by Reese Ryan
Still, Sasha seemed unaffected. As if it were a run-of-the-mill Friday night.
She pulled out two black folders with gold lettering on them and handed him one. “You asked to see my plan for growing your brand? Well, here it is.”
“You want to do this right now?” Jordan opened the folder emblazoned with the name of the marketing agency Sasha worked for.
“I appreciate the lovely gesture, of course. I’ve been wanting to try this place since they opened six months ago.” Sasha glanced around the elegant restaurant. “However, I thought it best to establish the tone at the outset. Whatever you might call it, for me, this is very much a business dinner.”
“Point taken.” Jordan nodded sagely. “And maybe you’re right. Best to get all of the business out of the way so we can move on to more...fun aspects of the evening.”
Sasha’s eyes widened and she blinked several times. “Jordan, I don’t want to give you the wrong idea about tonight. I want to work with you, of course. But not if that means you expect me to—”
“Oh God, no.” Jordan held his hands up. “I know that I made this dinner a requirement for me to consider working with you, but I’d never...” He couldn’t even say the words. “That isn’t even remotely my style. I assure you. However, I am quite taken with you, Sasha. I’d like to get to know you better. I don’t see anything wrong with that, do you?”
Sasha sank her teeth into her luscious lower lip, the wheels turning in her lovely head. She didn’t respond to his question. Instead, she took a sip of the mineral water she’d ordered instead of wine.
Finally, she raised her eyes to his. “In that case, I should tell you that you don’t need to try so hard to impress me.”
Jordan leaned forward. “And why is that?”
“I’m already impressed. You’re a brilliant artist, Jordan. I know that your pieces will be in museums all over the world within five or ten years. Kids will be studying them in art classes in twenty.”
Sasha paused as the server put their appetizers on the table. A warm puff pastry filled with Camembert cheese and served with a side of fruit chutney. She asked for her water glass to be refilled, repeating her insistence that she wouldn’t be drinking.
That affirmed two things. One: Sasha felt it imperative that she remain stone-cold sober. Two: she didn’t trust what she might do if she wasn’t.
All the better.
That way there’d be no question of impropriety when they tumbled into his bed.
“Thank you for your vote of confidence.” Jordan put a piece of the warm, flaky pastry oozing with cheese on each of their plates and handed her one. “But I know bloody well you didn’t come to that conclusion from speaking to my parents.”
Her gaze dropped to her plate for a moment. When it returned to his there was an unmistakable pity that made his cheeks burn.
“Your mother wouldn’t have invested in my services if she didn’t think your work worthy.” Sasha skillfully avoided mention of Jonathan Jace’s feelings about his art.
Add kindness and compassion to the woman’s growing list of virtues.
“And as to my conclusions about you...well, I always make a point of arriving at those on my own. And what sealed it for me wasn’t Jordan Jace, the artist. It was Jordan Jace, the man.”
Jordan paused, a forkful of cheesy deliciousness inches from his lips, and cocked an eyebrow. “How do you mean?”
“I mean I’m impressed with your commitment to the environment and to helping disadvantaged young artists.” She shrugged, breaking and spearing a piece of the pastry with her fork. “I’ve always been a sucker for a man with a cause.” She nearly said the words under her breath.
Jordan chuckled. “Ahh...you were that girl. The one who wears her heart on her sleeve and has a ‘Save The’ sticker for every cause known to man.”
“Am I that transparent?” Sasha laughed, then took a bite of the pastry. Her murmur of appreciation went straight below his belt.
Jordan groaned internally, painfully aware of the need to adjust his trousers.
“I admit I’m a proud, card-carrying member of several organizations. Organizations and causes I care deeply about. The environment and funding arts education in public schools happen to be two of the causes I hold dear.” She smiled. “So this isn’t just a routine client job for me. It’s important that I help you succeed.”
There was something about the warmth of her words and the sincerity with which she uttered them that tugged at a string in his chest. The unexpected feeling temporarily rendered him speechless.
“All right, Sasha Charles. You win. I’d be a fool to turn down an offer like that.” Jordan smiled. “So where exactly do we begin?”
“Two areas.” Sasha opened the folder. “First, we make your social media accounts more dynamic and engaging. More reflective of you and your art.”
“Sounds good.” He nodded. “I’m sure Lydia will be glad to have that off her plate. Call my office during the week and she’ll give you the log-in information for all of the accounts.”
“My team will generate the posts, but I’ll run everything past you. Get your approval first. Especially in the beginning while we’re learning each other.”
“Learning each other,” he repeated her words, fondly. If that would require more evenings spent in the company of this gorgeous, compassionate woman, Jordan was all in. “I like the sound of that even better. Only I’m at quite the disadvantage. Aside from what you do for a living, I know very little about you.”
“There’s not much to tell.” Sasha shrugged. “I’m an average girl from an average, working-class family. I grew up in a neighborhood where nothing was given, and everything was earned. I’ve been driven by that motto my entire life.” She took another bite of the pastry. “End of story.”
“That’s a good start.” Jordan couldn’t help the admiration that rose in his chest as he surveyed the woman. “But somehow I feel you’re being extremely modest. That there’s a lot more than you’re letting on.”
