Page 87 of Manhattan State of Mind

I shake my head, trying to play it cool. “No, no. I’m fine. Just a touch of an upset stomach.”

My racing pulse gives away the real culprit.

Oh fuck, and there he stands, in all his cocky arrogant glory.

The big, bad Wolfe who tasted my vulnerabilities in one powerful, stunning bite.

I hate the instant visceral reaction I have to him—a tug-of-war between dread and wanting to rip his clothes off.

He slouches lazily against the doorframe, his imposing six-three frame filling the space, and just like that, the room’s got this electric charge.

“Everyone settled in?” he drawls, his voice a low, resonant hum. “Got what you need?”

His eyes pin me as he says it, and I feel like I’m center stage under a blinding spotlight.

The room echoes with a chorus of “yep” as if anyone could dare to say otherwise.

“Excellent. That’s what I like to hear. Like I said, outside of work, take a dip in the pool, use the games room, spa, cinema room. Treat this place like it’s yours for the week.”

His eyes sparkle as he grins, a glint of amusement that sends my gaze diving to the carpet.

I find myself sinking even further into the couch, praying it could somehow swallow me up, and spit me out somewhere less embarrassing.

He saunters into the lounge like he owns the place, which to be fair, he does. He’s barefoot, but again, his territory, his rules.

“Now let’s talk business.” He switches gears effortlessly from casual seducer to the hard-edged tycoon bastard in an instant. He launches into a series of questions about our progress today. And just like that, he’s back in company owner mode, seemingly unaffected by our reckless bout of horniness in his hallway.

I wish I could recover as easily. It took me the best part of ten minutes to roll my tongue back into my mouth.

I have questions but I’m too flustered to ask. His demands are pretty high. He lures us into his world with paddleboarding and charm, only to land us with the weight of his grand ambitions. A cunning play, indeed.

“Understood,” Taylor concedes in answer to his demands, her eyes imploring us to follow her lead.

She smiles tightly, but I notice the subtle twitch in her throat. Perhaps under the bravado, Taylor is more anxious than she lets us believe.

No woman is an island and all that.

Is she worried JP might have her for lunch if we don’t deliver?

JP’s phone buzzes, and he steps out to answer.

For a stupid second, I wonder if it’s a woman on the other end, and an absurd wave of jealousy stings.

“Next he’ll want casinos on Mars,” Matty mutters under his breath, breaking the tense silence. “With robot dealers.”

The room fills with stifled laughter and hushed whispers.

Taylor lets out a huff and scribbles on her notepad. She looks really drained. How had I missed that before? Then again, I’ve been so wrapped up in my own little world since leaving the hospital.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow, Taylor?” I ask. “What time do you want us to start?”

She stops writing and blinks at me. “Oh, well… I guess if we’re to stand a chance of matching his expectations, we’d better be up and running by 7 a.m. I’m going to do yoga first.”

There’s an intake of breath.

“You kidding?” Brody groans.

“I’m serious,” she snaps.