Friction(45)

"I told you I was.”

"Good,” I say curtly. “I'll email her this morning to confirm that—"

"You’re going with me, Williams," he says.

I pause from vigorously rubbing at the coffee on my blouse. "Why?" I don't like the breathless edge to my voice one bit, but if he notices it, he doesn't point it out.

"Because you signed me up for this mess, and it's only fair for you to follow through. Isn't that what a good marketing manager does?"

Yes, but most good marketing managers also don't take photos in restraints and follow up by making out with their boss. I release a harsh breath, which draws his dark brows together.

"Will that be a problem?”

"Nope." I scrub harder, disintegrating the paper towel. "No problem at all."

He takes a step toward me. His steely blue eyes are intense, focused on my blouse as if he has X-ray vision. My nipples pebble beneath his stare, and the muscles in his shoulders bulge in response. He moves closer, parts his wonderfully full lips. I know he’s seconds from saying something that will rock my world. It’ll be something that will make me forget that my morning started with a text from Tom. Something that will only intensify the hold he’s had over me for the last several weeks.

“You’re still wet,” he says at last, shattering what’s left of my ability to breathe just right. “That napkin’s not doing much to help.”

I fist the paper towel and wait until my heart stops pounding against my throat to speak. “I have a conference call this morning. After that, I’ll run out and grab something else to wear.”

“No.” He slams his blue eyes closed, and when he speaks again, his voice is rough, scraping over my skin. “I don’t want you to do that.” I’m speechless as he shrugs out of his green flannel shirt, revealing a plain white tee underneath. For a long pause, my only movement is the sharp rise and fall of my chest, but then I flinch when he holds the flannel out to me. I don’t take it—hell, my hand is still frozen around a damp paper towel—so he opens his eyes. “I have another in my office.”

I shake my head. “I really don’t mind going out to buy another—”

He drops his shirt on my desk. “It wasn’t up for discussion, love.” Then, he pulls a move that’s typically Jace: he turns on the heel of his boot and stalks out of my office.

“Motherfucker.” I stare after him for far too long, until my heartbeat returns to normal. I jerk his rumpled shirt off my desk. “Yeah, screw you too, love.”

I change shirts a moment later, grateful Jace’s is so large because my bra is just as drenched as my blouse and I’m left completely bare beneath the soft green fabric. I tie it at the waist, my touch lingering on the buttons at the hem. I imagine Jace’s long, tattooed fingers working over them this morning as he got dressed. And now, I can smell him.

All over me.

His scent overwhelms me for the rest of the day, and even after I go home and shower that evening, he remains.



“Heard you booked Exley on a sex show.” Ash is behind Daisy’s desk when I come in from the cold on Monday morning, his brow furrowed in concentration as he pecks at Daisy’s tablet. “That true?”

“It is. Where’s Daisy?” She’s usually here before me, and it throws me off seeing Ash in her chair.

“Theo’s sister got married over the weekend. They’ll be back in town tomorrow.” Just as I reach for the doorknob to the workshop, he clears his throat, stopping me. “So, about that sex show … you know we’re all going to call in and give him shit, right?”

“Define all.”

“Well, Griff and me.”

Turning from the door, I drop my laptop bag and purse on one of the chairs by the desk. “Ashton,” I say sweetly, leaning over him. He lifts his chin until our eyes meet. “If you or Griff even think about calling in to give Jace anything but glowing support, you can say goodbye to this.” I pluck the top of his man bun, and his eyebrows jerk straight up.

“You’re threatening to cut my hair if I heckle Jace?”

I stand upright, running my hands over the peplum waist of my black dress. “Or hire someone to do it for me.” When I don’t crack a smile, he makes a face and mouths What the fuck, Williams? “Either way, don’t screw this up for him. It might benefit you in the long run, and I’d hate to see you or Griff hurt the company by acting like … children.”

“Shit, Lucy,” he laughs. Shaking his head, he shoves away from Daisy’s desk and stands. “You really are a shark.”

“When it comes to this, I am.”

“I’ll let Griff know that you’ve put out a hit on our hair if we—” He pauses, his gaze wandering over my shoulder and landing on something that makes him twist his lips to the side. “Exley’s shirt is hanging out of your bag,” he muses.

Shit. I’d tried to stuff the damn thing completely in my laptop bag when I grabbed it out the dryer this morning, but it wouldn’t fit. “I’m returning it to him.” A huge grin threatens to split Ash’s face, but I shoot down his assumptions immediately. “He loaned it to me on Friday—after I spilled coffee on my shirt.”