Beneath This Man (This Man, #2)(85)

I’m immediately insulted by what I see. Jesse is sat in his big office chair facing Sarah, who is perched on the corner of his desk. The woman is a leech. A thud of possessiveness slaps me in the face, but it’s the bottle of vodka sat on Jesse’s desk that has me more fretful. I can fight off unwanted female attention, as long as it’s unwanted. The vodka is another matter entirely.

They look up at me in unison, and she flashes me a fake, insincere smile. Then I notice a bag of ice resting on Jesse’s hand. I was right to have a touch of the green eyed monster. They look, in Jesse’s words, very cosy.

Now there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that these two have had a sexual relationship. It’s written all over her face. I feel sick, jealous and dangerously possessive.

The brazen interloper makes no attempt to shift her toned arse off Jesse’s desk. She just sits there, relishing in the obvious tension her presence is causing, but it’s the impostor in clear bottle form that I’m more threatened by. I can deal with her. I’m in no mood for silly games with ex-sexual conquests.

I look at Jesse, and he meets my gaze. He’s still in his charcoal trousers, but the sleeves of his black shirt are rolled up. His dirty blonde hair is a glorious mess on top of his beautiful head, but despite him in all of his loveliness, he looks fearful and uneasy. I don’t blame him. I’ve just walked in on him looking cosy with another woman and with a bottle of the evil stuff in front of him. It’s my worst nightmares wrapped into one.

He slowly turns his chair with his feet, away from the interloper and towards me.

‘Have you had a drink?’ My voice is even and strong. I feel anything but.

He shakes his head. ‘No.’ he answers in a quiet voice.

I’m uncertain whether his voice is small because of the woman or because of the vodka. He drops his head slightly, and the silence is awkward, but then Sarah rests a hand on Jesse’s arm and I want to dive on the desk and yank her hair out. Jesse flinches and snaps his eyes to mine.

Who the f*ck does she think she is? I’m not naive enough to believe that she is trying to be a supportive friend. ‘Do you mind?’ I look directly at her so there’s no mistaking who I’m talking to.

She looks up at me questioningly, but makes no attempt to remove her hand from Jesse. I’m suddenly furious with myself for allowing another woman the opportunity to comfort him, especially this woman. That’s my job. Jesse pulls his arm away and her hand falls to the desk.

‘Excuse me?’ she splutters, which only serves to f*ck me off more.

‘You heard me.’ I flash her a don’t-f*ck-with-me glare and she smirks an almost undetectable smirk. She knows that I know her game. That should make our relationship a lot easier.

Jesse flicks his eyes nervously between the two women having a stand-off in his office. God bless him, he’s keeping his mouth firmly shut, but then the cheeky bitch only leans down and kisses him on the cheek, letting her lips linger there for longer than is really necessary.

‘Call me if you need me, sweetie.’ she says in the most ridiculous seductive voice I’ve ever heard.

Jesse stiffens from head to toe and looks at me, all wide eyed and with an alarmed look plastered all over his handsome face. He’s right to be anxious, especially after the barrel of shit he’s just thrown at me because of a male client and an ex-boyfriend. Matt and Mikael would be a mass of body parts if the boot was on the other foot.

I grab his office door and open it wide before fixing my eyes on the blonde, larger than life tramp. ‘Goodbye, Sarah.’ I say with optimum finality.

She looks at me with a cocky, self-assured, pouty face and slides off Jesse’s desk, sauntering across his office at a leisurely pace while giving me the eyeball. I hold her cocky face with my own take no prisoners’ stare, all the way to the door that I’m holding open for her. As soon as her six inch platform heels are over the threshold, I slam it behind her and silently hope it collided with her toned arse.

Now, let’s deal with my challenging man. I’m suddenly filled with determination to sort this shit out. Seeing him sat there with Sarah has made something perfectly clear to me.

He’s mine…end of.

I turn to face him. He hasn’t moved from his chair, the bottle of vodka is still sat in the middle of his desk like the proverbial pink elephant that it is and he’s chewing his bloody lip, cogs steaming.

I nod at it. ‘Why is that there?’ I ask assertively.

‘I don’t know.’ he replies. His face is tortured and it kills me to be on the other side of the room from him.

‘Do you want to drink it?’

‘Not now you’re here.’ His quiet words register loud and clear.

‘You walked out on me.’ I remind him.

‘I know.’

‘What if I hadn’t of come?’ That’s the operative question here. I’m re-visiting the same thing over and over in my mind. He behaves like this is a piece of pie, constantly reassuring me that he doesn’t need a drink as long as he has me, but now I find him keeping company with a bottle of vodka because we’ve had words. Okay, it was more than words, but that’s not the point. I can’t worry like this every time we quarrel. It doesn’t escape my notice that the vodka wasn’t the only thing he was keeping company with.

‘I wouldn’t have drunk it.’ He pushes it away.