Chapter 11
Lucy mentally paged through her portfolio of smiles and came up empty. She’d watched Jared’s winding approach in the mirror mounted behind the bar. He’d glided through the crowd, plucking food from the buffet before moving on. He’d walked as if he expected the other guests to clear a path for him—and then admire his perfect, rich backside as he walked past them.
A man like Jared Mitchell didn’t need saving. Not tonight. And probably not in the future.
But he wanted to score a win after Lucy had walked away from him at his restaurant. She slid off her stool and claimed her drink from the bar’s polished wood surface. “I’ll play along, Jared. But I can’t sneak off to the kitchen, or into the supply closet.”
Her phone pinged from her handbag. She set it on the bar and released the clasp. Withdrawing her cell, she glanced at the Fated for Love alert.
A new message from Philip Ryder.
Perfect timing.
She set down her drink and opened the link to Fated for Love.
Dear Naughty in Pink,
I’m at a work event and I can’t stop thinking about your pink handcuffs. Have you used them before?
Your handcuff-obsessed suitor,
Philip
She read the words a second time. Why did he want to know? Beneath his amazing muscles and pitch-perfect words, was he a possessive jerk? Was that why he was still single? Or was he into super-kinky sex?
Oh God, what if I’ve met a real life Christian Grey?
“Lucy?” Jared’s voice cut through the sexy, yet scary mental picture. She liked the idea of toys, but she’d stopped wearing corsets beneath her fitted costumes because she found them too painful and restrictive. She wasn’t interested in pain mixed with pleasure. Still, the idea of the handcuffs intrigued her. Or maybe it was just the man in the picture . . .
She slid her phone back into her purse. “Work email. I’ll reply later.”
“Bullshit,” he said mildly.
She met his playful, seemingly all-knowing gaze. “You think I’m lying about an email?”
“I know you are,” he said simply. “Your cheeks turned pink, and your eyes widened.”
“Fine. You’re right.” She ignored the of-course-I-am gleam in his eyes. “I’m seeing someone.”
“Last week’s lunch date?” he asked.
She shook her head. “He hasn’t been to The Taco Bar.”
He moved to her side and placed his hand on her elbow. “You can tell me all about him while we walk.” He guided her away from the bar. “But in about thirty seconds, you need to put your rescue plans into action.”
“I don’t have a plan. And you don’t need saving.”
“The Tennyson heirs are here.” He scanned the crowd. “Somewhere. When they find me, they’ll ask about the sugar deal. When I tell them that it’s in flux, they’ll share their opinion on every other possible investment.”
“Isn’t that why you’re here? To listen to your investors?”
“Your brother has it covered.” He stepped away from the bar, drawing her with him. “At least the first shift. I’ll probably need to shake their hands and listen for a while. But I’d rather wait until they’ve had a few.”
She smiled and nodded at a familiar face across the room. Delaney Mayor waved back. But when Lucy stepped forward to greet her friend and longtime client, Jared led her in the opposite direction. “You’re using me to manipulate a client, Jared. This is about work. You don’t need to be saved.”
“You’re rescuing me from at least thirty minutes of boredom,” he said.
“How noble of me,” she murmured.
Jared steered her through the double doors and into the country club’s quiet hallway. Ten paces down the corridor, he turned right and led her into the library.
“They lit the fire?” Lucy stared at the leaping flames on the far side of the small room. Lined with bookcases and filled with a pair of ornate loveseats, the room looked out of place for south Florida.
“Ambiance.” Jared released her arm and strolled over to the sitting area.
“It’s June in South Florida.”
He sank into the loveseat and leaned back. His blue eyes focused on her. Out of all the people in the room next door, clamoring for a chance to talk to the bored bachelor, she had Jared Mitchell’s complete attention.
“Relax, Lucy.”
I can’t around you!
She wished she could shout at him. Ever since he’d kissed her, ever since he’d dangled the possibility of becoming one of his girlfriends by stealing her away from her date, she’d let herself want him. Not a lot. She knew better. But just a little.
He nodded to the open doors. “I need to give Finn twenty minutes, maybe a little longer, to handle business out there.”
She abandoned her fight-or-flight pose in the doorway and joined him in the sitting area. But she claimed the couch opposite him. The wooden coffee table offered a solid barrier between them.
Still, he was close enough to touch. Her stomach spun as if invaded by cartoon butterflies. She closed her eyes, blocking out the intimate setting and the ridiculous fire.
I’ve known Jared my entire life, she thought. He ate dinner at our house at least four nights a week when I was a kid. I shouldn’t be nervous. Not around him.
But they weren’t children anymore. He wasn’t her brother’s friend who’d come to dinner and inhaled his meal as if he’d skipped breakfast and lunch.
I can’t go back to the B.S.C.K.—Before Storage Closet Kiss—time.
She opened her eyes and withdrew her phone from her purse. She couldn’t go back to B.S.C.K., but she could move forward. Her thumb unlocked the device and Philip Ryder’s message appeared. She started typing.
Dear Handcuff Obsessed,
I’ll be honest with you. I’m a handcuff virgin. Is that a deal breaker, Mr. Ryder?
