by K. Bromberg
“Mr. McMasters?”
“Hmm?”
“Ms. Jilliland for you.”
“Great. Lovely.”
And that voice.
I know that voice.
My feet freeze in place as I realize who it is.
And when Archer McMasters turns to face me, I’m met with his vibrant blue eyes behind black framed lenses. “Ms. Jilliland.”
Archer McMasters was the man in the elevator. The CEO of Garters & Lace. The man I told he basically didn’t know how to market his own company.
Jesus.
I hate the jolt of electricity that runs through me when our eyes meet.
Seriously?
I thought I’d imagined the chemistry I felt in the elevator yesterday. I’d talked myself into believe it was nothing. But I was wrong. Oh so wrong. Because it’s back with just a simple look and the sound of his voice saying my name.
I want to shrink into nothing.
Not only did I insult him, but I proved my incompetence by delivering the wrong package to him.
Kill me now.
So many thoughts run through my mind but all I can think of is if I just got my job back, I’m surely fired now.
Act professional, Jules. Give him his package and leave. Save face.
“Take a seat, Jules.” His voice is low but I hear every syllable over the hum of the restaurant at my back.
“No. I—uh—your package.” I take a step forward and shove it at him. “It got mixed up yesterday. I apologize. I’m sure it was important and I was flustered and I’m sorry.” Every word I utter comes out faster than the last as he just sits there with those eyes of his locked on mine, his face impassive.
Archer reaches out and takes the parcel from me and sets it on the table in front of him. He points to the chair beside him but doesn’t speak.
“No. I . . . again, sorry.”
“Sit,” he demands and I exhale audibly.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
But I oblige. And, of course, the only chair to sit in is adjacent to the corner where his is.
I try not to notice the details about him but fail. Miserably. The crisp, white dress shirt that is unbuttoned at the throat. The cuff links. The way his thumb runs up and down the edge of his highball glass.
“What? No reindeer antlers?” he asks.
“No.” My voice is soft as I suddenly feel self-conscious in my Docs and my secondhand dress in this upscale restaurant. I smooth it down over my knees and shift in my seat.
“I like them on you.”
I offer a partial smile but avert my eyes to the glass of champagne that a server just slid in front of me. “I’m sorry, you have company coming. I’ll be going.”
When I go to stand, Archer puts his hand on my arm and holds me still. “The package didn’t get mixed up, Jules.”
My head startles. “Yes, it did.” I point to the label on the front. “Your name is right here. I messed up,” I confess though I know I did not have a single package for Archer McMasters yesterday.
I freeze when he leans closer and the subtle scent of his cologne fills my nose. “Jules.” His voice is low, the heat of his breath hits my cheek. “I did it on purpose.”
I twist my face toward his, which is only inches from my own. My breath hitches and my heart races because yes, I screwed up but hell if every part of me didn’t just react to all parts of him. “You what?” I ask although I know I heard him correctly.
“I wanted to see you again.”
If I thought my pulse was racing moments before, my heart just flip-flopped in my chest. “Why?” My voice is barely audible.
“Several reasons.” He reaches out and tucks a wayward lock of hair behind my ear, a gesture that seems so natural and intimate. When he’s done, he runs the back of his hand along the line of my jaw and I fight the innate want to turn my cheek into his hand.
Desire streaks through me like I’ve never experienced before but with it is an anxious edge. A sharp awareness of who he is and who I am and why in the world I’m sitting here with him.
My eyes flicker to his lips and then back up to his striking blue eyes.
“Reasons?” I ask when I finally find my voice.
“Mm hmm. Reasons.” His tongue darts out to lick his lips while his arm rests on the back of my chair, his thumb now running up and down the line of my spine much like it just was on his highball glass.
“And?” My voice breaks over the simple word as he turns toward me so that his knees bump mine.
“First of all, I lied to you. I’m on the twentieth floor, not the fifteenth.”
“So says the label on your package.”
“And I still think Red Vines are better than Twizzlers.”
“Then you won’t like your package. It’s full of Twizzlers,” I lie but melt when that soft smile slides up one corner of his mouth.
“Two can play that game.” He winks.
“Noted.”
“You were right.”
“Naturally,” I murmur and garner a laugh from him that pulls my own smile up.
“I want you to come work for me in my design department.”
“What?” My voice rises in shocked pitch because that is the last thing I ever expected to fall from his mouth.
“You heard me. You were right. I went through all our products. Curves are sexy. They deserve to be celebrated—admired and adorned properly—and I know you have no problem speaking up to those on the fifteenth floor.”
“Hardy-har-har.”
