Keeping Her Close: A Slow Burn Standalone

by Casey Diam

As he moved closer to what seemed to be the store manager, his body felt pulled toward her, as if by gravity. Her golden hair was brushed into a tight bun, contrasting with the soft features of her face. The skirt above her knees and her high heels held his attention a moment before his eyes drank in the rest of her body. A light pink, collared shirt tucked into the skirt showed off her small waistline. The shirt’s loose collar exposed the creamy skin leading toward her cleavage. Finding it hard to look away, he continued to read her from a distance. Her demeanor indicated she wasn’t one to be fucked with—feisty, sexy, and ladylike.

  Without a doubt, he knew he wanted her. Yet it was unlike finding a target in the club. Something felt different, and he was lost as to the best approach. But he knew he had to have her.

  The woman grimaced and a crease formed between her eyebrows. Too fucking adorable. Victoria’s Secret must have lost one of its angels,said his roguish mind, feeding him lines he knew wouldn’t work on this woman. He could sense it, see it in the way she was handling the situation in front of her.

  He moved again, as if a magnetic force pulled his feet closer to the core of his attraction. His fingers lingered over the clothes rack as he pretended to look at random items he would never buy. Or maybe he would, just for her. He now stood just a few feet away, which confirmed his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. She was breathtaking, and when she spoke, her voice traveled all the way to his balls.

  Who was this woman?

  Angela could take all the time in the world because he’d found his new friend with a whole lot of benefits. His mind drifted to how much more remarkable she would look with her hair down, wild and free, flowing over her shoulders as she rode his cock. His dick jerked in excitement and anticipation.

  Down, boy! Don’t you dare embarrass me in public. We are not in high school. But I know how you feel, and to think we haven’t even touched her, or spoken to her, or—fuck.

  His balls tightened, and blood rushed to every limp muscle in his shaft. Yup, this was happening. Think of something disgusting. Don’t embarrass yourself—big, hairy toes, big, scabby . . .

  The disagreement escalated but remained one-sided as the manager held her composure. And though she didn’t seem shaken by the loud and obnoxious customer, the woman who had started the altercation was starting to piss him off. From the little he’d heard, the customer was trying to return an item without a receipt. He smiled as he thought of a plan. What was the saying? Where you use one stone to kill two birds? It had to work, or he was shit out of luck.

  But he had a good feeling about this one. By the time he was done charming her, she would be hauling him to the closest stockroom.

  A store associate walked by with a set of keys around her neck. He put a hand on her arm. “Excuse me. I need your help. Who is the lady in the pink shirt?”

  The woman followed his gaze. “Oh! That’s Jordan Artesian. She’s the owner of the store.”

  The customer from hell.

  This was not the hassle Jordan Artesian had needed after she’d been up sewing all night, but thanks to her non-existent personal life, she knew every piece of merchandise in her store, forward and backward. So she had no doubt about her position in this situation.

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry. That item has never been a part of my store’s inventory,” she stated, looking around the store to avoid any further eye contact with the woman in front of her, as well as the distracting man staring at her.

  Who was he, and why was he so keen on making her uncomfortable?

  She frowned and sighed inwardly. He was probably just working up the nerve to ask her out. It wouldn’t be the first time a man had tried to approach her at work, though it had been a while. Still, she would never date him. She wasn’t on the market.

  And already fired up from the customer, she was more than ready to put him in his place. It wasn’t hard to tell he was trouble. She couldn’t wait to wipe that smug look off his face.

  The woman draped the dress over her forearm and folded her arms across her chest, waiting for a response. Jordan hadn’t listened to the latest quarrel or excuse, but the woman’s argument hadn’t changed in the past half hour.

  “My decision is final. Now if you’ll—”

  “Jordan, how are you today?”

  Jordan turned and furrowed her eyebrows at the stranger, who’d now abandoned his staring spot from across the store. Her eyes widened, and she forgot the rude awakening she’d been planning to serve him. Beautiful—not a word she usually used to describe a man, but that’s what he was. Spellbound by a pair of rainforest green eyes, she searched her brain, trying to recall if she’d met him before.

