Chapter 4
Ruby
Jaxon Cole is walking toward me like he owns the floor he’s stepping on. My stomach drops so fast it legitimately might still be in the elevator downstairs.
He looks even better in daylight. He’s wearing a suit cut to sin. His sleeves are rolled just enough to show the veiny forearms the Nasty Nine are actively drooling over through the windows. His jaw is sharp enough to slice morality clean in half.
And he’s smiling at me. Not a polite smile. Not a corporate smile. I remember the sounds you made last night, smile.
I want to faint, or combust, or teleport, or all of the above.
“Ruby,” he says when he reaches me, his voice warm enough to make my knees rethink their purpose.
I blink up at him, desperately hoping my face doesn’t betray the absolute meltdown happening inside my soul. “Jaxon. Hi. Hello. What… um… what are you doing here?”
Smooth, Ruby. Very smooth.
His eyes sweep over my face, visibly amused. “I had a meeting.” He pauses. “A very productive one.”
Great. Corporate dirty talk. I’m doomed.
“Well,” I say, clutching my folder so tightly the edges cut into my palm, “I hope it was… you know… productive. As you said. Productive. Yes.”
Jesus Christ.
Behind us, I hear Ava gasp like a starving woman watching dessert.
Jaxon’s smile tilts. “You left quickly this morning.”
I nearly died.
“I had work,” I blurt, too fast. “Deadlines. Responsibilities. You know journalism doesn’t sleep.”
His eyebrow lifts. “You didn’t wake me.”
“You were asleep,” I say, then immediately want to crawl into a ventilation system and live there forever. “And… I didn’t want to bother you.”
“Ruby.” His voice drops just enough to melt my spine. “You wouldn’t have bothered me.”
I forget how to breathe.
“Mr. Cole?” my editor calls from her office doorway, sounding urgent. “We’re ready for you now.”
He nods once, then refocuses on me. “We’ll pick this up later.”
“We won’t,” I whisper to myself without meaning to.
He steps closer; dangerously close, the kind of close that should come with an HR chaperone, and lowers his voice for my ears only. “We will.”
My heartbeat goes rogue.
He walks away, leaving me clutching my folder like a life raft, staring after him in horror, lust, confusion, and the tiniest bit of arousal I refuse to acknowledge.
The second he disappears into the glass conference room, the Nasty Nine stampede me like velociraptors who smell fresh gossip.
Ava, Sienna, and Trey surround me. Lana follows, but it looks like she’s reconsidering her entire degree.
“Ruby,” Ava says, hands on my shoulders. “Did you hear the news?”
“I…” I swallow. “I’m living the news.”
“He’s the new investor,” Sienna says with a grin big enough to break her face. “Fifty-one percent, he literally owns the magazine now.”
“He literally owns your orgasm,” Trey corrects, as if he’s reporting market data.
“Trey!” I hiss.
“What?” He shrugs. “Facts are facts.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Okay, everyone, listen. Whatever happened last night stays firmly in the past. This is now a professional environment. Very professional. Extremely professional.”
Ava snorts. “Honey, you’re standing here with post-sex hair and a glow that could power New York.”
“TONE IT DOWN,” I whisper-yell.
“He was looking at you like he wanted to bend you over the photocopier,” Sienna says thoughtfully.
“I’m going to pass out.”
“Do it after he signs the contracts,” Trey advises.
I inhale slowly. “None of you are helping.”
Lana pats my arm sympathetically. “You’re experiencing acute post-hookup anxiety mixed with workplace dread. It’s perfectly normal, and also extremely entertaining.”
“Fantastic,” I say flatly.
The conference room door opens. Jaxon steps out.
Everyone except Lana scatters like guilty criminals.
He approaches me again, slow and deliberate this time, as if he believes he is the safest person on earth for me to stand near, which is objectively false.
“Ruby,” he says, stopping in front of me. “I need to speak with you privately.”
My stomach flips. “About what?”
He looks directly into my eyes, and I feel the floor shift. “The interview,” he says. “The one you’re assigned to do.”
My body turns into static.
“You’re… Bachelor Seven?” I whisper.
His mouth curves like he’s been waiting for me to put the pieces together. “That’s me.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“You didn’t ask,” he murmurs.
I hate how hot that makes me feel. I hate that I like his voice. I hate that my body lights up every time he looks at me like I’m lingerie wrapped in a deadline.
“We should schedule it,” he continues, lowering his voice. “Soon.”
I grip my folder tighter. “Fine. But this is professional, strictly professional.”
He leans in a fraction; not touching me, not inappropriate, but close enough that my pulse trips over itself.
“Ruby,” he says quietly, “nothing about last night was professional.”
I stare at him.
He stares back, absolutely certain I’ll cave.
I am not caving. I am not melting. I am not going to let this insanely sexy billionaire derail my job.
“Fine,” I say, keeping my voice as steady as humanly possible. “We’ll do the interview, but that’s it.”
He studies my face for a long moment.
Then he murmurs, “If you say so.”
He walks away.
My legs immediately stop functioning. Ava appears from behind a plant like she’s part of a spy movie. “Soooo… how’d it go?”
I’m still staring at the space where Jaxon stood. “I’m in trouble.”
Ava grins as if Christmas came early. “Oh, honey. You’re in the BEST kind of trouble.”