by Lana Sky
“Abby!”
I stumbled for the door again, but Jason was there in an instant, blocking me with one arm thrown across the doorway.
“Wait,” he insisted when I tried to shrug him off. Heedless of my protests, he seized the collar of my blouse and gently disentangled my fingers from the fabric. Then, with a steadiness I envied, he fastened the loose buttons and tucked a stray bit of hair behind my ear before withdrawing.
“ABBY!”
I pushed my way past Jason and headed for Bret’s office, painfully aware of my cheeks burning and the ache in my throat.
Focus, Abby.
Focus!
“It’s about damn time,” Bret snarled when I appeared in the doorway of his office. He sat behind his desk with his feet propped against the mahogany and his hands folded, a la an evil villain mastermind. “You did good,” he said softly, contrasting with his previous harshness. “Getting Jason Daniels as a client could be a promising move for your career. I’m…proud of you.”
The sheer fact that the inside of my bottom lip stung—the bastard had more than nibbled, it seemed—let me know that this wasn’t a dream. Though, I was perfectly content to assume that I was hallucinating.
“D-Don’t be a prick, Bret,” I managed to rasp.
He shrugged and uncurled his fingers to tap one set of nails against the desk’s surface. “Keep up the good work. Here—” He pulled open a drawer with the same hand and withdrew something that he tossed onto the desk. “I was planning on keeping these for myself, but you can have them. Play a little.”
I stared down at what appeared to be two strips of paper about an inch wide. Scrawled across them was the name of a decently successful record label. Apparently, they were invitations to some kind of fancy party hosted by one of the execs. The kind loaded with shallow celebrities, plenty of booze, and lots of vices to go around. The type of party Perry and I haunted for one-night stands.
“What the hell is wrong with you? Take them,” Bret prompted when I didn’t move.
Woodenly, I crossed over to the desk and snatched up the tickets.
“Thanks…”
“Whatever,” Bret grunted. “Now get out of here and make us some more money.”
I was in a daze when I re-entered the hall, ready to duck into my office and dissect every sordid detail of this morning and beat myself over the head with them.
I hadn’t really given into him so easily, had I?
Was I the one who had initiated the contact, or had he?
What the hell was wrong with me?
I was perfectly prepared to review the excruciating details over the flask of emergency vodka I kept in my desk.
However, my own private pity party would have to wait.
A man stood across from me, barring the door to my office. Without waiting for a trademark snarky reply, Jason simply pushed open the door with his hip and walked inside while tossing me a terse few words.
“We need to talk.”
Wonderful.
I considered running. Just bolting past poor “Widget” and ducking into a cab.
Screw my reputation.
Screw my personality.
No one had ever inspired my instinctive “fight or flight” response like Jason Daniels, and frankly, I was tired of having my proverbial ass kicked. Entering another enclosed space with him didn’t seem like a good idea.
But…
There was this nagging little voice in the back of my mind telling me that I had never been so on edge before. I wasn’t used to being challenged.
I hated it and yet…I liked it.
Without bothering to dissect the reasons why, I headed forward with my head held high.
After all, there was nothing like a healthy bit of competition.
He was standing by my desk with his back to me, and I don’t know why that position seemed so threatening. I didn’t like the thought of him peering over the surfaces and noticing that they were bare of any décor or decoration. I didn’t have any pictures of family or friends grouped in coveted spots. Just a row of three pens and a stack of paperwork.
Neat.
Efficient.
It was how I liked to run things. It was how I liked to run everything, especially my relationships. I usually kept my lovers neatly lined up like writing utensils, with the next one ready when the previous one broke.
But Jason wasn’t in my queue. I hadn’t expected him—or this…whatever strange game of cat and mouse this was, and no one had thought to tell me the rules.
“What do you want?” I snapped.
He turned. Once again, his expression was guarded. I had no idea what he might have said next, but I could have never expected this: “Have dinner with me.”
Shock barreled through my system, and I blamed it for the ungainly snort that ripped from my chest. “This isn’t really the place to issue a dinner invitation.”
“So accept it anyway.”
He made it sound so simple, and I found myself scrambling for a coherent comeback.
“I…you…you can’t just barge into someone’s office and command them to dinner,” I settled on, exasperated.
Jason didn’t respond right away. Instead he watched me—a slow perusal of his eyes roaming my body up and down. Down and up.
Over and over again.
Then…
“Dinner. Tonight. You can pick the place—”
“I can’t,” I blurted, more intimidated by the thought of “dinner” than I cared to admit. Dinner was close. Dinner was intimate. Depending on the venue and the dress I’d have to wear, “dinner” also meant abiding by Perry’s no-panty-lines rule, and my stomach flipped at the thought. “I have plans.”
The party tickets were in my fist, and I brandished both like a weapon. Jason barely paid them a passing glance. His gaze honed in on mine instead, burning too brightly to ignore.
“We need to talk, Abigail.”
Talk.
Talk.
Never a more dangerous word had been uttered by a man than that.
