Friction(29)
“Check your email. I’ve got someone from FetCon calling me every day or two, and I’ve sent her your way so she’ll leave me the fuck alone.”
“FetCon?”
“Where all your wildest fetishes come to life,” he drawls and from the other side of my desk, Jamie lets out a low whistle.
“Got it.” I cross my arms over my chest, hating that my nipples have hardened beneath my blouse thanks to his lack of attire and fetish talk. “I’ll get right to it. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
Jace’s full lips quiver at the corners. For several seconds, he challenges my stare. I try like crazy not to ogle the V-taper that disappears into his jeans but I can’t help but take a quick peek when he backs away from my door. He drags his hand over his chest, and I picture my fingers there, splaying over his tattoo, racing over taut muscles.
“That’s all for now, love.” He looks at Jamie and grins. “It was good to see you again.”
He leaves—hopefully to put on clothes before he can wreak more havoc on my thoughts—and Jamie’s shoulders shake with laughter. “Remember that time he randomly changed shirts right before that assembly and Principal Verbeck lost her shit?”
“No, I don’t.” Cleaning my desk with a napkin, I don’t risk peering up at Jamie. She’ll call my lie faster than I can say Jace Exley Is Gorgeous because, of course, I remember. How the hell does one forget the sight of Jace Exley standing up in the middle of an auditorium and exposing his perfect body for no real reason other than to get a reaction?
“Sure you don’t. You know, my seventeen-year-old brain was sure he couldn’t get any sexier, but damn”—she casts a hopeful glance at my open door and sighs—“I was mistaken.”
“Jamie,” I moan.
“What? A girl can look, can’t she? Even if he did spend the last five minutes eye-humping her best friend.”
A few minutes later, I escort her back to Daisy’s office to collect her phone. As we leave the workshop and pass by the man in the suit who’s entering it, Jamie freezes from head to toe. She does a double take, and I lift my brows when I hear her swallow. Hard. She recovers fast, pretending to be more interested in what Daisy’s saying to her. I look back to see Mr. B giving my best friend’s ass an appreciative once over.
Luckily, he releases the door, letting it slam shut before my expression has a chance to change. I imagine he doesn’t give a damn whether I saw or not.
Just like Jace.
Ten
Jace
“What’s Bailon have you working on that’s so secretive?”
The moment I hear the voice on the other line, I grit my teeth because I regret taking time from my work to answer. It’s Andrew, Sonora’s friend, and it takes every bit of professionalism I have—and there’s not much as it is—not to hang up on the prick.
“B’s designs are confidential. All my client’s designs are.” I jerk off my safety glasses and toss them on the table beside my helmet. “Is there something you want?”
“I was curious,” he starts, and his tone makes me want to deck him in the nose. He’s had that effect on me since I met him—he speaks, and I instantly get the desire to hit him. “About what Bailon has you doing … and the woman who came with you to his last party. What is she? Islander or—”
“She’s nothing,” I growl, gripping the edges of the table I’ve spent the day reworking. My need to knock the rich motherfucker on his arse has intensified in a matter of seconds because he’s brought her up. He has a wife. He has Sonora in the palm of his hand. He sure as fuck doesn’t need my employee.
“S said she’s your new marketing person. Didn’t realize you were expanding the brand.”
“I’ll be sure to include that on our next company newsletter,” I say wryly. “We send that out to paying customers, so you might want to place an order if you’d like one.”
He laughs. The pretentious fuck. “So the marketing woman … what’s she like?”
Aggravating—a smart-mouthed, distracting and beautiful woman who bothers me more than I ever imagined. I’ve avoided her all day because I can’t stand the way the buttons of her green blouse tease me. It’s like they’re begging my fingers to undo one or two or the whole row. Shirts like that have no place in my workshop, but neither does Lucy because she’s under my skin now.
I want a taste of her, and following my own rule is fucking with my head.
That Andrew obviously wants a taste of her too—well, it does crazy shit to my mood.
“She’s not into bondage and crops if that’s what you’re asking,” I eventually say. Though I’ve imagined her in both scenarios. Numerous times. “And she won’t be coming back to Bailon’s place.”
“That’s a shame. My assistant will be in touch about that order.”
Sure she will. For all their money, he and his wife are cheap—that’s why they come to B’s parties. So they won’t have to host their own. “Looking forward to it.” Wanker. I shove my phone into my pocket and take one more look at the table. It’s close to being done, but it’s Friday night. I need a drink or four to take my mind off big hazel eyes and that ass that’s invaded my thoughts for the last few weeks.