Cross Check (Marriage Contract #1)

by Colleen Masters

  I sink down at the rustic kitchen table, overwhelmed with the promise of this new life. Until I set foot in this house, Loudon’s proposed arrangement for me and Jamison felt so clinical, so impersonal. I couldn’t imagine a marriage that was all about business. But now that I see this place, the full life that Jay is offering me… well, I can’t say that I’m not at all interested. We may not have a typical love story, but we certainly like each other. And god knows we know what we’re doing in the bedroom. Or the foyer, as the case may be.

  Maybe it wouldn’t be so crazy to accept his proposal after all?

  “Morning, beautiful,” says a gruff, sexy voice behind me.

  I turn to see Jamison standing in the kitchen doorway. His Sandy blonde hair is sleep tousled, his cut torso entirely bare. He’s stepped into his favorite pair of jeans, which hang just right on his tapered hips. The neat rows of abs, sculpted pecs, and muscular v of his waist are downright hypnotizing as I take in the sight of him standing before me. And the most miraculous part? He looks just as mesmerized by me.

  “Hey,” I say softly, tucking a lock of red hair behind my ear.

  “Christ. I like the look of you at my breakfast table,” he smiles, striding across the room toward me, “Nice shirt, by the way.”

  “Why thanks,” I laugh, feeling unaccountably comfortable with him. No morning-after awkwardness, no small talk. Being around him is just so… easy.

  Jay catches my chin with two fingers and tilts my face up toward his, kissing me deeply in the morning light. All at once, my body is wide awake, charged and ready for him.

  “Coffee?” Jay asks, pulling away.

  “Absolutely,” I reply, amazed at how quickly my body responds to his touch. “I’m gonna need a boost to make it into the office today.”

  “Then why make it to the office at all?” he asks casually, pulling a french press down from the shelf, “We can just stay here and work from home.”

  “Oh, can we now?” I laugh.

  “Why not?” he shrugs, “Who’s gonna stop us?”

  “No one’s gonna stop us,” I tell him, “But we can’t just play hooky because we feel like it. We’re trying to be the leaders of this company, Jamison.”

  “And leaders go their own way,” he replies authoritatively, “I’m not suggesting that we sit around binge-watching Netflix all day. We’ll work, but why not from the comfort of our own home, huh?”

  Our home… The phrase catches me off guard. But I have to admit, I don’t hate the sound of it.

  “Aren’t we just going to spend this whole week preparing for the meeting with Elsie Walker on Friday?” Jay presses, walking back to the table with press and two mugs in hand.

  “Yes…” I allow.

  “Well, we can do that just as easily here,” he says, setting down the coffee things, “I wouldn’t mind skipping the midtown commute, myself.”

  “I guess we can try it,” I say slowly, as Jamison lowers the plunger into the french press, filling the room with the rich aroma of good coffee, “But only if you promise me that you’ll work just as hard here as at the office.”

  “Scouts honor,” he winks, pouring us each a cup of joe.

  “I mean it,” I warn him, “This meeting on Friday is really important to me, Jay.”

  “If it’s important to you, it’s important to me,” he says, meeting my gaze. He’s not kidding, or trying to be charming in this moment. He’s being sincere.

  “You really have grown up, haven’t you?” I muse, brushing a lock of blonde hair away from his forehead.

  “Don’t sound so surprised,” he laughs, catching my hand and planting a kiss on my palm. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

  Jamison takes me by the hand and leads me back up the front staircase. Our coffees steam enticingly as we make our way along the second story landing, stopping before a door I didn’t notice before. It stands open just a hair, blending in with the rest of the wall. Jay opens it up all the way, revealing a second set of stairs—much narrower than the first.

  “Watch your step,” he says, leading the way.

