One Good Reason (Boston Love #3)(7)

“Then why say it at all?”

I scowl at him. “I know what you’re doing.”

“Standing here being charming and irresistible?”

“No. Playing dumb — or, rather, dumber than you look which is a feat in itself, so bravo! — to keep me here talking to you.”

His lips twitch. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re sassy?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re annoying?”

“And that voice of yours.” He leans in a fraction and I catch a waft of his aftershave. I feel my thighs press together of their own accord. “So husky. You should be a late-night radio host announcer. Or an audiobook narrator. Hell, you call up Apple and offer to voice the new Siri, I guarantee I’ll never lose my iPhone again.”

“You’re sexually harassing me.”

“Me? Harassing you?” He has the nerve to wink while acting outraged. “If I wanted to do that, I’d have suggested you become a sex line operator.”

“So, to be clear, you saved me from sexual harassment only to sexually harass me yourself?” I lift my brows. “That’s really what’s happening here?”

“I’m not sexually harassing you,” he insists. “In fact, you’re sexually harassing me.”

“How’s that, exactly?”

“You just looked at my crotch.”

Completely baffled by his accusation, I involuntarily drop my gaze to said nether region — oh, boy, someone’s a leftie — and find my cheeks are suddenly on fire. “I most certainly did not look at your crotch!” I hiss, trying to get the uncharacteristic blush under control.

“You’re looking at it right now,” he points out.

“Only because you said—” I screech in frustration and tear my eyes away. “Ugh! You’re more than annoying. You’re a manipulative, self-entitled chauvinist.”

“Would it shock you to know that’s not the worst thing I’ve been called on a first date?” His eyes get warm. “We’re doing pretty well, by comparison.”

“D-date?” I splutter, staring at him like his head is about to explode. “I’m working. You’re bothering me. This is not a date. This is the exact opposite of a date.”

He adopts a thoughtful look as he glances around the room. “Ambient lighting. Dark corner. Intimate conversation. Discrete examination of my anatomy.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “Sounds like a date to me.”

“I pity the women forced to actually go out with you.”

“Darling, I don’t have to force them,” he says, flashing a grin that makes me believe him. “Are you sure we haven’t met before? You seem familiar.”

We haven’t met — not exactly. And he couldn’t possibly remember…

Last spring, I helped his sister Phoebe out of a rather sticky situation. I called her phone once, to warn her of trouble… and her brother happened to be in the room at the time. But neither of them knows my name. He just heard my voice. And that was months ago.

“No,” I say, shaking my head firmly. “We’ve definitely never met.”

“Huh.” His eyes scan my features curiously. “Strange. I feel like I know you.”

“Well, you don’t. Now, if you’ll let me by…”

“I’m Parker, by the way.” He grins again. “And you are?”

“Not interested,” I return, wishing it were true as my heart pounds too fast inside my chest.

Because I’m angry, I tell myself. Outraged. Incensed.

That’s the only explanation for the tightness in my stomach. The dizziness in my head. The sweatiness of my palms.

…The heat between my legs.

Damn.

“Listen, buddy,” I snap, intensifying my glare for good measure. “If you’re not going to take an edamame ball, you really have to let me by. I have work to do.”

And, I remember alarmingly, a very narrow window of time to get my intel which, thanks to this little interlude, is now even shorter.

His eyes drop to my tray and his face screws up in a grimace. “Honestly, are those even edible?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. Now, move out of my way or I will make you move.”

His eyes light up in anticipation, like a puppy offered a treat. “Promise?”

My only response is another withering glare.

“Fine, fine.” He chuckles as he holds up his hands in surrender. “My ego has been bruised enough.”

I step past him and this time he doesn’t stop me. As I walk away, though, he calls out loud enough to draw the gazes of several surrounding party-goers.

“So, that’s a no on the thank-you parade, then?”

I don’t look back, but I can feel his eyes on me the whole way to the doors. I pretend not to notice the smile tugging at my lips and the swirl of unwanted butterflies in my stomach as I slip into the kitchens and out of sight.



* * *



“Twenty minutes, people, then you need to be back here and ready to serve the main course.” Miriam sounds like the green-scaled dinosaur lady from Monster’s Inc. and, actually, bears a slight resemblance to her if you look close enough. “If you’re going to smoke, you’ll have to take the elevator up to the roof.” She glances at the clock. “Time starts now.”