Monday morning comes far too quickly, and I feel far from fresh going into my meeting with Colin and his contractor. Jack.
I did a little research on his company last night and found that Joseph Contractors was formed by Jack in 2009, when he was only twenty-eight. I mentally noted that that makes him thirty-five today. He did manual labour for years as a builder, which would explain the stunning physique – a physique that he’s clearly set on maintaining – before starting his own building firm that has gone from strength to strength. It was clear from what I learned that any architect should feel lucky to work alongside him. Me? I just feel scared to fucking death.
I’ve agonised constantly about how to deal with working together. I’ve given up Colin’s project ten times in my head, then reinstated myself quickly after. The prospect of kissing this opportunity goodbye makes me feel empty and weak. But I’m not weak, and I’m not about to let a man make me that way. I owe it to my career to move forward. I owe it to myself.
Jack’s the contractor. Just the contractor, and I’m not going to let his lies and deceit affect what I’ve worked my arse off for.
So I put on a pale grey pencil dress, leaving my hair down and wavy, then gather Colin’s file and get on my way.
I call Lizzy as I walk to the Tube, hoping for a little pep talk. ‘I’m due to start a bikini wax in two minutes,’ she says when she answers. ‘So let me cut to the chase. How are you going to handle him in this meeting?’
‘I’m going to pretend I’ve never met him before Saturday night,’ I tell her, my voice now wavering from the sureness I’d found, just at the thought of doing so. ‘He’s a liar and a cheat and, frankly, I hate him. It shouldn’t be hard to keep it business.’
‘Good girl.’ There’s a buzz of activity from down the line, and Lizzy curses a few times. ‘Shit! I just spilled hot wax. I have to go. Good luck!’
I hang up, straighten my shoulders and head for my meeting.
My plan was to arrive early, get a coffee and settle at a table before the men got there, and maybe talk my nerves down, but when I walk into the bistro I find them both already sitting at a table at the far end.
They’re talking, looking over some paperwork, and when I’m only a few feet away, Jack slowly turns to face me, like he’s sensed I’m close. My lungs shrink at the sight of him, my feet slowing as I fight to breathe. His straight expression doesn’t clue me in on what reception I might get from him, and that makes me all the more nervous.
That chest, rippling above me, undulating as he drives into me steadily.
I jolt myself from my untimely flashback, and a dart of my eyes to Jack tells me he hasn’t missed it, his expression questioning.
I take a deep breath and will myself forward.
‘Annie. Here, take a seat.’ Colin motions to the chair next to Jack, but I opt for the one at the other side of the table instead. Not too close.
‘Morning,’ I greet them, smiling at Colin as I unload my files onto the table. ‘Jack,’ I say formally without looking at him.
‘Annie,’ he replies, just as formally, taking his coffee cup and lifting it to his lips. My eyes catch a slight tremble of his hand as I involuntarily follow the cup to his mouth. I think of him drinking that bottle of Budweiser, his neck stretched, begging me to lick the column of his throat. Bending me over the bar, his big hands on my hips.
‘Great party,’ Colin chirps, snapping me back into the bistro. Jack is watching me watching him.
I shake my way back into the meeting, telling myself to concentrate, to not let him distract me. ‘It was. Thanks for coming.’ I smile, thinking I never want to think about that night ever again.
The waiter approaches and I order a large latte, declining the offer of pastries. I would never be able to hold anything down; my stomach is somersaulting repeatedly, and I’m getting annoyed that I can’t control it.
Colin looks down at his watch. ‘I have to be at an auction in thirty minutes, so let’s get this schedule agreed upon.’ He motions to my files. ‘Do you have the revised drawings for Jack?’
‘I do.’ I pull them out and push them across the table to Jack, avoiding making eye contact, which is hard when I can feel him staring at me. This is so strange. I spent a night in a hotel with this man, the most amazing night of my life, and now I’m acting like I’ve never set eyes on him, let alone his naked body.
All this formality, this distance, isn’t coming naturally to me. Being consumed by Jack felt so right and easy – looking at him, admiring him, talking to him, listening to him. It all felt so natural. ‘The details of the French roof manufacturer are on there too.’
