He could do tea. He liked tea. Maybe not all the time but he’d have no problem whatsoever adding afternoon tea to his daily schedule if Samantha would sit in the chair next to his and serve.
Yeah, he thought. Tea. Without thinking, he turned to Jen and issued orders.
“Get me a bunch of chairs and whatever else you think is good. And then get one of those teacarts. Ask my mother if you get stuck.”
Jen’s jaw dropped.
He swiveled to Samantha and forced a rusty smile on his face. “Is that okay?”
The blush on her cheeks turned scarlet, and he was thinking about jumping off the roof in mortification because she was obviously not interested when her husky laugh wrapped around his heart.
“Okay, Mr. Lloyd. Help me out here. Are you asking me to design your outdoor space or have tea with you? There’s a rather large difference, and I don’t want to presume …”
“Tea,” he barked like a drunken seal. “Can we do tea at three?”
Well aware that he croaked like a voice-changing teenager, John clung to the last shreds of his dignity for less than three seconds before smacking a lopsided grin on his face and saying, “If you’re available, that is. I hear your boss is a real dick.”
Jen groaned and covered her eyes for a second.
Exasperated because he thought maybe things were going half okay, he turned to her and ground out, “What? No good?”
“John! You can’t say dick to an employee. Remember?” She flailed her arms for a minute and grumbled, “Did both of Constance Lloyd’s sons wake up on the wrong side of HR today?”
Samantha giggled and looked away to study the clouds. Because the universe liked screwing with him, Ryan appeared on the terrace, and Jen stiffened. They eyeballed each other in a way that made John a little nervous.
Oh, god. Now what?
Ryan finally looked at him, and while wearing an innocent expression, he announced he was reporting Jen to HR for making him uncomfortable at lunch. The harsh gasp his assistant made sounded like the starting bell at a prizefight.
“What is wrong with you?” Jen screeched in Ryan’s smirking face. “You know I woulda let it drop but no. You’ve got to make a joke about something serious. Bad move.”
“You and your stick made me uncomfortable, so when you pick it apart, you started it,” Ryan snidely interjected. His shrug said what he thought of Jen’s threat.
What stick was his brother referring to, and what exactly did Jen start?
Surprising the snot right out of his head, Samantha put her hand on his arm again and drew his attention from the Ryan and Jen spectacle.
“Why don’t we let these two spar in private?”
He never got a chance to answer because she deftly guided him away from the terrace scene. For whatever reason, he followed her lead like a puppy eager to please.
When they were back in his office, she quietly pulled the French doors shut and then turned to him with a laugh.
“I think your brother has the hots for Jen.”
“What the hell was that all about?” Ryan asked when Samantha took John inside.
Jen wasn’t ready to make nice, so she crossed her arms and glowered at the scruffy jerk face determined to annoy the piss out of her.
“Oh, climb down off your high horse, lady. This is how we do. I say patronizing things, and you spit fire and brimstone. Why the sudden outrage?”
She sputtered and shifted awkwardly back and forth. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You. Me,” he said with a wave of his hand in the space between them. “We snipe at each other. Or am I imagining that?”
“I wouldn’t call it sniping,” she haughtily replied. The indignant sniff made her look like a twit. “And you were rude.”
“Why? Because I asked if you were seeing someone?”
She narrowed her eyes and stared at him so hard she was afraid of triggering an aneurysm. Was he insane or just baiting her? Did he imagine for even a second that some offhand remark about a hot date was an acceptable query on her relationship status?
She flung her hands in the air. “I can’t with you. No, seriously,” she quickly assured him when he scoffed. “I don’t even like you and …”
He grabbed her so fast she was helpless when his chest slammed against hers, and he claimed her lips in a demanding kiss.
The shock lasted a few heartbeats, and then she started to struggle. His answer was to deepen the kiss. When his tongue swirled around hers, Jen feared her knees would buckle.
He tasted so good, and man oh man, did he know how to kiss!
Before they ended up in an embarrassing and impossible to explain make-out session, she pushed on his chest to separate them.
An inch apart, they stared at each other, and neither of them was breathing easily. She was close to diving back on his lips, but then sense returned.
If he’d just left it at that, maybe there was a chance they’d both walk away unscathed, but dammit if he didn’t make it worse by opening his damn mouth.
“Wanna try again with how you don’t like me?”
Son of a bitch. No way was she letting him throw this on her. Not after she felt the unmistakable evidence of an erection pressing into her belly.
“Is that a flashlight in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”
Any satisfaction she hoped for from her bitchy taunt evaporated when the shithead grinned and puffed his chest out with satisfaction.
“Flashlight, you say? Fuck, yeah! Better than a pencil, don’t you think?”
Jen’s mouth audibly snapped shut. He smirked and waggled his brows.
“What is wrong with you?” she demanded.
He gave her a slow-moving up and down full body scan and an unfortunately sexy smile. “I think you very well may be exactly what’s wrong with me. Now stop trying to impress me with your bitchiness and explain what just happened. Did my brother suddenly develop social skills?”
