Chapter 5
Let Them Eat Cake… Off Each Other
MARI
I’d established three ground rules for myself after the venue incident:
“Damn it,” I muttered, deleting the email I’d been trying to write for twenty minutes.
Every time I got to the phrase “firm position,” my brain derailed into X-rated territory faster than a teenager with unrestricted internet access.
The cursor blinked mockingly at me, like it knew exactly where my thoughts had wandered.
Our shared office space was mercifully empty this morning.
Hudson had a meeting with some stuffy friends of his father’s, giving me precious hours without his perfect posture and nosiness invading my personal space.
Without him straightening every paper clip within reach or realigning my stapler to be exactly parallel with the edge of my desk.
The man was a walking, talking organizational chart with biceps.
It’s why I’d bought a cheap blackboard from a dollar store, written “Rivals Not Welcome,” and hung it on the side of my desk. Apparently, he was illiterate.
It had been three days since The Kiss. That’s how I thought of it—capitalized, like a disaster movie.
THE KISS: COMING SOON TO DESTROY YOUR PROFESSIONAL REPUTATION AND POSSIBLY YOUR UNDERWEAR.
Starring my career aspirations as the doomed small town and Hudson’s tongue as the asteroid hurtling toward Earth.
My phone rang, and I lunged for it, grateful for the distraction from my increasingly graphic mental cinema.
“Mari Landry, Knot Your Average Wedding, how can I help you?”
“Mari, it’s Lia Martin. I hope I’m not interrupting?”
I sat up straighter, as if she could see me through the phone. “Not at all! What can I do for you?”
“Manny and I would like to schedule a cake tasting for tomorrow afternoon. Sweet Surrender Bakery at three? We’ve already confirmed with Hudson.”
Of course they had. I fought the urge to growl like a territorial chihuahua being approached by a well-groomed poodle.
“That sounds perfect,” I said instead. “I’ll be there.”
“Wonderful! We’re excited to see what you both think. Manny is particularly interested in your... chemistry.”
I choked on air. “Our what?”
“Your professional chemistry,” Lia clarified, though her tone suggested otherwise. “How you balance each other’s perspectives. It’s fascinating to watch.”
“Right. Professional. Chemistry. Got it.” As in the kind that blows up in your face if you mix the wrong elements.
After hanging up, I dropped my forehead onto my desk with a thud.
Tomorrow I’d have to sit across from Hudson, watching him eat cake without thinking about licking frosting off his abs.
Which I hadn’t seen since the night before the expo, but my imagination had helpfully filled in the blanks with vivid memories and a completely accurate rendering of chiseled perfection.
I was so screwed. Figuratively.
“Having a rough morning?”
I jerked upright so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash to find Hudson standing in the doorway, looking irritatingly perfect in a black suit that fit him like sin on Sunday. My body responded with immediate, traitorous interest, like a dog hearing the word “treat.”
“What are you doing here? I thought you had a meeting.” Smooth, Mari. Really smooth.
“It ended early.” He set his portfolio on his desk, which was, of course, meticulously organized compared to my creative chaos.
He actually pulled out a leather-bound planner and a fountain pen.
Who used those anymore? Pretentious assholes with perfect handwriting and forearms that flexed when they wrote, apparently. “The vendor wasn’t a good fit.”
“Couldn’t handle your control-freak tendencies?” I smiled sweetly. “Did they commit the unforgivable sin of using a paper clip instead of a binder clip?”
Hudson’s jaw twitched, the equivalent of a normal person throwing a tantrum. “They couldn’t meet my standards for the Kussikov-Martin engagement. There’s a difference between perfectionism and basic competence.”
He removed his suit jacket and hung it on the back of his chair, smoothing it once before sitting down. The movement stretched his shirt across his shoulders in a way that made my mouth go dry.
“Did Lia call you about tomorrow?” he asked, his green eyes flicking to mine.
“Yes. Cake tasting. Three o’clock.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
“To cake or to torturing me?”
His eyes met mine, and for a second, something flashed there that made my stomach flip. “Both.”