‘Thank you,’ Jack says, unfolding the first drawing and scanning it over. ‘I’ll take them back to the office and go over them with Richard. He’s my site manager, who’ll be overseeing the build, by the way.’
‘Good to know.’ I make a mental note of Richard’s name.
‘We have various machinery arriving tomorrow so we can start clearing the site.’ Jack folds up the drawing and places it on the table with the others, finding my eyes and locking stares with me. ‘We anticipate a few weeks to strip it back to the bare bones.’
Strip. Bare. My skin starts to prickle with heat, and I glance away from him, making notes on my pad. ‘Okay. So you’ll have the site pegged out as per my drawings by . . .’
‘Week three,’ Jack finishes for me, pulling my attention up. He smiles, and I have to take a deep breath and force my attention back down to my notepad.
I power on. ‘And by week four, you’ll have . . .’
‘The trenches for the foundations dug out.’
My pen falters across the page. ‘Good,’ I say quietly. ‘And the concrete slab for the floor should be complete by . . .’
‘Week five,’ Jack murmurs.
I close my eyes briefly and will him to stop being so on the ball. It’s a perfect scenario for an architect and contractor to be so aligned when it comes to a project, but now, between Jack and me, it isn’t helping me hate him.
‘That was what you were thinking, wasn’t it?’ he asks, almost pensive.
My smile feels strained. ‘It was.’
‘Good.’ Jack gets a diary out of his briefcase and opens it up to a planner, presenting it to me and Colin. Then he takes over, detailing the schedule and phases of the project carefully from week five, running through a timeline for the next few months to completion. I hate that every step, every tiny detail he has written down, is all where I’m at in my head with this project. Every time he hesitates, I’m able to finish his sentence, and we’re already talking about slight modifications to make the plans even stronger. We’re in perfect sync.
Our sweaty bodies flash through my mind, moving in tune, our hearts beating in time. I jerk in my chair and clamp my teeth on the lid of my pen. In perfect sync. In every way. I focus on what Jack’s actually saying as opposed to the sound of his voice saying it, fighting not to allow the deep timbre to get under my skin. Fighting to not allow my mind to morph what he says into other words – words he said to me on that night. I’m not doing very well – too many memories, now potent and vivid, running circles in my head. Keeping my eyes off his hands too, as he talks with them, is a killer. A total killer. Those hands have explored every part of my body. So has his mouth.
Stop it! ‘Can I get a copy of that?’ I ask him, my voice shaky as I point to the schedule in his diary.
‘Sure.’ Jack looks at me, cocking his head a little to the side. ‘I’ll send a scan later today. I just need your e-mail.’
Biting down on my lip, I pull a business card from my bag and slide it across the table, trying not to think about the fact that I’ve just given him every contact detail he could need for me.
‘So we’re all on the same page?’ Colin asks, rising from his chair.
‘We’re on the same page,’ Jack confirms. I look across the table at him, reading between the lines. ‘Aren’t we?’ he asks, swallowing hard. ‘I know where I stand.’
He knows where he stands. I read his code message loud and clear. ‘Same page,’ I confirm on a gulp, feeling relief course through me as I silently thank him for not making this harder than it needs to be.
He nods knowingly, snapping his diary shut.
‘Great.’ Colin swipes up a huge art folder. ‘I just know you two are a match made in heaven.’ He breezes out of the bistro as I stare at his back in utter shock, and Jack coughs over his coffee.
He looks at me, his face expressionless. ‘A match made in heaven.’
I don’t allow myself to fall into the depths of his twinkly eyes. ‘Professionally, maybe,’ I say, getting my bag from the back of my chair, resisting the urge to point out that we can’t possibly be a match made in heaven . . . since he’s married. My stray thought turns my stomach as I unzip my slouchy leather bag to retrieve my purse.
Jack pulls his wallet from his inside pocket. ‘Put your money away. I’ll get this.’ He reaches over and halts my hand from going into my bag, and I jump so much my chair actually shoots back. Jack retracts his hand in shock. ‘Sorry; I didn’t mean to make you jump.’ He sounds sincere, and I feel utterly stupid. But his touch. Oh God, his touch.