  I follow him up the dimly lit passage, amazed to discover a third floor in this already expansive home. Then again, anything would feel expansive after living in a tiny studio for six years of your life. A rectangle of light rises up before us—the threshold of the third floor. Jay climbs up the last step, stepping aside to let me through. I move past him, not knowing what to expect…but whatever my expectations may have been, what I find truly surpasses them.

  I’m standing in the middle of a high-ceilinged room, lit only by golden natural light. The antique writing desk from my apartment stands before the tall, narrow window looking out over the New York streets. The wing backed armchair and brass reading lamp I found at a Brooklyn flea market sit to my right, and I smile to see Gigi curled up on the comfy chair. She’s always known how to pick the best spot in the house. But most breathtaking of all are the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, lining each of the four walls and reaching up toward the sky. The shelves are absolutely brimming with books, each a more exquisite classic edition than the next. And when I take a step closer, I realize that many of the books look strikingly familiar.

  “Dad let me take most of the library when I finally got my own place,” Jay says, looking around at his collection of books, “All of our old favorites are here.”

  “I can see that,” I reply softly, overwhelmed by his gesture.

  “I thought I’d put your things up here for now,” he goes on, “You should have the best room for yourself.”

  “I…I don’t know what to say,” I tell him, running my fingertips along the books arrayed before me. “This is some Beauty and the Beast level shit…”

  “Just say you like it,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind.

  I turn around to face him, resting my hands on his chest as he encloses me in his arms.

  “I love it,” I say softly, resting my cheek on his firm chest.

  But I have to wonder, as we stand together in the sunlit library, my own personal slice of heaven, whether I don’t mean really I love you.

  ***

  Pippa is thrilled when I let her know I’ll be working from home.

  “You deserve it,” she tells me over speakerphone as I step into some actual clothes, “Everyone here has their marching orders. You just do you.”

  “Thanks Pips,” I reply, shrugging into an airy shift dress, “Just call me if any fires break out at the office. Figurative or otherwise.”

  “Will do,” she assures me, and hangs up the call.

  I gather my red hair into a low, loose bun, luxuriating in the comfort of the stay-at-home life. I’m used to working in punishing stiletto heels and corporate attire. But today, after a night of great sex and a nice hot shower, my body feels supple and energized. I’m excited to get to work, eager to keep hammering out a marketing strategy for Huntress of Tomorrow with Jamison’s help. Maybe my first action as president of King Enterprises should be to institute perpetual casual Friday, because this feels fantastic.

  “Ready to dive in?” Jay says, appearing in the bedroom door. He’s slipped into a simple black tee to go with his jeans, a look he rocks just as well as an expensive suit.

  “Let’s do it,” I tell him, grabbing my laptop and heading up to our library to get started.

  I’ve gotten plenty accomplished in my six years at King Enterprises, but never have I been as productive as I am holed up in Jamison’s brownstone. The hours fly by as we spitball ideas, transforming the third floor library into a two-person think tank. Jay is totally on board with my vision for the Huntress of Tomorrow trilogy, and lets me do the heavy lifting, creatively speaking. But his years of being a famous athlete, marketing his own brand all the while, are crucial for discussing the way in which we’ll pitch the trilogy to the rest of the world. We have to stand out from the pack, after all. And if there’s one thing Jamison King is good at, it’s taking out the competition.r />
  I guess I should be more alarmed by his fiercely competitive nature, given that we’re more or less in competition with each other for the role of president of King Enterprises. If I don’t agree to marry him, it’ll be a battle of the wills to see who comes away with the coveted job. But then again, I’m used to being in competition with Jay. We’ve been duking it out all our lives. I guess it’s amazing that we can put aside our rivalry to focus on the task at hand, but if anything that just proves what good partners we’d make—a fact that is becoming harder and harder to ignore.

  “Let’s talk casting,” I say to Jamison, sitting cross-legged on the library floor with Gigi curled up beside me.

  “Do let’s,” he says, sitting at the writing desk with his laptop opened.

