“Hero?” she said, her voice low and dangerously even. That surprised him. He’d be a liar if he said it also didn’t worry him. “Where in that thickheaded, egotistical skull of yours do you think I’d consider you a hero for butting into my business?”
“That would be my brain, Mel. The frontal lobe, to be specific.” He almost winked again, but feared that might be pushing his luck. “In case you are unaware, that is where reasoning takes place…along with a whole bunch of other stuff.”
“Well, I’d say your frontal lobe is severely damaged,” she snapped. Bright spots of pink colored her cheeks. “You’re a conceited, know-it-all, cocky, pushy dog of a man who uses his sex appeal and charisma to get what he wants.” She pointed her finger at him and took one long step forward. “And I’m here to tell you that your charm and…and…stupid, sexy smile don’t work on me.”
“You know,” he drawled, going for light and easy. “Somewhere in the middle there were several compliments. I’m flattered you think of me so highly.”
“Compliments?” With two taps on her forehead, she said, “Yep. Your frontal lobe is definitely out of whack. Might want to consider scheduling a doctor’s appointment before you completely lose touch with reality.”
Counting off on his fingers, Jace said, “Sex appeal. Charisma. Charm. Sexy smile. Oh, and cocky. I count that as five compliments. Though I suppose charisma and charm could count as one, but you used both so I say two.”
He watched in part humor, part dread as the pink flush darkened to a scalding red. Embarrassment, temper or both? “I’m curious,” Melanie said. “Were you always this full of yourself or is this attitude a recent change in your behavior?”
“Hey, you’re the one who said I had a sexy smile.” Then, knowing he shouldn’t, but not able to stop himself, he said, “And I did save your job, so perhaps a ‘Thank you, Jace’ might be in order after all.”
“It was my problem to deal with. Not yours.” She stepped forward another few paces. “I don’t appreciate that you took it upon yourself to speak with Kurt about me. About my job. I’m a big girl, Jace. My mistakes are my mistakes. I don’t need a man swooping in to clean up after me.” Her gaze fixed on him. If he hadn’t been watching her closely, he would’ve missed the way her chin trembled. “I don’t need a hero.”
There was hurt there, he realized. The gleam of it trebled in her voice, glittered in her expression. He hadn’t expected that. He didn’t know how to deal with that. “He was going to fire you, Mel. I wanted to help.”
“I don’t need a hero,” she repeated. Oh, crap. Her eyes had a definite watery glow.
Jace swung his legs off of his desk. It was time to reel this in, before she burst into tears. He couldn’t handle when a woman cried. Any woman. If Melanie cried, he was pretty sure he’d give her anything she wanted to make her stop. His car, his house, all of the money in his bank account…his still-beating heart. Whatever it took.
“Look,” he said calmly, “this wasn’t about playing hero. I was planning on talking to you today about doing that Valentine’s Day feature together. And then I read your column.”
Melanie angled her arms across her chest. “So you went to Kurt why?”
“Because I knew he’d be ticked.” Jace shrugged. “I actually like when you go all crazy-man-hater woman in your column, but Kurt doesn’t. We couldn’t do the article together if you were fired, so I stepped in.”
“I don’t hate men. I just don’t—”
“Trust them. Yeah, you’ve made that clear.”
“I have never met a man worth trusting.” Her eyes rounded, as if she hadn’t meant to disclose that information. There was a story there, Jace knew. Come hell or high water, he was going to find out what that story was.
But for now, all he said was “You’ve met him now.”
“That remains to be seen.” She huffed out a breath. “You should know I hate this. I accepted the stipulations because being out of work would cause more problems than dealing with you. But I’m not going to date you. I’m not going to sleep with you. I’m not interested in anything but a professional relationship with you. You need to be clear on that going in.”
Her voice held steel, but her eyes were still too shiny for Jace’s comfort. So he didn’t point out that she sounded as if she were trying to convince herself and not him. “Any other rules before we start earning our salaries?”
