by Mika Jolie
“Well, I better go,” Jagger says finally, breaking up the moment and giving Mike a pat on the arm. “Charlotte,” he adds, nodding to me as he heads for the door, and there’s enough weight behind that one single word to leave me paralyzed as I watch him go.
I feel almost unsteady on my feet as I make my way back to my office, wondering whether I should take my lunch break early so I can get some fresh air. I need to breathe, to get some space away from Jagger and the confusion that mounts inside me every time I look into his ocean blue eyes. My mind is a mess as I run a hand through my hair, struggling to compose myself.
Did he know I was in that meeting? Is that why he stayed?
Does he know what he does to me when we’re that close?
This was followed by another, even more alarming question: Does he know that I like him?
It’s almost laughable in an objective sense, like we’re a couple of middle schoolers telling secrets on the playground about each other, instead of two full-grown adults who should know better than to play these kinds of games. But still...
I’m so wound up that my phone vibrating in my jacket pocket nearly makes me jump, and my hands are shaking when I pull it out and see what’s on the screen. It’s a meeting invite, scheduled for this evening after everyone’s already gone home for the day.
My phone vibrates with an incoming text message from Jagger: Another late night tonight.
This is immediately followed by another: I’ll bring us dinner.
My heart skips a beat, and I find myself looking around self-consciously for a moment, excitement and nervousness rushing through me. I take a breath to steady myself and return to the meeting invite. I can’t stop a small smile as I hit accept.
12
Jagger
Is it stupid to be sneaking around after hours with my coworker?
My incredibly alluring coworker, whom I can’t get out of my mind?
Would Richard sit me down for one of his infamous “talks” for it?
Would HR want to send me to another department if word got out?
Is pursuing anything with Charlotte, overall, just a downright bad idea?
Probably.
Is that going to stop me from seizing every socially acceptable opportunity to spend time with her?
Absolutely not.
Part of me feels ridiculous as I duck out of the Sloan offices at seven, making a beeline for the Polish deli on the corner when all of my coworkers are heading for the subway. But that part is overridden by the prospect of another late-night hangout with her, ostensibly to catch up on the McGowan campaign after a day spent checking in with our respective departments.
Pulling my coat more tightly around myself against the chilly wind that’s whipping through the Financial District, I hurry into the deli and emerge fifteen minutes later with a couple of sandwiches. I catch myself looking around as I head back into the building, nodding to the security guard and praying no one I know passes me on my way back to the office.
It all feels a little cloak and dagger, like we’re doing something we’re not supposed to, and I suppose, in a sense, we are. It’s fair to say that neither of us is in this just for the promotion anymore. Although the competition still looms heavily in the back of my mind, adding confusion to an already convoluted situation. If the others at the company caught on to our flirting (flirting - a word I never, ever would have associated with Charlotte Sloan), it would jeopardize everything I’ve been working for. But that said, it’s not like we’ve done anything, right? A few longing looks and late nights at the office aren’t anything write-up worthy, and as long as we keep things the way they are—a dance of implications, double-meanings, and glances—we should be okay.
The hard part will be making sure it doesn’t go any further than that… As much as I might want it to.
Charlotte is bent over the desk in the shared space we’ve been using as our unofficial base of operations, her brows furrowed in concentration as she reads an email.
“Hi,” I say, and she nearly jumps out of her seat, turning around to give me a skittish look. “Hey, easy.” I put a hand up. “I come in peace. And I brought sustenance.”
She laughs at that. “Sorry,” she replies, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You just startled me. Mike sent me this long-ass document for one of the other accounts, and I was just trying to…” She clears her throat. “Sorry. Babbling. Don’t listen to me.” Standing up from her chair, she snatches the sandwich bag from me before I have a chance to say anything. “Enough with the small talk, Crane. Show me the loot.”
“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re just using me for my taste in takeout.”
“Are you kidding?” She drops back into her chair and sets the bag in her lap. “That’s exactly what I’m doing, Jagger.” I can’t help but laugh at that and move to sit across from her as she rummages, inhaling deeply. “Mmm. Is that pastrami I smell?” she asks.
“Pastrami on rye,” I confirm, nodding. “I take it you’re a fan?”
“Um, yeah.” She doesn’t look up from her investigation of the takeout. “What kind of heathen would I be if I wasn’t?”
“Fair point.” I reach out and snatch the bag back from her. “But we’re not eating yet.”
She makes a show of scoffing. “I should’ve known there would be a catch.”
“Relax, it’s nothing big.” I place the bag to the side. “I just thought we should go over the finished version of the Instagram ad first. Then, after you’ve ripped apart my graphic design skills, I can use the food to numb the pain.”
“Wow,” she says, raising her eyebrows, “you really think I’m that bad?”
“No.” I smile. “You’re worse.”
“Fine, fine.” She comes over to my side of the desk and perches on the edge. Seeing my incredulous look, she gestures at the door. “Come on, lighten up. We’re practically the last ones here.”