“There’s nothing to discuss,” I said, fighting for control. “We don’t have anything more than a business relationship—”
“Bullshit.” His drawl dragged on the word, making it sound oh-so dangerous. I jumped, unable to hide a hasty swallow. Noticing my reaction, Jason worked to make his tone softer, but he wasn’t letting up. “Have dinner with me.”
“No.” I sounded so damn childish, but I didn’t care.
“Why not?”
“I…you…we…” My mouth opened again, but a solid argument wouldn’t form. I was speechless, and like the formidable opponent he was, Jason seemed to hone in on the way I swayed on my feet, but he never made a move to assist me.
After a few tense seconds that felt like a lifetime, he headed for the door.
“Wait…”
I don’t know what possessed me to call him back. Or why the thought of him just walking away irritated me so damn much.
He froze, shoulders tense.
“Why dinner?” I challenged. “Why not just screw? That’s what you’re after, isn’t it?”
My rumpled blouse and my missing panties attested to that. Something told me that the remnants of the latter were tucked safely within his pocket, only I was way too chicken to ask for that shredded tidbit of dignity back.
He didn’t speak and, strangely, his silence made it easier for me to keep talking.
“I’ll make you an offer,” I said quickly. “Just admit it, right now, and we’ll go to the nearest hotel. To screw. Not to talk or eat or anything else.”
The back of my throat ached in the wake of those words. I wished I could have taken them back, almost as much as I wished he would just say yes.
Say yes.
My mouth watered in anticipation, aching to kiss him again. My fingers twitched with the sudden urge to dig through his hair and feel its softness for myself. I wanted him, pressed against me somewhere private—and that was a good thing.
&
nbsp; Lust, I could handle. Screwing Jason Daniels on an impulsive whim in the middle of the day would get him out of my system and at least help me to regain control.
Say yes.
I waited, body tense, ready to scramble for the door the moment he agreed. His throat jerked, and a single, husky word broke free.
“No.”
He might as well have punched me in the stomach.
Rejection happened…only it had never happened to me. Professionally, yes, but no one had ever turned me down for sex.
Ever.
For a moment, I could only stare at him while my cheeks heated and this strange sensation shot through my stomach.
“Fine then,” I choked out eventually. “Get out.”
Jason didn’t even flinch at the venom in my tone, but near the threshold of the door, he paused and shot me a look so searing that I felt my toes curl in my heels.
“I would love more than anything to ‘screw’ you, Abigail,” he said. “Trust me, I would. But I also know that’s not all you want. That’s not all I want.”
I shook my head as my mind reeled.
He wanted me.
He didn’t want me.
I couldn’t keep up.
“You don’t know what the hell I want,” I croaked.
Because I most certainly wanted that hotel room, even as the brunt of his rejection tore through my chest. All he had to do was say the word, and I probably would have shrugged off the hurt and followed him anyway.
But he never did, and I was left standing there in a rumpled miniskirt and wrinkled blouse.
“Just get out.”
He left without a word, and I marched over to the door and slammed it behind him. Then, I clung to the back of it, suddenly struggling to stay upright. The air wouldn’t stay in my lungs. My knees buckled. Over and over, Jason’s words circled my brain like the pieces of some complex jigsaw puzzle that I would never in a million years be able to solve.
I could still smell him. Still feel him all over me…and I had never felt so alone.
Already this business relationship seemed to be off to a rousing start.
Chapter 9
I couldn’t get inside my apartment quickly enough.
After tossing my purse into a corner, I headed straight into the kitchen and snatched the container of rocky road ice cream that I kept hidden at the back of the freezer for emergencies.
Perry would pitch a bitch-fit if he knew I’d smuggled in sugary contraband, but as far as I was concerned, a few needless calories were just what the doctor had ordered. Ideally, I would go into a diabetic coma and subsequently erase this entire day from my memory.
The events from the copy room flooded my mind in tortuous detail. I couldn’t help but pour over every movement. Every word. Every illicit kiss.
What the hell had gone so damn wrong?
Somewhere along the line, I had made a mistake—crossed the line—and for the first time in my adult life, I was the one left reeling from rejection.
I tried to tell myself that I had still come out on top; I hadn’t given into Jason’s demands. I had held firm. I hadn’t let him take the reins.
But what if you had? A faint voice at the back of my mind whispered, and I couldn’t silence it, no matter how many spoonfuls of ice cream I shoved into my mouth.
How was it possible that I could still feel Jason’s body pressed against mine, hours later? Could still smell him?
The cloud of Perry’s cologne that lingered in the air couldn’t displace Jason’s musk.
Not even a bit of mindless television and half a carton of ice cream could push the memories away.
By the time night fell and Perry barged into my room, I was too exhausted to even care what I looked like. Which, judging from Perry’s reaction, was pretty damn bad.
“Who the hell are you?” he demanded from the foot of my bed after studying me for a full minute.
I raised an eyebrow and clutched my ice cream a little tighter to my chest. “I think all that exercise is going to your head.”
He was still wearing a tracksuit and a thin layer of sweat from his latest stint at the gym. For what had to be five more minutes, he stood there watching me with a disapproving shake of his head. The word “pathetic” might have been tossed around once or twice.
“You’re moping,” he sniffed finally, as if it was the dirtiest of insults. “Even worse—you’re moping with carbs.”
