Junk Mail(10)

The email ends with the suggestion of a lunch meeting tomorrow. I give her the link to the site for the restaurant in our office lobby. It’s not exactly Michelin-star-worthy food, but it’s upscale, and it beats being stuck in that conference room with her again. After what I’ve put her through, the least I can do is expense a panini for her.

Hardly a minute passes between pressing SEND and the ping of a response. Her reply is short and sweet.

From: [email protected]

Confirming for noon tomorrow. Looking forward to it.

—Peyton Richards

I stare at her email signature, finally putting a last name to her first. Peyton Richards. PR. Like public relations. Like in nightmare. As in the kind of scandal we could have on our hands if word of my first-impression picture ever got out.

? ? ?

If Peyton was looking like a ten yesterday, today she’s looking like infinity.

No, seriously. With the way that little black dress hugs her body, she’s looking as curvy as an infinity sign.

I got to the restaurant a little early to be sure we snagged a table before the lunch rush hit. It was a good move based on how packed the place is, but a bad move based on how late Peyton is running. Normally, I’m a stickler about being on time, but one look at her sculpted legs revealed by that dress and all sins of her tardiness are forgiven.

Her dark hair is pulled back at the nape of her neck, and as she scans the restaurant for me, I can’t help but linger over the delicate column of her neck. It’s impossible not to imagine myself nipping at it as my hands grip her plush ass. And it’s hard not to wonder about all the other soft places she might let me bite.

Fuck me. I have to stop this now.

“Josh.” She brightens and waves to me when she spots me across the crowded restaurant.

I give her a nod of acknowledgment to beckon her over to the table. Not gonna risk standing up and showing off a clothed and napkin-covered version of the picture she has of me.

“Sorry I’m a little late.” She checks the time on her phone and her eyes bug out. “Wow, okay, a lot late. I had to drop Gram off at the senior center.”

Once she’s settled in her seat, I pass her a menu, letting my gaze settle on the pretty pink flush the fall air has left on her cheeks.

“Nice of you to drive her. Do you spend a lot of time with your grandmother?”

The pink in her cheeks deepens two shades. “Um, actually, I live with her,” she says meekly, peering at me over her menu. “She’s in good health, but she shouldn’t be living on her own. And we’re actually kind of best friends. I know, it’s sort of weird.”

I sip at my lemon water without so much as raising a brow. “I don’t think it’s weird at all. Nothing is more important than family.”

Her embarrassment morphs into pleasant surprise. “I agree completely. Do you see much of your family?”

I give her my typical spiel about being the only Hanson left in Manhattan, how my family is mostly upstate and all that, but I’m interrupted when the waitress comes by to take our orders. Turns out, I was right yesterday when I guessed she would be a panini type of gal. I go with my usual salad with a filet of salmon on top, batting away my concerns about having fish breath. Hopefully it will reinforce the fact that I’m not planning on swapping spit with anyone today. Problem solved.

“I knew it.” Peyton folds her arms over her chest, a satisfied grin twitching on her lips. “I knew I had you pegged as the health-nut type.”

I smirk. I should have known she’d already be passing judgment on me—and she also said nut today and I don’t think she even realized it.

“Nah, you should see how much ice cream I go through. If I had a roommate, they’d think I was going through a breakup every weekend with the number of pints of fudge brownie I polish off by myself.”

Peyton’s brows furrow into a tight little V. “Is that why you were on that dating app? Looking for a rebound after a breakup?”

All right, Richards. I wasn’t gonna go there, but since you took it there first . . .

“No breakups in a few years. I’ve been single a long time,” I say, leaning back in my seat. “I’m on that dating app because I like talking to attractive women.”

“Like ButterflyGirl6?” she teases.

“Like you.”

The words come out of my mouth before I think it through, and I immediately regret letting them slip. Shit. I barely covered my ass during yesterday’s meeting. Haven’t I done enough damage already without using pickup lines on this girl?

Before I get a chance to pull my head out of my ass, the waitress comes by and sets our food in front of us. Peyton stares down at her panini, avoiding eye contact with me.

Shit. I blew it. How in the hell am I supposed to explain this to Brody? I start racking my brain for other small businesses I know in the area, anyone I could turn to who could potentially be a backup when this deal inevitably falls through.

Once the waitress is out of earshot, Peyton mutters something under her breath as she fiddles with the toothpick in her sandwich.

“Pardon me?” I ask, bracing myself for whatever horrible name she’s about to call me.

“I said you’re not so bad on the eyes yourself.” She finally looks up at me, batting those baby blues in my direction as her mouth widens into a wicked smile.