  It wasn’t likely; nothing about him was the slightest bit forgettable. What was he doing here, and why did he know her name? Maybe he was a stripper or a crossdresser doing a little shopping. Wait, why would a male stripper be in her store—and crazier, know her name?

  Cheeks burning, she peered into his eyes. “Can I help you?” she asked.

  Why did her throat feel tight, and why was it suddenly so hot in here? Had the AC stopped working again? Or menopause at an early age? She made a note to ask her mother about that later.

  “I’d like to help,” the man said. He faced the customer, but nothing else, living or breathing, was a concern as Jordan’s eyes remained glued on him. “I overheard the conversation,” he explained, “and I would like to buy that dress from you.”

  With a curious glance at Jordan, the customer asked, “Are you serious?”

  “Of course. My wife is about your size, and you seem to have excellent taste. It would save me some trouble if you let me buy that dress from you. Tell me, how much?”

  If he was being dishonest, it didn’t show, but Jordan fought the urge to cringe at the pathetic-looking dress the lady held out to him.

  Lowering her gaze from his tousled, dark-blond hair, Jordan crossed her arms over her chest. Wife? She looked at his ringless finger, and a strange mixture of relief and disappointment struck.

  That’s when everything spun out of control around her, inside her. The reaction wasn’t welcome. Whatever it was, it needed to go. He needed to go.

  “Um . . . ninety dollars,” the customer offered.

  “That’s it?” Brandon pulled out his wallet and gave the lady a hundred-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”

  Handing over the dress, the woman gave him a grateful smile and scurried off without looking back, and why wouldn’t she? She just duped him out of a hundred bucks.

  He turned his attention to Jordan, and her legs wobbled. Extending his hand, he introduced himself. “I’m Brandon.”

  She managed to speak without sounding like an idiot. “Hi.”

  He took her hand, and a shock radiated. Jolted by it, she pulled her hand away. As she tried to gather her thoughts, she instead found herself admiring his clean-shaven, symmetrical jaw and lips. His eyes weren’t entirely green like she’d first thought, but had specks of hazel within, drawing the attention away from his tanned skin. He looked like a gentleman in his tailored business attire: black pants, dress shoes, and a long-sleeved, dark gray shirt.

  A strange, magnetic pull tugged at her. Who was he?

  “My wife isn’t that big. Matter of fact, I’m not even married.” Brandon chuckled. “Though, if I was, I hope she would be standing in front of me right now, looking at me the way you are.”

  He was flirting.

  Shit, shut it down, Jordan. “I-I need to go back to work.”

  He held out the dress to her, and she shook her head. “I’m sorry, but you bought it. Therefore, it’s yours. Besides, that item doesn’t belong to this store.”

  “What am I to do with it?”

  “That’s for you to decide.”

  “Save me the trouble, please. Donate it—anything—after all, you owe me now.” His lips quirked up. “That customer was determined to stay and drive you crazy.”

  “So you took it upon yourself to drive me crazy instead?” she countere
d.

  Brandon laughed. “You wouldn’t want to know how a man like me drives a lady crazy, Jordan.” He paused to lick his lips. “Or would you?”

  No manners whatsoever. Did he think she would be flattered? “It was nice meeting you, but it’s time for me to get back to work. And you’re right. I don’t want to know. At all.” She turned on her heels and stormed off.

  He was the rudest man she’d come across. How could he insinuate sex within two minutes of meeting her, like she was someone he could fish out of a barrel for a hundred dollars? The tagging gun in her hand slipped from her grip and clattered to the floor. Great! I can’t even make a proper exit. Asshole. I blame him for that, too. Instead of looking to see where the tool had gone flying, she trotted to her store’s stockroom-slash-office-slash-studio.

  Peace settled over her as she took in her surroundings. Fashion illustrations, colored pencils, sewing kits, a sewing machine, and a desktop computer filled the large, white table centered in the room. The blue silk top she’d been working on, to be featured in her winter collection, was pinned on a mannequin. It was her very first time being slotted for a spot in the Los Angeles Fashion Week show, and now that it was just a week away, her hours had been crazy. Her skin tingled. This was the closest she’d come to making her dream of launching her own fashion line a reality.

