Page 98 of Manhattan State of Mind

“Hold on,” JP interjects, his voice slicing through the air. His hand intercepts mine as it reaches for the door handle. “You’ve given me the silent treatment for seventy minutes. Your face is practically stuck to the window. Before we get out of this car, you need to talk to me.”

All right, yeah, I’ve been giving him the cold shoulder. I’ve said more words to the driver.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I retort, fidgeting with my dress strap. “I was enjoying the scenery.”

He sighs, the sound echoing through the confines of the car. “Just say what’s on your mind. Out with it.”

“Nothing to out,” I snap.

“Lucy.” His voice is a husky drawl that sends a shiver down my spine. He might as well have been whispering sweet obscenities in my ear.

Insufferable man.

“Why did you kiss me?” I blurt.

His brown eyes shimmer with amusement. It’s both maddening and captivating at the same time. “Because I wanted to. Was that not clear enough?”

“Are you using me this week because we’re in the middle of nowhere and I’m handy?”

He sweeps his arm across the window, indicating the bustling Manhattan nightlife outside. “Take a look around. This is Manhattan, Lucy. I could’ve easily found a date for tonight. I wanted you here. When did I give you any other idea?”

“But…” I huff, frustrated. “You’re charming and all, but Matty has been filling me in on the hackathons. You’re a massive playboy.”

His face hardens, amusement extinguished. “Lucy, my past is exactly that—the past. Right now, it’s you that I’m here with, it’s you that I respect. All I want is to be a gentleman and give you a night to remember. So can we let that go and enjoy the evening?”

“Fine,” I grumble, “if you insist.”

JP exits the car with the assertive stride of a man who owns every inch of this city. Without missing a beat, he circles the vehicle to open my door. Meanwhile, I’m concentrating on not passing out.

As if on cue, a swarm of paparazzi swoops in, their cameras trained on JP.

He reaches out a hand to help me out, but my rebellious dress doesn’t afford much room for a smooth exit. I stumble out of the car, coming close to an intimate rendezvous with the tarmac before JP’s sturdy hand catches me.

He pulls me in so close that I can feel his body heat through my dress, sparking a thrill of desire. Bad news, considering I had to go commando up top in this dress. As if my nipples needed any further encouragement.

“Thank you,” I mutter, extricating myself from his hold.

I try not to trip over my own feet as he leads me up the grand stairwell. I spot at least three people I think are famous, maybe from one of those trashy reality TV shows.

JP’s hand finds mine, slipping into my palm as if he’s done it a hundred times before. He’s being recognized, I see the nods from corporate high-fliers, the obscenely rich, and the less discreet flirtations of C-list celebrities.

It’s hard not to get swept up in the adrenaline and the magic of it all. The whole place is a sensory circus: lights flash and twinkle from all directions, bouncing off chandeliers, walls, the sparklers in the drinks, and, not to be outdone, the nipple tassels of feisty burlesque dancers.

It’s like being at a modernGreat Gatsbyparty.

“Have you been here before?” JP asks me, a playful smirk dancing across his lips.

I must look like a total tool with all my wide-eyed gawking.

“Nope, not that I recall,” I say with a grin. “Remember, I’m IT? I’m usually locked away in the server room.”

Or that’s the joke, according to the rest of the company.

“Lucy, in that dress, you should never be locked away.”

Oh God. I attempt to thank him but my tongue has swelled to five times its size.

We ascend another stairway, approaching the main ballroom. That’s when the real stares begin.