She slicked her palms down the front of her jeans. “You understand that I’m serious?”
“No dating. No sex. Yep, I understand.” Opening his top desk drawer, he pulled out two legal pads. With a nod toward a chair, he said, “Take a seat. We have a lot to talk about.”
“And here we go,” she murmured and sat down. “I really hate this.”
“Working with me is really that bad?” He shoved one of the pads and a pencil across the desk.
“Well, see…that’s the thing. I’m not working with you. You’re in charge. Kurt was quite adamant on that front.”
Ah. That was what was bugging her. The frustration bubbling through him eased. “I don’t care what Kurt said. We’re partners…okay? I’m not going to order you around or ask you to answer my phone or get me coffee. As far as I’m concerned, we’re equals.”
“Hmm.” Her right eyebrow arched. “Except you get to review anything I write, and if you decide something should be changed, I have to change it. Doesn’t sound so equal to me.”
Overseeing Melanie’s work hadn’t been Jace’s idea, so he had no problem saying “How about this? We’ll just pretend I’m supervising your damn column. Just stay away from the man-hating verbiage so Kurt doesn’t decide to fire us both.”
Genuine astonishment flickered over her face. Good. It was about time he surprised her. “Serious? You’d risk your job to put us on an even playing field?”
Hell, he’d quit his job if that was what it took. “I’m asking you to trust me. This way, I have to trust you, too.” Jace held out a hand. “So what do you say? Partners?”
She hesitated for a millisecond, but then nodded and reached over to shake his hand. “Okay, Jace. Partners. But no flirting. No sexual innuendo. All business.”
“Right.” He captured her hand in his, and they shook. Her hand, soft and warm, fit perfectly into his. A shot of electricity, awareness, sizzled along his skin, sped his pulse and frazzled his brain. He dropped his grip and picked up his pencil before he said something stupid. Hell, touching her made him want to spout off poetry. If he did, she’d probably clock him straight across the jaw.
In an effort to regain his equilibrium, he angled his head to the side and gave her a megawatt grin. “But, just to get this straight, you think my smile is sexy?”
The corners of her lips wiggled in the makings of a smile. She reined it in, gave him a long look and shrugged. “I’ve seen worse.”
And that, he figured, was the best he was going to get from her. For now, anyway.
Melanie glanced at the notes she’d jotted for the past thirty minutes and tried to dredge up even a glimmer of excitement. Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to happen. Not only because of the topic of the article, but because of the man she had to deal with. Being around Jace made her jumpy, made her obsess about stupid things like how her hair looked.
She didn’t want to think about her hair. She didn’t want to worry if she had coffee breath or if he noticed that she could stand to lose a few pounds. But mostly, she didn’t want to fantasize about what it would be like to sleep with him.
Yeah, he’d surprised her with his willingness to put her at ease, and maybe she felt a tiny bit more comfortable with this ridiculous arrangement than she had when she’d stormed into his office. But she didn’t trust him. Nor, if she was being honest, did she trust herself.
The only solution was to change the s
cope of the Valentine’s Day article so they wouldn’t have to spend countless hours together. But first she had to get him to agree.
“You know, we don’t have a lot of time to put this article together.” She tapped the eraser end of the pencil against the legal pad. “We might want to consider alternatives. Perhaps go a different route than you’ve suggested.”
Leaning forward, he set his elbows on his desk and his chin in his hands. “You don’t like what we’ve discussed?”
“It isn’t that so much as—” She broke off and gave him the brightest smile she could muster. “We have what—six weeks until Valentine’s Day? So, five weeks of work. That means interviews, compiling notes, writing the piece and keeping up with our normal responsibilities. If anything goes wrong, we don’t have much padding to recover.”
He matched her grin with one of his own. Likely just as false. Because he knew as well as she did that five weeks gave them plenty of time. “I’m pretty sure we’ll be fine, but I’m curious. What do you have in mind?”