Yours truly,
Lucy
She hit send and glanced up. On the opposite couch, Jared adjusted his position. Then he reached into his pocket and withdrew his phone.
“My brother?” she asked.
Jared nodded slowly. “He says I should remain hidden for a while longer.” He pocketed the phone without typing a response. “Save me from boredom and tell me about your new boyfriend.”
“He’s not my . . . That is, I haven’t met him yet,” she muttered. “At least not in person.”
“That hurts, Lucy. You kissed me like the sky was falling,” he said. “And yet, you’d walk away for a man you haven’t met?”
“I just rescued you,” she pointed out.
“You could ask for a favor.” His lips curved into a smile. “In repayment for the rescue.”
“You’re toying with me again.” She sat up straight and crossed her ankles beneath the long, black dress.
“No, I’m not.”
She bit back the inclination to shout ”Are to!” into the quiet library. Instead, she sat up straighter. “I would like a thousand shares of the sugar company if you take it public.”
He leaned his head back and laughed. “Well played, Lucy. The shares are yours provided we close the deal. You don’t need to wait until we go public. I’ll have the agreement drafted next week.”
Heat rose up in her cheeks. “I’m not a plaything, Jared. Don’t tease me,” she said sharply.
“I’m not. I’ll pay the price you set for your daring rescue.”
“Jared—”
“Your job’s not over yet.” He nodded to the door. “Any minute the people I’m trying to avoid could walk down that hall. Do you have a plan if that happens?”
“I’ll think of something,” she said dryly. Then she took another sip of her drink. “When will the sugar deal close?”
“Another week. Maybe two.”
“Then you’ll head back to New York?” she asked.
“That’s the current plan. I have a company in New Jersey that needs my attention.” He leaned forward. “Now tell me about your mystery man. Is he magical?”
“Yes.”
The muscle in Jared’s jaw jumped. Jealousy? She cocked her head and studied his expression. The reaction felt too small for such a large emotion.
“Philip wants the same things,” she said. “Unless he’s lying. If Nicole’s right and he’s a murderer, well, we have different priorities.”
He nodded. The fleeting inkling of jealousy had vanished. “Trust your gut, Lucy.”
She uncrossed her ankles and leaned forward. Her palms pressed into the sofa on either side of her thighs. How could he talk about kissing her and then tell her to believe Philip Ryder could deliver magic?
“Now you want me to go out with him?” she demanded.
“Yes.”
Her fingers dug into the couch cushion. She fought the urge to reach for her drink and down the rest of her martini. If she listened to her gut, it would list the reasons Jared Mitchell wanted to play a new role in her life. He’d left more than three-dozen juice boxes on her doorstep. He’d interrupted her date. He’d kissed her.
“I think you know what you want, Lucy. You should go after it.” He tipped back his beer and took a long drink. Then he lowered it and added, “Find the magic. If it exists for anyone, you’re it.”
She met his gaze, staring straight into his bright, blue eyes. “Because I wear a costume to work?”
He stood and walked over to her. His fingers grazed her cheek and then tucked under her chin and raised it. “You’re more than a Cinderella fantasy. More than any man’s dream date. Don’t get me wrong. You are one hell of a fantasy.”
“Jared,” she said sharply. He needed to be quiet right now. Her emotions were seesawing between excitement and indignation. She didn’t want to hear words designed to turn her into a simpering, wanting mess—not from him.
The pad of his thumb brushed over her lips. “But that’s not all you are,” he continued.
His matter-of-fact tone mentally tipped the scales in favor of indignation.
“You’re . . . ” His hand dropped from her chin. “You’re you, Lucy.”
She raised an eyebrow, allowing her ire to bubble. He’d followed up “You’re more than a fantasy” with “You’re you”?
“You had me until the end,” she said.
He raised an eyebrow, his lips sliding into a slow, welcoming grin. “I should have quit while I was ahead?”
She nodded.
He shook his head, still smiling. Then he turned and headed for the door. She followed the line of his broad shoulders. She watched his easy gait. The man was a walking, talking ad for confidence. And he’d declared her “more than.”
What if Philip Ryder looks at me and only sees his handcuff fantasy?
“Jared,” she called.
He stopped in the doorway and turned to her.
“It’s not safe for you out there,” she said.
“I’ll take my chances.” Then he winked at her and slipped into the hall.
“Jared Mitchell!” Lou Tennyson’s familiar baritone echoed in the corridor outside the dining room. “Just the man I wanted to see.”
Lucy stood and rushed to the door. She peered into the hallway, but kept her heels planted in the library. “For all I know, you were spewing more bullshit,” she muttered. Then she dropped her voice and added in a poor imitation of Jared’s oh-so-masculine voice: “You’re more than a Cinderella fantasy.”
But she wanted to believe him. It had been a long time since she’d thought of herself in those terms. Had her ex ever thought of her as more than anything?
Maybe. In the beginning.
But by the end, I was the less than in his equation. He wanted me less than his new girlfriend.
That was the problem with words. It was so hard to know when they were empty promises. She shook her head, pushing away the past. With her gaze fixed on Jared, she stepped into the crowed hallway. “It doesn’t matter if you meant every word,” she whispered. “I still owe you a rescue.”
I still want to save you.
And that might prove far more problematic.