Honestly, I had no idea what he was on about. Ending the day with a giant spoonful of rocky road and my stash of I Love Lucy DVDs was definitely not a sign of “moping.”
Besides, the change of pace had nothing to do with Jason. Nothing to do with the soul-crushing confusion that unfurled whenever I so much as thought about him. Nothing.
“Go away,” I snapped, throwing a pillow in Perry’s direction. “This is my favorite episode.”
Ethel and Lucy had entered the chocolate factory—ready to get up to their trademark shenanigans—just as I’d struck that spot in the ice-cream carton where the nuts had settled.
I lifted the spoon once again and tried to convince myself that the color of the chocolate didn’t unintentionally remind me of a certain mop of brown, wavy hair.
And I so wasn’t imagining running my fingers through said hair, no siree.
“Abbs, step away from the lighthearted comedy and put down the spoon.”
Before I could reach for another pillow, Perry lunged for the remote and switched off the TV.
“We’re going out,” he declared, facing me with his arms crossed. “Get dressed.”
“I’m tired.” Rather than meet my cousin’s judgmental gaze head on, I observed the glop of ice cream still heaped onto my spoon. “I’ve had a long day.”
“You need something long, all right,” Perry remarked without a shred of sympathy. “Now, get up.”
The desperate edge of a whine crept into my voice. “No.”
Darkness had fallen. The nightlife of the city was most likely in full swing, but I wasn’t really inclined to go out and pretend to be a part of it all.
I was tired.
I was overloaded with ice cream.
I was not thinking about Jason.
“Put Lucy back on,” I demanded, shoveling another spoonful of rocky road into my mouth to distract me from the thought.
Perry just scowled, and I knew that he was imagining just how many laps on the treadmill it would take to burn these calories off—these delicious, creamy calories that gave me my satisfaction and didn’t expect anything more from it.
Shockingly, rather than make some snarky jab about watching the scale, Perry surprised me.
“I have a present for you.”
“What is it?” I was instantly suspicious as he headed to the door of my bedroom without explanation and grabbed something that he must have stashed just outside it. When he returned, he held a swath of dark fabric across one arm and unfolded the material with a flourish.
It was a dress—a floor-length ballgown formed of black silk and chiffon, crowned by a teasing neckline made entirely of strategically placed lace, to be exact. The same dress that currently graced the cover of all the major fashion magazines, and the one that he and I had been slobbering over for months.
“Don’t tell me you bought that,” I began. As breathtaking as it was, I knew that the gown also happened to cost a small fortune.
“Of course not,” Perry sniffed. “But I do have connections.”
“It’s…” I trailed off, unable to find the right words to describe it. Instead, I settled for wiping a bit of melting chocolate from my lip.
“Perfect, I know,” Perry filled in for me, preening with smug delight. “And that’s not all.”
With a dramatic flair he reached into his pocket and withdrew a slender piece of fabric that he placed over his eyes. It was a lace face mask.
“I went through your bag,” he admitted, eyes twinkling from behind the black fabric. “Tickets to the hottest party of the ye
ar? You bet your toned ass we’re going.”
“So this isn’t about cheering me up,” I deduced, though I wasn’t truly upset. God knew how Perry loved wiggling his way into exclusive venues.
“Cheering you up is a nice bonus.” My cousin shrugged, unashamed. “It’s a hot party. I want to go, and I think it will be a lot easier for me to get in with a bombshell on my arm.”
I sighed but found myself closing my carton of ice cream and reluctantly setting it aside.
“Most people would take hours to get ready for that party,” I halfheartedly pointed out.
“Most people don’t have me. Now get up,” Perry commanded with a snap of his fingers. “You look like a hobo, and we’re going to need to wash the shame out of that hair if I’m going to be able to work with it.”
I sighed again, deeper this time.
The rocky road settled heavily in my stomach, and I was still dying to see the end of that ILL episode for the billionth time. But Perry could be like a dog with a bone once he got an idea into his head, so I finally surrendered with a roll of my eyes.
“Do I get to wear the dress at least?”
“Of course.” Perry beamed. “It’s not my size anyway. Now, try to avoid dancing, wine drinking, and partying in general. It’s a rental, and I need to get it back to Le Rouge unscathed by tomorrow morning or you're dead and I’m out four thousand dollars.”
I shrugged. “Deal.”
At least the threat gave me something to look forward to.
An hour later, I strutted toward the music exec gala with my head held high and my freshly blown-out hair streaming behind me.
Perry had worked his magic, pairing the edgy cut of the dress with a red clutch and a set of ruby earrings. A subtle layer of makeup had restored the confidence that now had me jabbing my chin into the air, ready to divide and conquer.
Jason who?
“You look villainous,” Perry complimented from my side. Surprisingly, he hadn’t asked about the reason behind the ice-cream and comedy meltdown—though something told me that he already suspected the answer. On the drive over, his brand new copy of a certain country star’s CD had been conspicuously shoved into the glove compartment. “If we both don’t end this night getting laid, then its double reps at the gym,” he declared. “Now let’s see if this party is worth all the hype.”