“Can’t give up all of my secrets right away.” Sasha pulled another piece of the pastry off, creating a long, gooey string of cheese.
Jordan was enthralled with watching her place a morsel in her mouth and chew. He gulped water from his glass and set it on the table again. “So, what does an average girl from an average, working-class family like to do for fun?”
Her brown eyes danced with amusement. “When I’m not working or volunteering for a youth mentoring organization run by a friend, I’m usually hanging out with friends or visiting my family. Though, there haven’t been many girls’ nights out since my best friend, Miranda, married Vaughn Ellicott—a friend of yours, I believe.”
Jordan’s jaw tightened as he recalled his most recent encounter with Vaughn when he’d suspected him of being a vandal and thief.
“He’s the treasurer of our local Prescott George chapter.” There was no need to say more than that.
“You don’t like him.” Sasha tilted her head as she assessed him. It wasn’t a question. “I wasn’t sure I did either, at first. But when I realized he really, truly loved Miranda...well, then I gave him a fair chance. The better I know him, the more I like him.”
“Perhaps I don’t know him well enough yet.” Jordan smiled politely, eager to move on from discussing Vaughn Ellicott. “My fault entirely, I’m sure. I’m not the most social member of the club.”
“Being a member of Prescott George is quite an investment. And your membership there offers you the opportunity to make incredible connections locally and abroad. So as your brand strategist, I’d recommend that you become a more social member.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he grumbled as the server brought their meals and set them on the table. After they’d both had a chance to dig in to their meals, he returned his attention to her. “So, it’s a Friday night. You aren’t working or vol
unteering and your best friend is spending time with her new husband. What would be your ideal way to spend the evening?”
“I’m a jeans and flip-flops kind of girl at heart.” She looked up from her coq au vin for a moment. “So while I do like to dress up on occasion, I’m just as content to sit on my sofa and watch TV while drinking a light beer and eating takeout from a really good chicken shack. The kind you find in only the sketchiest of neighborhoods.”
Jordan couldn’t help the genuine laughter her statement evoked. “You’re simply full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“I could say the same of you.” She smiled. “You’re not just the rebellious wild child everyone thinks you are. You’re a brilliant artist, well versed in your craft. You have a huge heart and a soft spot for kids who want to be artists, too. Kids who remind you of yourself.”
When he didn’t respond, she continued. “You pretend to be this perennial bad boy. And perhaps at some point you were. But that isn’t the person I see.”
Jordan shifted in his seat beneath her warm brown eyes. There was something about those eyes. They had the uncanny ability to peer beyond the surface. To bore a hole in the hardened exterior he was willing to show the world. To dig into the soft, vulnerable center he worked so hard to conceal.
It was unnerving.
He was accustomed to dealing with people at surface level. He kept them at a safe distance. Didn’t dig too deep or allow them to.
Yet, here was Sasha Charles, barreling through all the barriers. Not fooled by the facade he showed to the world.
“And exactly who is it that you think you see?” He focused on cutting into his lamb chop.
“You’re a really good guy, Jordan Jace. You care about the world and the people in your community. You’re not the self-involved trust fund kid people think you are.”
“Maybe that’s exactly what I want them to see.”
“But why? Why wouldn’t you want people to see the truth? To realize what a good person you are?”
“I don’t work with the kids for publicity. It’s something I do for myself and for them. And philanthropist artists don’t make for very splashy headlines. Think back to all the great artists. It’s their stories of scandal and tragedy that you remember. Not that they helped little old ladies across the street.” His voice had grown slightly tense.
He hadn’t purposely created his bad boy image, but he hadn’t done anything to discourage it, either. And he’d most certainly reveled in the freedom it afforded him. He was content to keep things just as they were.
“I guess you’re right about the notoriety of some artists.” Sasha nodded thoughtfully. “But I happen to believe that authenticity is more powerful. Why can’t you embrace all of who you are? Playboy philanthropist could certainly be a thing. One that would work for you and make more corporations open their doors to your art for their public spaces.”
Jordan sighed. “I’ll think about it...on two conditions.”
Sasha rolled her eyes, then put down her fork. The corner of her mouth curved in a smile she was doing a miserable job of hiding. “All right, let’s hear it.”
“No more business talk. We spend the rest of dinner ‘learning each other.’”
“And the second condition?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Go out with me again tomorrow afternoon.”
“Jordan...” She shook her head.
“You want to know more about me...as an artist and as a man? Then go out with me tomorrow. It won’t be anything fancy. Dress just the way you would if you were spending the afternoon running errands or hanging with friends. But it will be worthwhile. I promise you.”
Sasha sighed. She chewed her lower lip, her head tilted slightly as she assessed him. She pulled out her black planner, pen in hand, and scanned it.
“Fine. What time tomorrow afternoon?”
“I’ll pick you up at two o’clock.” Something inside his chest leaped for joy.
Sasha was definitely interested. The heat and passion in her eyes the night they met—that was no mere act. Nor was the effort she’d made to stay reserved. Calm. To act as if she were completely unaffected by him.
