Chapter 7
Ruby
I’m not going.
I repeat this to myself like a mantra as I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
I’m not going. I’m not going. I’m… okay, wow, that top is actually really cute.
I glare at the traitorous reflection because apparently my body didn’t get the memo. My cheeks are flushed, and my hair looks shinier than usual. And my lips? They’re red, glossy, and treacherous.
I lean closer to the mirror. Don’t you dare look like you’re excited.
My reflection arches an eyebrow at me like I’m the problem. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to breathe.
Ruby, this is not a date. This is not anything. This is a follow-up interview. It’s very professional, with zero sexual tension. Zero risk. Zero… anything.
My phone buzzes.
Ava:
SEXY SELFIE NOW OR I’M brEAKING IN
I hate my friends.
I grab my phone and type back:
Me:
It’s not a date.
It’s a meeting.
Ava:
Meetings don’t require lip gloss, babe.
Me:
IT’S LONG-LASTING.
FOR WORK.
SCIENCE.
I lock my phone and shove it in my bag before anyone else can bully me through the screen.
I pull on my jacket, straighten my skirt, and fix my blouse.
I’m not going.
I take three steps toward the elevator.
I’m still not going.
I press the elevator button.
I’m definitely not going.
The elevator doors slide open.
…Okay, maybe I’m going for a little while.
I step in, riding down to the lobby as my pulse tap-dances in my throat.
“This is a bad idea,” I mutter as I walk out of the building. “It’s a terrible idea. Catastrophic even.”
The café is right across the street. I can see him through the window, sitting at a corner table, his jacket off, his sleeves rolled up again, and he’s reading something on his phone like he didn’t just level my entire career with one night and one look.
He looks relaxed and comfortable, like he expected me to show up.
I pause at the curb and breathe in the cold air, trying to force clarity into my skull. He’s a billionaire, and he’s my boss. He’s supposed to be an interview subject, not a man I keep remembering with my hands shaking and my thighs pressed tightly together.
I can still feel the weight of him on me; I can feel the way he held me tightly. The way he…
No.
Stop.
Focus.
I square my shoulders and cross the street, hating how my stomach flips when he looks up and sees me through the window.
His lips tilt into a slow, warm smile.
Damn it.
He stands when I walk in, because of course he does. Of course, he has manners, and of course, he looks at me like I’m someone he shouldn’t touch but fully intends to.
“Ruby,” he says softly, pulling out the chair across from him. “You came.”
I sit down before my legs betray me. “It’s not a big deal.”
“It is to me,” he says, his voice low.
My breath stumbles. “It’s just a follow-up interview.”
“Mhm.” He watches me too closely. “Let’s call it that.”
The server appears, and he doesn’t look away from me once as he orders two coffees like he’s memorized my drink already. He probably has, and I hate that I like that.
When the server leaves, he leans in slightly. “Are you nervous?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
I glare at him. “You can’t call me a liar.”
“You lied,” he says calmly.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re adorable when you’re flustered.”
I grip my pen like a lifeline. “Okay, let’s just… do this. The interview, questions, answers, and zero flirting.”
He rests his chin on his hand and smiles. “You can flirt if you want.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You do,” he murmurs.
I nearly choke on air.
“You’re insufferable,” I whisper.
“And you’re beautiful.”
Heat floods my chest, my cheeks, my entire existence. Why does he say things like that in that voice? Why does he sit like that? Why does he smell so…?
No, I need to focus.
I click my pen. “Fine, so here’s a serious question. Why are you part of the Ten Sexiest Men feature?”
“Because I agreed to be,” he says simply.
“Yes, but why? You don’t seem like the type.”
“What type is that?”
“Showy and attention-seeking,” I say, watching for his reaction.
His smile deepens. “I only want attention from one woman.”
My breath hitches. “Jaxon.”
“Yes?”
“Stop.”
“No.”
“This isn’t fair.” I can feel the flush rushing into my cheeks. I’m getting hotter the more I stare at him.
“That’s not a complaint,” he says quietly. “That’s admission.”
I go very still.
His voice softens. “Look at me.”
I do. And I wish I hadn’t. His eyes are warm, dark, and hungry. They’re not predatory, more intentional, purposeful. He looks like he’s already decided what he wants.
“Ruby,” he says slowly, “I want more than one night.”
“That’s not possible.”
“It is.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“It will be,” he says, like that choice is already made.
“I’m serious,” I whisper. “It can’t happen again.”
He leans closer. “Why not?”
“Because you’re my boss.”
“I wasn’t last night.”
“That was different.”
“That was the real us.”
I swallow hard. “You’re too confident.”
“I’m confident,” he says, “because I remember how you sounded when I touched you.”
My thighs clamp together under the table.
He notices, of course, he notices.
His voice drops, velvet and wicked. “I remember every sound, Ruby. Every gasp, every moan, and every time you begged for…”
“Stop talking,” I whisper, cutting him off before the barista dies of embarrassment.
He smiles slowly. “Then answer my question.”
“What question?”
“Do you regret it?”
I hesitate.
He waits.
And then, because I can’t lie to him the way I lie to myself, I whisper….
“No.”
His entire expression shifts; heat, satisfaction, something dangerous and intimate flickers through his eyes like a match being struck.
“Good,” he says.
Because I needed to hear you say it.
He doesn’t say the words out loud.
He doesn’t need to.
The coffee arrives.
Neither of us touches it.
He leans back in his chair, relaxed, certain, sinfully satisfied.
“Now,” he says, “ask your next question.”
I clear my throat. “Okay. Fine. Next question. What’s your biggest flaw?”
He stares at me, unblinking, unapologetic.
“I don’t give up,” he says.
“Not on anything I want.”
My pulse skitters.
“And you?” he adds. “What’s your biggest flaw?”
I open my mouth.
Nothing comes out.
He smiles.
“Exactly.”