by Emily Snow
"Eating ... pancakes." Jesus that sounds so lame, and I make a mental note never to come back to this restaurant. I don’t give a damn how good their red velvet and cream cheese flapjacks taste.
"I sent you a text earlier," he says. Jamie's perfect eyebrows shoot straight up because I hadn't mentioned that fact. After she gave me the rundown on her disaster of a date last night—the PA she went out with flat out told her she had an ass made for screwing on the first date—I had launched into my own sex-related nightmare. "If you're going to ignore text messages at least disable your Read Receipts because it's rude to ignore your boss."
His text wasn't like anything I've ever received from any other employer; well, except for Tom, who doesn't count since I used to sleep with the man. All Jace's three AM message said is “Are you still upset, Williams?”
Since I was—I still am—and I didn't want to come off as a bitch, I deleted it.
"I wasn't ignoring you," I explain through clenched teeth. "I just didn't have anything to say. I would’ve responded to you."
Eventually.
Maybe.
Jace runs the tip of his tongue over the corner of his lips and then inclines his head toward me. "Oh, I'm sure you had plenty to say." He stretches out his legs beneath the table, and this time, his knee bumps mine.
Dear heart, calm the hell down and resist this terrible, awful bastard.
"What exactly is it you need?" I gesture down at my plate. I've already downed most of my pancakes. I decided I was finished ten minutes earlier, toward the end of Jamie's PA story, but he doesn't need to know that. "We're in the middle of breakfast, and it looks like Daisy and…"
"Theo," he informs me, giving The Rock 2.0 a name. "He works with you."
I wish he’d move his leg already. The only way I’ll escape his touch and get back to breathing properly is if he A) scoots away from me or if I B) get up and finish this conversation standing. Since he’s probably basking in my reaction, and I refuse to admit I’m actually reacting, we both stay put, our gazes at war.
"He works for you is what you're saying, right?"
"Are you quitting already, love?" he demands. Across the table, I hear Jamie fidget, but I don't turn to look at her. I know I'll only see a giddy grin and that look will turn me into a red-faced mess. I keep my attention firmly on Jace, who's tapping the beat of what I'm guessing is some rock song with suggestive lyrics on the surface of our table.
"You know, I didn't take you for a quitter." He scratches his dark stubble that only looks even more enticing thanks to an extra several hours of growth. "Despite what your arse of an ex said."
Wonderful. My husband has no place in this conversation, and the fact Jace would toss that piece of history in my face to win an argument is like a fist to my chest. "Leave him out of this." I toss the napkin I've shredded to bits on the table and pick up my fork, spearing it into the rest of my pancakes. "And besides, I never said I was quitting."
"Hmm, I don't know, Williams, that sounded like a verbal resignation."
"Well, it wasn't."
"Children, calm down," Jamie says exasperatedly, her voice cutting through the tension. I drag my eyes from Jace's to see she's leaned in close to us with her slim fingers grasping the corners of the table. She gives me a serious look. "Luce, are you quitting?" I shake my head, so she studies Jace's features and somehow manages not to swoon under his smoldering gaze. "Are you asking her to quit?"
"Absolutely not," he drawls.
"Then there's no point for an argument, is there?"
"No," I whisper, ashamed of myself for getting sucked in by his words and derisive expression. I've always been known to be passionate about my work—but outside of promoting my products, I try to avoid conflict. Yet here I am, sitting in a pancake restaurant and wishing my glare were powerful enough to shoot flames at my boss.
"I apologize," I say, and he shrugs as he rises from the table.
"I've told you before, don't say sorry." His self-assured grin makes my nostrils flare, but I bite my tongue. Returning his seat to its rightful position, he splays his large hands on the back of the chair. He bends forward until his face is close to mine. "Guess I really will see you tomorrow at nine."
"Eight-thirty," I confirm frostily. He shifts an eyebrow, so I add, "Since I like to show up thirty minutes early for everything."