No way was she prepared to acknowledge his provocative statement, so she took the low road and focused on the couple who’d just left them alone.
Suddenly worried that Ryan’s impetuous behavior would fuck up John’s chances with Samantha, she asked him to behave. “Please don’t mess this up.”
“What do you mean by this? Is something going on?”
She chewed on her lip and fretted. “He likes her, and that’s all I’m saying.”
“Wow.”
“I know, right?”
Ryan looked at the closed doors. “How far along is it?”
She sighed and made a weary face. “This was their first date.”
“This was a date? Talking on the terrace?”
She rolled her eyes and huffed out a deep breath. “Where John is concerned, yes. He’s trying with baby steps, but oh my god, does he need a lot of help.”
“And Samantha? She likes him too?”
Ah, she thought. The million-dollar question.
“I hope so,” she answered.
He nodded. “I’m impressed. My brother has the social graces of a two-year-old. Thank you. For real,” he added when she smirked. “Does my mother know about this?”
“Absolutely not. He’d fold under the pressure. He has a hard time feeling comfortable in a one-on-one conversation. Connie would start planning the wedding before John figured out how not to put a foot in his mouth.”
His rueful smile followed her comment. “When he was at college, he told a professor that it wasn’t his fault he was smarter than the faculty. My parents shit cash trying to make it better.” He sniggered. “I believe a wing of the university library is named after my dad.”
She couldn’t suppress her grin but coughed over her laugh. No use in fueling more familiarity with the wanderlust outdoorsman. He’d be gone the minute some new adventure came his way.
“Hey, I have an idea,” Ryan exclaimed. “Since he needs a coach, why don’t you and he come along for the museum tour? We’ll make a party of it. I’ll k
eep the kid mesmerized, and you can stay on top of the dating game.”
It did not help one little bit that he knew how to turn a clever phrase. She was a sucker for a well-spoken man. Words were on her foreplay list.
“When is this field trip?” she asked.
“Friday. No school. Teacher in-service. Perfect opportunity.”
She released a sigh of relief. Whew! Good. She had vacation time coming up, and unless a global crisis or a medical emergency was involved, she had a hard and fast rule about business interfering with her personal time.
Jen glanced at the closed doors and came to a quick decision. “Deal. Only you don’t tell him he’s going until that morning, okay? He’ll get an ulcer if he has too much time to fret.”
Ryan chuckled. “I’m not telling him. He’s your problem, cupid. I’ll take care of Samantha and Chelsea. You figure out how to pry him from this unbearable tower and get him over to the museum. We’ll see what happens after that.”
She agreed and was working out some minor logistics when it occurred to her that he really was doing his brother—and her—a huge favor by getting involved. It was only fair that she return the gesture.
“And don’t worry about Quinn. I’ll squelch Connie and Grace. It’s the least I can do for your help with John.”
He fixed her with a meaningful look. “I love my brother, Jen. He’s the best man I’ve ever known next to our father. I want him to be happy.”
She almost reached out and touched him. Almost.
“Come on,” she said with a jerk of her head as she turned toward the building. “Let’s see what’s behind door number one.”
Ryan gave a bellowing chuckle and wrapped her arm through his. She could have pulled away, but she didn’t.
“Spoken like a true spokesmodel.”
The retort on the tip of her tongue faded to silence as he led them inside. Despite the tacky Hawaiian shirt and casual appearance, Ryan Lloyd had a touch of gallant gentleman going on that Jen found hard to resist.
6
It was another morning in corporate paradise as she walked John through the daily meet. Today, however, would be different. In a little over two hours’ time, Ryan expected her to show up downtown at the museum with her boss in tow.
And she hadn’t come up with a plan yet for how to make that happen.
John was finishing up a simple hello when Jen honed in on Monica Corbet as she approached from the periphery of those milling about. Dammit. The woman was getting on her nerves.
“Mr. Lloyd,” Monica bleated.
Bleated was Jen’s new favorite word. It covered a lot of ground and not in a warm and fuzzy way.
“Good morning,” Monica continued.
Jen’s jaw clenched, and she stopped walking so John could go through the formalities with the obnoxious marketing executive. For a second, she considered putting her foot out in the hopes that the pushy professional face planted on the cold marble floor.
She felt John’s gaze, and without looking his way, she murmured what he needed to know.
“Monica Corbet. Marketing.”
That was all she said, but when she looked at him, her boss’s raised brow let her know she’d used a less-than-friendly tone.
She gave John mad props for reading the signal because he frostily responded with a terse, “Ms. Corbet,” and nothing else.
Feeling a great deal of satisfaction, she watched Monica’s face freeze when he summarily dismissed her attempt to jockey into a one-on-one position with the boss of all the other bosses.
Atta boy, she thought as John fixed the prowling woman with a cold stare.
No need to prod John further because he ended the awkward encounter by doing what he did best. Without another word or gesture, he simply turned and walked away.
Jen shrugged at Monica as if to say, “What can ya do?” and scurried after him.
“Nicely done, John,” she muttered when she caught up.
“You don’t like her,” he grumbled. “Why?”