  “Obviously, the most crucial thing is to find the right actress to play the heroine,” I go on, “Elsie wrote an awesome lead character in Gemma Moore. We have to find just the right woman to portray her.”

  “Sure,” Jay agrees, “Do you have anyone in mind?”

  “I do,” I tell him excitedly, “Look up Svea Andersson, would you?”

  He nods, typing the name into the Internet search bar. Instantly, the screen is flooded with images of the actress’s beautiful face.

  “Who is she?” Jay asks, scrolling through page after page of photos.

  “She’s a Swedish-born actress,” I inform him, “Not a household name just yet, but I think that’s good for us. She’s done a lot of indie films, and she’s super talented.”

  “Not to mention stunning,” Jamison observes.

  He’s not wrong. Svea Andersson is a quintessential beauty. Big gray eyes, full lips, delicate nose, high cheek bones. Her long blonde hair and statuesque figure don’t hurt, either.

  “Do you think she’s too pretty?” I ask Jay.

  “Is there such a thing for Hollywood?” he laughs.

  “Good point,” I allow, “I think she can definitely handle the part, that’s for sure.”

  “If she’s your first instinct, then I think we should get her on the phone,” Jay says, “Your judgement is top-notch.”

  “Then what am I doing hanging out with you?” I tease him.

  “Very funny,” he replies, tossing a sheet of crumbled paper at me. “Listen, I’m starving. Let’s break for lunch, yeah?”

  “Yeah, I could eat,” I tell him, pulling myself to my feet, “Got anything in the kitchen?”

  “The kitchen?” he scoffs, standing to join me, “I have a better idea. Come with me.”

  Moments later, Jay and I step out onto the front steps of the brownstone, finally greeting the day. The warm summer breeze plays against my bare legs, warming my pale skin.

  “When was the last time you actually left the office for lunch?” Jamison asks, taking my hand in his.

  “That’s easy,” I reply, “Never.”

  “Holy shit,” he laughs, leading me down the steps, “I have so much to teach you. The first of which is the value of a little day drinking.”

  We wander over to a little French restaurant around the corner, sharing a few small plates and a bottle of Sauvignon blanc. It feels almost illicit, taking an hour to relax in the middle of the work day. But then every moment with Jamison King feels like an adventure. Once he’s settled the bill, we decide to walk off our buzz, heading over to the Hudson River Park for a stroll. We make our way out along one of the piers, leaning against the railing as we reach the end of the stretch. Our home state rises up before us just across the river.

  “I know it’s not actually that far away,” I say to Jamison, “But damn, it feels like we’ve gone the distance since we left Little Silver.”

  “A lot has changed,” he nods, his blue eyes reflecting the water below, “A lot of shit I could never have predicted.”

  The note of sadness in his voice tears at my heart. I lay my head on his shoulder, bringing my hand to the small of his back.

  “I can’t believe how strong you’re being,” I say softly, the breeze carrying away my words as quickly as I can speak them. “After what’s happened, I mean. You just lost your parents, and here you are diving into an entirely new phase of your professional life.”

  “You’ve lost a parent too,” he shrugs, “And you’re still kicking.”

  “Yeah, but I lost my mom when I was fourteen,” I remind him. “You barely had a week to cope. You know, no one would think less of you if you took some time off.”

  He glances down at me, raising an eyebrow just like his dad used to do.

  “Take some time off?” he replies, “And let you become the next president of King Enterprises while I sit around licking my wounds?”

  I blink up at him, taken aback. I think he’s kidding. But there’s an edge to his words that’s giving me pause.

  “Admit it,” he presses, grinning rakishly, “You’re just trying to take me out of the running. Using your feminine whiles wiles to get ahead.”

  Relief sweeps over me as the bit goes on. He was joking. Thank god.

  “What’re you blushing for?” he laughs, wrapping his arms around me, “I was just fucking with you, Brody.”

  “I know,” I mutter, giving him a playful punch on the arm, “You’re just a good actor, I guess. If you ever get sick of modeling underwear you could totally get some soap opera work.”