The air between us crackled with tension. This was exactly what I needed to address before we were trapped in a room with sugar and spice and everything that reminded me of how his tongue had felt against my neck.
“We need to talk,” I said, standing up.
Hudson raised an eyebrow. “That sounds ominous.”
“About what happened at the venue.”
He stilled, his expression carefully neutral, but I noticed his hand tighten almost imperceptibly around his fancy-pants pen. “What about it?”
“It can’t happen again.”
“You’ve made that clear.”
“Have I? Because you’re still looking at me like you’re mentally calculating how quickly you could clear my desk.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. Good. I wanted to rattle that perfect composure, to see the cracks in his control. It was perversely satisfying, like messing up a perfectly made bed.
“I assure you, Ms. Landry, I’m perfectly capable of maintaining professional boundaries.” His voice was cool, but there was a roughness at the edges that hadn’t been there before.
“Oh really? Is that why you had your hand up my dress three days ago?” I crossed my arms, hating how my body reacted to the memory, a flush of heat that started low in my belly and spread outward. “Is that why I’ve had to wear concealer on my neck like I’m hiding a teenage hickey?”
His eyes darkened as they dropped to the spot on my neck, now carefully covered. “You weren’t exactly pushing me away,” he countered, his voice dropping to that low register that did dangerous things to my resolve. “In fact, I distinctly remember you pulling me closer.”
“That’s not the point. The point is, we’re rivals. Competitors. We’re fighting for the same contract, and anything... physical... between us complicates that.”
“So you’re proposing...”
“Complete professional distance. No touching. No kissing. No... wall incidents. Professional like you said at the beginning.”
Hudson studied me for a long moment, his green eyes unreadable. “And if I disagree?”
My heart stuttered. “You don’t get to disagree. This isn’t a negotiation.”
“Everything’s a negotiation, Landry.” The way he said my name made me shiver. Like he tasted it. “But fine. I’ll respect your boundaries.”
“Good.”
“On one condition.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What condition?”
“You admit that what happened wasn’t just me.”
“Well, I remember you making the first move, and—”
“And you practically fucked me with your eyes. How else was I supposed to respond?” He took a step toward me. “Admit you’re attracted to me.”
“No. I’m not attracted to you.” Lie. “I was not fucking you with my eyes.” Lie. “And even if I did, you had no right to kiss me like that. We slept together once. There was an attraction, but not anymore.” Lie. “The sex was fine, but—”
“Phenomenal,” he corrected, and the hint of smugness in his voice made me want to strangle him. Or climb him like a tree. Maybe both.
“—but that changes nothing.”
“Why are you bothering to lie? We both know that what happened the night before the expo was—”
“A mistake!” I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated.
“Look, this contract is everything to me. It’s the difference between the Chicago expansion succeeding or failing.
My business partner is depending on me. I can’t risk that for a few orgasms, no matter how hypothetically mind-blowing they might be.
” Though the orgasm-to-risk ratio was getting more appealing by the second.
Especially when he looked me up and down like he wanted to go round two on top of my handy-dandy sign.
A little “fuck you” to my flimsy boundaries.
“Mrs. Burkhardt is depending on you?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. Anica believes in me.”
When he spoke next, I detected no sarcasm. “Of course she does. Did you get that loan from the bank?” His abrupt change in topics had me blinking several times, calming the fire he’d stoked within me.
“How did you—”
“We’re sharing an office, and I’m not as dense as you seem to think I am. Besides, it’s all in the way you tense up whenever funding is mentioned. How you calculate every expense down to the penny. The extra calls you take in the hallway.”
I sank back into my chair, deflated. Was I that transparent? “The bank put our loan on hold. They want proof we can succeed in the Chicago market before they’ll reconsider.”
“And the Kussikov-Martin wedding would be that proof.”
“Yes.”
Hudson was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “I understand.”
“You do?”
“Contrary to what you believe, I’m not completely heartless.” He returned to his desk, putting physical distance between us. “Professional boundaries it is.”
I exhaled, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I still intend to win this contract.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” I muttered, flipping him off with both hands when his back was turned.
“As we’ve said before, may the best planner win.” He glanced over his shoulder and gave me a small, tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes.