company’s interns nervously manned the important activity hub, Jen picked up speed. Hopefully, Samantha was in John’s office, and she wouldn’t be too late.
One of the department heads leaned out of his doorway with a curious, searching gaze when the rapid cadence of her heels all but sprinting down the marble hallway echoed off the walls.
Ignoring his interest, she ate up the distance in no time and rapped on John’s door. After a series of deep breaths, she pushed open the door and stepped into an empty office. Her eyes immediately swung to the French doors that opened to a private terrace. A slight motion in a nearby window clued her in that John and Samantha were together on the terrace.
She made some tiny, excited claps and hopped up and down. Crossing her fingers, she muttered, “Please don’t let him fuck this up.”
Okay. You’re doing good so far. Like Jen says, just keep it simple.
John took a deep breath as he followed Samantha around the office terrace. With the efficiency of a ladies’ garden club leader, she inspected every plant while keeping a running commentary.
Wait. That wasn’t right. Jen would remind him it was sexist to use that word because not just ladies garden. Considering that his father was an enthusiastic amateur botanist and ardent environmentalist, you’d think he’d know better.
It was exhausting to navigate all these social etiquette issues and conversational norms.
She stooped to smell some bright pink blooms and looked up at him with a happy smile.
“I love these. They’re Sarah Bernhardt peonies. Your landscapers have done a marvelous job of supporting the heavy blooms. See?”
S
he pulled some of the foliage aside to reveal an ingenious system of stakes and chicken wire that made up the impressive display in the wide planters. The flowers were gorgeous and the aroma quite pleasing.
“You could keep one in a shallow bowl. For your desk,” she explained. “I try to keep flowers on my kitchen island. Makes the whole apartment come alive.”
His chest tightened, and for a second, he panicked. Was he having heart palpitations? Then she stood, and her perfume slammed into his senses. The tightening turned to a flutter. In his groin.
“I’d have a big round planter placed next to the French doors.” She pointed and smiled at him before placing her hand on his arm and turning him toward the spot she indicated. “Fill it with lavender. Not only will it smell wonderful, but the plant’s symbolism is also said to inspire luck.”
He’d have a damn lavender forest planted if it meant some of that luck would help him navigate what he was feeling. When she touched him, his knees almost gave out. The softness when she pressed her fingers on his body made his internal gyroscope go haywire.
“How’s it going, you two?” Jen called out as she came out on the terrace. He’d never been so happy to see anyone in his entire life.
“Lavender by the door, I think,” Samantha replied. Her laughing manner and easy smile earned him a wink and a thumbs-up from his assistant.
“Do you think we should move the chairs over here?” Jen asked. She spread her arms wide to indicate a diagonal area next to the water feature he hadn’t realized was out here until today.
He wasn’t dismissed so much as his presence was unnecessary as the two women planned his terrace. It was amusing to watch, so he leaned against a wall and took mental notes of their exchange.
“Two comfy wicker chairs, right here,” Samantha said with a swirl of her hands. “With a table between. Maybe ottomans.”
“Very nice,” Jen agreed.
“I’d have tea out here every day.” Samantha’s eyes met his, and she blushed.
Tea? Did people have tea? He remembered a phase his mom and Aunt Grace went through when they stopped at three every afternoon for tea and cookies.
Cupid In Heels Page 4