‘Thank you for the coffee,’ I say, getting to my feet but keeping my eyes on the table.
‘No problem. Can I give you a lift anywhere?’
I actually laugh. ‘No, but thanks for the offer.’
‘What’s so funny?’ He stands, towering over me, and I get another onslaught of flashbacks as a result. He’s naked, looming over me, asking if I’m ready for him.
I squash my thoughts and take a deep breath. ‘Nothing.’ I hand my drawings to him while keeping my gaze far, far away from his. ‘Don’t forget these.’
Slowly, too slowly, his hand lifts and takes them from my grasp. ‘I promise to keep this strictly business, Annie,’ he tells me candidly.
‘Good.’ My voice is shaking terribly, adrenalin racing through my bloodstream and making my heart pump crazily. I can feel him staring at me, and as hard as I know it’s going to be, I tell myself I mustn’t ever look at him. At least not in the eye. I brush past him and pace out of the bistro, feeling his stare on my back the entire way. He might have promised to keep it business, but that doesn’t stop my entire being from responding to him like it does. And it doesn’t erase the memories, either.
When I get back to my studio I fire up my laptop, fetch a coffee and get on with submitting a planning application and e-mailing building control before sifting through piles of e-mails and cleaning up my inbox. I sip my coffee and jot down notes in my diary as I go, confirming a few potential client meetings. The weeks ahead are full-on, and I’m relieved. I need to keep busy.
As it approaches midnight my eyes are beginning to glaze over. I flag my final e-mail and guide the cursor to the top right-hand corner to shut my e-mail down, but the ping of a notification stops me and a new message icon appears in the bottom right-hand corner. My heartbeat dulls to an uncomfortable pulse as the sender’s name glows brightly at me:
I move away from my laptop slowly, placing my mug on the desk and my hands in my lap, trying to psych myself up to open it. It’s just a damn e-mail, just words. I click the message open.
Annie,
Please find attached the schedule of works detailing the four phases of Colin’s project. Any questions, just shout. Richard and I have been over the revised drawings. He has a few questions. Are you available to meet him on site tomorrow to go over them?
Best,
Jack
CEO, Jack Joseph Contractors
I sit back in my chair, reading over his e-mail once more. It’s nearly midnight. I question what he’s doing working this late until I remind myself that I’m working too. His e-mail is formal. So formal. Just how it should be, so why is my heart thrumming nervously?
My fingers shake when I start composing a reply, making me hit the wrong keys over and over again. ‘Damn it,’ I curse myself, pulling my hands away and taking some steadying breaths. This is so stupid.
Jack,
Many thanks for the schedule. I’m available at 10.00 if that suits?
Regards,
Annie
A. R. Architects Ltd
‘Best’? ‘Regards’? It’s utterly ridiculous considering what Jack and I have done together. We’ve explored every inch of each other’s bodies, shared the most intimate parts of each other, and here we are acting like it never happened. My e-mail dings again.
Annie,
I’d ask what you’re doing working so late, but that wouldn’t be keeping it business, right? Tomorrow at ten is good. I’m currently looking over the landscapers’ designs for the garden area. I found these giant glass cases online (link attached) and thought a few hung on the brick wall adjacent to the extension could look amazing, and they’d complement your roof perfectly. Let me know what you think before I put forward the suggestion to Colin.
Best,
Jack
CEO, Jack Joseph Contractors
I raise a sardonic eyebrow at his light joke and click the attachment open, immediately taken aback by the beautiful simplicity of the wall-hung glass cabinets with aluminium trim. ‘Wow,’ I murmur, scanning the details and dimensions.
Jack,
Right.
Regarding the glass cases, I love them, and I’m certain Colin would too. A great idea. I’ll see Richard on site tomorrow.
Regards,
Annie
A. R. Architects
I close down my laptop and take myself to bed, happy that I got through my day in one piece and managed to keep it business. But no matter how professional I act on the outside, on the inside I’m still in fucking chaos over Jack Joseph.