The Consequence of Seduction
“Look.” I ran my hands through my hair. “We’re both exhausted after keeping Max up all night with our fake sex. We need food and hydration, and everything will look better once all that happens. Let’s have dinner after my interview, on me.”
Jordan sighed and checked her watch. “Okay, that’s fine. I’m going to go meet with another client, then I’ll—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I held up my hands. “Other client?”
“Reid.” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t have time for this. Of course I have other clients.”
“Who is he?” I didn’t mean to yell. Not really. But yell I did.
She smirked. “Why? Jealous?”
“No.” Yes.
“And what makes you think it’s a he?”
“Is it?” Say no. Just. Say. No.
“It’s Casey Carter.” She pulled out her cell while my entire line of vision went hazy with red.
“Casey Carter?” I repeated. “Casey ‘Can’t Keep It in His Pants’ Carter?”
“He keeps it in his pants just fine.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?” Her hip jutted out. I knew that look; I knew that stance. It would behoove men everywhere to memorize it so they recognized when it was time to stop talking and take cover.
“Just . . .” I took a few steps back. “Be careful with him. He’s British.”
“And that means what, exactly?”
“They, um, don’t . . . have the same . . . moral code.”
Jordan nodded mockingly. “You’re so right. I mean, those damn accents can only mean one thing. Sexual deviants. How could I be so blind? Tell you what, you can do this with your moral code talk.” She flipped me off, Italian style.
If I didn’t already like her, that would have sealed the deal.
It meant she didn’t give a shit.
Just another thing that made me like her more than I should. Wait, what? My arms started nervously itching. I did not do relationships—ever. The sooner she moved out of my apartment the sooner I could get back to being . . .
Lonely.
Shit.
I was screwed.
“Oh!” Jordan ran back toward me. “I forgot about Otis!”
“Otis is just fine.”
“Otis will pee all over your fancy apartment if you don’t take him out!” Her lower lip pouted. “Please?”
“What will you give me if I do?” Yes, I just went there.
“You know what—” She gripped her purse harder. “Fine, I’ll just be late. Forget about it.”
“Wait.” I held up my hand. “Fine, I’ll do it, but this isn’t a thing. I mean, we aren’t a thing.”
“What?”
“This . . .” My hands flailed in the air between us. “This can’t be a thing where we get all cozy and I take your dog for a crap in the park.”
Jordan looked heavenward. “It’s just a potty break, not an engagement announcement. I promise I’ll be out of your hair soon, all right?”
She stomped off.
And I was left feeling like a total ass. She was probably confused. Hell, I was confused. Things were getting muddled where our relationship was concerned. On one hand, I employed her. Yet I was living with her and fake seducing her, though at some point it had turned more and more real. I made a face and clenched my fists as her curvy ass made its way down the street. One minute I wanted to kiss her senseless, the next, kick her to the curb and lock my door. I needed to stop blurring the lines, both professionally and emotionally, or else things were about to get a lot worse.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
JORDAN
Casey’s bright white smile was so blinding I had no choice but to wear my sunglasses indoors. Our waitress nearly dropped her drinks after looking directly at him. Poor thing was probably going to have to wear a patch on the eye closest to him.
“So.” He cracked his knuckles. If his smile didn’t irritate me to death, it was going to be his cracking habit. “What’s going on, Jo-Jo?” Or the nickname. Crack, crack, crack. I inhaled slowly and counted to three before answering.
“You tell me.” I placed my phone on the table, screen up, and pointed to the picture of him kissing one stripper while another girl, stripper number two, was grabbing his man junk from behind. Empty champagne bottles were littered everywhere, along with drug paraphernalia, and the caption read, CARTER GOES OVER DEEP END AFTER BREAKUP WITH SUPERMODEL GIRLFRIEND.
Casey glanced at the screen, his green eyes narrowing before he rubbed the back of his neck and smirked. “Make love, not war, that’s what I always say.”
The grin was back full force.
I was immune to it.
Unfortunately for him.
It hadn’t always been like this. Casey was my very first client. Both of us had been trying to make names for ourselves. I poured everything I had into him. I’m pretty sure I didn’t sleep for an entire year. After his breakout role in a superhero franchise, he needed constant supervision. He wasn’t the type of celebrity that handled fame well, and the minute his name exploded he went from a friend who brought over Chinese takeout and texted me when I was having a rough day to jet-setting to the South of France and dating supermodels. He was one of the good ones—he’d made me adore my job—but the minute the money started pouring in, he changed right along with his bank account.
At the time, the changing friendship hurt, but I knew it was for the best. Our lives were going in completely different directions.