He laughs with a shake of his head as he looks out the window where the snow is falling a little harder now.
“Equal opportunity lingerie is a thing. A really smart woman told me that.“
Warmth floods through me at his comment, at the pride I feel and the disbelief still rifling through me.
“I’m serious. It’s a brilliant idea and I hate that I never thought of it. There are a lot of changes I need to make at the company . . . and I’m hoping you’ll be there with me to help me make them.“
“Why?“
“Because you’re the only one who seems to tell me the truth. Subtlety isn’t your strong suit and I need that.“
“I don’t even know what to say,“ I mutter because as much as his words have left me speechless, his fingers on the back of my neck distract me.
“Say yes, and accept this too,“ he says while sliding an envelope across the table toward me.
I look at him with an inquisitive smirk before grasping the envelope and opening the flap. What’s inside makes me gasp aloud. It’s a check payable to me for $20,000. Before I can say a word or even process what I’m looking at, Archer interjects, “You can’t cash that until you say yes.“
When he realizes I’m still in shock, he adds, “Jules, that’s a signing bonus for the new position. One that’s well deserved. And it takes care of the rent due problem the prick left you holding. There’s another perk to working on the twentieth floor—corporate car service. Use it while yours is being repaired from your run in with the asshole.“
I can only stare at the unexpected man sitting across from me—still trying to digest what is happening.
“Hey, Jules? One more thing.”
“Hmm?”
And before I can speak, his lips meet mine in a kiss that’s devastating to my senses. Every part of me sparks to life and then burns under the fire he’s ignited.
When he leans back and the taste of his kiss is still on my tongue, he whispers in my ear, “I’ve been thinking of doing that all day.”
It takes me a second to find the words that his unexpected kiss just knocked from me. “That’s all you’ve got?”
He throws his head back and laughs loud enough that I’m sure the rest of the patrons are looking our way. “No worries there. I’ve got a lot more than that.”
“I’m looking forward to you proving it.“
He leans forward and presses a kiss so very opposite from the last one to my lips. Where before wa
s hungry, this one is tender and soft and packed with unspoken emotions I don’t even dare to think about.
“After the prick and the asshole and the shitty ice and the jerky boss,” he murmurs in my ear, the heat of his breath hitting my cheek, “I think you’ve earned your Tavern on the Green wish. Have dinner with me.”
“Archer . . . ”
Yes.
Please.
“I can’t. I—”
“Open the package, Julia.”
“What?” His request knocks my thoughts askew.
“Open it.”
I slide my finger beneath the tape and open the parcel. It’s my laugh that rings out when several bags of Twizzlers spill out onto the table.
But when I look up and meet his eyes that have the fire dancing in them, my laugh falls quiet.
How did this happen?
How am I having dinner with Archer McMasters from the twentieth floor?
And why do I never want this to end.
“Merry Christmas, Jules.”
“Merry Christmas, Archer.”
“Is that a yes, then?” His eyes beg me more than his words do.
“Twenty thousand dollars would buy a lot of Twizzlers.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “Then the offer is off the table.”
He leans in and kisses me despite his words. The kind of kiss that tells me I’m wanted and desired and that this might be the start of something so unexpected but so perfectly perfect.
When I lean back and look in Archer’s eyes, I know this might not be such a horrible Christmas after all.
“Yes.”
Also by K. Bromberg
Driven
Fueled
Crashed
Raced
Aced
Slow Burn
Sweet Ache
Hard Beat
Down Shift
UnRaveled
Sweet Cheeks
Sweet Rivalry
The Player
The Catch
Cuffed
Combust
Cockpit
Control
Faking It
Resist
Reveal
Then You Happened
Hard to Handle
Flirting with 40
Hard to Hold
About the Author
New York Times Bestselling author K. Bromberg writes contemporary romance novels that contain a mixture of sweet, emotional, a whole lot of sexy, and a little bit of real. She likes to write strong heroines and damaged heroes who we love to hate but can’t help to love.
A mom of three, she plots her novels in between school runs and soccer practices, more often than not with her laptop in tow and her mind scattered in too many different directions.
Since publishing her first book on a whim in 2013, Kristy has sold over one and a half million copies of her books across eighteen different countries and has landed on the New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestsellers lists over thirty times. Her Driven trilogy (Driven, Fueled, and Crashed) is currently being adapted for film by the streaming platform, Passionflix, with the first movie (Driven) out now.
With her imagination always in overdrive, she is currently scheming, plotting, and swooning over her latest hero. You can find out more about him or chat with Kristy on any of her social media accounts.