He's chuckling as he heads back to his table, and there's an evil, awful part of myself that hopes he trips right over his own damn feet. I quickly learn that not only is he talented with his hands, he's also graceful in boots. Ridiculously so. "This will be good for you, Williams," he calls out, earning several appreciative stares from waitresses and other women around the restaurant.
"Promising me free samples?"
He waggles his brows, and his grin goes from cocky to corrupt in a heartbeat. "If that's what you're into."
When he finally sits down in his own space, Jamie clears her throat, drawing my attention her way. She’s clutching her napkin. "If that’s what you’re into?” she asks excitedly. “Okay, what the fuck just happened?”
"Jace Exley showed up and hijacked our breakfast."
She purses her glossy lips together. "I'm talking about all that sexual—"
"Don't say it."
"Friction," she finishes with a satisfied simper. Grabbing a slice of bacon, she nibbles on the end as she continues to clutch her napkin in the other hand. "I could've had triple Ds for eyeballs and the guy wouldn't have been able to stop looking at you."
"Because he wanted to make me uncomfortable."
"Yeah, well, he accomplished that." I squeeze my eyes together, and she laughs. "What? I speak nothing but the truth. He made you uncomfortable and looked at you like ... damn, I don't even know how to describe it. All I know is it made me hot, and I wasn't even the one on the receiving end. And"—she lets out another airy breath and when she speaks again, she's adopted a faint British accent—"Love?”
I part my lashes just enough to glare at her out of thin slits. "I'm sure he calls everyone that." Still, hearing it does crazy, stupid things to my body.
"Of course he does." She casts one more look past my shoulder then grabs her phone from the table, probably to text Bella. "These next several months are going to be interesting."
That is most certainly a damn understatement.
EIGHT
LUCY
Despite my determination to show up at work at nine AM on the dot the next morning, I park my Jeep in front of EXtreme Effects at eight-forty—just as Daisy is propping open the front door. She shields her hand over her eyes and a shit-eating grin crosses her delicate features. Dammit. Knowing Jace, he made some sort of bet that I'd be super early. I've gone and inadvertently proved him right.
She walks down the sidewalk, and when she taps lightly on the passenger window, I grudgingly let it down. "I’m early again. Sorry," I mutter. And unlike the day of my interview, this time I really am. She shrugs off my apology.
"You’re an odd one, Sunshine. Who says sorry for being early to work? Have you eaten yet?" When I say I haven't, she motions to the open front door. "Jace is an asshole on Mondays, so I always pick up coffee and doughnuts. Makes him easier to deal with."
It’s not hard to imagine Jace—in all his sarcastic, cocky glory—with a heavy dose of irritability thrown in. “Coffee and doughnuts,” I repeat. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
"Smart girl. Are you getting out or do you plan on sitting in here all morning, listening to—" She presses one ear inside my Jeep but immediately recoils. "Oh, sweetie, no. John Mayer? I'm going to have to call and cancel your satellite radio until you find a better station."
"This song is a classic," I grumble as I follow her inside. While she rattles off why my choice of music is heinous and gathers papers from the printer, I grab a glazed doughnut and a cup of coffee.
"He said he's already had you sign the NDA, which is, like, his big thing. The guy fucking hates cell phones and cameras with a passion. Just
give me back the rest later today or tomorrow." She hands the paperwork over to me, and I leaf through them between bites of my doughnut. "Payday falls every other Friday.”
"Sounds perfect."
"Theo and Griff are working on getting your office ready, but it shouldn't take much longer. Jace thought you'd be in later." Parking herself in her rolling chair, she brings her knees up to her chest and drums her fingertips against her leggings, right over a yellow smiley emoji. "You look a little ... out of it."
"Yes, well—" I inhale deeply and filter my fingers through my hair before pinning the jet-black strands behind either ear. "He told you about the other night, didn't he?"
Her lips curl toward her nose like she smells something awful. Which is probably the stench of my anxiety. "I can say he didn't if it will make you feel better.” When I let out a throaty groan and sink down in one of the chairs beside her desk, she lowers her feet to the floor and shimmies herself closer. "Look, I thought he told you everything during the interview."
