Page 23 of My Office Rival (Keep Your Enemy Closer #2)

CYNTHIA

J ason flipped through my photos, and I fiddled with the label of my beer. His eyes darkened as he scanned. Why am I even showing him this? I was playing with fire.

He was being weird tonight. The intensity was back.

The relaxed person I had seen flashes of around the house was gone, and in his place was the guy I’d met that first night, the man I’d seen on conference calls and in our negotiations.

He was all hard edges and confidence. If I hadn’t known better, I would have called it swagger.

But Jason didn’t swagger. He cut through the world like a knife.

And in this bar, he’d changed from the man who teased me in his underwear to an alpha, someone you didn’t fuck with.

And man, it was hot. Even his cheekbones seemed sharper, his eyes hotter.

The white henley he wore, as what I could only assume was camouflage, highlighted his broad shoulders and his strong arms. His stubble was growing out and his had a wave to it after a day of freedom from the confines of the gel he normally used.

My dating profile said I liked finding new restaurants, traveling, going for walks around my neighborhood, and finding New York City’s best bagels.

Was I boring compared to him? Compared to the women he dated?

Was I just like every other law firm attorney with conventional hobbies and not enough free time to become a fully developed human?

“Long Island,” he said.

“What was that?” That’s all he has to say?

“Long Island. The best bagels aren’t in NYC, they’re on Long Island. In case you want to take that off your profile.”

I leaned over and grabbed the phone out of his hand. I had been expecting a reaction, indifference maybe? Or perhaps interest? Don’t kid yourself. Jason was hot and cold. Flirting with me around the house, looking at me with his bedroom eyes, and then dismissing me.

“Very funny. I don’t need to get into a bagel versus bagel debate with you right now,” I retorted.

He sipped his drink. I imagined shaking him to get some reaction.

“So, do you meet lots of men with the bagel line?” he asked.

“I meet enough.” Not giving you the pleasure, jerk.

“Seems like your profile isn’t totally you.” His eyes were too intent, and I looked down at my beer.

“What do you mean by that? Also, thanks for the honesty. Not.” I made a face.

“I don’t know, you’re just much…more. In person, I mean.” He waved his hand. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you? Your profile seems like the girl next door. But that’s not you. Well, unless the girl next door were a rabid shark.”

I burst out laughing. “Good thing I take ‘rabid shark’ as a compliment.” I shook my head.

“You’re pretty perceptive. But that’s what men want, right?

They want the girl next door. No one wants a corporate lawyer.

No one wants the woman making twice what they make.

Did you know I can regularly complete every Saturday and Sunday crossword when I put my mind to it?

” I said, even as alarm bells went off in my head.

Too honest. His eyes were wide. “See, and now you’re weirded out. ”

“You’re the perfect woman.” His voice was awed, and it pulled another laugh from me.

“To you, maybe, but to most bozos on these apps, the real me would have them running for the hills .

“And have they?” he asked.

“What?”

“Run for the hills?”

I barked a laugh. “Most definitely. When I didn’t kick them to the curb first.” His brows went up, in understanding I thought, not surprise.

“I tried dating seriously when I was a third year associate at the firm. The grind of late nights seemed like it might be getting better, or maybe I was getting more competent, and I thought it was the perfect time. I started dating a friend of a law school friend. It went well for a year or so, until the subtle digs started, about giving up my career, what we would do when we had kids. I confronted him and he was surprised that I was angry. Surprised. As if giving up everything I’d worked for was a no-brainer.

” I shook my head. The pain had dulled into anger, hardened into armor.

“Especially when I made three times what he did.” I shrugged and sipped the god-awful beer.

“And it’s been a repeat of that ever since.

So yeah, this profile gets me a date or a night with someone when I need it, but other than that, no, it’s not an honest representation of who I am.

In my experience, men aren’t looking for honesty, anyway. ”

He considered me, those blue, blue eyes taking me in, his long fingers wrapped around the sweating beer, until he lifted it to his mouth and sucked it down.

“Fuck them,” he finally said. I raised my brows. “Isn’t that what you told me to do about work? It’s good advice. Fuck them and their preconceived notions.” He leaned forward until his shoulders and his face filled my vision. “There’s someone out there who isn’t like that.”

My heart stuttered a little. He doesn’t mean himself, idiot. Why did I start this conversation? It was treading a dangerous line. He was way too handsome, saw me far too clearly for my comfort. And yet I was pretty sure if he gave me half a chance, I’d jump all over him. You never learn.

I stood in a rush, palms a little sweaty, nervous energy zinging through me.

I could not sit here across from him, serious, earnest, supporting me , when I knew the rest of the time he wanted nothing more than to crush me like a bug.

And why did that thought make the beer slosh strangely in my stomach?

“Want to play pool? I asked. Anything to get out of this conversation.

“Hell yes.” He grinned and unfolded himself from the booth. “Get ready to lose.”

I followed Jason to the pool table in the far back corner of the bar. “Do you know how to play?” he asked casually. Too casually?

“I have the general idea,” I responded and grabbed a pool stick.

I had no clue how to play, but I wasn’t about to let him know that.

Jason passed me a little green cube. What do I do with this?

He swiped it with practiced ease over the top of the cue, and I followed suit.

I eyed him. My body buzzed with nervous energy, but he was loose, confident, in his element. For the first time tonight.

“So, do you know how to play?” I asked.

“I have the general idea.” He threw my words back at me. “I’ll break if you want.”

He arranged the balls in the wooden triangle and carefully lifted it away. In one motion, he leaned over, slid the cue against his hand, and smoothly broke. A striped ball thunked into the pocket, and he looked up, smirking. I’m in trouble.

“ Did you say you’ve played before?” I narrowed my eyes at him. He was too good. Too good and too hot. That casual confidence, even that smug look on his face. It had my stomach twisting, desire thrumming through my veins.

“I didn’t.” He winked at me and took another shot, sinking the ball easily, then another. And another. He missed the fifth and turned to me with a smug look. “Your turn.”

“Stop gloating,” I grumbled. I leaned awkwardly over the table. The cue was too heavy. The table dug into my hips. “I’ve never played before and I hate to lose, so this should be fun.” I fumbled the cue, nearly dropped it, and sighed. “Got any tips?”

His brows rose.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh all you want.”

“You’ve never asked me for help before. Well, except when you begged me to let you stay in the house.” His eyes laughed at me, that soft mouth tilted up. Of course, he wouldn’t forget that.

“I wouldn’t call that begging,” I said.

“It sounded like begging to me.”

Damn, that stupid smirk. I was going to wipe it off his face. “No, begging is more like, oh, Jason, please, harder. ” I moaned the words. Mistake. They felt too right on my tongue and sent sparks shooting through me.

His whole body went taut. His hand clenched on the cue so hard I thought it might break.

His eyes devoured me, each look a physical caress.

I thought the leash on his control might break, that he might pin me to the wall.

On your knees like a good girl. Suddenly, I wanted that so badly I thought I might snap too, might melt into a puddle.

My legs trembled. He gave me one more searing glance, then grabbed his beer and downed it in two fast gulps.