“Why can’t we expose Valentine’s Day for what it is instead of perpetuating the myth?”
“The myth being…?”
“The monetization of love and romance, naturally. The pervasive need to spend money on meaningless gifts just because the date happens to be February fourteenth.”
“Interesting concept. And,” he said with a flirtatious wink, “as appealing as the idea of exposing anything with you is, I’m not sure—”
“Seriously, Jace? You can’t stop yourself, can you?”
He looked at her blankly, his expression broadcasting that he had no idea what she was talking about. “I’m confused. I can’t stop myself from…?”
“What part of ‘no sexual innuendo’ do you not understand?” Okay, getting upset wasn’t going to solve this particular problem. Reasoning, however, might. “Think about what you just said. Is it really so difficult to have a straight-up business conversation with me?”
Comprehension replaced confusion. “Whoa, Mel. It was just a joke.”
“Fine. It was a joke. But if you were sitting here with Kurt, and he said what I said, would you have expressed that you’d find exposing anything with him appealing? Would you have joked that way with him?” She shook her head. “I highly doubt it.”
“Okay. Wow.” His jaw tensed. “No, I wouldn’t have.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. You say we’re partners, so that’s what I want. Pretend I’m Kurt if you have to. Call me Kurt if it will help.”
“I can’t pretend you’re a man. But you’re one-hundred percent right and I apologize for giving in to the impulse to tease you.” He raked his hands through his hair in frustration. “I’m sorry. The last thing I meant to do was upset you.”
He sounded so forlorn and, Melanie had to admit, genuinely sorry. A good amount of her annoyance fled. Deciding to let him off the hook—for the good of the article and their partnership, of course—she nodded. “I appreciate the apology. But all this proves is that my earlier statement was correct.”
Blinking, he said, “Now you’ve lost me.”
Like before, she tapped her forehead. “Your brain, Jace. In addition to reasoning, the frontal lobe is responsible for impulse control,” she teased, enjoying the moment way more than called for. “Something you’re obviously lacking in. I bet you eat whatever you want whenever you want. And if I had to guess, I’d say that you’ve purchased many a product from late-night infomercials. Tell me, how many ShamWows do you own?”
“Nice bringing that back around.” His mouth quirked. “For the record, I’ve never bought a ShamWow. But I own a Snuggie…or two.” He blinked again. “Maybe three. And here’s the kicker. I purchased the first one before they were available in stores.”
She tried to imagine Jace snuggled up in a Snuggie watching something manly on the television—like a football game or an action flick. A gurgle of laughter escaped. “One of Portland’s ‘sexiest single men’ in a Snuggie. A picture of that should go with your columns.”
His face contorted into a half scowl, half pout. “A man has a right to stay warm and comfortable in the privacy of his own home. And, I’ll have you know, the Snuggie is a genius creation! I can eat popcorn, drink a beer, work on my laptop, or read a book all without getting…um…a chill.”
She tried to regain her composure but couldn’t. “Jace Foster, the man about town, the man who cycles through women every time the wind changes, drinks beer while in his Snuggie. It’s just so at odds with your public persona.”
“Yeah, well, what can I say? I’m a man of mystery.”
“Hmm. Yes. A man of mystery who owns three Snuggies.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I really need to see a photo.”
“Not in this century.” His scowl became full-fledged. “And I do not ‘cycle through women every time the wind changes.’” Pushing an unopened bottle of water toward her, he said, “Feel like calming down so we can get back to work?”
He couldn’t really be upset, could he? She hadn’t lied. His dating escapades were discussed in some depth twice a month in his freaking column, “Bachelor on the Loose,” weren’t they? And that was another thing: she hated the name of his column. It made her think of wild animals running free in the city, creating havoc wherever they went.
Another bubble of humor crawled up her windpipe as the ridiculous image of a lion wrapped up in a Snuggie appeared in her head. She took a sip of water to combat the urge to laugh. When she was sure she had her laughter under control, she inhaled a deep breath. “I’m sorry if I somehow offended you. But come on, you know it’s a little funny.”
