How to Fail at Flirting(42)

“Speaking of work . . .” My stomach oscillated between knots of anxiety and flutters of excitement with every thought of Jake and my job.

“I spared Muriel the finer details of our time together.” He flashed a high-watt, crooked smile. Jake must have noticed my tense expression, because his tone sobered. “She said it was a bad idea, but—”

I stiffened. “Oh. I see.”

He hurried to finish his statement. “She said it’s a bad idea in general but wasn’t talking about our specific situation. She doesn’t have your name, because I don’t know your last name. Muriel gave me quite the ass chewing for that, by the way.” His voice was calm. “She said it’s not an explicit rule, not something in writing. I think as long as we’re careful, we should be able to avoid complications.”

“So, what does that mean?”

“Basically, it means we’re being naughty.” His smile was easy, even as nerves tingled up the back of my neck. “But we’re not technically breaking the rules. It might also mean you should tell me your last name so Muriel stops giving me the stink eye.”

My laugh was hollow as I tried to reconcile my anxiety with my desire to throw caution to the wind.

“I know it’s not ideal.” His voice became more serious. “But I’m working with aspects of the project unrelated to you, and Carlton will head up the team examining the departments. So, I’ll have no say in that analysis, at least not initially.”

“So Carlton knows?” Panic overtook me. I didn’t even know the man, but my stomach clenched at the idea of him judging.

“Sure. He’s my partner. The conflict would only ever be an issue if we kept it secret and things looked off-kilter. And they won’t be off-kilter. I like you, but I am good at what I do, Naya. I wouldn’t show you any favoritism professionally.”

His expression was uncharacteristically serious, and I caught a glimpse of the management consultant who’d shown up in my google search. Cool, purposeful, and professional. His assertions eased my nerves.

“Good. I wouldn’t want you to.”

“If you’ll take a chance with me, we’ll keep it professional for work,” he added. “For example, if I were calling to ask about grant applications, I wouldn’t also ask you if you’re wearing any of your fancy underwear.”

“Does that mean you plan to keep calling me?”

“Absolutely.” His brows raised as our gazes locked.

I lowered my voice and leaned my head close to his. “Are you asking about grant applications now?”

His grin widened as he slowly shook his head.

“So, I can tell you, I am wearing the fancy underwear.” In my head, Felicia whooped and hollered, Get it, girl!

He set down his glass. “I’d love to get into the details of that. Is this a yes to taking a chance?”

I nodded as the waiter returned. While we ordered, I weighed what he’d said. Many things about it were appealing. Under the radar meant casual, out of the spotlight, and away from prying eyes. I took a gulp from my wine when the waiter left. I tried to push all thoughts of work from my head. “I was surprised when you texted.”

“I wasn’t sure I would until I hit send.” He paused, his palms moving absently over the tablecloth.

My eyes fell to those big hands, and a fleeting memory of their weight on my hips made me squirm in my seat.

“I thought about it.” He tapped the table before making steady eye contact with me. “Thought about you, a lot, after I left. I just wasn’t sure what to say. You seemed set on saying goodbye, and no one ever shares the protocol for these situations.”

I lowered my voice and leaned forward. “I mean, what is the etiquette after having the best sex of your life with a relative stranger?”

His gaze tripped on my lips before flicking down. “The best, huh?”

Crap. What if he thought it was just average? I nodded, my face warming.

“Funny. I never thought of you as a stranger.”

“You don’t know my last name.”

“You could tell me your last name. Then I’d know with whom I had the best sex of my life.”

I released a breath, a nervous, twitchy energy coursing through me. I wanted to touch him and kiss in the middle of this upscale restaurant . . . and I wanted to run away and hide, too.

His expression softened, and he twisted his mouth to one side, a dimple appearing on his cheek. “I’ll go first. My full name is Jacob Carson Shaw. I’m thirty-six years old and from a town near Seattle, I run a management consulting firm, I have an MBA from Duke, I live in Raleigh, North Carolina, and my social security number is—” He stopped as I pressed my fingers to his mouth. His eyes twinkled, and he took my hand in his, pulling it away from his mouth. “And I like you,” he finished, his thumb rubbing over my palm. “I want to get to know you.” He raised his eyebrows. It was my turn.

“My full name is Naya Michelle Turner. I’m thirty-three years old, and I grew up in a small town in Iowa. I’m a professor specializing in math education, and I earned my PhD at the University of Illinois at Chicago.” I bit my lower lip and tried to gauge his reaction. “And I like you, too.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Dr. Turner.” Jake laced his fingers with mine over the top of the table, and my defenses started to crumble.