by J. Kenner
"She hired us?" Cayden asked, which was a very Cayden-like way to cut to the chase.
"No," I say. "That was a one-off."
"You never did tell me how you met them," Kerrie says.
"I met Jezebel at Thyme. We'd both been stood up."
"Mmm." I can tell she doesn't believe me. I can live with that.
"All that good work and she didn't hire you?" Connor asks. "What kind of a rainmaker are you?"
"The kind who's not." It's no secret that my skills are in the field. Cultivating new business is Cayden's specialty. "But all things considered, I think I did all right." I point at Kerrie. "Didn't she just say the phone's been ringing all day? I've done my job."
I keep my tone light. A nothing to see here, move along folks kind of attitude.
But the truth? The truth is I do want the job. Because without it, tonight's going to be the last time I see Jezebel Stuart. And that small fact isn't sitting well with me at all.
"Okay, enough about my brother. Are we gonna have this meeting or not?"
Connor nods toward the round table in the middle of the break room, Kerrie puts out a bowl of jelly beans--her personal vice--and we settle down for our Thursday morning meeting where we review all current assignments and go over the budget.
Kerrie's in the process of giving us the bad news about how much our firewall upgrade is going to cost when an electric chime signals someone entering the reception area.
"And that's on the budget wish-list, too," Kerrie says, as she rises. "I'm the office manager, not the receptionist. We need to hire somebody, stat."
She disappears through the door, heading the short distance to the reception area. I can hear her speaking with someone, but can't make out words. Not that I'm really trying. We get a few walk-ins, but most clients come through referrals. Usually when someone walks in the front door it's because they're delivering a package or dropping off fliers for a new take-out restaurant.
So I'm not surprised when Kerrie returns quickly. But I am surprised by who I see with her.
Jezebel.
Six
"Right," Kerrie says, looking between me and Jez. "So, Connor? Could you and Cayden come with me to the file room? I'm having trouble, um, rebooting the server."
She heads out, and they both follow, but not before shooting me a half-dozen curious glances. I can't provide much insight, though. The fact is, I'm curious, too.
I gesture to the table. "Jelly bean?"
"Um, sure." She sits and pulls out a pink one.
"I guessed wrong," I say. "I would have pegged you for licorice."
She holds the candy between two fingers. "You think I'm not feminine enough for pink?"
"Not hardly," I say. I take the seat next to her, my knee brushing hers as I sit. "I just don't think it's you."
"Is that a fact?"
I reach for her hand, my fingers caressing her skin as I pluck the light pink bean out of her grip, then pop it into my mouth. "Sweet," I say, as her brows rise.
"And I'm not sweet?"
"I didn't say that."
She looks up at me, interested, as I pull a black bean from the bowl. "But you have a kick, too. Not to mention a classic pedigree." I put the candy in my mouth, and suck for a moment, noting with pleasure the way she squirms a little on the chair. And the way she doesn't meet my eyes. "And the truth is, I never think I'm going to enjoy the black ones, but each time I actually give them a whirl, I realize I can't get enough of them."
"Oh." She swallows, then licks her lips. "I always assumed they were an acquired taste."
"Nothing wrong with that, is there?"
She holds my gaze. "No. I suppose not."
"Maybe tonight I'll order you a glass of Sambuco. Like jelly beans with a buzz."
Her smile flickers, then dies.
"Okay, bourbon it is. Or wine." My quips don't reignite her smile, and I lean back in my chair. "All right, tell me the truth. Where did my banter go off the rails?"
I've obviously surprised her, and a laugh bubbles out. She presses her fingers over her lips and shakes her head. "Sorry. No, you're fine. And funny."
"I hear a but."
"We won't be having that drink tonight," she says.
The words are like a kick in the gut, but I hold it together. "Not a problem," I say. "We can jump straight to the sex."
She lifts a single brow, and for a moment I think it's arched in disapproval. But then I see the quick flicker of amusement in her eyes before she tilts her head and focuses on the jelly bean bowl.