  “I’m going to choose to take that as a compliment,” he says, giving me a long, lingering kiss there on the pier.

  “We need to get back to work,” I remind him, breaking reluctantly away.

  “I know, I know,” he grumbles, taking my hand as we head home, “Man, all it is with you is work and sex, work and sex…”

  “Is that a bad thing?” I ask sarcastically.

  “Fuck no,” he winks, “In fact, I think that makes you my ideal woman.”

  Chapter Nine

  Despite Jamison’s pleas for another work-from-home day, I insist on going into the King Enterprises office that Wednesday.

  “How’s it going to look if the two people poised to take over this company stop showing up to work?” I ask him, zipping up my emerald green dress.

  “It’ll look like we know how to work in comfort and style,” he grumbles, adjusting his tie. “We got so much done yesterday without ever leaving the house.”

  “You just want to work from home so we can take fuck breaks any time we please,” I shoot back mischievously.

  We certainly took full advantage of that perk yesterday afternoon. The second we hit a stopping point in our work on Huntress of Tomorrow, Jamison wasted and I wasted no time getting down to our other business. Barely two days into our time as roommates and we’re already making great progress fucking in every room of the brownstone. Let it never be said that Jamison King and I aren’t industrious individuals.

  “We don’t need to be at home to take a fuck break whenever we please,” Jamison says, helping to zip my dress up the rest of the way. “That’s what stairwells are for.”

  “If you think you’re going to fuck me in a stairwell, you’ve got another thing coming to you,” I tell him frankly.

  “You’d be surprised. It’s a pretty good time,” he laughs, giving my ass a firm squeeze.

  “Just how many times have you tried it?” I ask, feeling the vast discrepancy in our sexual histories more acutely than usual.

  “Oh, who knows,” he says, shrugging into his suit jacket, “It’s not like I’m keeping score, you know?”

  “Right,” I nod, trying to shake off my discomfort, “Of course.”

  “What’s up?” he asks point blank, training his blue-eyed gaze on me, “You’re being so prim all of a sudden.”

  “I guess I’m just still getting used to the idea of being with a world famous ladies’ man,” I tell him honestly. “It’s a little bit intimidating.”

  “Intimidating?” he asks, brows furrowed, “Why?”

  “Why?” I laugh incredulously, “Because you’ve spent the last twelve years sleeping with super models and movie st
ars by the dozen. That’s why.”

  “I don’t see what that has to do with us,” Jay says, “And besides, you’re just as sexy as any woman I’ve ever slept with.”

  “That’s not the point,” I tell him, “And it’s not just sex I’m talking about, here. Our life experiences are just so different. Sometimes it feels like we’re on exactly the same page, and then other times it’s like you’re a complete stranger.”

  “We’ve known each other our entire lives,” he says, growing exasperated, “How can we be strangers?”

  “I don’t know,” I tell him, “It can be hard to tell where the Jamison King brand ends and you actually begin.”

  That gets under his skin. Jay stares at me from across the room, his face unreadable. For a moment, I fear that he’s about to start screaming at me, telling me I don’t know shit. But instead, he just resumes getting dressed like nothing ever happened.

  “Jay?” I say tentatively, taking a step forward.

  “We should get going,” he says shortly, pulling out his cell, “I’ll call our ride.”

  Moments later, as we’re sitting side-by-side in the car on the way to Midtown, it feels like a rift has opened up between us. It’s true, what I told him. Despite our shared childhood, I know next to nothing about Jamison King as an adult. I can’t let myself be lured into a false sense of intimacy just because we grew up next door to each other. There’s a lot that I don’t know about Jay—his intentions, his tactics, how far he’s willing to go to get what he wants. I need to be careful to keep my guard up. To protect myself.

  And my heart, for that matter.

  As we slow to a stop before the King Enterprises building, Jay turns to me in the backseat of the car.