by Jayce Ellis
This time there was a suspicious lack of noise. They’d put him on mute. Good. Thankfully, the wait was brief.
“When would you like to come in?” Mr. Reynolds asked, and Matt paused again as his voice washed over him.
He cleared his throat. “I’d prefer earlier. Nine?”
“Nine is fine,” Mr. Reynolds said quickly, over a muffled yelp. “Do you have directions to the office?”
Matt didn’t, and he scribbled them down, along with parking options. When he finished, he threw his pen down. “Excellent. I guess I’ll be seeing you all tomorrow then?”
“Yes. We’ll see you then. Thank you.” Mr. Reynolds clicked off the phone before they could exchange more niceties.
Matt chuckled, then looked down. He was hard for what felt like the first time in months. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough, but he wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse.
* * *
Matt was...not impressed with the building. That was not an indictment of Patti or Kingsley Enterprises because, as far as his notes said, they rented one floor and a few offices on another for the company. Still, the stainless steel with wood laminate and linoleum floors left more than a lot to be desired. It was Georgetown, for chrissakes. When had it become so commercial, so sanitized? Probably when rents exploded and kicked small business owners out.
He sighed, crinkling his nose as he fastened the top button of his Armani suit and hit the button for his destination. His reflection on the elevator panel looked off somehow. His suit wasn’t the solid black it should be.
He stepped closer and closed his eyes on a sigh. His twenty-year-old, cranky, crotchety black cat must have made himself comfortable on Matt’s outfit this morning. He might not have noticed it, but his mighty pet had just enough spatterings of white to make the suit look...off. Usually he kept a lint roller on him. But it was out of sheets and he hadn’t replaced them. And here he was thinking about first impressions.
Stepping into the lobby for Kingsley Enterprises was like a splash of color in an otherwise dreary world. The walls were a vibrant orange-red, so intense it would have been hard to look at if not for the multicolored pastel paisley markings that surrounded it. Kingsley’s logo. He wondered idly how she’d come up with it. Farther into the room he spied a few people scurrying about, apparently getting their morning fixes in before the day started. Matt’d barely had time to scarf down a bagel and some burnt coffee before showing up, but the Rosslyn apartment wasn’t ready yet and the drive from Fredericksburg had been miserable. He didn’t understand how folks did it.
He sat, shifting to get comfortable, and noticed a few hairs left behind on the chair. “Dammit, Spitfire,” he muttered under his breath.
“I’ve been called worse.” An amused voice drifted from his left, and Matt scrambled to his feet, then stopped.
The man before him wasn’t tall, maybe only five-seven, but through the lines of the suit—and he couldn’t say offhand if it was bespoke or simply beautifully tailored—Matt saw how his muscles strained. Thick thighs and strong arms. He wanted to ask him to turn around. He desperately needed to know if his backside was as nice as his front.
A cleared throat and a smirk made Matt blink. “Sorry. Not you. My cat. Spitfire. He...” Matt trailed off. He was stumbling over his words and he did not like it.
The man took a step forward and looked him up and down. “It adds a certain something to the look.” Matt frowned, feeling his hackles rise, and the guy laughed. “I’m messing with you. But how can I assist you? Are you here to meet someone?”
Matt’s nostrils flared as a waft of his scent filtered through the air. Prada. Nice. Then he remembered the man’s words, and that voice. He knew it. Of course.
“You must be JaQuan Reynolds,” Matt said, holding his hand out. “I’m Matthew Donaldson, your Bernhardt liaison.”
The younger man startled, then shook his head before shaking. “I am. Welcome.” His voice had gone all business, and that was mildly disappointing. “Ms. Kingsley will be with you in just a moment. Can I get you something to drink?”
Mr. Reynolds’s palm wasn’t excessively smooth like those of some people Matt knew, but didn’t have the calluses of someone who worked with their hands daily. Matt’s dad had been in construction and that roughness had always screamed man to him. But this hand was strong, a bit coarse, just enough to make him wonder how it would feel to be touched by them.