She’s right about that. Even the guys from finance seem to have packed up for the day. I tap on the keyboard and bring my laptop screen to life, then pull up the ad. It’s only the initial version, and rough around the edges, but between the copy she wrote and the visual work that I did, I’m actually…happy with how it turned out. Who would have thought, right?
Her jade eyes narrow as she stares at the screen, and I find myself growing more nervous the longer it takes her to respond. I want her to be happy with it. I want to see us make something that kicks ass, and not just because of the promotion… I want…
Heat settles in the pit of my stomach as I watch her over her shoulder, not daring to finish the thought, not daring to even sit down. Just when I think the silence can’t grow any more unbearable, she turns to me, putting on an expression of faux condescension. “I suppose it will do,” she says in a posh accent, pulling a face that makes me burst out laughing, the tension in my body melting away.
“You’re so full of shit.”
She grins at me. “You’re just figuring that out now?”
I cross my arms, tilting my head to one side. “Don’t act so coy. I’m onto you.”
Her eyes widen, and for a moment she looks startled. Is that a blush I see creeping onto her cheeks?
But she rushes to course correct, putting her hands up. “You got me. I’m just trying to annoy you to death so I get the job by default.”
I smirk. “Well, that sucks for you. It’s going to take a lot more than that to get rid of me.”
“Good,” she says quietly, meeting my eyes with her own. Quiet overtakes us once again, and I can’t look away. In an instant, it’s like she has me hypnotized, her face a play of unspoken emotions and desires. My resistance crumbles the longer I look into her big green eyes. The desire I’ve been barely managing to keep a hold on overpowers the voice in my head that’s screaming at me not to take this any further.
She swallows, searching my face, looking like she wants to say something, to do something, but can’t quite bring herself to. Ther
e’s still a wall between us, but it’s on the verge of crashing down. The raging fire inside me is desperate for relief, desperate for her, and suddenly all the arguments against wanting her feel trivial.
It’s just me and her, and the deafening silence, and everything we’ve been dancing around all this time.
“Jagger?” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “Do you—”
But I don’t give her a chance to finish, my mouth connecting with hers before I can stop myself or think better of what I’m doing. Within seconds her hands are reaching up and winding around my neck, drawing me closer with feverish desperation.
She’s still seated on the edge of the desk, and I have to stoop a little to reach her, but I don’t care. I’m lost in the feeling of my lips on hers, one hand tangling in her fiery red hair while the other snakes around her waist, pulling her body flush against me. Her lips part, allowing my tongue to dip into her mouth, and she moans a little, sending a lightning bolt of lust through my body. My dick throbs, practically strangling in my slacks. I groan as she wraps her legs around my waist, her mouth growing more frantic.
I bear down on the desk, shoving papers and office supplies out of the way as I lay her down and pepper her with kisses. I pause at the base of her neck, sucking hard enough to bruise.
Fuck, how long have I wanted to do this? How many times have I fantasized about it?
I get her blazer off and unbutton her shirt halfway, exposing her lace bra as she fumbles with my belt buckle, ready to give in and let the desire overtake me completely…
But then she moans my name, and in an instant, I snap back to the present, freezing.
“Jagger?” Charlotte says again as I pull back. Her face is flushed and her eyes are filled with questions.
I let her go like she’s burning hot, my heart still pounding in my ears as the hammer of reality comes crashing back down on me.
“Jagger, talk.”
“I…” My voice sounds rusty, still husky with lust. I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, Charlotte.” I shake my head, taking a step back. “I can’t. I mean, we can’t… That was wrong.”
She sits back up on the desk, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Kissing and touching me are wrong?”
Fuck no, touching a woman has never felt so right.
“This is a mistake.” Shit, I hate myself even as the words come out, but it’s too late. The wall has already come back up.
“It doesn’t feel like a mistake to me,” she replies, the corner of her mouth twitching, and God, I want to feel those lips on mine again. Instead I run a hand through my hair as my heart pounds in my chest.
“We’re competing for the same job,” I explain.
“What does that have to do with fucking?”
“Is that all it would be to you, just a fuck?” I challenge back.
We stare at each other for a while in silence until she finally breaks and looks away. She’s clearly hurt by what she thinks is a rejection, and a lump lodges in my throat. I want to reach out and touch her, but I refrain. I shouldn’t be kissing or touching Charlotte, not when we’re competing for the same job.
“It’s unprofessional.” I can barely stand to look at her. “This is an HR crisis waiting to happen.”
Her gaze narrows with a touch of anger as she buttons her blouse, her slim hands trembling a little. “You think too much, Crane.”
“Sleeping together isn’t a risk we can take.”
As much as I want nothing more than to bury myself inside her right now, I know sleeping together isn’t a risk I can take. It’s killing me to be the voice of reason. “I’m sorry I let things get this far.” I pause, gathering my thoughts. “I got carried away.”
“Hey, I wanted this, too.” She waves a dainty hand in my direction, as if I’m a presentation on a game show. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a big girl.”
She’s also the boss’s daughter. She might be able to do whatever she wants and never have to deal with any consequences, but not all of us have that luxury.
