by Mackenzy Fox
“My God, Morgan! Why on earth would you do such a thing?” she says aghast.
I expected this. She’s a good woman but she can’t take praise for anything. She has no interest in any agenda aside from helping people.
“Because in just over two years, we’ve helped over a thousand women get back on their feet, recover, recoup, find their way again, and you have done all of that and I’m so very proud and honored to be witness to it and be a part of it.”
“It isn’t just me,” she gushes, flustered, looking at me across from her desk. “I have a whole team of people who should also be recognized.”
“Yes, but it was your idea and your doing to get all of this off the ground,” I remind her. “And you are the one who put your heart and soul into this when we were a three-person operation, you are the one who stayed late nights and got up early mornings and pounded the pavement asking for donations and support. Without your dedication, we wouldn’t even be here.”
She looks flabbergasted. She takes her glasses off and wipes the corner of her eyes with her hands.
“Morgan, I just don’t know about that,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s all a bit over the top.”
I lean forward and smile warmly. “Well, I do, it’s about time you were recognized for all the amazing things you’ve done and continue to do.”
“What about what you do?” she smiles, wiping her glasses with a tissue. “You’re the one who puts a lot of money into this organization and gets all the funding, without you, we wouldn’t be here doing all of this.”
“It takes more than just money to run a place like this, we both know that, and I’m really proud of what we’ve achieved, everyone has worked so hard to make this place viable, but without you, Nancy, there is no heart. You’re the soul and the driving force of this amazing place and I want to scream it from the rooftops.” I smile as she puts her glasses back on. “So, don’t cry.”
“I don’t need the praise,” she reiterates. “I love it here, I’ve found my calling, it only took me fifty-three years but I found it.”
I smile over my teacup. “Well, think of it like this; if you win, it’ll be great exposure.”
She won’t be able to pass up free publicity.
“I never thought about that,” she admits.
“Well, there you go, it’s win-win, you deserve this and the more publicity we get, the better.”
She looks up at me and smiles kindly. “Thank you, Morgan. The day I met you, I knew that you were somebody special.”
A lump forms in my throat.
“Stop, Nancy, you’re going to make me cry next.”
I cannot help but feel anything but pride as I look across at her. Tears well in my eyes. God, we’ve been through some shit.
She leans over the desk and lowers her voice. “I have to ask though, dear, who’s the dish?”
She nods her head behind me to where Jaxon is standing outside with the door closed.
“My new bodyguard,” I say, puffing my cheeks out.
“Good God.”
“I know, right.”
“Everything okay? I heard Mac retired.”
“He did and my father has gone into meltdown mode, he’s a very powerful man as everyone keeps reminding me and with that I guess comes powerful threats, so I just have to put up with it for a bit, things will die down… they always do.”
She nods. “Well, it’s not a bad thing, you’re from an affluent family, it’s totally understandable.”
I sigh. “Yes, it is, but I miss not being able to do what I want, it’s hard with someone standing over you all the time watching your every move.”
“Honey, if I had him watching over my every move, I certainly wouldn’t be complaining.”
I laugh out loud, slapping my hand over my mouth.
“Nancy!”
“Well, I might be a hundred years old but I’ve still got eyes.”
“He is very good looking,” I admit. “But he’s annoying as hell.”
“Aren’t all men?” she shrugs. “Ones working for you are no different.”
“You have no idea,” I say in all seriousness.
We finish up our tea and after helping Reagan destroy her llama piñata, it’s after five o’clock.
Marcy drives us back through the evening traffic and I’m going to call it a night and not go back to the office but Jolie calls me halfway home.
“Hey, M. Sorry to bug you but it’s Elliott Nelson, he wants to move his dinner to tonight, something has come up tomorrow and he can’t reschedule.”
I frown as I check the time on my watch. “Lori isn’t back until tomorrow though,” I say flatly. I really don’t want to be having dinner, business or not, with Elliott Nelson—the playboy of Manhattan—by myself. “And anyway, he was meant to sign the contract today and email it back to us.”
