Junk Mail(6)

I make a small noise of agreement, hoping that he thinks I didn’t catch his rather large faux pas. “Please.”

What is this life and why am I living it?!

“We’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Let me tell you a little bit about where we’re heading these days . . .” As Josh shares details on his company’s direction, I’m amazed he can segue so seamlessly, bridging the gap from the ridiculously awkward to cool-as-a-cucumber CEO.

His confidence is a little surprising, to say the least. You’d think accidentally exposing yourself to a potential business partner would knock a guy down a few pegs. If anything, he should be blushing and I should be the one smirking, not the other way around. But I guess if you know you’ve got a work of art between your legs, it’s hard to be humble. Now that I think about it, “humble” might not even be in Josh’s vocabulary.

“Tell me what you think about all that,” he says, waiting for me to share my own thoughts.

What I think is that it’s time to save this deal. And that’s what I intend to do.

“I love all those partnership possibilities,” I say, then tell him the story of my company.

I launched my subscription box service on a hope and a prayer, and now all the hard work, the late nights replying to manufacturer emails, and negotiating costs and securing clients, is finally paying off. My little boxes could be on retail shelves all over the city and the East Coast, all the places where Wine O’Clock has been expanding.

This deal could mean so much for both Gram and me. A nicer apartment, money for proper health insurance, savings for my retirement. Maybe even a little fun. I hardly remember what that word is anymore.

But now this?

No. No. No. That’s not what today is supposed to be about.

Today is about my business, about his luxurious boutique wine shops possibly carrying the product I’ve created. My gift box subscriptions have been bringing in a solid stream of revenue, but a deal with this company would take my business to a whole new level. This could be my key to success . . . I just wish the person holding that key wasn’t ham-hock-cock Josh. Gram is going to die when she hears about this.

If only I could delete that picture from my memory the same way I should have deleted it from my phone, but a girl can’t just forget her first dick pic, especially one as museum worthy as that. With its wide tip and veiny shaft . . .

No. Bad Peyton. Focus.

The effort it’s taking me to think about anything other than that beautiful gift between his legs should count as cardio. My heart rate is up, that’s for sure. I take a deep breath and straighten my shoulders.

“It’s a tiny speed bump,” he says, smiling at me again. “We can move past it, right?”

“I would hardly call that tiny.”

I realize the error in my words immediately. My throat goes dry, threatening to close up completely. I make a strangled noise, and Josh’s smile fades.

“Can I get you water? Did anyone offer you something? Let me grab you a water.”

He’s already risen to his feet and is halfway to the door before I’m able to respond.

“Sure, um. A water would be . . .”

He steps outside the conference room and is already calling to Toby for two aguas, por favor. No one in the office appears to be Spanish, so I have no idea why the sudden shift. Unless he’s completely forgotten where he is. This isn’t tenth-grade Spanish class, that’s for sure.

But when Toby responds with some Spanish phrase of his own and a good-natured laugh, and I realize it was Josh’s attempt at humor. Lightening the mood.

Part of me wonders if I should use this distraction to slip out the door right now. Forget the whole thing and move on with my life. Maybe this isn’t my big break. Maybe this is a detour, or a giant flashing neon sign from the universe.

But how is that fair? I’ve worked so hard to get to this moment, I can’t let a little thing—okay, a rather big thing—like this stand in my way.

It’s like the universe is laughing at me, telling me not to take myself so seriously. Or maybe that I should have followed Gram’s advice to go out and get some action. Because Josh, fucking ham-hock-between-the-legs Josh, is way too delicious for words.

It certainly doesn’t help that his confidence is sexy as all get-out, just like everything else about him. He wears that sharp black suit like he’s doing it a favor, and his necktie may as well be the yellow brick road that my eyes are skipping down, making their way to his . . .

Straightening my shoulders, I accept the cool bottle of water Josh offers when he returns. I take a deep drink of it as he slides into the seat across from me again, holding his own bottle.

“I’m sorry you missed meeting Brody. He had an unexpected health thing come up.”

“Is he okay?” I ask, recapping the bottle and setting it aside.

Josh mirrors my movements and nods, his expression turning serious. “He’ll be all right, as long as he stays away from any more gluten.”

A smile spreads over my face of its own accord. “I’ve heard gluten can be quite terrifying at times.”

“You really can’t be too careful in those situations.”

Yeah, this guy is super confident and, honestly, quite sweet in his attempt to defuse the awkwardness. I’ve read about the owners of Wine O’Clock online, and they’re known not only for building an enviable business in a little over five years’ time, but also for an excellent track record with business partners.