“I’m sorry,” I say on a low voice. “I should go.”
“Yeah,” she agrees, her voice icy. “I think maybe you should.”
13
Charlotte
“Let me get this straight,” Katharine says, taking a sip of her cappuccino. “You’ve been working together for how long now?”
“Two weeks.”
“The chemistry is off the charts, and wonder of wonders you actually managed to put together an awesome campaign.” I nod, and she continues. “So you guys stayed late last week, ended up making out like wild animals, and then he got spooked and bailed on you.” Again, I nod. “This just got very interesting.”
I groan. “Is that all you have to say?”
“I’m not sure what else I can say.” She shrugs. “This is some Pride and Prejudice shit, I’m telling you. Except with fewer corsets and more late-night work sessions.”
My lips twitch in spite of my misery.
She peers at me over the rim of her coffee cup. “I have to say, though, you usually don’t take things this hard.”
“Trust me, I’m aware.” I stare down at my own latte, only half-finished, which is a rarity for me on a Tuesday morning. We’re in a coffee shop not far from the Sloan offices, squeezed into a corner table amidst the mid-morning rush. It’s been a while since I’ve been out for a coffee date with Katharine, and it feels like exactly what I need right now, in spite of my friend’s bluntness.
It’s been less than a week since the incident with Jagger, and every day only seems to get more unbearable. It was easy enough to avoid him at first, but McGowan reached out this morning to tell us that they wanted changes made to the campaign, which means being thrust back into the fray alongside him while we perfect it, and I’m not looking forward to it. Every time I see him, it’s like he unleashes a tidal wave of conflicting emotions in me—anger, confusion, frustration. But most of all, acute, undeniable attraction. And no amount of rage is enough to make that go away.
“So what’s the problem?” she asks, even though the look on her face tells me she already knows the answer. “Why are you so bent out of shape about this? You finish the project, you get the promotion, and then you never have to deal with him again.”
“Because it’s not that simple,” I reply. “I wanted to keep going, Katharine. If you’d told me that a few weeks ago, I would’ve called you crazy, but there it is.” I sigh. “I mean, you know me. I’m not into romance. I never have been. I’d rather hook up with someone, leave in the morning, and cut ties.”
“So you’re upset because you didn’t go all the way?”
“Perhaps.” I pause. “It’s more than that,” I confess, unable to look her in the eye. “I like him, I think. Like, in a more than hookup way. And it’s driving me crazy.”
She stares at me for a long time, so long that it starts to get unnerving. “Well, it sounds like he feels the same way. I mean, he didn’t want either of you to get in trouble.”
I scoff. “Sure. Maybe. Or maybe he’s just worried about risking his fucking promotion.” I shake my head, although I’m doubting the words even as I say them.
Do I think Jagger is the type for a one-night stand, the type to play around with someone’s feelings?
No. I don’t. He’s a stick in the mud, but he’s also earnest. For all his faults, what I’ve seen of him has painted a picture of someone who wants to do the right thing, and that bothers me more than anything else. The thought that he might care about me is almost too much to bear.
And I can see from Katharine’s expression that this all might as well be written on my forehead. So much for my poker face.
“Maybe you should talk to him,” she suggests.
“Right. No way.” I twist a lock of hair around my finger. “We’ve barely said three words to each other since that night. We might as well have gone back to the way we were before this project.” And that hurts, adds a voice in my mind.
“Look,” Ka
tharine says, leaning forward, “I can’t tell you what to do, but I’d say I know you pretty well, and it seems to me like the two of you have some unfinished business.”
I set my jaw. “The only ‘unfinished business’ Jagger and I have is this McGowan campaign. After that, I’d rather just pretend none of this ever happened.”
As though saying it will somehow make it true.
Twenty minutes later, I make my way back to the office, caffeinated but not any less confused. All I can do is pray that today the other projects will take priority for both of us, which will limit the number of awkward encounters, but Katharine was right. Sooner or later I’m going to have to talk to Jagger, and I’m not looking forward to it. Just being in the same room as him feels like a bomb about to go off. My feelings for him are the fuse, and one spark is enough to cause an explosion.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I’m not even aware of the commotion in the offices until I’m almost at the reception desk. My mouth drops open and my eyes go wide as the sound of a familiar voice yelling comes closer, and moments later I see Mom around the corner, her hair a mess and her expression twisted with disdain. It’s honestly impressive that she’s managing to stay on her feet. One look at her is enough to tell me she’s one step away from full-on blotto.
Dad is following her, and although his tone is neutral, I can see the embarrassment on his face. “You need to go, Barbara. I can’t have you in here.”
“Right, of course not.” She’s slurring her words, teetering on her high heels, and the others are starting to look at her. “You can’t have me anywhere, can you, Richard? You’ve got your new fucking wife. I’m just the old model, right?” She whirls around, jabbing a finger in his face. “Can’t even be bothered to return my calls, can you?”
“How did you even get past security?” Dad demands, waving the others off as they move to help.
“Easy,” Mom retorts. “I just told them I was this week’s wife, and they didn’t even ask for my ID!”