“He says he wants to give it to you in person,” Jolie replies, emphasizing the give to you part. I cringe. Yuck.
“You make that sound kind of rude,” I say, not amused. I really hope she’s kidding.
I see Jaxon’s head turn in my periphery. He’s been so quiet this week, barely saying anything to me at all. It’s like the entire weekend never happened and I imagined it all. I thought we’d found some common ground but he’s back into his broody stealth mode dictator self that I know so well. It’s giving me whiplash.
“Well, he is super-hot,” she says. “What’s the harm?”
“If you like that kind of thing,” I mutter, knowing Jaxon is listening.
“So, can you meet him or not? I have to call him back.”
I know I shouldn’t, I should stick to the schedule, and I know Elliott is dangling this contract like a carrot, I wish he’d just sign it already. God, I’m not going to freaking sleep with him to get this deal done, I’m not that desperate.
“I guess.” I glance at my watch again. “I have to get home and change, tell him I’ll meet him at seven-thirty, speaking of which have you heard from Lori or Marcus today?”
“Lori confirmed she will definitely be back tomorrow, Marcus has been up to his elbows with the design team all day.”
“Right,” I sigh, my mind ticking over. It’s just dinner. I can do this. “Well thanks J, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Roger that, see ya.”
I hang up the phone and turn to Jaxon.
“Change of plans, I have a dinner meeting tonight.”
He does not look surprised, after all, he was just listening and he’s been the one saying I need to separate my work and home life and have a balance.
“Of course,” he says, turning back to looking out of the window.
“Do I detect sarcasm in your tone?” I retort, because I can’t help myself. Marcy’s eyes meet mine in the rear-view mirror.
“Not at all, Miss James.” He’s always like this when other people can hear, he never calls me MJ, cupcake, princess, or any of the other stupid names he has for me when other people are around. Which just went to show you his maturity level really.
“Thank you, D.B.”
I bite my lip to refrain from smirking as I see his head turn again to look at me.
“Who is the meeting with?” he asks.
“A client, Elliott Nelson.”
He turns to face the front. “Not the Elliott Nelson.”
“Yep, the very one.”
“The world’s horniest gym owner,” he mutters as my eyes go wide.
“Why would you say that?” I whisper so Marcy hopefully can’t hear me.
“It’s common knowledge,” he replies. “Bangs anything in a skirt, I’d wear pants if I were you.”
“I beg your pardon?” I say, shocked. God, he’s so disgusting.
He glances down at my skirt pointedly then back up to my face. “Just sayin’.”
“It’s okay.” I can’t help it with my own heavy dose of sarcasm. “I think I can control myself for one evening—skirt or pants.”
“Not your type?” he
mutters again under his breath.
“He’s not actually.”
“Maybe he’ll look better after a few shots of tequila.”
I stare at him then I lean to the side of my door and press the buzzer on the partition as it begins to slide up, blocking Marcy out. I love her but I can’t do this whispering thing and I’d like to raise my voice right about now.
“What is your problem?” I snap once we’re in complete silence.
“I don’t have one, Miss James.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“What am I supposed to call you?”
“Morgan.”
“Fine, I don’t have one, Morgan.”
My eyes narrow. “What’s gotten up your ass since the weekend?”
He shifts in his seat, notably uncomfortable. “Nothing.”
“You’ve been way more broody than usual since I saw you on Sunday. I want to know why.”
“Way more broody than usual?” he reiterates, raising one eyebrow.
“Yes,” I snap again. “Are you punishing me like some kind of delayed screw you? I thought we were good?”
“Punishing you for what?” he asks, he’s so composed, unlike me; I want to rip his head off. I don’t know why he brings out all these violent emotions in me, it’s very unlike me.
I roll my eyes. “You know what. For drunkenly kissing you.”
