12. Jess
When I heard that Sean had arrived, I reacted without thinking. Ultimately, it was the right thing to do.
Thank goodness he’s so quick-witted and played his role as my fiancé to perfection. That kiss—okay, more like a peck—was purely accidental (thanks, cosmic energies!), and, believe it or not, it ended up playing out perfectly.
In no way could I let Richard think I was sitting around, all depressed, still pining after him while he looked better than ever, all smug and mighty. He didn’t even try to conceal the fact he’s the most successful hotelier on the planet—conceitedprick—and most likely privately incredibly happy too.
Sure, my initial instinct was to kick him out, but that’s something young Jess would have done. Behaving emotionally like that would only boost his stupid ego, letting him believe I still had feelings for him. I don’t. Not anymore.
The other reason I gave Richard a few minutes was my curiosity about the offer he wanted to present, and honestly, the deep satisfaction of telling him to screw off, no matter what he offered. It felt fantastic to say no.
My fake engagement was the cherry on top. Richard and his “un-refusable offer” were out of there like a bullet.
Ha!
Fuck you very much!
But now, there’s this charity event I must attend with my new fake fiancé. Skipping it would raise suspicions.
I sit, thinking about Sean’s offer.
I think of sitting on a beach, slurping some colorful ice-cold concoction.
One never knows how the economy will turn. Right now, we’re making a little profit and keeping up with expenses—but that could easily change. I’m aware I’m very much in a David and Goliath situation. That doesn’t mean I’m not gonna put up a fight, if necessary, but I know I have to think about what would be better for the business in the long run. And mostly, what would be best for my staff.
In the late afternoon, once Sean has left for Blackwood, I call Norman and tell him that Sean wants to buy me out.
“I was afraid of that,” he admits. It sounds like there is wind and waves in the background.
“You were? Geez, thanks, Norman.”
“Which is why I made it a point to tell him that you won’t sell.”
I lay out the pros and cons, tell him that I’m not a fan of the idea of being beholden to anyone, let alone Mr. Blackwood and a faceless board I haven’t met.
“I don’t envy you having to make that decision,” Norman says after listening carefully. “If he offers you what he offered me, you’d recoup twice your life savings you invested. But keep in mind that Sean Blackwood is a very smart and incredibly powerful man. He didn’t get to where he is by making emotional decisions. So, if you decide to sell and stay, don’t let your heart sway you when dealing with him. I don’t wanna see you get hurt again.”
Norman knows how shattered I was when my ex dumped me and robbed me of my dream. It’s his way of subtly cautioning me to not fall for Sean Blackwood, not lose my heart to him, not to repeat my past.
“I appreciate that,” I say confidently, “but you don’t have to worry about me. He’s a CEO. He has a VIP seat in the ‘Above All, No Way!’ section. Besides, any feelings, emotional or physical, are long gone.”
When I get home in the late evening, before even stepping foot in my apartment, I stop at Sean’s door. Having made my decision, I want to start the morning off with a clean slate and a clear direction on where we’re going.
I knock on his door.
It takes him a second to open. When he does, I have a brief déjà vu of him being stark naked—and I have to squeeze my legs together at the memory—but alas, he’s not (dang it).
Instead, I get the sense he’s just gotten home.
His suit jacket is gone, as is his tie. The sleeves of his crisp white shirt are rolled up past his strong, manly elbows and the top three buttons have been undone, revealing just the barest hint of chest hair and a tattoo. I try not to stare. Try not to think about him rolling those sleeves up over his muscular, tattooed arms (a geometric design spreading across his shoulders and chest) as he walks toward me, a hungry, smoldering look in his eyes. My body reacts instantly, and I involuntarily clench around nothing, thinking of his thick fingers.
No. Nope.
Wrong time and wrong place.
Also, wrong person. He’s not that same stranger from the bar.
He’s the man who’s more than off limits, and in more ways than one.
An elegant African American woman emerges from his apartment, walking toward the front door. She wears an expensive outfit, and her makeup is flawless. A wave of “oh, no” hits me.
Who is she?
An intense feeling of jealousy almost overwhelms me as I stare at her. Oh, my green monster is fierce!
Is that his girlfriend? Did I just interrupt something?
It’s only her clothing style that hints at her age. With that smooth skin of hers, she could well be in her late thirties. Sean, he’s likely somewhere in his early forties.
By the looks of her, she takes good care of herself. Unlike me, she has not one extra pound on her. Is that his type?
When she walks past him, she touches his arm, saying, “The copies are on your desk, Mr. Blackwood.”
“Thanks, Jasmine.” Sean goes to introduce me to his PA, Jasmine Williams, and from the conversation with the beautiful, lively woman, I gather that she only dropped by to obtain his signature for an urgent business deal that came through shortly after he’d left the office.
Thank goodness.
Relief washes over me as she walks toward the elevator. Not that I care whether he has a girlfriend or not.
We’re strictly business.
“You’re really making this a habit,” he says once the elevator door closes, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. “I don’t know whether to be concerned or flattered.”
“Neither. I just wanted to let you know that I accept your offer. The one about working together, not the one about selling,” I quickly add. “Not right now at least.”
