Hold Me - Anne Marsh Page 0,2
scoots out of Jax’s shadow. “Peony, this is—”
“Jax Valentine,” I say.
“Your big bastard boss,” he growls as he steps into the library. He follows this up with a snarled, “Out.”
While I’m not sure he means me, carpe diem, right? I bounce out of my seat, almost colliding with Josie, who’s making her own mad dash for the door. She scoots around Jax and then hightails it into the stairwell, followed by the studio VP and the rest of the power entourage. Jax promptly shifts until he’s blocking the door. A muscle in his jaw flexes.
Is he going to tell them we’ve hooked up and that I broke up with him? God, if I’d known he’d be my boss someday, I wouldn’t have gone near him, let alone dropped my panties.
He reaches behind him and shuts the door. Firmly.
I go back to my desk and start packing up.
“So, you’re a billionaire,” I say too brightly. “And a businessman. I’m not sure how this didn’t come up in conversation before, but it’s going to take me some time to process that you’re not a normal person like the rest of us.”
There’s a moment of tense silence during which I shove the bobblehead Dewey into my purse.
“Peony.” He really, really doesn’t sound happy.
“I’ll email my letter of resignation by the end of the day.” I sweep my phone into my purse then drop down into my chair so I can turn my drawers inside out. “Or I can send it from the train. If the WiFi is working and I’m not stuck in a tunnel. Either way, you’ll have it and—”
“Firefly.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You quit too much.”
He’s not wrong, but I’m smart enough not to agree.
“You ran out on me,” he says more gently. “You left a goddamned Post-it note on my kitchen counter. Then you changed your number and moved. I couldn’t get in touch with you.”
“I didn’t think you’d care. We were just a summer thing. Why would you want to talk with me?”
“We still had things to say to each other. I had things to say since I didn’t get to write a note of my own. Finding you here is a surprise.” He comes over and leans against the edge of my desk. Brown eyes the color of chocolate examine my face. I let him look. It’s not as if I can stop him.
His knees bump mine.
“So you’re not a superstalker. Good to know.” I reach out and tap the encroaching knees. “You’re in my personal space, big guy. Pretty sure that’s an HR violation.”
“Am I doing anything you don’t want me to do, Firefly?” His voice is low and confident. The way he says my nickname—part groan, part greedy whisper—is familiar. He knows things about me. He learned all my tells during our summer, so I’m certain he’s caught the hitch in my breathing.
Touching him is a mistake. The simple contact of my fingers lightly brushing his knees reminds me of how hard and warm he is. When I’m with him, I feel safe. I stroke the soft fabric of his suit pants over and over.
You can’t sleep with your boss.
Remember what happened last time. And the time before that!
Jax and I had only been together anyhow because we’d met at a Napa Valley sex party where he rescued me from my then-boss. Apparently, boss dating was about to become a pattern and I just hadn’t known it. Stupidly, I’d thought attending the exclusive event would be fun or glamorous. I’d never done something like that before, so when the invitation had mysteriously arrived, I’d thought Be bold! And I’d gone.
It turns out that sex parties are highly overrated. They’re also disproportionately full of assholes who don’t understand simple concepts like no and fuck off.
“Peony. I can’t do this.” Jax makes a rough sound. I remove my fingers from his knee. God, where is my brain? “We need to talk.”
“I don’t particularly want to.”
“You have two choices.” His face is tight and controlled as he leans down so I look him in the eye. I have no problem believing that this man dismantles companies for fun. “We talk now or you can meet me after work tonight for dinner.”
“Pass.”
“Choose.” His voice has that note of command again. A note I’ve only heard before in bed.
“Do you have an evil twin?”
“Pick, or I’ll start our conversation now.”
“What can you possibly want to talk about?”
He looks me in the eye. “Our marriage.”
“That was a game.”
“No.”