  The aggravating stranger resurfaced in her thoughts, and she had the urge to go back out and give him a piece of her mind. How could a flawless-looking gentleman turn out to be such a complete ass? She ought to put him in his place. Yes, she should.

  Only, when she walked out and scanned the store for Brandon, he was leaving with a beautiful brunette on his arm. Assuming it was his girlfriend, Jordan shook her head in disbelief. He was the perfect example of how looks could be deceiving—a gorgeous gentleman on the outside, but an arrogant, womanizing ass within.

  What a dick.

  Hitting her speed dial, Jordan rattled off, “Adrianna, you will not believe this. I was in my store with a customer when this man interrupted my conversation. Long story short, he bought this dress a customer was trying to return—obviously to hit on me. Then he starts saying how I owe him now. I swear, this jerk came in, flirted with me, and hinted at how he would drive me crazy in bed. Guys are such assholes. Oh wait, the best part? He was with his girlfriend. How un-freaking-believable!”

  Adrianna’s laugh vibrated through the phone line. “Take a breath, woman, jeez. And let me get this straight, a guy actually got under your skin?”

  “It’s not funny. He was so rude. Who does that? And it was in my territory, where he doesn’t even shop. I expect this from a customer, you know? Not some random asshole.”

  “Lighten up, Jo. I’m sure he meant no harm. Are you sure you didn’t misunderstand him?” Adrianna asked.

  “I didn’t. You know I’m pretty good at reading between the lines.”

  “Yes, sweetie, I do know, and that’s why you’ll be single forever. You read too much between the lines. Sometimes there are no lines, you know? It’s modern days. People flaunt sex like jewelry. If you can’t beat ’em, maybe it’s time you join ’em.”

  “Okay, this conversation’s over.”

  Adrianna giggled. “Hey, I love you. I’m just saying. You’ve been single for how long now? I think if he got under your skin so much, he was doing something right. You need to go find that man and beg him to come back and sleep with you. Life is short, and you need to get laid.”

  “What kind of advice is that? Aren’t there kids around you? You know, parents are paying you to watch and teach their kids something useful like, I don’t know . . . ABCs, not awful slogans to repeat. It’s a daycare!” Jordan shook her head.

  “Ah, don’t worry about them. They’re too busy playing with each other to hear anything.” She laughed. “Get it? Playing with each other.”

  “Adrianna, oh my God! I’ll talk to you later because I will not be blamed for your job loss,” Jordan said, taking a seat at her computer. “You’ve been such a great help; I’ll be sure to call you next time I have an issue, but don’t count on it.”

  Two days after Jordan’s run-in with the jerk at her store, she and her friend Samantha stood outside of the movie theater at the mall, waiting for Adrianna. Adrianna and Samantha had been Jordan’s closest friends since freshman year in college. They were her life, and if she wasn’t babysitting her brother’s son, Max, or working, she was hanging out with them.

  Jordan dialed Adrianna, though her friend’s lateness was not unusual. “Adrianna, where are you?”

  “I’m here. We’re looking for a parking spot. Oh, and I have a friend with me,” Adrianna said.

  “What, who?”

  It was supposed to be a girls’ night out; what was Adrianna thinking? Jordan smoothed her hair in its neat ponytail.

  “You’ll see.”

  Jordan fidgeted with the low waist of her gray cropped pants. She’d paired them with a long-sleeved blouse and black pumps, bringing her closer to Samantha’s taller, slender figure. Samantha’s short, bleached-blonde hair stopped just below her ears. Always fabulous, Sam was a freelance stylist who worked with clients on movie sets, photo shoots, or any event needing her services.

  “Jordan!” She heard a voice call behind her. “Huh . . . small world, isn’t it? Or it could be fate that we meet again.”

  Brandon’s optimistic greeting had Jordan’s heart going wild as she turned to face him. She reminded herself how disgusted she was supposed to be after the stunt he’d pulled. She glanced at the two other men standing with him—a bulky, six-foot-something, caramel-skinned guy and a shorter, stocky blond with piercing blue eyes.