“Snuggies are nothing to laugh about,” he said in mock seriousness. “However, I get your take on it. You see me as the epitome of masculinity, so learning about my soft side disarmed you and made you question everything you think you know about me.”
“Sure. We’ll go with that.”
He regarded her silently for a moment. With no warning whatsoever, the air changed and a spark of something passed between them. A tingle teased along her skin, shimmied down her spine, and a crop of goose bumps exploded on her arms.
“Um…so…we should probably get back on track.” Her voice came out all weak and wobbly and breathy. Focus, she told herself. “Work. The article. My ideas.”
Jace sort of shook himself, as if waking from a deep sleep. “Absolutely. Back to business. What, exactly, are you proposing we expose in the article?”
She had to reorient herself, remember what they were discussing before the conversation turned a corner. “Valentine’s Day is the biggest con job going. It’s a gold mine for greeting card companies, chocolate manufacturers, florists and jewelry stores. If we go that route, focus on the monetization of the holiday instead of the lovey-dovey crap, we’ll be able to do most of our research from our desks.”
“How is that different from any other holiday?” Jace tapped his fingers against the surface of his desk. “They’re all a boon for the businesses you mentioned, and then some. Following that mentality, Christmas would be the worst of the lot.”
“You’re right,” she replied instantly. He had a valid argument. Luckily, so did she. “Partially, anyway. Every holiday is highly commercial, but you can’t really put Valentine’s Day in the same column as Christmas or Mother’s Day or Father’s Day.”
“Still not seeing the difference,” Jace said. The deep brown of his eyes darkened to a near black. If she allowed herself, she could drown in those eyes.
“It’s simple.” She dropped her gaze downward. She couldn’t look at him when he was staring at her with such intensity. “Mother’s Day is about celebrating mothers. Moms exist. They’re fact. Father’s Day is about fathers, so the same deal applies.” Not that she’d had a reason to celebrate Father’s Day for a couple of
decades. “Both have a basis of fact. Valentine’s Day sticks out like a sore thumb.”
Jace let out a long sigh. “Maybe I should’ve eaten my Wheaties this morning, but I still don’t see what you’re getting at.”
A sarcastic retort sat on the tip of her tongue, but she resisted. “Okay, let me try it this way. Valentine’s Day is a holiday based on an intangible emotion. Not a fact.”
“Ah, but you’re forgetting the fact that Valentine’s Day—St. Valentine’s Day—began as a celebration for a saint, and was—”
“Right. I know the history,” Melanie interrupted. “But that isn’t why the holiday is celebrated today. At least,” she amended, “by the majority of people.”
“Fair enough.” Jace cleared his throat. Twice. “So, should I take this as your way of saying you don’t believe in love? Or in…I don’t know…the idea of celebrating love?”
“I love my mother. I have friends I care enough about that you could say I love them. But,” she said slowly, “romantic love is a whole different animal. I mean, you don’t believe in that type of love, do you?”
“Actually, I’m a card-carrying member,” he said in complete seriousness. “I’ve seen how love can heal, how it can survive incredible odds. And I hope to experience it myself someday.”
She stared at him in stunned silence. A minute passed, maybe two. Finally, she said, “Even supposing romantic love is real, Valentine’s Day is a forced celebration. The media hype is so overwhelming that men and women are suckered into spending money for gifts to prove their love. I…guess I think that’s ridiculous.”
“Wow, Melanie. Some guy must have done quite a number on you.”
Her mouth went dry. She took another drink of water, gathered her thoughts and said, “Gushy, feel-good articles about everlasting love are expected at Valentine’s Day. Why can’t we cater to the readers who prefer to be single and are sick of the happily-ever-after mentality being shoved down their throats everywhere they look?”
A Match Made by Cupid (Harlequin Special Edition) Page 3
