Best Laid Plans - Robyn Kelly (red white and royal blue hardcover .txt) 📗
- Author: Robyn Kelly
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Book online «Best Laid Plans - Robyn Kelly (red white and royal blue hardcover .txt) 📗». Author Robyn Kelly
“I’ll meet your $10,000 a month. And I want a two-year contract.” His fork pile drives into the salad again. I know these salad plates. This line is popular with restaurants because they’re sturdy. I just don’t know if they’ve been tested against Jackson.
I pop a cucumber slice in my mouth while I think. Two years isn’t unreasonable, but a contract won’t let me quit if we can’t work together. “I’ll give you six months.”
“I’m afraid I have to be firm on the two years.” Once more, his fork rams into the salad. His table manners help me understand why he has to pay women to date him.
“That’s too long. Just today, one of the leading CEOs in San Francisco told me that I’m a remarkable event planner. You don’t want to lose me because your ego got in the way of negotiation, do you? I’ll give you nine months.”
He sets his fork down, and I check to see whether it’s bent. He reaches for his phone.
“Now who’s manipulating? You’ll give me a year, I’ll hire Robert, and I’m texting Bryan that you said…” He leaves the sentence open, for me to fill in the blank.
I sigh. It’s been a long day, and I hadn’t expected to be negotiating a job offer. I’m sure it will be exciting, and after the last year of scraping by I’ll be happy for a steady paycheck. If I was smart, I’d hold out for a sign-on bonus, but I just spent $150,000 of his money already this weekend. “Okay. Yes. He’s probably been checking his phone every five seconds. Put him out of his misery, and maybe we all can enjoy the rest of this evening.”
Jackson sends the text and then puts the phone away. When he picks up his salad fork, I tense. To my surprise, he doesn’t use it like a power tool, and we finish our salads in silence. The carver arrives and serves our entrée along with baked potatoes, creamed spinach, and corn bread. Jackson orders us a split of red wine, and I unwind over the lovely meal.
He asks about my start as an event planner. It’s not that exciting a story. How he became a billionaire is probably more interesting, but I tell him how I got into the business. He listens thoughtfully, and when I finish, he looks me in the eye.
“That’s very nice but I didn’t ask how you became an event planner. I asked why.”
Why? How do you answer that? “I just seem to have a talent for finding out what people want.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. I get a sense. Like your brother. Remember his face at dinner and then at the party? The party was what he wanted.”
“And you thought the dinner is what I wanted?”
No, I thought embarrassing me was what you wanted. Now I’m not so sure. “I didn’t know. You were out of town and all I had was a guest list and dinner menu from the party you were going to give him. I tried to give you both what you wanted. It just took two parties to do it.”
My plate is empty and I don’t even remember eating. It’s hard to concentrate on anything else when Jackson is around. My new boss. Is this a huge mistake? He’s right when he says the job will give me security. Financial security. It’s the most money I’ve ever made. It’s emotional security that I’m not so sure about. Something happens to me when I’m with this man. Everything gets magnified. I’m either very angry, very embarrassed, or very turned on. And right now, I’m not angry or embarrassed.
The waiter clears our table and brings two glasses of champagne.
“I thought we’d toast our new partnership.” He holds out one of the champagne flutes to me.
I take the other one, and bat my eyes. “A girl can’t be too careful.”
He laughs loud enough to make the tables next to us turn before raising his glass. “To a woman who knows what I want.”
I hesitate. I wish I knew what he wanted. There are some people I can’t predict. Like my husband and my mother. “I’m not sure I have that skill set. You’re a mystery to me.”
He looks disappointed, but smiles. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Around you, I’m a mystery to myself.”
He taps his glass against mine and we drink, his eyes never leaving me. He sets his glass down, places the napkin on the table, and holds out his hand.
“Now, let’s get you to bed.”
Jackson doesn’t speak the entire ride back to my apartment. He might be staring at me, but in the dark I only can see his face when we pass under a streetlight. I’m not going to stare at his face to see whether he’s staring at me because then he’ll think I’m the one staring and…I’m overthinking this.
I could break the silence, but what would I say? I don’t even know whether I want to invite him up or not. Now that he’s my boss, the fantasy of a one-night stand is shot to hell. I’m so lost in thought, trying to anticipate every scenario, I don’t notice we’ve arrived at my building until he opens the door and I hear the low rumble of his laugh.
“I can hear the gears turning, Jillian. I left something in your apartment, so you’re going to have to invite me up.”
He unlocks the front door with his key (I’m sure he did it on purpose to remind me who owns the building). In the elevator, I sneak a peek at his face, and he turns his head toward me. His expression seems to promise sensual delights, and I can’t look away. He’s so damn handsome, and he holds my gaze. I tremble.
“Cold?”
“Nervous.” Oh, not the right thing to say. “I mean, uh…”
He puts a hand against my face. “You are the most honest person I’ve met.”
“Well, I hate to disappoint you, but remember that quail?”
He puts his finger over my lips. “I don’t mean your words. It’s your face. You don’t have a poker face. Everything you’re feeling is written all over it.”
The elevator shudders to a stop at my floor, and I reach for my keys. He takes them from my hand and opens the apartment door. That’s the second time he’s taken keys out of my hand. He might think it’s gallant, but I find it annoying.
I walk past him and turn on the light. “What did you leave here?”
Jackson is still standing in the hallway. “I left a frightened, panicking female.”
It’s still embarrassing to think of, and my irritation evaporates. I push the shame out of my mind. “I hope my landlord doesn’t find out about you leaving women in my apartment.” I look around. “I think she’s gone.”
“Then you should invite me in.”
When did he become so formal? “Are you a vampire?” Isn’t that what Minerva called him—an emotional vampire? “You can’t cross a threshold without an invitation?”
“What was it you said earlier? ‘If I open this door, we are really going to do this.’ I need you to decide. Either invite me in or say good-night. It’s your choice, Jillian.”
Part of me wishes he would just come in and kiss me senseless and then ravish me. That’s not his style tonight. Still, I need to know a little more. “If I invite you in, what will happen?”
He raises his eyebrows and laughs, almost like a villain in an old James Bond film. “You want me to sell you on the idea of inviting me in?”
His lips curl into a sensual smile as he crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. The pose suits him—he looks like an ad for sex. “The first thing I’ll do is close the door. And lock it. There is a frightened, panicked female lose in the building, and I don’t want her coming back into this apartment.”
“Unpredictable people can be scary, but so are experienced people to the beginner.”
He tilts his head back. “I understand now. What I want to do is explore. I want to explore your body, I want to explore what turns you on, and I want to explore what makes your eyes roll back in your head. I want to know what makes you whimper, what makes you moan, and what makes you shout my name. I’m not a rapist. You can say no to me. But that doesn’t mean I won’t try to turn it into an ‘oh no,’ which means something else entirely.”
“You’re very persuasive.”
“I must be. I’ve turned myself on.” He straightens and drops his arms. “Invite me in.”
Despite every nagging doubt and fear, I hold out my hand. “Won’t you come in, Jackson?”
He saunters in, shuts the door, and locks it. He is a man of his word, but I wish he would hurry. He grabs my wrist, pulls me into his embrace, and pins me to the door.
“You’ve put me through hell this weekend.” His voice is low and gravely. “I have half a mind to rip your dress off and take you right here, right now. Hard and fast.”
His hand goes to the back of my head, and he presses my mouth to his. I respond with all the pent-up passion he has
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