“I thought we were going to forget all about that,” he says, ever so smoothly. “It never happened, right?”
“I thought we had forgotten about it.”
“Well then?”
“Why the snarky remarks?” I demand. “Seems a little petty, even for you.”
He turns to look at me and his eyes are an icy blue, he actually looks kind of mad but I don’t care. He brought it up, not me.
“I just wondered if he’s your type because he’s a shark. As your bodyguard, it’s my job to tell you these things and point it out if you can’t see it for yourself.”
I shake my head. “Are you sure you’re not just sent to annoy me?” I sneer, annoyed with myself that he gets under my skin so easily.
He shrugs. “I could say the same about you.”
I glare at him.
I’m actually a little disappointed; I really thought we were getting somewhere, finding some common ground where we could co-exist. I actually was starting to have some kind of feelings for him like he wasn’t all that bad, now he’s just back to being Mr. Arrogant.
I don’t dignify him with a response. Instead, I press the button on the partition to let it back up and we drive the rest of the way in complete silence.
An hour later, after a shower, I decide to wear a dress for my meeting after all, Jaxon doesn’t know what he’s talking about. The dress is a soft grey wool and business-like, so nothing revealing, I would wear this to the office. I pull out my long lighter grey trench coat and some indigo pumps.
I re-touch my makeup and grab my briefcase on the way out as well as my purse. Jaxon is waiting for me at the door. He has a fresh suit on and he smells musky, what is it about a man’s aftershave that is completely beguiling?
We ride down the elevator in silence and when we’re halfway down, I glance at him in the reflection of the brass doors. He’s staring right at me. I don’t know what I see there, it’s a look of something between totally hot and should you be wearing that? I’m actually not quite sure which but I feel my body ignite with his appraisal. I hate myself for feeling aroused by him, but I blame it on lack of action, that’s all it is, and the fact that if he wasn’t Jaxon Westbrook, I’d be totally into him staring and who knows what else.
Why did my father have to fricking hire him?
I contemplate that as I ignore him. Even though I know Elliott is a major player, I’m sure he really doesn’t have any interest in me in that way, he’s just being nice.
That’s what I tell myself as I keep ignoring Jaxon and hold my head high. If he wants to play this game, then he can play it alone.
I’m done.
15
Jaxon
Elliott Nelson is a prick.
There is no way in hell he’s here for a dinner meeting. I’m a man, I know these things, and I know from the way he’s talking to her and checking her rack out when he thinks she isn’t looking that he isn’t just here for business. Hell no.
I realize, not for the first time this week, I’m becoming just a little bit overbearing in the annoyed by other men department when it comes to the Morgan James.
I watch her from my table in the back.
Her body language is all business; she doesn’t appear to really like him, if the conversation in the car with Jolie wasn’t enough to convince me, this definitely is. That makes me feel a tad bit better, maybe I shouldn’t have pissed her off in the car but I’ve been confused all week. After Saturday night’s fiasco then my dumb behavior on Sunday being overly friendly, no I just couldn’t leave it alone, could I? I had to go there.
I don’t do Mr. Nice Guy, so I still don’t know what that was all about, I took pity on her.
Then, today at the center, she was so great with that kid and all the employees there love her, I’m starting to believe once again that Morgan James isn’t quite what she seems. Maybe I’ve misjudged her; maybe I was wrong, more to the point, why do I care?
It isn’t just because I’ve had a major jones in my pants since she tried to molest me on Saturday night, it’s because she really is the whole package.
Smart. Beautiful. Rich. Classy. Doesn’t sleep around. Donates to worthwhile causes. Has a body built for sin. The list goes on.
If I’m honest, I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind and I don’t like that feeling. I don’t know what this actually is, I don’t even feel like I want to go out and bang it out with anybody else, which is confounding in itself. I can’t tell Chase that, he’ll think I’m a soft cock and that really won’t be worth the ribbing.