  “I don’t remember inviting you to the movies . . . out loud,” Brandon continued.

  It didn’t take long for Jordan’s mind to reprimand her heart and catch up to speed. “Not the least bit funny, Brandon. But yes, in the small, suffocating world it is, I would appreciate you staying away from me. Trust me, it isn’t fate.”

  “You remember my name. I knew you liked me. But most importantly, seeing as it is fate running into you again like this, are you still mad at me?” he asked.

  His boyish appeal was distracting as he stood casually, his white V-neck cotton shirt catching above the belt of low-riding jeans. His attire revealed something she hadn’t noticed the first time she saw him: muscles. They rippled through his thin shirt, and it took every fiber in her body not to open her mouth and drool.

  So he could dress and he was sexy as hell, but that didn’t mean anything. This was Los Angeles. Looking good was a priority.

  “Mad? I don’t even know you. Although, I do know I don’t like you.” Jordan gave him a tight-lipped smile before turning away.

  It was impossible to maintain eye contact with him while trying for annoyance. He was gorgeous as hell, and the son of a bitch knew it. Why couldn’t she ignore him like every other man who’d approached her in the last four years?

  “Jo, hey!” Adrianna, petite and adorable, and more of a casual dresser, wore leggings and a halter top covered by a black leather jacket. Her plum lipstick went flawlessly with her tanned skin and long black hair. She hugged Jordan first, and then Sam. “Sorry I’m late. I can’t wait to hear more about that jerk who came into your store. Did she tell you, Sam? Oh, Elijah, these are my friends, Sam and Jordan. Guys, this is Elijah.”

  Jordan felt her face go borderline crimson after Adrianna’s loud mention of the jerk. She cleared her throat and tried for something that would redirect the conversation. “I see you took your own advice.”

  Adrianna grinned at the three men standing next to Jordan and Sam. “I didn’t know you brought dates. I would have left mine at home.” She laughed, squeezing Elijah’s shoulder.

  But Jordan knew she wasn’t joking; she meant every word.

  “Oh, no way.” Crossing her arms over her chest, Jordan turned back to the guys. “I haven’t even met them. I’ve only met the one I don’t like . . . Brandon.”


  “Also known as the jerk,” Brandon said, extending his hand to Adrianna. He turned to Jordan with a wide smile. “These are my buddies, Andrew and Damian.”

  “Beautiful ladies, it’s a pleasure.” Damian extended his hand to each of them.

  And as the sculpted and attractive Damian shook her hand, his hazel eyes smiled into hers. His shoulders dropped, giving her a better view of his dark brown, curly hair, which was shaped into a small Mohawk. He had a well-kept goatee and a barely there moustache. He was a flirt, but with his friendly countenance, he was too charming to resist.

  “Nice to meet you,” Andrew added with a polite smile.

  He stood a few inches shorter than both Damian and Brandon, with dazzling blue eyes against cool ivory skin. Jordan assumed he was the nice guy, as he was more reserved than the other two.

  Adrianna gave Jordan a nervous smile. “Jo, you didn’t get to the part about going to the movies with, uh . . . Brandon. I dare say you took my advice.”

  Jordan gave her a death stare. “I bumped into him. You know how my luck runs.” An awkward silence fell over them before she continued. “We should go sit down and wait for the movie to start now that everyone is here.” Turning to Brandon and his friends, she added, “Andrew and Damian, it was a pleasure meeting you.”

  “What movie are you guys watching?” Brandon asked.

  “Run To Paradise,” Adrianna blurted.

  “Oh, we’re watching The Fountain On Gray Creek,” Brandon responded, looking disappointed.

  Jordan sighed with relief.

  Adrianna spun Jordan into a hug and whispered, “You’re being a jerk. Talk to him. Maybe there’s an explanation.”

  Jordan gritted her teeth. She’d been livid for two whole days thinking about what he’d said to her. Adrianna was right; she should talk to him.

  “Can I talk to you for a second, Brandon?” she asked, his name sounding like a curse as it passed her lips.

  As Brandon’s friends walked off with hers, a wall of ice erected between them.

  “I think you owe me an apology,” Jordan said.