But there were little hints in her expression. In the tone of her voice.
She fancied him, too.
But then there was her penchant for propriety. Her hesitance to break her self-imposed rules. Enticing Sasha to venture beyond the safety of the barbed wire fence she’d erected around herself would require more than boyish charm or swagger.
Sasha wasn’t impressed with his family name, his wealth or his fancy cars. Her excitement over his ability to secure the hottest restaurant reservations in town was mild at best.
What drew Sasha in was him opening up to her. Being genuine to the point of discomfort. Talking about subjects he normally avoided. Like disappointing his parents. Or the years he’d spent schlepping garbage and cleaning paintbrushes as an artist’s apprentice. His work with underprivileged youth.
Sasha Charles was unlike any woman he’d known. Which made her more of a challenge and infinitely more desirable.
Everything in Jordan’s life was a tad bit sweeter when he’d been forced to work for it. It was obvious Sasha Charles intended to make him do just that.
Chapter 5
Sasha paced the floor of her apartment in a pair of khaki shorts, a cotton tank and her favorite pair of leather sandals.
Going out with Jordan again is a mistake.
Sasha recognized she was treading dangerous territory with Jordan Jace. She’d had countless client lunches and dinners. None of them left her feeling the way she had after spending two nights in Jordan’s company.
She worked with clients that had left her angry, confused or both. But none of them were an enigmatic puzzle she was desperately compelled to solve. None of them made her want to keep tugging at strings until she’d found the one that would unravel him.
She checked the time on her phone.
Too late to cancel now.
Sasha sucked in a deep, belly breath. She released it, then repeated the entire process again and again.
Last night, she’d pretended, with great effort, to be completely nonchalant about Jordan’s gorgeous, expensive car. And only mildly impressed by his ability to secure reservations to the hottest restaurant in town on short notice.
Truthfully, she’d been touched by the lengths to which Jordan had gone to impress her. And she was just as taken with him. In any other circumstance, she’d have happily encouraged his efforts. But this was business, and Jordan was a client.
Still, he did look good enough to eat last night.
Sasha sank her teeth into her lower lip, remembering how fine Jordan had looked and how delicious he’d smelled when he’d arrived at her door. Her skin had tingled and electricity trailed down her spine, igniting a warm sensation between her thighs. For the briefest moment, she’d wondered how it would feel to yank him inside her apartment and press her lips to his. Allow the hands of an artist to explore every part of her body.
Instead, she’d bitten the inside of her cheek, pressed her lips into a hard line and greeted him as she would’ve greeted any other client.
Jordan’s unmistakable knock on her door pulled her from her daze.
Even the man’s knock was masculine and virulent and...oh God...there was that warmth and tingling in parts of her anatomy that insisted on going rogue.
“Hey.” She opened the door, slightly stunned by what she saw. Jordan in a pair of slim cut, tattered jeans and a T-shirt that read King. His curly hair was worn in a full afro. Well-groomed, yet slightly unruly. Just enough to make her want to slide her fingers in it and pull his mouth to hers.
Damn.
There was that warmth and tingling again.
She needed to pull it together or it would be impossible to make it through the rest of
their date that wasn’t a date. At least, not in the traditional take-me-to-your-place-and-have-your-way-with-me sense. Though she couldn’t help wishing it was.
“Hey.” Jordan leaned against the doorway. His gaze trailed down her body and lingered on her legs for a moment before returning to meet hers. “You took my advice and kept it casual. Though, you’ve somehow managed to look just as stunning as you did last night in a cocktail dress.”
Sasha’s cheeks warmed and she mumbled her thanks as she quickly stepped into the hall. Before she could do something stupid. Like lean in and kiss him.
He surprised her by jumping into a discussion of her marketing plan the moment they got into the car. Jordan seemed to embrace the idea. Even if he didn’t fully appreciate the need for the work she did, he seemed willing to give her plan a chance.
She’d been so distracted by their lively conversation about her ideas for honing his brand, that she hadn’t noticed where they were. They weren’t in the kind of affluent neighborhood a person like Jordan Jace normally frequented.
He’d been mysterious when she inquired about exactly where they were going. Now she understood why. He’d taken note of what she’d said the previous night about her ideal Friday night. It was Saturday afternoon, but she appreciated it just the same.
“We’re going to a dive chicken shack.” She couldn’t help the smile that tightened her cheeks.
“It’s actually a rib joint, but the chicken is quite good, too.” Jordan looked straight ahead as he navigated the much narrower streets. “Hope that’s all right.”
“It’s perfect.” She resisted the urge to hug him.
The hole-in-the-wall restaurant had a line that went out the front door and around a corner. But it was worth every moment spent waiting in line.
Sasha was sure Jordan would want to take their food back to his place or to his studio. Instead, they shared a rickety picnic table with a family of four, including two adorable little girls.
They noshed on ribs, chicken, homemade potato salad, green beans and mouthwatering peach cobbler. Jordan was completely comfortable out of his usual element. He sparked conversation with their fellow diners, most of whom were from the surrounding neighborhood.
