I Wish You Were Mine (Oxford #2)(51)

“I’m sure they do,” she said soothingly. “But if they’re anything like me, they’re probably thinking you’re going to run back to Texas first chance you get.”

His eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that when you smile, it doesn’t reach your eyes. It means that you can’t go five minutes without complaining about the pollution or the noise of Manhattan. It means that you treat your Oxford job as just that, a job. There’s no passion, no interest. You never talk about it. Half the time I think—”

She broke off, but he held his hands out to the side. “No, no, keep going. You’re on a roll.”

His voice was tense but not angry, so she took a breath and forged ahead. “I just think that you’re never going to be happy here until you let yourself be happy here.”

There was a moment of silence. “I see. And you think that hosting a party is going to fix everything?”

“No, of course not. I was just thinking that you have such a nice place, and it would be good for you to make friends, and, well…it can’t hurt for them to think positively about you, you know?”

“I don’t think serving them fine champagne and top-shelf liquor is going to erase the fact that I still have a few skeletons in my closet. It’s not going to stop them from asking about the accident. Or the affairs. Or Madison.”

“How can you sound so calm about all of this?” she muttered. “You’re going to have people digging into your life, and you’re all…chill.”

“First of all, I don’t think I’ve ever been chill a day in my life. But you’re the one who just told me I need to move on from all the shit of the past year. Maybe this is how I start.”

“And that’s why you’re doing this interview?” she asked. “To move on? To move…past everything?”

Their waitress appeared before he could answer—along with two other servers, since Jackson’s massive order was too big for any one human being to carry.

“Holy crap,” Mollie muttered once all the food was on the table. “This actually smells kind of amazing.”

Jackson put a hand over his heart. “I didn’t think it was possible, but congratulations, Mollie Carrington. You just got hotter.”

She smiled. “Does this mean you’re going to share?”

In response, he tore off a juicy rib from a rack and held it out to her. She plucked it from his fingers, noting the way his eyes locked on her mouth as she took a not-so-delicate bite of the deliciously saucy meat.

Jackson slowly licked the sauce from his thumb as he watched her chew, and Mollie felt an odd little thrill as she realized they were accomplishing the impossible: they were making barbecue sexy.

It was only after they were tearing their way through the various dishes, arguing over whether baked beans or coleslaw made the better side dish, that Mollie realized Jackson had never answered her question.

He’d never told her why he was doing the interview.





Chapter 21


Jackson’s good mood lasted all the way until three o’clock. His meetings were done for the day, he had barbecue in his belly, and he and Mollie had engaged in some very dirty sexting.

But just as he was sitting down to get some writing done, it all went to hell.

His desk phone rang, the caller ID indicating it was the reception desk.

“Jo, my darling. You’ve decided to marry me?”

He got a snort in response. “Hardly. There’s a woman here to see you.”

Jackson grinned automatically, figuring it must be Mollie. He wondered if he could talk her into sex on his desk.

Continued Jo, “It’s Madison Burke. She says she’s your wife.”

Jackson froze, suddenly all too aware what people experienced when they said their blood ran cold.

“Shit.” Jackson closed his eyes. “Tell her I’m gone for the day. Or in a meeting. Or—”

“Hello, darling.”

Jackson’s eyes flew open to see his ex-wife standing in the door.

“Sorry, Jackson,” Jo said quietly. “She sweet-talked one of the interns into taking her back, and I—”

“Don’t worry about it.” Not your fault the woman’s a manipulative bitch.

“Madison,” he said, hanging up his phone and refusing to stand. “What can I do for you?”

Her eyes scanned him. “Mmm. You always did look good in a suit.” She came into the office and closed the door behind her.

He stood and walked over to the door, deliberately opening it again.

Her lips pressed together in irritation for a half second before she resumed her placid smile. She was dressed in a red sweater set and black slacks. The basic black pumps were feminine without being overtly sexy, her makeup and jewelry demure as ever. The woman really had mastered the art of faking classiness—“faking” being the key word.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, keeping his voice pleasant but dismissive as he went back to his office chair.

“I came to see you.”

He stared at her. “Madison, you live in a different time zone. This makes twice now that you’ve flown to another state to see me, and it’s starting to feel a little Fatal Attraction.”