THIRTEEN
LUCY
“Hey, hold on for a second. I have something incredible to show you, Sunshine.”
The moment I get to work on Monday morning, shivering with my hands shoved deep in the pockets of my quilted coat because the weather is absolute shit this morning, Daisy stops me at the workshop door. She gives me a fluorescent pink, heart-shaped Post-It note with a name and number written in neat, rounded print. "Allene at Body Talk left a message for you over the weekend," she says excitedly, clasping her hands together behind her platinum blond head as she bounces on the heels of her tall lace-up boots. "Do you have any idea how much I love her show?"
Folding the note in my palm, I meet her smile with a grin of my own. "Almost as much as you hate John Mayer?"
"Exactly. Are you working on getting ad space on her program or..."
I hoist my laptop bag higher on my shoulder. During my research into all things sexy, I had stumbled across Allene's show. It comes on every weeknight from six to nine—which is kinkily ironic—and for the last week and a half, I've shunned my usual pop stations in favor of tuning in on the way home. I had contacted her last Thursday with a request to discuss ads and a possible interview with Jace. Her radio station is based out of Albany, which is only a few hours drive from Boston.
When I tell Daisy this, she lets out a squeal of approval.
"Jace’s always hated the idea of interviews, but I give zero fucks because this will be amazing for business. Allene is huge." She plops down in her chair and rolls it back toward her desk, not seeming to notice that my expression has gone from excited to apprehensive in a matter of seconds at her revelation about Jace's aversion to interviews. It’s not like he’s ever mentioned that tidbit about himself to me. "You, my friend, are rocking it."
I let out a shaky laugh. She might not be saying that after Mr. EXtreme curses me out for seeking out Allene without first getting his approval. "We'll see what she has to say, and of course I’ll have to talk to Jace."
"Well, keep me in the loop. And seriously, coffee and pastries are the key to Exley’s dark heart.” She scrunches her nose and tilts her head from side to side. “Well … unless you’re into all that other stuff.”
“I’m not,” I say frostily, snapping Daisy’s gaze up.
“I didn’t think you were, Sunshine.” She smiles, but I can tell it’s taking an insane amount of effort for her not to laugh out loud. “I was just voicing my thoughts.”
Embarrassed, I promise her I’ll let her know the second I hear back from Allene then I take off toward my office. Once I power on my laptop and place my frozen excuse for a healthy lunch in the break room freezer, I put on my best I-have-big-balls face and approach Jace's office right down the hallway.
The door is partially closed, but when I give it a few light taps, it creaks open. I swallow hard at the sight of the woman with Jace. Her long legs are crossed toward him and red hair cascades down her back as she throws her head back, laughing at something he's said. It takes me a few moments to place who she is—after all, the last time I saw her, she was totally nude and not in a black dress that molded perfectly to her curvy body—but my throat goes dry when she looks behind her and arches her brows.
It’s Sonora. The cuffed redhead from Mr. B’s swinger party. And her ass is parked right on my boss’s desk.
Dammit, what the hell is she doing in here?
Jace looks around Sonora, his expression mirroring hers as he rubs his hand over his beard. "Ms. Williams," he acknowledges.
"I'm sorry." I shift my hazel eyes between the two of them, and a smirk crosses Jace’s bronze features. What have I walked in on? God, why the hell does my chest hurt when I ask myself that? Folding my fingers together, I take a breath and stiffly say, "I wanted to talk to you about something before I followed up with a prospect, but I can come back--"
"No need." She shimmies off the desk, trailing one hand over the back of her dress, making sure she adjusts the fabric over her ass in a slow and sensuous manner. Her other arm is in a sling, and I can't help but stare at it. "I was just taking off."
"Behave yourself, Nora," Jace tells her as she walks toward the door. I step out of her way, the side of my body banging into a filing cabinet.
So much for my big balls that were going to get shit done today.
"Always, E," she responds, tossing her hair over one shoulder and reminding me of Jessica Rabbit. "And I'm sorry again about the wrist.” She strokes her good hand over the white sling and sighs. “I know you needed it, and I hate to let you down."
Jesus H Christ. She’d let him down when he needed her hand? What was she planning to do with the damn thing?
“I’ll figure it out.” He grants her a sympathetic look, and she laughs—a beautiful, sexy, throaty sound that makes me think of Lauren Bacall in my favorite scene from “How to Marry a Millionaire.” Sonora shrugs on a stylish white trench coat that flares out slightly at the waist.
“I’m sure you will,” she says softly. Her gaze flashes to mine just before she steps out onto the walkway. "It’s wonderful to see you again, Ms. Williams. I hope you’re keeping Jace in line, he can be a real pain in the ass."
