Page 25 of Reluctantly Yours

“Are you kidding? That was a disaster. I made no head way with Fred because you and Frankie talked the entire time.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was unaware I was supposed to help you in your business dealings.” Chloe’s arms spread wide and I’m momentarily distracted by her cleavage. “That makes perfect sense because I was unaware about anything for this ‘date.’ Next time you blackmail someone into being your date, maybe fill them in on the details. It would be helpful.”

Having summoned him earlier, Marcus pulls up at the curb.

“Forget it.” I yank the car door open. “I’ll take you home.”

She wraps her bare arms around her mid-section. “No thanks. I’ll order a ride share.”

“I can take you home,” I repeat.

“It’s fine.” She doesn’t bother to look at me while she types on her phone.

I blow out an exasperated breath. This woman frustrates the hell out of me, while also managing to make my dick as hard as stone. It’s a paradox I want nothing to do with, but I can’t let her shiver on the sidewalk. I remove my jacket and drape it over her shoulders.

“I’m fine. Really. I don’t need your jacket.”

She tries to shake it off, but I move out of her reach.

“Goodnight, Chloe,” I say as I climb into my car.

“All set, Mr. St. Clair?” Marcus asks.

“Please wait until Ms. Anderson’s car arrives,” I run my hand through my hair in frustration, “then we can go.”

“Yes, sir.”

As we idle there on the curb, I reflect on the evening again.

Chloe’s right. It wasn’t her fault that she was ill prepared, but the frustration of making no progress with Fred made me lash out. That and the fact that I’d been distracted by all the touching she’d been doing, with my encouragement, no less. Fuck. All I can hope is that we made a good impression with Fred and that he’ll be in contact. Hope is not a business strategy, but it’s where I’m at right now. As for the raging hard on I now have, I’ll have to take care of that later, and try not to think about the woman who caused it.

CHAPTER7

Chloe

Monday morning my stomach is in knots. At the coffee shop, it’s a debate between decaf and regular. My hands don’t need anything else making them jittery, yet the caffeine would come in handy for the fact that I haven’t slept well the past three nights.

I’ve seemingly checked all the boxes on the how to keep your boss from finding out that you hosted a bachelorette party at her apartment. I only served clear alcohol. Cleaned her apartment top to bottom. Fulfilled Barrett’s business dinner requirement to keep him silent on the matter. But I’m still beyond terrified that JoAnna knows and her first order of business this morning will be to fire me.

When I wasn’t thinking of a contingency plan for when JoAnna fires me, I was having dirty—I mean disturbing—thoughts about Barrett. Unwanted thoughts. I’ve chalked it up to our close proximity during dinner with Fred and Frankie. I used to have nightmares about snakes after a day at the zoo. It’s practically the same thing.

I’ve heard nothing from Barrett since I left the restaurant Saturday night. I didn’t expect to. Our arrangement is finished. The only reminder of the evening being the suit jacket he draped around my shoulders hanging on my clothing rack. Its large, dark silhouette looming over my much smaller, and more colorful wardrobe. I’ll have it couriered over to his office. It won’t be cheap, but it’ll be worth not having to see him again.

The elevator doors part and I breeze through the reception at St. Clair Press, waving to Lydia at the front desk as I walk by. I make my way down the hall, toward JoAnna’s office. The coffee tray in my hand starts shaking and I have to remind myself to breathe or I’m going to be wearing this coffee.

After another deep breath, I put on a confident smile and stride into her office. I really hope that JoAnna won’t be able to see the guilt on my face.

She’s there behind her desk with her attention focused on her computer.

“Good morning.” My voice comes out a bit squeaky, so I clear my throat in an effort to correct its high pitch. I set the coffee on her desk and step back.

She turns to look at me. “Good morning, Chloe. Thank you for the coffee.”

“Of course.” I nod. “How was your trip?”

“Productive. I don’t particularly enjoy LA but there’s only so much you can do with a phone call.”

“Totally. Okay, well, I’m going to—” I motion to leave, but she turns from her computer, settling her full attention on me.