“Mr. Donaldson?” Mr. Reynolds called again, and Matt couldn’t tell if it was humor or irritation in his voice. “Would you like water? Tea or coffee?”
Get your head in the game, Donaldson. He didn’t have time to notice Mr. Reynolds, or anyone else for that matter. Matt straightened to his full height, which at six-two felt towering. “Coffee, please. Black. Thank you, Mr. Reynolds.”
“Call me Jaq. Take a seat and I’ll be right out.” He turned and sauntered off, and Matt let his eyes wander, just for a minute. Yep. The back could definitely hold its own.
He sighed and sank back into his chair. Sure, Mr. Reynolds’s—JaQuan’s—Jaq’s—voice had given him dirty thoughts before, but he hadn’t expected that seeing him in person would have this potent an effect. His dick was stone, straining against the confines of his suit in a way that’d be visible to anyone paying attention. Not the most auspicious start to the day.
Jaq returned with a steaming cup of coffee on a saucer and set it beside him. Kingsley Enterprises mugs. Nice touch.
“Take a few moments. I’ll check on Ms. Kingsley and make sure everything is ready for you.” He checked his watch, prompting Matt to follow suit. Less than ten minutes before nine. Jaq walked off toward the offices to the left, and Matt pinched the inside of his thigh. Kept him from following the other man, and did wonders for deflating his erection.
Matt pulled out his folder. He didn’t have time to think about Mr. Reynolds—and he had to keep calling him that because Jaq didn’t do the man justice and JaQuan felt suspiciously intimate—and he had work to do. Get this product launched, on budget, on schedule, make it bang, keep his job. No biggie.
The click-clack of heels on the hardwood floor told him it was time to roll. His folder was away and he was on his feet when Ms. Kingsley turned the corner and strolled up to him, her hand outstretched.
“Mr. Donaldson, it’s so good to meet you in person,” she said, her voice a little breathless.
“Patricia Kingsley, I’ve enjoyed our phone conversations. It’s an honor to work with your team.”
She flushed to her roots and Matt grinned. She was lovely, pale, her hair prematurely white but still falling down her back in soft waves. She had no patience for the staid businesswoman look, instead opting for a flowing skirt and an off-the-shoulder ruffled red blouse. That looked like... Matt paused and glanced at the walls again.
“Yes, my shirt is a dyed-to-match replica of the logo color.” Her cheeks pinkened again, but Matt saw the pride there. “Why don’t we head back?”
Matt grabbed his bag and started to follow when something thunked down on the side table next to his coffee. A lint roller. Mr. Reynolds was walking away, but he turned long enough to give Matt another smirk and a nod. Matt grinned, gave himself a quick wipe down, then grabbed his coffee and walked into the spacious conference room with a spectacular view of the city, absolutely postcard perfect. The table was littered with paper showing various designs, with rolls of fabric stacked in the corner.
Mr. Reynolds took a seat at the head of the table, and Matt startled. That was unusual, to say the least. Maybe more so than Patti’s insistence on him attending all meetings.
“All right, guys,” Mr. Reynolds started, clearly used to being in control. “This is Matthew Donaldson, the Bernhardt liaison. He’ll be working on-site with us during this process because we’re on a major crunch. Laurel isn’t here, but we need to have things ready for her to hit the ground running
when she returns.” He turned to Matt. “Laurel’s our head designer. She’s on a bachelorette trip in Vegas until Friday.”
He frowned. “And you’re not asking her to come back?” Bernhardt had demanded it of him more than once.
“Of course not. Why would we do that?”
“This is an emergency. We don’t have time to be down a team member.” This wasn’t complicated. The designs needed to be in production in eight weeks. Losing one because an employee was at a bachelorette party was, in Matt’s mind, unacceptable. He knew his tone had gone cold, strident, but this was exactly why Nicki made him lead.
There was silence before Mr. Reynolds spoke, his voice monotone, the edge underneath it impossible to miss. “We’ve been in negotiations with Bernhardt for almost a year. Given that the typical time to market is six to nine months, and designs would be with the factory right now, Laurel did everything in her power to accommodate a standard schedule. I saw—see—no reason to force her to return.” He stopped then, as if daring Matt to contradict him.
