26. Gray
Gray
I’ve been sitting at my desk, staring at the wall for almost an hour.
When I arrived at work this morning, I had a calendar full of meetings, but since the weekly ops meeting was cancelled before lunch, I’m sitting staring into space like an idiot.
The break is extremely unwelcome.
I’ve never been so shocked at my own naivete before. I had thought, at thirty-five, I could read people pretty well, but all of that went out the window when I saw Jax counting dollar bills like her life depended on it.
Jesus. Why did I think she wanted anything from me but my wallet?
I scowl at myself, glaring at my liquor cabinet, wondering if I could have a whiskey without everyone in the office smelling it on my breath this afternoon.
I knew it was just a job to her. Of course it was. So why can’t I get that image out of my head?
Rising, I walk to the window, looking down at New York beneath me, staring at the tiny dots skittering about on the sidewalk. My hand moves to the inner pocket of my jacket automatically, and I pull out the coin, flipping it through my fingers as I inhale a deep, cleansing breath.
I’m an idiot.
What do I really know about Jax in reality?
She could be fucking guys every night at the club she runs for all I know. My fingers curl against my palm as I grit my teeth. The idea of her being touched by another man is so abhorrent to me that I have to fight the urge to punch something.
She’s an escort, and I’m thinking of her as if she’s my property.
Isn’t she, though?
I try to dismiss the misogynistic thought, but it persists, lingering at the back of my mind. If she’s fucking anyone else, I should be allowed to kill them with my bare hands.
“Goddamn it,” I mutter into the glass, and turn around, pocketing the coin and heading to the door.
When I open it, the office is almost deserted, with most people already gone to lunch. There are a couple of people by the elevator, but no one else is nearby.
I turn to Jax, inventing something in my head that I can demand, just to make her day more difficult. This woman is a cocktease who wouldn’t even fuck me when I asked her to, despite me paying her for it. That’s clearly all she wants.
Then I look at her and find her asleep at her desk.
I stop dead in my tracks, staring at her. She’s still upright, but her eyes are very obviously closed. Her fingers rest against the keyboard, as if she’s attempting to type even while she’s asleep.
What the hell?
“Jacqueline!” I bark, noting the people in the distance turn at the sharpness of my voice.
She jolts awake, her eyes fluttering open as she focuses on me, and for a second, I feel a bolt of discomfort as sympathy rises within me. She must be exhausted if she’s falling asleep during work hours.
But that’s not what I pay her for.
“Get in here,” I snap, and walk back toward my desk.
I have several accounts I need to process, and I plan to have her complete them today. Usually, each one takes an hour to upload onto the system, and there are six. She’ll have to work late, and I get a perverse sense of satisfaction from knowing how pissed she’ll be.
She walks into the office, brushing at her cheek as she closes the door behind her. I look at her more closely, and her eyes are a little bloodshot.
“I need you to deal with these,” I say, thrusting the paperwork at her. “If you haven’t uploaded a new account before, then go and speak with someone on Devan’s team. It takes a while, and you’ll need multiple codes from accounts. I expect it to be done by the end of the day.”
She snatches the paper out of my hand, and I look up before I can stop myself. I had intended not to make eye contact. Every time I look into those beautiful, hazel eyes, my brain short-circuits, and I can’t help remembering how they looked as I shoved my dick inside her.
“All six?” she asks, her tone flat.
“All six. By the end of the day, if you can stay awake that long.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t pretend you weren’t sleeping on the job. If you want to keep it, you’ll have that done before my final meeting.”
“Are you being an asshole on purpose?”
I blink, glancing up at the fire in her eyes. I throw down my pen, rounding the desk and stand directly in front of her. She stays totally still, not even backing up half an inch.
“Stop spending all your time at a club at night, and maybe you’d be able to do a better job.”
“I haven’t had any complaints so far, Mr. Jones. In fact, all I’ve heard from you is intense approval.”
“Is that so?” I say as I crowd her, feeling the heat of her body against mine.
“You seemed pretty happy when you came inside me in your mother’s house, or was that just the euphoria talking?”
I walk into her, forcing her to step back until she hits the door.
“You keep your mouth shut,” I murmur, our lips brushing as she glares at me. “And do your fucking job.”
“That is my job, though, right? Fucking? Or is that what you have a problem with?”
Goddamn it, I’ve never been harder in my life.
“How much?” I growl.
“How much for what?”
“How much for another fuck, right now?”
“That depends. How much are you willing to pay?”
I put my hands on either side of her head. Her breathing is ragged, pupils blown, and I can tell we both need a release.
I run my nose over her neck, enjoying the little gasp she makes as the files in her hand drop to the floor. My hand skims below her waist, pushing between her legs as I hook my fingers in place as she groans.
My tongue travels up the vein of her neck, her fingers moving over my shoulders, clutching at me.
“How much to bend you over my desk and fuck the living daylights out of you, hm? I want the whole office to hear you screaming for me.”
I rub my fingers over her clit, as she moans for me, her head rolling back onto the door.
But then the same image comes roaring into my mind, the intensity in her gaze, the vigorous way she counted every bill with clinical precision.