She takes two of the mottled yellow ones. "These are you. Popcorn jelly beans. Sweet and salty, and very unexpected."
I tilt my head. "That sounds remarkably like a compliment. But it can't be." I lean back in the chair, resting my head against my intertwined fingers. "Because if it were a compliment, you wouldn't be canceling our date. A date that I won, remember? I'm thinking we're facing a pretty serious rules violation here."
I mentally cringe. With such lame jokes, it's no wonder she's blowing me off. And although I'm tempted to give my groveling skills a run for their money, I'm not sure I'm ready to turn in my Man Card just yet.
"The compliment's coming," she says. "I'm cancelling our date because I want to hire you. To be Delilah's security detail, I mean. Well, not just you. Your whole shop as needed."
"Oh." I stand and go to the coffee maker, mostly because I don't want her to see the expression on my face. Honestly, I'm not entirely sure what she'd see on my face. Disappointment about tonight? Excitement about the job? Surprise that she'd offer? Especially considering she already had someone lined up...
"Why?" I ask, turning back to her. "I thought the studio had already arranged for someone?"
"Yeah, they had."
"And from your expression, I'm guessing that they're agreeing to the switch only because you took them off the hook for paying the bill."
"We're good for it, Mr. Blackwell. In case you were worried about the check bouncing."
"Never doubted it for a second. Coffee?" I grab a mug and hold it out for her. She shakes her head, and I put the mug back in the cabinet. "Larry," I say, and when I turn back to her, it's clear from her expression that my guess is dead-on. "This is about Larry."
Her shoulders rise and fall. "He trained you," she says, as if that's a full explanation. "And I don't know anything about the group that the studio hired."
"You don't know much about me, either."
"Like you said, I did some homework. And last night I saw you in action. And you're right."
"I usually am," I quip. "What am I right about now?"
"When you called my hotel room last night, remember? You said I trusted you." She tilts her chin, her eyes defiant. "You were right. I do. And so does Delilah."
I like the sound of those words more than I want to admit.
"And if I say that we don't have room on our docket? That we're serving our clients at capacity right now, and don't have the resources to take on someone new?"
She stands up and crosses to the counter, then leans back against it as she studies me cooly. "Is that something you're likely to say?"
I shouldn't, dammit. Hell, I shouldn't even be considering turning down this job, especially when just fifteen minutes ago I was standing in this room wishing that the job was mine, just so I could see her again.
And now here she is, offering me that very carrot. I should be ringing a damn Klaxon and letting Kerrie and the guys know we have a new client, and telling them we're about to celebrate by paying down some debt and balancing our ledgers.
I should, but now that she's here and I'm faced with the very reality I wished for, I can't quite conjure the enthusiasm, much less the words. Because this woman has gotten under my skin, and the temptation to have her in my bed is just too damn much. How the hell am I supposed to work side-by-side and not touch her?
And what if I do give in? What if I break all my rules and let myself succumb to this walking, talking temptation n
amed Jezebel?
Either she'll slap my face--in which case I've fucked up our working relationship right there--or she'll melt in my arms.
Good in the moment, maybe. But I'm afraid that once she's in my bed, I won't want her to leave.
And that's the kind of complication I really don't need in my life.
"Pierce?"
"Yeah, right." I draw a breath. "Sorry, but we really are all booked up."
Her hips sway as she crosses to me in two long strides. She uses both hands to grab my collar, then levers herself close, her lips brushing my ear as she whispers, "Liar."
The words shoot straight through me, making my cock stiffen. And, yeah, forcing me to fight the urge to thrust my fingers in her hair, hold her head in place, and kiss her senseless.
Did I mention I find competence extremely sexy?
And she's either done her homework ... or she's an extremely good poker player.
Frankly, a woman who can bluff is pretty damn sexy, too.
She takes a few steps back, her mouth curved down into a frown. "Look, I know our first meeting was a little off the wall. I mean, I pretty much thought you were an incompetent ass."