From her wide eyes and the hand placed firmly over her heart, I believe her. "Then he comes home Saturday night grinning like the cat that ate the canary, and—" When my body goes taut, she pauses, a frown forming on her face. "What's wrong, Sunshine?"
Jace had gone home to Daisy.
Right after he’d loosened my buttons. After he set my body aflame with that piercing blue stare and guarded smile. After he took me to a sex party. And even though I had a hunch they were together when I saw them together yesterday morning, my heart still lurches. Which is ridiculous. At the end of the day, it shouldn't matter to me at all who or what Jace Exley goes home to.
"It's nothing.” I smile tightly, but Daisy’s brows shoot up toward her platinum hairline.
"No, it's not. You look like I just punched you in the spleen and stole your lunch money.”
"I promise it's fine." And by fine, I mean I feel shitty for letting Jace get to me when he already has someone.
She stares at me unblinking for a moment, then a grin nudges her lips. "Jace isn't my boyfriend, Sunshine. I'm engaged to Theo—have been for what seems like for-e-ver because he's dragging his feet getting the show on the road. Jace spent the weekend with us while the painters were sprucing up his place."
"Oh."
"You're squishing your doughnut." She gestures to the remainder of the pastry in my fist. Checking the metal clock on her desk, she says, "We have another ten minutes before work officially starts, and since everything is fine and I don’t want to scare you off on your first day here, tell me about this amazing marketing plan you have. And, seriously, stop harassing that poor doughnut. It’s had enough, don’t you think?"
Nodding, I loosen my grip.
To be honest, my amazing marketing plan flew out the window the second I realized the nature of EXtreme’s business. I still plan to call my friend Andi who designs the best websites I've ever seen, but I’ll have to reevaluate other ways to promote the company. Something tells me the clock conventions I researched as soon as he offered me the job last weekend aren’t going to cut it.
"You have no idea, do you?" Daisy's voice cuts into my thoughts. "It's okay if you don't. I'd never owned a computer before I started working here."
"Of course I have an idea,” I argue, tossing my smooshed doughnut in the wastebasket by her desk. “I just want to run them by Jace first.”
"You're a consummate bullshitter. No wonder he chose you over Mr. Dungeons and Dragons." She runs her gaze over my body and bites her lip. "Guess it also helps that you look like that."
Ignoring that last part, because I'm not entirely sure how I should react to her thinking I was hired because of my physique, I arch an eyebrow. "Who’s Mr. Dungeons and Dragons?"
She rolls her chair so close to mine she’s practically in my lap. "So, he had this other guy who applied for the position—a real douche if you ask me—but it takes one to know one, right?" I lift my shoulders half-heartedly, not wanting to do any more damage by confirming that I think Jace is the king of the douches. She takes my shrug as an invitation to keep talking. "Well, this motherfucker had dragon tats everywhere and all he could talk about was how he uses our stuff in his own—”
"Daisy," a low voice growls in warning a few feet away. Both our heads snap toward the entrance to the workshop, where Jace is standing with one arm propped against the doorframe and his other hand skimming through his dark hair. He's wearing a long sleeve black V-neck with the sleeves pushed up to his forearms and a pair of work pants that are covered in black smudges and tiny flecks of metal. He looks dirty.
Dirty and too sexy for his own damn good.
I feel awful for thinking that, but not as bad since I know he and Daisy aren’t together.
He gives me a self-possessed turn of his full lips. "Morning, Williams.”
"Jace," I say with a stiff nod.
"The guys are still working on your office," he explains then yawns into his elbow. "Come with me while you wait. I want you to get a taste for what we do here."
A taste for what they do. The other night wasn't enough flavor?
Shakily, I fold my paperwork into the pocket of my laptop bag. Daisy flashes me an enthusiastic thumbs up and backs her chair away so I can stand.
"Let me know if you need to know how anything works," she's saying loudly as I follow after him. "Good luck. And if any of the guys give you shit, don't be afraid to tell them to fuck off."