Patti jumped in. “We spent yesterday going over various designs after we got off the phone with you. I’m sure we’ll be fine until Laurel returns.”
Matt held his folder in a death grip, and he flexed his fingers, letting the papers fall the short distance to the table. Who the hell did this guy think he was? Sure, Bernhardt had dropped the ball, but it was imperative to have everyone on board. His entire schedule was thrown off if the head designer wasn’t available, and from the way Mr. Reynolds stared at him, like the delay was his fault, he had no intention of calling her in even telephonically or via video. Matt peeked at his watch again. Not even nine fifteen, and if she was in Vegas it was only six fifteen. She probably wasn’t awake...if she’d gone to bed yet. It was Vegas, after all.
He couldn’t worry about Mr. Reynolds’s hostility right now. Matt turned his attention to Patti. He’d always thought she needed to be reined in, but clearly it was her assistant. “Patti, I’m so glad to hear it,” he said, referring back to her claims about meeting yesterday, trying his damnedest to keep his charm level high to hide his unrelenting irritation. “Bernhardt has been very impressed with your designs, and this needs to be next level. I want something new. Something you’ve never created before, exclusive to us.”
Patti paled, and he tamped down the gnawing apprehension coursing down his arms. He hadn’t said anything exceptional, and he had no clue why she’d gone quiet. Next to her, Mr. Reynolds chose this time to remain remarkably silent.
“Like what?” she asked, her voice pitching higher.
“Like what...what?”
“You said something we’ve never offered before. What do you mean?”
Matt blinked. “I don’t know. You tell me. What haven’t you produced before that you can do now?”
Patricia pushed back from her chair and began to pace. The other two designers there, whose names Matt realized then he hadn’t gotten, fidgeted uncomfortably. She’d said they’d talked yesterday, right? What was the problem? And Mr. Reynolds sat there, apparently in no rush to intervene.
“Ms. Kingsley? Is something wrong?”
Patricia stopped her circuit of the room. Her face was still pasty, and the designers sitting at the table by her seemed to have been rendered mute.
Finally, Mr. Reynolds spoke. “Patti?” She ignored him and continued pacing, not stopping when he called her name a second time.
He pushed back from his chair, straightened his suit jacket, and met her halfway through her next circuit. Matt watched as Mr. Reynolds wrapped his arms around her shoulders. He’d wondered about their relationship from their phone conversations, and for a moment considered that maybe they were lovers. But while the hold was affectionate, it wasn’t...intimate, for lack of a better word.
Mr. Reynolds pulled back and rubbed his hands up and down Patti’s arms, and at her deep, shuddering exhale, guided her to a seat and took the one next to her. He whispered softly in her ear, then looked up. “Mr. Donaldson, I’m sure that was a bit confusing for you. Let’s just say it’s all part of the process. Why don’t you repeat the question?”
Matt inhaled, letting the air expand his chest and back, and slowly exhaled. He had a ton of questions, but no time for answers. He forced a grin on his face. “We want to do a Bernhardt exclusive, something you haven’t done before and something you’re not offering to other retailers.”
“Table runners,” Mr. Reynolds said immediately. “We do place mats but not napkins. Basic tablecloths, but Patti’s mentioned more decorative ones, with a scalloped or lace edge or something like that.”
Patti nodded, her face brightened, and she picked up from there, going into an almost impossible-to-follow list of everything they could offer. Matt didn’t understand what he’d walked into, but given the deadline he was under to make this collection happen, he didn’t have time to worry about it now.
He shook his head, took one more look at the man across from him—who smiled at Patti like he understood everything going on in her brain—and got to work.
Chapter Three
Jaq stretched his arms overhead and craned his neck. Matt had been here for two days, and those had been fourteen-hour workdays going over possible products and designs. He was efficient, more than a little short-tempered, and Jaq alternated between admiring his no-nonsense attitude and wanting to dropkick him for thinking he owned the place.