He raises his eyebrow but remains silent.
“Well, see,” I continue, “I appreciate your proposal, and I’m open to exploring this option. But here’s what I suggest: instead of an immediate sale, let’s have a trial period where I join your team as an employee. This will allow both of us to assess how well this arrangement fits.”
Sean studies me carefully for a moment. “Go on.”
“Ninety days. That’s the trial period I suggest. If, at the end of these ninety days, things go smoothly, I’m willing to commit to becoming a long-term, dedicated employee within your organization, and I’ll proceed with selling my shares to you—after re-negotiating your offer, that is.”
The firm lines of his lips turn up at the corners. “Fourteen days. Let’s do fourteen days. Some wars have been shorter than ninety days.”
“Well, this isn’t war.” Or is it? “Sixty days,” I counter.
He remains firm. “Fourteen days. It’s the perfect adaptation time frame to introduce the transitional changes.”
“Let’s not jump the gun. We might need more days to adjust. Let’s do forty.”
“Fourteen.”
“Jesus, Sean! Don’t be such a stubborn mule. Give me at least a month.”
I bet nobody has ever dared to sass him like that during business negotiations. His mouth curves almost into a smile, and his expression mirrors a silent “look who’s talking.”
“One month,” I repeat, poking his chest. Surprisingly, he lets out a growly chuckle. Since when does the man chuckle?
“Done,” he agrees, and we shake on it.
His grip is firm, and a tingling sensation runs through my body as his hand envelops mine, akin to a subtle electric current. He holds on for a moment, and then he lets go, sealing the agreement.
Despite my satisfaction, I get a sense that I made it way too easy for him.
The idea of Sean being my boss still doesn’t sit well with me, at least not yet, and even less so with a significantly shorter trial period, but hey, I can deal.
“Perfect,” I tell him, disregarding the fact he not only halved my suggestion but reduced it by a third. Nevertheless, it could have been an outright refusal. A month is preferable to a flat-out rejection.
“I believe this approach will provide a fair opportunity,” I continue, “for both of us to make an informed decision about our future partnership. You may have your company’s best interests at heart, but I have my staff’s. And that’s always going to come first over corporate necessity.”
“You make it sound like we’re some random faceless organization trying to bend everything to our will.”
“Aren’t you?” I mean it as a joke, something to break the tension. (By that, I mean the tension in me. He looks calm as a cucumber.)
“Allow me to clarify: I am also genuinely concerned about the well-being and best interests of the staff,” he assures me.
“I mean it, Sean. You can’t meddle in my role as a director.”
He nods. “I won’t interfere in your responsibilities. We’ll work together to put Blackwood’s strategies into action, and it will be your duty to implement them.”
“Naturally, our relationship will remain strictly professional,” I continue to recap, keeping it professional. “We work on a smooth transition, and in two weeks, we attend the charity event together.”
“I act as your fake fiancé in front of Richard.”
“Yes,” I say. “After the month is over, we’re free to date again.”
Sean nods. “If he asks, I’ll tell him you broke it off because you met someone else.”
“Good idea,” I admit. “If we’re compatible as business partners, I’ll sell my shares.”
“I’m sure we’re compatible.”
I blink, ignoring the way he said it.
“Your reassurance is noted,” I tell him. “However, let me be honest. The likelihood of me selling my shares by the end of the month is miniscule at best. Don’t assume it’s in the bag, because it is not.”
“All I want is a fair shot.”
“A fair shot it is, no more, no less. Let’s see where it takes us. We’ll need everything in writing to make it official of course,” I insist with a winner’s smile.
“Sure thing,” he says. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll have our legal team draft the necessary agreements to formalize this process. Besides, I’ve worked in hospitality my whole life. I’ve been where you are, and I think you’ll find I’m very reasonable.”
“You’ve proven that by offering a compromise and agreeing to mine. Don’t make me regret trusting you.”
“I’m not one for regrets.”
Something in the way he says that gives me pause. I see him standing there relaxed and at ease, so very different from how he is while we’re working. That damn night at the bar tugs at the back of my memories, and for the briefest moment, I feel that heat simmer below the surface. My eyes stray to his lips. His beautiful, full, masculine lips. The ones I felt on mine for one too-short second. It would be so easy to lean in, to feel the press of that mouth to mine and really indulge. My thighs clench harder.
Is he a good kisser, I wonder?
Clearly, he’s not.
That’s probably why he refrained from kissing me at the bar. It’s likely he’s out of practice, and, if I had to guess, not particularly skilled either.
“Other than that,” I say, “we will be strictly professional, no funny business.”
“We already agreed on that. Wouldn’t even cross my mind.”
What a jerk.
“I was just making sure. I’ll see you in the morning then,” I say before my eyes have a chance to land on his lips again, backing away in the direction of my apartment. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
He closes the door, and I step into my place, leaning against the wall as I will my thumping heart to slow down. In his cage, Pippin cocks his head and squawks at me, almost as if to suggest, “Dun-dun-dun-dun! Kiss him!”
“Not now, not tomorrow, not ever, you little matchmaker!”
Then I remember. Darn it. I forgot to retrieve my panties. Again.