Friction(26)

Screw him for saying that. This morning, I had gone for a step above business casual with low black heels, black and white houndstooth-patterned pants, and another crisp white button-up. My mother had given me hell for the top couple of buttons I intentionally left undone. She's always been a stickler for neatly pressed clothes, which she attributes to twenty years of helping my father keep his uniforms tidy for work.

I run my fingertips over my cuffs and glance up at Jace. My heels are so short that he towers a good five inches over me, appearing more powerful than ever. "Since you cater to the naked and unafraid, I figured this was safe.”

"Naked and unafraid, huh?” I nod, winning a grin that curls the pit of my stomach. “I wish you'd been this sarcastic when I knew you all those years ago."

"To hear you tell it, I was."

"No, love, you were a know-it-all. And now you're a sarcastic know-it-all."

I skim my teeth over the soft flesh of the inside of my cheek. "Isn't that the worst type?"

"Not if she keeps you on your toes."

I consider asking him exactly what he means, but I don't as we approach a man with a high bun who's a couple of inches taller than my five foot six. He's behind a large workshop table, his head bent over a design sketch while he hums along with the music streaming through his earbuds. He holds up a finger when Jace impatiently knocks against the metal surface of the table like it’s a door. After he scribbles a few notes, Man Bun jerks one earbud out and looks up at us, a gleam in his dark eyes.

"Ahh, so this is the shark. Funny, I don't really think of the Jaws song looking at her up close." He hums a few bars of the climactic theme before shaking his head and giving me a once over. “It’s nice to meet you, sweetheart.”

"You called me a shark?" I gasp, leaning away from my new boss and glowering up at him.

He grins boldly. Deliciously. Damn him. “It’s what your former boss at W-whatever called you. Because you’re hungry and motivated. I thought the name fit you to a T.”

Of course he did. Smoothing my features into a sweet and, hopefully, un-shark-like smile, I take a step closer to Man Bun and offer my hand. "I'm Lucy Williams."

"Ashton Frey." He shakes my hand, making a face because the dirt from his fingers smudges mine. He reaches under the table and comes back up a moment later with a blue shop towel that he hands to me. "Be careful what you wear around here, it's easy to get dirty."

"She's already aware of that," Jace says too suggestively for my liking. Heat pulses through me along with a vivid picture of the scene at Mr. B’s house. For as long as I live, I likely won’t forget what I saw at that party. I hear Jace’s footsteps heading in the other direction, and I turn around to find he's already halfway to the other end of the workshop.

"Keep up," he calls behind him, not bothering to turn around.

"It was good to meet you," I tell Ashton. His mouth twitches as he wishes me good luck. He's the second of Jace's employees to tell me that today, and another nervous bubble forms in the center of my chest.

Not only have I accepted a job working for Mr. Kinkster, he’s also apparently an asshole. Just like in high school.

Although Jace’s legs are much longer than mine, I still manage to catch up in four long strides. "What exactly have you told them about me?" I ask through ground teeth. He feigns a look of confusion. "Just so I know why they're giving me funny looks in the break room."

"Only that they'll be getting bigger bonuses next Christmas because the shark is going to put us on the map."

His words send my heart sinking to my stomach. "You shouldn't make them promises."

"And why the fuck not? You said it yourself when I called and offered you the position: By this time next year, you'll have our name out to every corner of the world." When I don't immediately respond, he pauses and turns to face me. And when I avoid his gaze, he reaches out and tucks a rough fingertip beneath my chin, jerking the air from my lungs. He forces my stare up to his.

I wish he’d just asked me to look at him. I would have complied, I would have met his eyes without even a hint of protest, if it meant keeping my wits and breath and emotions intact.

I fold my arms over my chest, and a harsh noise strains through my lips. "That's when I thought you made clocks."

"And now you know I make fuck-toys and other fun goodies, so you've got plenty to work with." He lowers his hand from my face then walks away. Again. Heaving a harsh sigh, I take a few seconds to still the butterflies whirling through my chest, and then I join him in front of one of the tall shelves pushed against the far wall of the workshop.

Without warning, he grabs something from the middle rack and tosses it in my direction. I catch it easily, closing my fingers around cold metal.

I crinkle my nose at the circular piece of brushed steel in my palm, running my fingertips along the grooved outer edges. "Jace ... what is this?"

"Love, are you kidding—" I look up from my open hands to find him rolling his eyes up toward the ceiling. "It's a cock ring, Lucy."

What. The. Shit?

I give him a look of absolute horror, so he closes the space between our bodies until the tips of his boots brush against the black patent toes of my pumps. "You can relax. It's not been on anyone's nasties ... not yet, anyway."