The computer dinged with another notification and Jaq looked at his screen. Laurel. He’d never admit it, but Matt had been right. It would’ve been easier to ask her to return early, but if ever a person deserved a vacation, it was her. They’d worked nonstop for three years helping put Patti on the map, and since they’d assumed they hadn’t gotten the Bernhardt deal after so much time had passed with no contact, it’d seemed like a no-brainer to let her take a week off. Still, Jaq had sent Laurel an email after they got the deal, telling her to enjoy her time off because it’d be full steam ahead when she returned, and she’d started brainstorming ideas and sending them to him.
Jaq scanned her latest message and smiled. She was done, it said, and was going out with her girls to hit up a show. Def Leppard was doing a residency, and she’d be ready to rock and roll when she got back. He snickered. She was significantly better at setting boundaries than he was. Jaq sent back a quick note telling her to have a blast, then tried to focus on following up with the other deals they had in the pipeline, making sure everything was on track.
But his concentration was off. Multiple late nights were harder now than when he was younger, and he definitely hadn’t gotten acclimated to the quiet at the house. Even when Tanisha’d gone to bed, she’d always left some sort of sleep noise machine on in her room, which filtered into his adjoining one. He hadn’t realized how used to it he’d gotten until he tried sleeping without it.
He could pack it in and go for a long day tomorrow, or try for one more hour. Jaq checked his phone. Not quite eight, and the sun was still shining, enough that he didn’t have to keep the overhead lights on. But he wouldn’t mind some more sweet tea, so he pushed back from his chair and headed down the hallway.
The office they’d temporarily set up for Matt was on the way to the kitchen, and Jaq saw the strip of unnatural light coming from underneath the door. He sighed. Someone needed to stay until Matt left so the place could be locked up, and everyone else was gone. Something about the man set Jaq’s nerves off, and he’d avoided spending more time than necessary around Matt. Jaq rolled his shoulders back and headed in that direction. He’d get his tea, check and see how long Matt planned to be there, and tomorrow talk to Patti about getting Matt some sort of access to the building so he could stay as long as he wanted.
“No, Diane, that doesn’t make sense. If they’re not outlining the price in writing, we’re potentially looking at tens of thousands of extra dollars. We need a firm number.” Matt’s voice was stri
dent through the partially open door.
Jaq stopped. He should keep walking, get his drink and get back to his desk, but he was transfixed, his feet rooted firmly in place. Jaq peered through the crack in the door. Matt was pacing the same way he had the past few nights as design concepts had been advanced and discarded in rapid succession. He wasn’t as fast as Patti with his ideas, but he was no slouch, and Jaq’s attention had been riveted, more than he cared to admit. Right now, Matt’s tie was loosened, an extra button at the top of his shirt undone. He was disgustingly attractive.
“Diane.” Matt paused and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am not spending upwards of thousands of dollars more because you don’t care about the cost.” Another pause, then, “Yes, please tell me more about how I’m a penny-pinching cheapskate. I won’t pay for a goddamn thing if you keep it up. You know I’d rather give the money to Josh directly anyway.”
Matt plopped in his chair and Jaq hustled to the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of extra-sweet tea and took a deep breath, turning the aborted conversation over in his mind, then straightened to put his game face on when he heard steps coming from down the hall.
“I didn’t know anyone was still here,” Matt said, his voice gruff. He bent over the water cooler and filled the bottle Jaq had noticed Matt kept on him.
“Yeah, well, can’t exactly leave while you’re around.”
Matt looked up at him but didn’t say anything. When the bottle was full, he straightened, looking Jaq up and down. “Why’s that?” he asked.
Jaq ignored the tingle of awareness that shot through him at Matt’s perusal. “Patti give you a key?”
“No.” Matt raised a brow. “What, you think I’m going to hack your computers, steal your design plans, and go gallivanting off with our competitors or something?” His voice was right on the edge of mocking, and whatever Jaq’d felt at his body’s reaction to Matt’s eyes on him vanished as he remembered the fundamental truth. Matt was the biggest of assholes, and Jaq had neither the time nor the patience to put up with his shit.