I just have to get my mojo back.
Morgan has me all confused yet there is nothing to be confused about.
She isn’t into me. Well, she is when she’s inebriated, that I already found out, but I don’t usually have to get chicks off their faces to want to be with me.
I’ve told myself time and time again over the last few weeks that I don’t want her… okay, maybe in my darkest fantasies I do want her, but I can’t have her so that’s almost the same thing.
She is forbidden fruit. That’s all it is, or what I tell myself.
Yet I sit here feeling agitated as I watch that slimy fuck, Elliott, drool all over her and pretend he’s not understanding something in his contract which he’s read probably fifty times already just so he can move closer to her.
And why did he move the dinner up to tonight at such short notice? Morgan should heed my advice and set some boundaries, she’s letting her clients walk all over her, at least she isn’t drinking tonight, hallelujah. Well, he’s poured her a glass of wine but she hasn’t touched it. Good girl.
You don’t need alcohol, Morgan; we all know what it does to you.
I smirk as I remember the taste of tequila on her lips.
She was so, so sweet.
I wonder if she’s like that with the other guys she’s been with, a little bit naughty in the bedroom after a couple of cocktails, some girls are like that, their inner freak comes out when they’ve had a couple, like all their inhibitions slip away.
I think about her tits in that sheer bra as her dress hung open. My cock stirs as I think about it, shit, not a good time to get a chub while I’m sitting in a restaurant, but around her, it’s like it has a mind of its own and I’m no longer in control. I’m merely a bystander who isn’t part of the team anymore; I’m an outsider looking in. I shake my head, disgusted at myself.
I seriously am like a goddamn yo-yo.
It’s clear she isn’t into him, but I wonder what if she was into a guy, would she bring him home to her apartment? I wonder how long it’s been since she brou
ght a guy home, I find myself wanting to know.
I think about her fight over the phone in the alleyway about her ex being unfaithful and I wonder what guy in his right mind would ever get sick of that sweet little body, the man would have to be insane. Maybe it’s because she’s a workaholic; that could be it, I doubt it’s because she doesn’t like sex or maybe he just wasn’t any good.
Not that there’s any excuse for infidelity. I’ve had a couple of relationships when I was younger which were short-lived but I was never unfaithful, which is why I like my life as it is now. Casual. Nobody gets hurt, no expectations.
Of course, girls do get clingy, even the one-night stands, but I rarely go back for seconds. I couldn’t have a relationship with someone who did it on the first night anyway; they’d do it with anyone which isn’t my idea of a solid foundation to build on.
I could not imagine Morgan doing it on the first date or even the second or third… nah, she’s the kind of girl that makes a guy work for it.
I watch Morgan tilt her head as if she didn’t hear what he asked and he leans closer to her ear, she nods then smiles bashfully as he laughs. Smooth fucker. It doesn’t help he’s God’s gift to women but boy doesn’t he know it.
He may as well walk around with a sign on his head saying ‘get it here’ and an arrow pointing down to his crotch, he’s probably got the world’s smallest dick.
I think about my dick sinking into Morgan and close my eyes at the thought. I’m definitely not small and that’s not from my own ego talking, it’s from the many women who’ve confirmed it. That whole thing about size doesn’t matter is a load of crap—size is everything.
The waitress sidles up to clear my plate.
“Can I get you anything for dessert?” she asks, her eyes drop down my body. She’s too old for me but I still turn the charms on.
“Got any apple pie, darlin’?” I give her a wink.
Her cheeks flush with embarrassment as her eyes go round. “No, but the pecan pie is very good.”
I stifle a laugh and ask her for extra cream.
As I’m tucking into my pie wondering how long this ‘meeting’ is going to go on, Elliott stands and excuses himself from the table. He passes me by and our eyes connect, he knows who I am; he saw me get out of the car, he doesn’t smile and neither do I. My glare is Icelandic. I want him to know I think he’s a dick.