Junk Mail(8)

As I stare down at his open palm, my mind immediately wanders to how his long, thick fingers would feel against my skin.

Jeez, am I really so starved for sex that a handshake will make the floodgates open up? Playing it safe, I opt to place a business card into his palm instead.

“Absolutely professional,” I say on a trembling exhale, hoping I can actually live up to it.

Josh pockets my business card, his mouth curling into his signature half smile that sends a spark of heat dancing up my spine.

“It’ll be fine,” he says, pausing just past the reception area. “Even in unusual situations, I try to do my best to close a fantastic deal.”

I look down in an effort to conceal the blush I feel spreading across my cheeks.

Closing a deal? Is he suggesting something, or am I reading too much into things? Is this another example of his terrible flirting?

“I’m excited to be in business with you.” I’m doing my darnedest to be businesslike, but when I repeat in my head the words I just spoke out loud, they sound strangely flirty too. Was something in the bottled water?

“Business is indeed exciting.” There’s a hint of something more in his blue eyes, a spark even. “Thank you again for coming in. And feel free to call—or even text—with any questions about all the contract paperwork.”

“I’m sure I’ll be in touch soon.” I give him my best everything is great and I’m totally not attracted to you at all smile. “Do you have a business card I could take?”

He produces one from his suit coat pocket and places it in my hand. His fingers graze my skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

“Th-thank you, Josh,” I murmur.

Clutching the card in one hand, I give the team behind him one last wave before I breeze past him and head straight toward the elevator bay. Part of me is worried that my speedy exit will come off as rude, but the rest of me knows the longer I stay in this office, the higher my chances are of making a fool of myself.

As the elevator doors close, I allow myself one final peek. Sure enough, there’s Josh, loosening his tie and shooting me that devilish smirk.

Bastard! It’s not fair that he accidentally flashed me his privates, yet I’m the one who’s frazzled.

Once the elevator starts moving, I finally release all that composure I’ve been faking and take the first deep breath I’ve managed all morning. I thought the last eighteen months of building this business were difficult, but I have a feeling that things are about to get a whole lot harder. No pun intended.

I want my business to succeed, and that means I have to keep my eyes on the prize and off Josh’s bulge. If he says he can keep it professional, then I can do the same. And I know when I get my first big paycheck from this company, the restraint will all be worth it. I have to do what I have to do, and unfortunately, what I have to do isn’t Josh, as much as every part of me would really like it to be.

A notification pings my phone. Happy hour with Sabrina and Libby at five.

Thank God. I sure could use something strong to curb these nerves and help me forget about Josh and all of his gorgeous parts.

? ? ?

At a few minutes to five, I walk over to our favorite bar, Speakeasy. Once inside, I glance at our favorite corner table by the window.

Sure enough, Sabrina and Libby are already there, laughing, each of them well into their first martini of the night. No doubt they’re chatting about details for their weddings this summer.

It’s weird to be the only one out of the three who isn’t engaged. Don’t get me wrong, I’m beyond happy for both of them. I just wish I at least had someone to bring as my plus-one.

As I approach the table, I spot a grapefruit martini already waiting for me, and I grin. These girls just know me.

“Look what corporate America dragged in!” Libby teases as I snag the seat across from my redheaded friend. “Did they keep you late offering you millions and millions of dollars?”

I roll my eyes. “Not even close. But things did go pretty well, for the most part.”

“Of course they did.” Sabrina grins, somehow managing to look younger than her thirty-one years. Someday, I swear I’m going to get her to give up all her skin-care secrets. “Because you’re a rock star.”

She holds up her martini, and Libby and I follow suit, clinking our glasses together.

“To Peyton livin’ her dream,” Libby says before taking a nice long sip of her martini. “So, tell us everything. Do you think the deal is going to work out?”

“I still have a lot of paperwork to review,” I say, tapping my bag full of the legal documents I’ll be spending the next week poring over. “But things are looking pretty good. They seem very excited about the boxes, but I don’t think it’s going to be particularly easy working with Josh. He’s one of the owners.”

“Why? What’s up with him?” Libby asks. She’s an account manager at an ad agency, so I knew she’d be quick to make sure I was being treated fairly as a client.

I take a sip of my tart beverage and release a slow exhale. “What’s up with him is that he’s beyond gorgeous, and he totally knows it. And he knows that I know it. Rock meet very hard place.”

“Oh no, being offered a deal with a major corporation and having to stare at some sexy man candy all the while knowing you’re getting paid for this torture. Sounds horrible,” Sabrina teases, pulling out her phone and punching in the company website. “What’s his name?” She’s already scrolling through the management team’s head shots and bios.