Jace and I make a pit stop by my new office, which is slightly bigger than the reception area. The only furniture is a cushy rolling chair identical to Daisy's and an oversized desk that I can tell has been newly assembled based on the Ikea box leaned against one wall. After I put my laptop bag beneath the desk, Jace formally introduces me to Theo and Griffin. I feel my face catch fire when the latter says he’s always been a fan of hot Korean chicks.
"She's half-Vietnamese, you git," Jace points out, casting a dark look at Griffin, who shrugs sheepishly.
“My apologies.” He extends his arm, and we shake quickly before he stuffs both hands in his pockets. “I promise I’m harmless.”
“That’s because your lovely Korean wife will be a fan of twisting you by the balls for even glancing at our—” Blue-gray eyes roam over me, and my chest expands beneath Jace’s amused gaze. He’d given me the same look many times the other night, and it’s even more unnerving now. “—Lucy.”
Their Lucy.
His Lucy.
Well, damn. I rip my eyes from him. I still can’t face him without thinking of the other night or overanalyzing every word he says, so I look at Theo. Daisy’s Mohawk-wearing fiancé snorts and lifts a metal storage cabinet that’s at least a hundred pounds without so much as a grunt. "Nari won’t have much to twist." Peeking around the side, he bends his head in a cordial nod. "Welcome to the madhouse, ma'am."
It always catches me off guard when someone calls me ma'am—especially when they're probably older than me—but I don't correct him. “I’m happy to be here.”
“Sure you are,” Jace says under his breath before turning from the room and taking off. I follow behind him, maintaining a safe distance between our bodies when I finally catch up and fall in step beside him. I'm afraid to touch him. Afraid that, if I do, my body will react the same way it did on Saturday. To my embarrassment, the flutter returns to my chest when he studies the side of my face, as if he's willing me to look at him.
I don't.
"Why are you doing that?"
"Griff really is harmless, even if he has no filter. He’s very much in love with Nari and their thirty kids."
“Thirty kids. Really, Jace?”
“It’s three, but if you met them, you’d say thirty too.”
"Well, Griff is tame.” A gritty laugh tumbles past his lips, so I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. "I'm not planning to talk about it if that's what you're waiting for." In fact, I had repeated it like a mantra all the way to work.
I will not talk about the sex party.
I will not bring up the Voyeur Room.
I will not freak out about what happened.
“Are you still pissed?”
“That you tricked me into walking blindly into a situation that made me uncomfortable?” I demand. “Of course I’m not.”
"And yet you came,” he drawls. "Good job on not being so … buttoned-up, by the way."
Screw him for saying that. This morning, I had gone for a step above business casual with low black heels, black and white houndstooth-patterned pants, and another crisp white button-up. My mother had given me hell for the top couple of buttons I intentionally left undone. She's always been a stickler for neatly pressed clothes, which she attributes to twenty years of helping my father keep his uniforms tidy for work.
I run my fingertips over my cuffs and glance up at Jace. My heels are so short that he towers a good five inches over me, appearing more powerful than ever. "Since you cater to the naked and unafraid, I figured this was safe.”
"Naked and unafraid, huh?” I nod, winning a grin that curls the pit of my stomach. “I wish you'd been this sarcastic when I knew you all those years ago."
"To hear you tell it, I was."
"No, love, you were a know-it-all. And now you're a sarcastic know-it-all."
I skim my teeth over the soft flesh of the inside of my cheek. "Isn't that the worst type?"
"Not if she keeps you on your toes."
I consider asking him exactly what he means, but I don't as we approach a man with a high bun who's a couple of inches taller than my five foot six. He's behind a large workshop table, his head bent over a design sketch while he hums along with the music streaming through his earbuds. He holds up a finger when Jace impatiently knocks against the metal surface of the table like it’s a door. After he scribbles a few notes, Man Bun jerks one earbud out and looks up at us, a gleam in his dark eyes.
"Ahh, so this is the shark. Funny, I don't really think of the Jaws song looking at her up close." He hums a few bars of the climactic theme before shaking his head and giving me a once over. “It’s nice to meet you, sweetheart.”