When she took a moment too long to reply, he came back with an uncharacteristic snarl.
“Don’t manage me, Jen.”
He stopped walking. She stumbled to a halt and eyed him questioningly.
“Is that how I come off? Like all this is”—she waved her hand—“managing you?”
He frowned. “No. That’s not what I meant.” John sighed heavily and checked the button on his impeccable suit to stall.
“Then what did you mean?”
His expression reminded her of Ryan—minus the smirk—when he turned thoughtful. She wondered if their father had the same trait.
“You hesitated when I asked why you didn’t like that woman. I know you’re not a puppet master, but at that second, it felt like you weren’t going to be truthful with me.”
Jen broke into a smirky smile and assured her boss with a genuine chuckle that he was actually quite perceptive.
“Oh, John.” She laughed. “That wasn’t an employee managing her boss. I did hesitate and high five for picking it up!”
She offered her hand at shoulder level. John shook his head but laughed and tapped her palm with half-ass effort.
“My reaction was one hundred percent the result of a female talking to a male and nothing more. I was simply parsing my words to suit the situation.”
Watching him translate her words was quite amusing. She compared John’s thought process to a ladder. Straight lines leading up or down with side-to-side bullet points along the way. She was trying to get him comfortable with the occasional squiggle or curvy line he’d need to handle in a relationship outside the boardroom.
But lord almighty, it wasn’t easy.
“You were going to deflect with a business assessment when I asked something personal? Do I have that right?”
She smiled and winked. He looked shocked for half a second and then offered a practiced smile.
“Nail on the head, boss.”
Taking a step away as she continued their morning walk, Jen stopped and looked back when he didn’t follow.
“What?”
“Aren’t you going to finish that thought?” he asked. “Pointing out that I read the signals correctly isn’t answering the question. Why don’t you like whatever her name was?”
He wasn’t going to budge until he got an answer, so she stepped close and kept her voice low.
“She’s prowling.”
He made a grunting sound and urged her to continue.
“Yeah,” she said over the clearing of her throat. “And she’s not fussy.”
“Define fussy.”
“Maybe exclusive is a better word,” she grumbled. “You, Ryan ...” She shrugged. “Monica isn’t picky about whose monogram is on the wallet.”
John’s gaze swung behind them where Monica continued to admire herself by manipulating whoever’s poor soul was nearest.
“Has she met my mother?” he snarled.
Jen chuckled and motioned him to keep moving. “Constance Lloyd would filet that bitch for lunch and use the bones to pick her teeth.”
He came to a complete halt, crossed an arm, and put his other hand over his mouth. He looked deep in thought, but Jen could see he was covering up a laugh.
She consulted her iPad and bit her lip to stop from joining his chuckle. “Making a note to put that little gem in the company newsletter.”
John whirled around and faced the wall as his shoulders shook with laughter. She’d hit his funny bone without trying!
When he recovered and turned around, she smiled innocently as he adjusted his tie and gave her a dirty look.
Their zig-zagging walk across the executive floor continued. As they approached the reception desk in the middle of everything, she sensed his mood lift.
Then the lifting stalled when someone who wasn’t Samantha Matthews stood to greet them. She felt bad for the temp whose face turned ashen when the Lloyd CEO barked at her.
“Where’s Ms. Matthews?”
; Jen put her hand on John’s arm. He glanced her way just long enough for her to issue a stern warning with her eyes.
“This is Allie Chen. She’s covering for Samantha today.”
“Why?” he barked.
The temp grew even paler, and Jen sighed. Fine time for him to ignore the basics of polite interaction.
“A scheduled day off,” she informed him with a suggestion of reprimand evident in her tone.
Luckily, he was paying attention.
“Good morning,” he grumbled to the panicked receptionist. Then to her, he said, “My office, Ms. Carlton.”
She arched a brow at his imperious tone and use of her formal name but didn’t react further.
The door to the executive suite had barely closed before he launched into an unglued tirade.
“Where’s Samantha? Why didn’t you tell me she wouldn’t be here? Is she all right?”
His free-falling and completely charming panic provided Jen with the perfect way to handle how to get him to the museum at the appointed time.
He was pacing in front of the window wall like an expectant father in a hospital waiting room.
“John,” she began. “Relax.”
He stopped pacing and searched her face. Once she had his full attention, she explained.
“School calendar. Chelsea has a day off. No big deal, okay?”
Thinking that nothing much shocked her these days, Jen was nonetheless flabbergasted when he told her to add the days off in the school calendar to his schedule.
He checked his watch after this stunning pronouncement, and she shot a cupid arrow and wondered how he’d respond.
“Seventy-two hours.”
His eyes focused on hers.
“Seventy-two hours until she’s back at the front desk.”
They stared at each other for a good minute.
“Oh,” he finally griped.
She let the weight of those seventy-two hours work on his last nerve before lining up a bull’s-eye shot.
“Or ...” she calmly replied.
He picked up the suggestive note in her voice and asked what she hoped he’d ask.
“Or?”
“You can join me in two hours for a little outing. There won’t be any problem clearing your schedule.”
Cupid In Heels Page 5