Jocelyn

The total is five.

Five little girls running around by the time Boxer returns to the party. To my surprise, all of the mothers have stayed. Maybe this is normal, or maybe they don’t trust a strange lady opening the door to watch their kids. Probably the latter.

I turn from organizing cookies at the snack table at the sound of Boxer’s low, rumbling laughter. It’s infectious, and I’m already grinning when I look up to find him climbing down the staircase.

My hands freeze and my body stills, but my heart doesn’t get the memo. It’s racing, pounding out of control at the sight of him there. Fresh from the shower, his hair still damp and a little mussed, as if he’d only run a hand through it after toweling off.

Then, there’s the rest of him. He’s dressed to impress today, and it is a stunning sight. As I look closer, I realize it’s not his clothes, per say, but the way he’s wearing them. I’ve gone on dates with men whose suits cost more than my mortgage, but they were nothing compared to this.

Dark jeans hug his legs, moving with his tall figure. A button down shirt sits on top, accenting his broad chest, the sturdy arms through the tapered waist. All of it complimented by blue eyes that shine like the frosting of the cookie I’ve just dropped onto my plate.

I glance down, hurriedly moving the cookie back to the platter, and guiltily steal one last look at Boxer before backing away. I’m not the only woman who’s noticed him, either, and that gives me a shot of jealousy that I’m not exactly proud to admit.

I fight it back, pretending it’s a jolt of annoyance as the women migrate toward Boxer from all directions. It’s like he’s a magnet, sucking paperclips to his person by simply being in the room.

Ducking into the kitchen, I pour a glass of water from the fridge. Cold water. Then I add a few ice cubes and slurp it down until I have a brain freeze. Get a grip, Joss. I’m sure they’re just making friendly parental small talk.

However, I find a most peculiar thing in the kitchen. Six cakes sitting out. Homemade cakes. Which doesn’t even make sense because there are only five guests here. Did someone bring two cakes? Surely that can’t be normal.

I pretend this is a reason that I need to talk to Boxer. To find out how he wants me to handle the extra cakes.

As I navigate through a group of giggling girls, I find nearly all of the parents surrounding Boxer. It’s looking like I’ll have to hack my way through to get his attention.

There’s only one problem. I’m not used to caring so much. Usually, I’d just go after what I want. I’d walk right up to him and tell him exactly what’s on my mind, but for some reason, my mind isn’t working right today.

I sort of hover near the edges, waiting my turn, lingering and listening as the other women speak with him. After all, I’m the extra one today, just here to help. For Charli. The cakes can wait, and so can I.

As I take a step back toward the kitchen, however, his eyes raise to meet mine, holding there for a long second. The woman he’s speaking to continues to talk, but it’s as if Boxer isn’t listening to a word she’s saying.

The connection feels surprisingly intimate, and if I were in the mood to admit something crazy, I’d say it made me feel special. I’m not used to feeling special. Intimidating, maybe, or competent—after all, I’m great at my job. I’m comfortable in that zone. As Lindsay says, I’m married to it, and that’s a relationship that works for me.

This—whatever this relationship is between Boxer and me—is not comfortable. Far from it. This isn’t like anything I’ve ever known, and it brings a blush to my cheeks and a shiver of excitement.

Eventually, the woman speaking to Boxer realizes that he’s not entirely listening, and she trails off, her gaze following his line of sight until it lands on me. She flashes a murderous glare toward me, and I’m jolted back to reality, sucked out of my warm and happy daydream.

Luckily, the doorbell rings then, and I make some excuse under my breath and hustle off to answer it. On my way there, my brain’s working double time to figure out what just happened. The murderous glare, the swarm around Boxer, the number of home baked goods in the kitchen—and suddenly it makes sense.

Landon Boxer is in high demand.

I don’t know why it didn’t hit me before, but Landon Boxer is a unicorn. Even amongst a party of unicorns. A hot, successful single dad who openly adores his daughter, his career, and nothing much else except for ice cream. Frankly, I understand the appeal.

I push the thought out of my head, a little overwhelmed by the interest in Boxer. I hadn’t realized he was such a hot commodity. Not that it changes how I feel about him, it just makes me feel a little more... insecure. These women all have children. I don’t. Boxer does. It’s a big thing, and I’m at a disadvantage.

I don’t like being at a disadvantage. That’s how I run my business, and until now, my life. I don’t go into business meetings without knowing the possible outcomes—all of them, good or bad. But Boxer is a wild card. I most certainly hadn’t anticipated the turn of events, and quite frankly, it’s cause for alarm.

“Hello?” The door knob twists from the outside and a male voice announces himself to the room. “Anyone home? Do we have a birthday girl in here?”

“Uncle Steve!” A speeding bullet in the form of Charli comes racing around the corner, hurtling herself into his open embrace. “You’re back!”

“Of course I’m back. You gave me an invitation, so I came. How are you, dude?”

“Good, dude.” Charli pulls back and grins at the man standing before her. “Uncle Steve, want to meet my friend Jocelyn?”

“Would I ever?” His eyes, bitter blue, look over at me. They’re the same shade as Boxer’s, just a bit more pale. “I most certainly would. Name’s Steve. I’m Danny’s older brother.”