"If you're trying to convince me to take the job, you're not doing a stellar job."
Her mouth twitches. "What I'm trying to say is that my perception has changed."
I take a step toward her, my eyes locked on hers. "So you don't think I'm an incompetent ass anymore?"
She's standing beside a chair, and her hand tightens on the back of it. But her eyes never leave my face. "You're still an ass," she says. Her voice has gone a little breathy. Just a little. Barely even something you'd notice if you weren't paying attention.
I was paying attention.
I take one more step closer. "But?"
She licks her lips, and damned if I don't crave that mouth. "But I think you're a competent ass."
"You're right. I am."
I'm standing in front of her, just inches away. I can smell her perfume, a subtle vanilla. I can feel her heat. I can see the way her blouse rises and falls with the quickening of her breath.
This is my chance.
I can slide my hand behind her neck and hold her still. I can crush my lips over hers and pull her body tight against mine. I can lose myself in the softness of her body, and feel my cock harden against her curves.
It would be so simple to pull her close. To claim her mouth, my tongue demanding and hard as we give in to one wild, ravenous kiss that leaves us both as breathless as sex.
I could do it all so easily.
I could ... but I don't.
Instead I slide my hands in my pockets. I turn away and face the table. And then I draw one deep breath.
"Pierce?"
"Let's go get a drink."
"A drink," she repeats, her voice flat. "I don't know if that's such a good--"
"It's almost five. I've had a long day. And we can talk about Delilah's schedule, your concerns, the job parameters. All that good stuff."
"So it's a business meeting." There's no intonation in her words at all. It's as if she's deliberately trying to strip them of any emotion. And as a result, I have no idea if she's relieved or disappointed.
"There's a bar a couple of blocks down. The Fix on Sixth. A friend owns it, so we should be able to score a table in the back, even during South By."
She's silent for a moment, obviously considering. Finally, she nods. "All right, then. Lead the way."
Kerrie's working on the computer in the reception area, and her brows rise as we enter the room from the hall.
"We'll be back in a few hours," I tell her. "Can you put together a standard client contract and leave it on my desk? Ms. Stuart can review it when we get back."
"Of course, sir." Her tone is entirely professional, but I know her well and can tell she's dying to ask me a thousand questions.
I open the door for Jez and guide her out into the elevator bank before Kerrie's overcome with curiosity, breaks protocol, and starts firing away.
We're waiting for the elevator when Jez says, "Your receptionist seems..."
"What?"
"Competent," she says, although it's obvious that wasn't her original thought.
I regard her curiously. "Really?" Kerrie is competent, but that isn't the vibe she's been projecting since Jez walked in. On the contrary, I'd say rampant curiosity was the emotion of the day.
"Actually, yes. But I was really going to say that she seemed curious." The elevator doors slide open, and she steps on, then glances back at me. "Is that because of me or you?"
"Both, I'm guessing. You, because of your sister. Me, because my sister's habit is sticking her nose into my business."
"Your sis--oh. So is this a family business?"
"Not in the way you mean," I say. "Kerrie started working for us when she got disillusioned with her last job. And as sisters go, she's not too much of a pain in the butt."
"You're older than she is."
"Ten years," I tell her. "She's twenty-four."
Jez nods. "I'm nine years older than Del. So there you go." She smiles up at me, and I'm struck by how much I like seeing her smile. "We both have younger sisters that we work with."
The elevator glides to a stop on the first floor, and I hold my hand over the door, ushering her out. "With that much in common, you may end up actually liking me."
She brushes my arm as she passes. "I like you," she says, and her soft words just about slay me. I want her. That's pretty much the bottom line. Because there's something about Jezebel Stuart. Something snarky. Something funny. Something sexy.
Sometimes even a little bitchy.
I don't know her well, but I've already seen that she's complicated and loyal, smart and committed.
She's a woman with layers, and so help me, I want to peel away each and every one of them.
