Do You Take This Man (20)
I chuckled, despite my desire to prove RJ wrong. “I’m a pretty good dancer. I’ll help them.”
She narrowed one eye.
“You don’t believe me?”
She sipped her coffee. “I do not, but you should just follow along with me and I’ll talk them out of it.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Because I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction. I didn’t say that, of course, because it sounded petty and juvenile. I admired the way her shoulders squared, how her chin jutted out. “Couple wants it, we try it.”
She glowered at me. “It’s not like I really care, but I’m the one who has to stand in front of hundreds of people while this travesty goes down.”
“I think you care. Not that I know why.” God, she’s hot, especially when she’s obstinate like this.
“I don’t care. It’s not my wedding. You want your couple looking ridiculous at their own ceremony, be my guest.” RJ moved to cross her arms, her eyes further narrowing and sarcasm dripping from her tone, and my body reacted like she’d said, “Go down on me right now? Be my guest!” For the briefest of moments, her eyes flicked down to my chest, and I swear her expression softened to something else. Her plump lips twitched.
“RJ?” I motioned to my face, drawing her eyes up. I imagined her getting flustered, her lips parting, giving away her secret. I’d always been with women who were careful and measured with their words, who would bite their tongue before snapping at me. RJ seemed ready to bite my head off most of the time, and that, paired with the hooded expression I saw a flash of, made me want to remove her panties with my teeth. The fantasy was short lived, though. The lip of her coffee cup caught on her blazer and coffee poured down her body. Insult to injury, her pastry fell to the floor and was immediately doused in the spilled beverage.
Yelping, she leaped backward, and her now-empty cup dropped to the tile floor in the puddle of coffee.
“Shit!” I’d jumped back, too, trying to avoid the mess.
She slid her hands down her dress, sluicing more coffee onto the floor, brushing at herself in that way someone does when they’re not sure what to do with their hands. “Fuck me,” she muttered and, again, my dick had no damn sense of context.
“Are you okay? Did you burn yourself?”
She held up a hand to stop me from stepping closer. “I’m fine.” Her tone was frustrated, and she brushed at her skirt again, all the while muttering expletives under her breath. “I’m fine,” she repeated after taking a deep breath. “Do you have paper towels or something?”
I realized I’d been standing still and also distracted by her hands moving over the wet fabric of her dress and, damn, did I wish she didn’t despise me, because I’d never been that turned on by a coffee spill before. And I just haven’t gotten laid in a while. “Yes, of course. The bathroom is down the hall,” I said, pointing to the entrance of the office. “I’ll clean this up.”
“Thank you.” RJ expressed the sentiment like she wasn’t used to forming the words, at least not in my presence, and she turned on her heel.
“Oh, and, RJ?” She paused and glanced over her shoulder. I should have left well enough alone. “You’re welcome to join us for the choreography planning. Do you want to dance in to ‘I Want It That Way’ by the Backstreet Boys or something slower?”
She didn’t stop walking and held up her arm, flashing me a middle finger. Her walk was stiff—probably from the wet fabric clinging to her body, but she was clearly agitated, and I wasn’t sure why I’d pushed it.
“Slow it is!” I called after her, turning to find paper towels in the small break room to clean up the coffee and the sad pastry on the floor.
Chapter 11
RJ
I POPPED THE last Life Saver from a pack into my mouth and glanced at the dry-cleaning bag hanging on the back of my door. Luckily, I’d been able to wipe down the coffee spill before any actual harm was done to the dress. Shame rose on my cheeks at the entire incident, because I’d been right about the dancing and he knew it, but I’d gotten distracted by his stupid chest, which looked extra broad and firm in the shirt he’d been wearing, and I’d always been a sucker for that. I shook my head, dragging my gaze back to my screen. I have no time to think about Lear Campbell and his annoyingly hot body. Of course he’d been a total asshole immediately after, giving me a hard time about the stupid dance. And that’s the memory that should be sparked from looking at the dry-cleaning bag.
It was nearly eight and my stomach grumbled. The Life Saver wasn’t going to cut it, and I should have let my assistant order me dinner when he’d offered. Now, two hours later, I was looking at another hour or two of reading, and a break to get food would just extend it. Dina and Andrew Mayfield had started Avente together, and what began as a small company supporting small-business web hosting had turned into a multinational tech powerhouse.
I hit play on the interview I’d pulled up, Dina and her husband sitting side by side a few years earlier. “We started this together. We’ve been in this together our entire marriage.” Her husband took her hand as if they’d done it a million times, and I tilted my head, wondering what had happened between them. It didn’t really matter. We were going to make sure Dina Mayfield walked away from the marriage with as much as possible, but I was curious.