“Jared is being modest,” I said, patting him on the chest with my free hand. His arm slipped around my back to tug me closer. “What really happened was that I got myself locked in a supply closet, and he pried the door open with brute force. The rest, as they say, is history.” And a very specific contract including an NDA. I wiggled my finger splint. “I’ve got the scars to prove it.”
The older couple laughed, delighted. Jared’s fingers tightened on my waist.
“I’m glad to see it. I’ve always said you needed someone to stand beside you, Branson.”
“I think he needed someone to keep him from fumbling his way through these things,” I said, waving a hand at the event at large.
“Fumbling,” Jared repeated, glancing at me with arched brows. “How would you know I’ve fumbled?”
“Please,” I said. “It’s obvious.”
“I take offense to that.”
“But am I wrong?”
“That’s not the point.” Jared scowled at me, which made my smile widen. He caught himself and cleared his expression, then reflexively scowled again.
I laughed. He was cute when he wasn’t trying so hard to be an intimidating jerk.
Roseanne let out a chuckle and shook her head. “Well, seems like you’ve found the right woman for the job.” She turned to me. “I just adore your purse.”
“Thank you! It’s so silly. I love it.” I held up the bedazzled blue bow, stroking it softly with my fingers.
“I have a small collection of Judith Leiber bags myself,” Roseanne said. “Sometimes they’re just the right thing for a bit of fun.”
I smiled. I liked this woman. Too many people took themselves too seriously, but fashion and style was one area that was best when there was an element of fun, or campiness, or the unexpected. I’d bought this bag for this event because I thought it would be a good icebreaker, but I also bought it because I loved it, and it wasn’t something I’d be able to afford on a regular salary.
We fell into an easy conversation. I asked her about her gown, and she told me it was a custom design. When she found out I used to work in vintage fashion, her eyes lit up.
“You have to come see my personal collection. I’ve got so many wonderful vintage pieces. Mostly they’re stored away in a climate-controlled room, and to be honest with you, most of them don’t fit anymore. But I’d love to share that with you. Wouldn’t that be wonderful, honey?” she asked her husband.
Wilbur, who had been deep in conversation with Jared beside us, glanced over. His gaze softened as he met his wife’s, his hand curling around her lower back. “What’s that, sweetheart?”
“Iris used to work as a buyer for a vintage fashion store. I said she should come see my collection sometime. I’d love to show it off to someone who gets it.”
“If I were a suspicious man, I’d think Branson here planned this.”
Jared cleared his throat. “What if I did?”
Wilbur chortled and clapped Jared on the back so hard he rocked on his toes. The older man shook his head. “I guess that would mean you really want our business. When are you free to come down? We’ll be there for the holidays.”
Where was “there?” He was asking me, so I shrugged. “Whenever suits you,” I said. I glanced at Jared questioningly. This seemed a bit extracurricular. Would he be mad if I went over to Roseanne’s place to look at clothes?
“It would give us time to iron out the last details to finally put some ink to this deal, hey, Branson?” Wilbur’s eyes glimmered as he glanced at my boss.
Jared nodded. “I’ll have to check my schedule, but I should be able to clear a few days to take the jet down before the end of the year.”
“Great!” Wilbur exclaimed, and Roseanne beamed.
I, on the other hand, frowned. “A few days? The jet?”
“My clothing archive is at our primary residence in Grenada,” Roseanne explained. “We’ve got a gorgeous little island there. You’ll love it.”
“Oh,” I said, nodding. “Of course.”
Had I just agreed to go see this woman’s vintage designer clothes on her private island in Grenada? It sounded like it! I hoped Jared wasn’t mad about an impromptu trip to the Caribbean.
But it also sounded like it had helped my boss take one step nearer to closing the deal with Wilbur Monk. So that had to be a win-win.
We chatted with the older couple for a few more minutes before an announcement informed us it was almost time for dinner to start.
We all shook hands. When Wilbur grasped mine, he held my palm with one hand and patted it with the other. Glancing at Jared, Wilbur said, “I’m glad to see you embracing the influence of others, Branson. I wasn’t sure you’d be able to. But Iris here is proof you’ve got hidden depth.”
Jared inclined his head, then put his hand on my lower back and guided me into the dining room. We found our table and settled into our seats, and then Jared leaned toward me. His breath warmed my ear as he said, “Good work, Little.”
I gave him a little grin as I turned to look at him, not realizing just how close his face had been to mine. Our lips nearly brushed, and neither of us moved back.
For one long, breathless moment, I could feel the heat of his skin so close to mine. He’d leaned one hand against my chair and his other elbow on the table, so I was surrounded by him. I met his gaze, heart thundering, wondering if I was imagining things.
Like the heat sparking deep in my core, and its twin burning in his gaze. Or the way his eyes dropped to my lips and darkened. Or the electricity crackling in the scant space between us.
Then, as quickly as it happened, the moment was over. He pulled away and I, flustered, reached for my glass of champagne with a trembling hand. The bubbles danced on my tongue, but the drink tasted more bitter than it had before.
I took a shaky breath, then focused on buttering the piece of bread that a waiter dropped on my side plate with gold-plated tongs. When I glanced over at him, Jared looked entirely unaffected. He’d already turned to talk to someone who stopped at our table, deep in conversation about an upcoming campaign.
And dread crept through my guts-because he wasn’t just my infuriating, arrogant boss anymore. Now he was the man who had made my thighs clench with nothing more than a look. The man who made me want to throw out the rule book, burn my contract, and destroy this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity just for the chance to taste him.
Which made me a grade-A idiot in a beautiful dress.
I was in so much trouble.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.