And that's a dangerous way for a man like me to feel.
Seven
"Pierce?"
It's not her voice, but her hand gripping my elbow that pulls me from my thoughts.
We're outside now, standing at the southeast corner of Sixth and Congress, just outside my office building.
"Sorry. I was thinking." About her. "About security. Transportation. Everything."
"Glad to know you're on the ball. But which way?"
"Turn right," I say, pointing that direction. "We're just going a few blocks down."
Sixth Street is to Austin what Bourbon Street is to New Orleans. Only cleaner and classier and without the strip clubs. And usually without the drunk revelers vomiting in the street. During the SXSW festival, though, the distinctions between the two streets are minimal, and even this early, there are already packs of college students moving along the already crowded sidewalks.
The festival isn't limited to one location--in fact much of it takes place off Sixth Street at other venues and at performance tents set up along the river. But Austin hasn't dubbed itself the Live Music Capital of the World for nothing, and even when there's no festival in town, there's a lot of live music. Especially downtown.
The Fix is a few blocks from my office, an easy enough walk even in this crowd, and I expect it's going to be crowded since it's set up with a stage in the main room. Sure enough, I can see a band playing through the window, and there's a line of people, all wearing festival wristbands, waiting to get in.
"Maybe we should try somewhere else," she says, frowning at the line.
"Trust me." I take her hand to lead her toward the door, then feel a bit like a teenager when she doesn't pull away.
"Sorry," the door guy says. "We got a line. And you don't have a wristband."
"Tell Tyree it's Pierce Blackwell. We're not here for the music. I want to take the lady to the back."
The guy's young and skinny and pale--he's either a vampire or he's spent too many hours inside the university dorms--and he's making the most of his power over the door. He takes his time looking us up and down, then pulls a walkie-tal
kie out of the pocket of his jacket and signals for Tyree. For a moment, I consider that my friend might not be on site, in which case, I'll have to find someplace else to take Jez where we can get a seat despite the festival madness.
But then I see him approaching through the glass, a huge bear of a man whose beard and gold earring give him a pirate quality. Today, he's wearing a short sleeved blue T-shirt with the Fix on Sixth logo, and when he steps outside and reaches to shake my hand, the deep blue tattoo on his well-muscled arm stands out against the dark cocoa of his skin.
"Haven't seen you in a week," he says, ushering me and Jez inside. "Where've you been?"
"Avoiding the crowds," I admit. "But I thought Jez should see some of South By. And she can't visit Austin without getting her fix."
His teeth flash as he smiles. "Got that right. Nice to meet you, Jez," he says, his voice loud enough to hear over the R&B band. "I'm Tyree. Call me Ty. I own this dump."
"Hardly," she says, looking around. "It's great."
"It's got potential," he admits. To me he adds, "Renovations and repairs are kicking my ass. But I'll get it done."
"Ty and I served a tour together," I tell her. "Right before he traded in his uniform for a barman's apron."
"And a shit-ton of debt," he says. "This week we're in the black, though. So things are looking up. You here for the music?"
I shake my head. "Just the atmosphere. Jez and I need to talk. Thought I'd take her to the back."
"You know the way, my friend. Tell pretty boy back there I said to treat you well."
He's grinning, and I know he's talking about the new bartender, a grad student from the University whose name I can't remember.
"He's nice," Jez says. Her mouth is close to my ear, and I know that's only so she doesn't have to yell, but her proximity has the side effect of kicking my pulse up a notch. "I like him."
"Just don't cross him," I say, and she laughs.
"I'll remember."
We grab the only empty table and order two glasses of bourbon on the rocks. "So what do we need to talk about?" she asks, after the drinks come and she's taken her first sip. "Or did you just want to get me liquored up?"
"Would you think less of me if I said the latter?"
She hesitates only a second, then shakes her head. "No," she says, in the kind of low, sultry voice that runs over a man's skin like a ripple of fire. "But we both know it's a bad idea."