I pull my hand away and step back. She blinks up at me, her red hair falling around her face, her lips parted, her eyes glistening and dark.
Fuck, I could take her right now, on every piece of furniture I own, and it wouldn’t be enough.
“Go home and get some sleep,” I say, surprising myself.
Her shoulders lower, tongue coming out to lick her lips. My cock pulses with desire, but none of this is real. For all I know, the need in her eyes is all for show.
“You just told me to do the accounts,” she says, glancing down at the floor at the files scattered all over the carpet.
“I know what I said. I’ve changed my mind. Go home.” I spin around, walking back to my desk.
“Are you firing me?”
Her voice is small, frightened, and I feel like a total piece of shit.
“No. Get some rest and come back tomorrow. I don’t want to find you sleeping on the job again or you’re out.”
The little derisive scoff from behind me is all I hear before the door opens and closes, and she’s gone.
Fuck.
I adjust myself through my pants, a wave of emotion flowing through me that I hardly recognize. I stare at the New York skyline as I fight the overwhelming urge to run after her.
Gray Jones, the CEO of one of the most successful businesses in the city, two seconds from sprinting after an escort and begging her forgiveness.
I scrub at my jaw with the back of my hand, beyond infuriated by the war between my head and my heart.
No. Not my heart. I’m not that stupid.
An obnoxious tune breaks through the haze of anger as I roll my eyes.
I only have one person in my contacts who triggers a sound from my cell phone, and that’s my mother.
I used to have it that way so that I wouldn’t miss a call from her.
Now, it’s so I can screen them and make it easier to ignore her.
I pull it out, staring at her name before I answer the call.
“Hi, Mom,” I say, going to sit behind my desk as the last of my erection fades to nothing.
“What are you doing?” she demands. No preamble. No greeting, just straight to the point. She never used to be like this.
“I’m at work.”
“And does that mean you can’t check your phone? Margaret told me you haven’t even texted Sarah.”
My brow furrows as I try to figure out what the hell she’s talking about.
“Who texted what?” I ask, forgetting who I’m speaking to. There is a long, weighted silence on the other end of the line.
“Don’t talk to me like that, Gray. I won’t stand for it.”
“Mom, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m sorry, I have to be in a meeting in three minutes.”
Has Jax left yet? Maybe I can catch her at the elevator and apologize.
“You have your date with Sarah tonight.”
The beginnings of a headache throb through my skull. “Mom,” I say patiently. “You just met my girlfriend yesterday.”
“Oh, Gray. Don’t play games. She isn’t good enough for you. Not by a long shot. She’s from Irving! Where did you drag her out from, the sewer? I’m not listening to any more of this nonsense. Sarah is a good choice for you—”
“Mom, Jax is—”
“Don’t interrupt. What kind of a name is ‘Jax’ anyway? Sarah’s father is Walter Foxham. He’s a big fish, just like you.”
I remember the name. An incredibly obnoxious man I met at a gala some months before, who had a woman on his arm less than half his age.
“Sarah is from a good family. Wealthy, but not too rich, sensible, intelligent. Educated.”
“Are you implying Jax isn’t educated?” I ask, my anger rising.
“I’d be surprised if she didn’t leave school at sixteen. It was an insult for you to bring her to my table for lunch, and I don’t even want to ask where you were after the meal. She’s pretty, I’ll admit, so have your fun and then get rid of her and focus on what matters.”
I lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. This scene has played out so many times in my life, and every time it happens, I convince myself next time will be different.
I’ve been here before. My mother has disliked most of my girlfriends in the past, and all of them have eventually grown sick of her attitude.
But Jax didn’t care. She stood up to her right from the start.
“I don’t want to go on this date, Mom,” I attempt.
“It’s at eight o’clock. I had Martin book Popolare. I know you like the food there, and it’s not far from where Sarah works. You’ll like her. Let me know how it goes.”
The line goes dead.
I hold the cell phone in my hand, resisting the urge to hurl the thing across the room. Rising, I walk to the door, opening it and half hoping that Jax didn’t take me for my word and that she’s sitting at her desk.
But her desk is empty. Tidy and empty, her chair neatly tucked beneath it. She’s even locked the files away in a drawer for tomorrow.
I miss her face.
The thought is so ludicrous that I close the office door again and lose the battle with myself, walking to the concealed liquor cabinet and pouring myself a whiskey.
To hell with what my team might think of me, I need a pick-me-up after this shit show of a day. And it sounds as if tonight isn’t going to be much better.
I scroll through my phone, anger rushing through me like a freight train as I find Pippa’s number. I should call her and tell her to get rid of Jax once and for all. This is becoming too convoluted, and I don’t need any more stress in my life.
Who knows, maybe Sarah will be perfect for me. I stare at the amber liquid in my glass, my shoulders tensing. And if Sarah really were perfect for me, how would I ever explain who Jax was? What woman who hoped to date me wouldn’t be bothered that I paid for sex?
Jax. A little voice in my head pipes up. Jax wouldn’t give a shit.
I throw my phone onto the couch, downing the whiskey in one scorching swallow, wincing as it burns down my throat.