Page 25 of The Arrangement

“If you need me to attend tomorrow's meeting in your place, I can,” I say. “I don’t have anything that can’t be moved.”

“Are you sure you don’t have any personal calls about Friday that you might miss?”

I laugh, my face flushing. “Are we still discussing this?”

He stops on the other side of the oversized table and plants both palms against the stone. He levels his sights on me.

Something is brewing behind those gorgeous green eyes. Whatever it is, it’s causing a storm to roll across his features. The intensity in his gaze makes me shiver.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask, keeping my attention pinned on him.

“You signed an NDA to work here, Miss Goodman.”

“Yeah.” I make a face at him. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, if you’re dating someone new, I need to be sure you’re not dating a competitor. Could be a conflict of interest.”

My chest shakes as I try to hold back laughter. “He’s not new.”

“Oh, really?”

“And he’s not a competitor, so no worries there.”

“You never know someone’s connections.”

He’s prodding, and it’s obvious. It’s also … interesting. We’ve had discussions before about dating—mostly that neither of us date much. But he’s never been so insistent on getting details.

Even though he’s digging in an area that doesn’t concern him, and I’d be pissed as hell if my former bosses acted this way, I don’t mind. Maybe it’s because our relationship is more personal than professional.

Or maybe it’s because the twinkle in his eyes makes my heart skip a beat.

“What are we going to do?” I ask, placing my hands on the table and mirroring his posture. “Are we going to stand here until I break it all down for you?”

“Depends on how long it takes.”

“Might take all day.”

He drops a shoulder and tilts his head as if I’m deliberately being difficult and he doesn’t understand why.

“Who is he?” he asks.

“Do you really want to know?”

“How do you know this guy? How do you know he’s going to be nice to you? Is he safe?”

I sigh, rolling my eyes in frustration. “He’s my grandmother’s neighbor’s grandson. He’s an EMT if it matters. He has no interest in you or your business.” I can’t help myself. “He’s only interested in saving lives and giving people mouth-to-mouth.”

Jason’s eyes blaze.

I’ve hit a nerve. Unintentionally, I’ve struck a chord—one that I believe will have consequences. And by the heat radiating off him, I’m not sure what those consequences may be.

Or what I want them to be.

“Is that what you want?” he asks carefully.

We’re treading into new territory, and every sentence intensifies the tension in the room. My dress clings to my body, stuck to my skin by a sheen of sweat, and my palms slide along the cool stone of the table. The weight of his gaze makes me feel powerful—beautiful—and it’s heady.

“Well, ithasbeen a while,” I say, leaning forward. “Thomas is the perfect candidate to give me what I need.”