“He gets the nickname from you, then?” I shake his hand and grin. “Jocelyn. Pleasure to meet you.”

It’s a firm handshake, his fingers slim, narrower than Boxer’s. It’s difficult to see the pair as brothers. If Charli hadn’t made introductions, I’d have thought this man had the wrong house.

Where Boxer is all tall muscle, his sheer form an intimidating presence in the room, Steve is a bit shorter, thinner, and ganglier. His hair is long, down to his shoulders, a goofy smile spread across his face.

I get the impression he has a sense of humor. There’s a vibe about him that has me a little confused, though, and I can’t quite figure out if he’s a brilliant professor or an unemployed stoner. It could really go either way.

“Danny got the looks, I got the brains,” Steve says, still holding my hand. Then he leans in and winks. “I’m kidding. Mostly. I got the looks.”

I can’t help but laugh as the new Boxer turns and playfully loops Charli into a hug, making her giggle as he whispers something into her ear. Then, he produces a present that earns him a squeal from his niece, and this turns his eyes into shades of blue that are almost exactly the same as Landon’s. The effect is almost eerie.

“So, do we have any punch here?” Steve stands, sending Charli back to play with the kids. “Which one is yours?”

The two questions have me confused for a minute, only until I realize his eyes are scanning the playing children before us.

“Oh,” I laugh. “None of them. Punch, however, is this way.”

“None of them?”

“Nope.” We enter the kitchen, and I scoop some punch into a cup for him. I make a move to bring the punchbowl to the other room. “I should set this out.”

“Are you the new nanny?” He extends a hand to stop me from leaving, continuing the conversation. “Sorry, but I’m the nosy brother. You’ll have to forgive me.”

That goofy smile is back, and I relax slightly. Unlike with Boxer, there’s no tension between us, no half-told stories. Steve’s blunt, and that’s perfect because I can handle blunt.

“Oh, no. I’m working with Boxer.”

“On business?” Steve looks skeptical. “I still don’t understand why you’re helping at a kid’s birthday party. Sounds like punishment to me, and I love my niece.”

“I volunteered to help. Marie’s out of town, so Landon could use a hand.”

“Landon...” He tries out the name. “I called him Danny when he was little, and it’s one of those nicknames that just stuck. Landon was always too formal.”

“Are you in town just for the party?”

“Mostly. I’m a researcher, came into town to speak at an event, and I’ll stay through tomorrow. Danny doesn’t know it, but I’m crashing in his guest room tonight.” He leans in and faux-whispers to me. “Don’t spill the beans. My plan is to drink too much of the punch, and then he can’t let me drive anywhere.”

I point at his glass. “The punch isn’t spiked.”

“We can pretend.” He winks. “Also, I know where he stores the better beverages.”

“Ah.”

“So what’s it like working with my brother?”

“Well, maybe I was a bit premature. I’m trying to get his business.”

“Hold on, you’re the agent.”

“That’s me.”

“Miss Jones?”

“Jocelyn.”

“Jocelyn. I’ve heard great things about you.”

“Really?”

“Charli said you took them out for a business lunch, and she couldn’t stop talking about you. Pretty good, considering you gave her a Barbie.”

I cringe. “I didn’t realize.”

He waves a hand. “Presents are overrated. I used to just put newspaper around a box for Charli and stuff it with bubble wrap for Christmas. It worked until she was about four years old.”

“Bubble wrap is underestimated for its entertainment value.”

“Touché.” Steve finishes up his punch. “So, is it just business between you and Danny?”

I’m caught off guard by the question, especially coming from Steve. I have no clue what Boxer has told him about me—if he complained about the other night when I basically made out with his face the second he opened the door.

“Yes, hopefully,” I say with a smile. “We’ll see if he enjoys working with me.”

“I don’t see how he couldn’t.” Steve grins and takes a step closer to me. “You seem very nice, and I’m familiar with your work.”

“You are?”

“I had to Google you after Charli’s speech the other day. You are quite impressive.”

“I don’t know about that—”

“Hello, Steve.” Boxer’s voice breaks the silence. “Found the punch, I see?”

“And the prettiest woman here.” Steve winks at me from across the table. It’s playful enough to make me laugh, but that seems to annoy Boxer even further. “Hope you’re planning to sign with this one. Even Charli loves her, and you know she’s the toughest critic of us all.”

“You don’t say.” Boxer moves until he’s behind me and, to my surprise, rests an arm on my shoulder. “We agree then. Joss is the best.”

“Joss?” Steve raises his eyebrows at me. “Business?”

My cheeks are flaming now, and I can’t tell if it’s because of the brothers’ banter, or if it’s the close proximity to Boxer. The man smells heavenly. His whole body is warm, and if I curled into him, I could feel safe for eternity. Strong arms would clasp around my back, hold me to his chest. Before I realize what I’m doing, I sink toward him.

Boxer doesn’t disappoint. His arm squeezes my shoulder, holding me closer and closer with each passing second. Steve’s eyes watch, critical as a hawk, before turning his gaze back to Boxer for a brotherly stare down.

“Come upstairs with me for a minute, Steve,” Boxer says finally. “Let’s have a chat.”