The Lineup(40)

“Let’s get one thing straight,” he says, dropping the humor in his voice and becoming completely serious. The raspy sound of his voice, the way it cuts through my defenses, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything sexier. “Lying to me is not going to fly.”

My face tingles; that’s how aware I am of his energy and power.

“How do you know I’m lying?” I ask, head over tits turned on by this switch in attitude. Yes, I enjoy his teasing and ridiculous self, but this alpha side, the one I guessed would surface in the bedroom, is making my nipples hard. His chest is a breath away from rubbing against them.

“There’s a waver in your voice. If you weren’t lying, you’d be confident with your answer.” Damn it. “So, tonight, my place, eight sharp. If you’re not here, I’m banging on your door until you show up.”

“How pleasant, being forced into your company.”

“That’s me, Mr. Pleasant.” He leans in closer, his mouth against my ear. “So, you’ll . . . come?”

Oh my God, my thighs just clenched together. God, to think I missed out on this in college because I was too reserved to approach him. How I wish I got him out of my system then . . . when things were . . . simpler. Before I understood the black-hearted side of men.

“Only to avoid”—I swallow, letting my breath catch up—“verbal assassination in the hallway.”

“Smart.” He lifts a little so now we’re looking each other in the eyes. “I’ll see you tonight. Be a proper guest and bring wine.”

I might need something stronger than wine to get through the night.

“Are you going to let me leave now?”

He pushes off the door and steps away. Eyes on mine, he reaches behind him and yanks his shirt over his head, along with his hat, revealing his impeccably chiseled chest, sweat dripping down each contour and curve.

His lips curve up. “Time to hit the showers. I’ll see you tonight.”

He turns around and damn my betraying eyes, they fall straight to his ass, his tight, rounded, and delicious ass.

That’s it, I’m not going tonight. I don’t care how long he pounds on the door, I’m far too infatuated, and honestly, with my shrinking willpower, who knows what might happen.

Jason Orson will be eating dinner alone tonight.





“Miss Domico?”

Shit.

I quickly exit out of my Jason Orson’s Butt Google search—yes, it has its own search title—feeling a blush creep up my cheeks from being caught once again. What’s that, the third time in a week? How humiliating.

“Yes, Jessica.” I smile up at her.

“Mr. Domico is here. He wanted to talk with you before the Carltons arrive.”

“Sure, yeah, let him in.”

I check the time and realize we’re six minutes away from the meeting. Good God, this is exactly why I need to stay away from Jason; he is a giant distraction. I guess technically, I’m staying away from him but still getting distracted.

I curse the day Lindsay sent me that stupid email, as that’s what started all of this. The obsession with looking at pictures of him, secretly ogling him behind my computer screen, the daydreaming of what it would be like to run my fingers along his abs. I wasn’t like this before. I didn’t even think of the man before the email. Occasionally, I’d hear something about him and maybe look him up, but it never got as extreme as it is right now. The obsession is borderline stalkerish.

Looks like there’ll be no dinner tonight.

There’s a knock on my door right before my dad steps in. Dressed impeccably in a finely tailored grey suit with black shirt and tie, his salt-and-pepper hair and charming eyes, he doesn’t look a day over fifty.

“Hey there, killer. Are you ready to kiss some Carlton ass?”

“Applied a good layer of ChapStick five minutes ago.”

He laughs and pulls me into a hug. “You’ve got this, girl.”

“So you’re not here to tell me how you want me to run the meeting?”

“Those days are over. I’m just here to tell you how proud of you I am. You’re the best person to close this deal, and I have the utmost confidence that you will.”

“Thank you.”

I take a deep breath. He has confidence in me. This is something he tells me every time he sees me and I know why, because he’s trying to build me up after what happened with Nick. On the outside, I might seem confident and powerful, but on the inside, I’m the little girl always looking to impress her dad. And I can’t stop myself from trying incredibly hard every chance I get, because even though I know he has so much trust in me, there’s that seed of doubt in the back of my head that tells me I’m not good enough. Maybe it’s from Nick, maybe it’s from being the owner’s daughter, but whatever it is, it’s there. And even days later, after we fixed everything with the water main break and leveled the budget, I still feel sick about it, about almost letting my dad down again. I never want to do that . . . ever again.

He steps away and motions to my shirt. “But button up, these people are conservative.”

“It’s not bad.” I look down at my shirt. “You want me going in there like a nun?”

“Yes. Now hide those bosoms.”