"I’m trying," I say, but she's already walking down the walkway, her black, five-inch pumps clicking a staccato beat on the concrete floor. I drag in a harsh breath before I return my focus to my boss. His elbows are rested on his desk and he steeples his long fingers to his mouth, but all I can think about is Sonora’s hands and what he’d wanted to do with them. I can almost guarantee it was filthy, hard, and wet. "I really am sorry, I--"
"Sit down, Williams."
He motions to the seat across from his, but I clench my fingers around the cold edges of the filing cabinet behind me, continuing, "Daisy gave me a message from a satellite radio show host this morning, and then she said you don't like interviews. I figured I'd speak to you before I returned the call. If I had known you had someone in here, and that—"
"Sit. Down," he orders again, this time his voice an octave lower. I glare at him as I stalk across the narrow space separating us and lower my ass to the seat. "Don't apologize for doing your job. It’s what I want from you. Now, what is it you wanted to ask of me?"
I want to tell him that I'm not apologizing for doing my job but for interrupting him and ... Sonora's hands, but I decide to avoid going there. It's none of my business, I say to myself. Just like his relationship with Michaela has nothing to do with me. What he does with other women shouldn’t matter one. Little. Bit.
Straightening my back and giving him my best attempt at a professional, I-don't-give-a-damn-whose-hands-you’re-into expression, I tell him about Allene's show and my ideas for getting her on board with EXtreme.
His attention wavers several times while I’m speaking, and I feel a wave of irritation claw down my spine when he glances at his computer screen for the eightieth time just as I finish. "You know," I say in a dangerously soft voice, tapping my fingers anxiously on the edge of his desk, "I really can come back when it's a better time and you have a moment to pay attention."
He lifts his eyes from the screen, his lids lowering partially as he regards me. "Believe me, Williams, I heard everything you said."
"Okay then, what do you think?"
He starts to shrug his wide shoulders, but then he pauses. He drops his attention to my hands. And he just … stares. When I cease my drumming, and link my fingers, his brow furrows in irritation. “Don’t stop,” he says, but I don’t make a move to obey him. “Fuck, Williams, do you ever listen?”
“When you’re eye-humping my fingers?” I say through my teeth because if I open my mouth any further, the sigh I’m desperately holding back will slip out. “Jace—”
“Shh, love, and let me look.”
He slides as close as possible to the other side of the metal desk and bends his head over my hands, locks of his dark hair brushing my knuckles as he carefully traces his gaze over my rounded, blush-painted fingernails and the length of my fingers. Beneath his stare, every part of my body clenches—from my hands that are suddenly trembling to the very center of my core. When he backs away, stroking his bottom lip with his thumb and forefinger, there's a gleam in his eyes that tangles the pit of my stomach into a deliciously perplexed knot.
“Jace, what the hell are you doing?”
"Hold your hands out in front of you,” he says in a harsh voice that spreads goose bumps up my arms and across my chest. He trails his thumbs along the insides of my wrists, and that sigh I was trying so hard to hold in pushes past my lips. Only now, it’s a moan. “Put your wrists together."
“What? Why?” Ignoring the currents dancing through my veins, I snatch away from him, placing my palms flat on my lap. “Are you sure you were listening to what I said? We were talking about--"
"Your hands, Lucy," he repeats. "Let me see your hands if you want me to give you an answer about that fucking radio show."
"Blackmail, Jace? Really?" But I do as he's asked, stretching my arms out directly in front of me and lightly touching my wrists together. My breath becomes nothing the moment he comes to his feet, his own fingers spread apart on the surface of his desk as he leans far over and examines me again.
There is nothing subtle about his perusal, and his bold stare and minty breath are hot against my skin. The moment he's through and his ass is back in his seat, I hug myself, making sure my hands are safely tucked beneath my upper arms.
"Congratulations, Exley. You’re officially a certified creeper.”
"And you have perfect hands, Williams." He glances at my arms still crossed over my chest and glides his tongue from side to side between his straight white teeth. “Among your other stunning attributes.”
Here we go again.
Refusing to get caught up in him again only to get shot down, I clear my throat and shake my head. "So about Allene..."
He grabs a pen and taps it to the armrest of his chair, his focus distracted once more. "You can schedule whatever it is you see fit, but on one condition."
"Why am I suddenly terrified to ask what that might be?" I feel another harsh pump within my ribcage at the look he offers me. It's self-possessed, a stomach-curling, heart-racing grin that slinks across his face and makes him resemble a fallen, tattooed angel.
"Don't be terrified, love," he drawls. "All I need is your hands for fifteen minutes.”