Friction(23)

"I wasn't ignoring you," I explain through clenched teeth. "I just didn't have anything to say. I would’ve responded to you."

Eventually.

Maybe.

Jace runs the tip of his tongue over the corner of his lips and then inclines his head toward me. "Oh, I'm sure you had plenty to say." He stretches out his legs beneath the table, and this time, his knee bumps mine.

Dear heart, calm the hell down and resist this terrible, awful bastard.

"What exactly is it you need?" I gesture down at my plate. I've already downed most of my pancakes. I decided I was finished ten minutes earlier, toward the end of Jamie's PA story, but he doesn't need to know that. "We're in the middle of breakfast, and it looks like Daisy and…"

"Theo," he informs me, giving The Rock 2.0 a name. "He works with you."

I wish he’d move his leg already. The only way I’ll escape his touch and get back to breathing properly is if he A) scoots away from me or if I B) get up and finish this conversation standing. Since he’s probably basking in my reaction, and I refuse to admit I’m actually reacting, we both stay put, our gazes at war.

"He works for you is what you're saying, right?"

"Are you quitting already, love?" he demands. Across the table, I hear Jamie fidget, but I don't turn to look at her. I know I'll only see a giddy grin and that look will turn me into a red-faced mess. I keep my attention firmly on Jace, who's tapping the beat of what I'm guessing is some rock song with suggestive lyrics on the surface of our table.

"You know, I didn't take you for a quitter." He scratches his dark stubble that only looks even more enticing thanks to an extra several hours of growth. "Despite what your arse of an ex said."

Wonderful. My husband has no place in this conversation, and the fact Jace would toss that piece of history in my face to win an argument is like a fist to my chest. "Leave him out of this." I toss the napkin I've shredded to bits on the table and pick up my fork, spearing it into the rest of my pancakes. "And besides, I never said I was quitting."

"Hmm, I don't know, Williams, that sounded like a verbal resignation."

"Well, it wasn't."

"Children, calm down," Jamie says exasperatedly, her voice cutting through the tension. I drag my eyes from Jace's to see she's leaned in close to us with her slim fingers grasping the corners of the table. She gives me a serious look. "Luce, are you quitting?" I shake my head, so she studies Jace's features and somehow manages not to swoon under his smoldering gaze. "Are you asking her to quit?"

"Absolutely not," he drawls.

"Then there's no point for an argument, is there?"

"No," I whisper, ashamed of myself for getting sucked in by his words and derisive expression. I've always been known to be passionate about my work—but outside of promoting my products, I try to avoid conflict. Yet here I am, sitting in a pancake restaurant and wishing my glare were powerful enough to shoot flames at my boss.

"I apologize," I say, and he shrugs as he rises from the table.

"I've told you before, don't say sorry." His self-assured grin makes my nostrils flare, but I bite my tongue. Returning his seat to its rightful position, he splays his large hands on the back of the chair. He bends forward until his face is close to mine. "Guess I really will see you tomorrow at nine."

"Eight-thirty," I confirm frostily. He shifts an eyebrow, so I add, "Since I like to show up thirty minutes early for everything."

He's chuckling as he heads back to his table, and there's an evil, awful part of myself that hopes he trips right over his own damn feet. I quickly learn that not only is he talented with his hands, he's also graceful in boots. Ridiculously so. "This will be good for you, Williams," he calls out, earning several appreciative stares from waitresses and other women around the restaurant.

"Promising me free samples?"

He waggles his brows, and his grin goes from cocky to corrupt in a heartbeat. "If that's what you're into."

When he finally sits down in his own space, Jamie clears her throat, drawing my attention her way. She’s clutching her napkin. "If that’s what you’re into?” she asks excitedly. “Okay, what the fuck just happened?”

"Jace Exley showed up and hijacked our breakfast."

She purses her glossy lips together. "I'm talking about all that sexual—"

"Don't say it."

"Friction," she finishes with a satisfied simper. Grabbing a slice of bacon, she nibbles on the end as she continues to clutch her napkin in the other hand. "I could've had triple Ds for eyeballs and the guy wouldn't have been able to stop looking at you."

"Because he wanted to make me uncomfortable."

"Yeah, well, he accomplished that." I squeeze my eyes together, and she laughs. "What? I speak nothing but the truth. He made you uncomfortable and looked at you like ... damn, I don't even know how to describe it. All I know is it made me hot, and I wasn't even the one on the receiving end. And"—she lets out another airy breath and when she speaks again, she's adopted a faint British accent—"Love?”

I part my lashes just enough to glare at her out of thin slits. "I'm sure he calls everyone that." Still, hearing it does crazy, stupid things to my body.