Chapter Two
Jo’s grandma had taught her many things.
How to read when she was four, how to sew on a button when she was seven.
On Jo’s eleventh birthday, she’d shared her famous blue-ribbon prize-winning pecan pie recipe and given Jo her first lesson in baking.
A month later, when Jo got her first period, Grandma Hayes had warned her to protect her virtue and beware of beautiful men.
“They’ll smooth talk you out of your panties and out of your dreams, then leave you with a broken heart and a babe in your belly. Just like that daddy of yours did to your mama.”
Avery Preston was beautiful—a dream stealer with coal-black hair that flirted over one eyebrow, brown eyes as rich as dark chocolate fudge, and full lips that promised to taste just as sweet. The jury was still out on the smooth-talking part. So far, all she’d heard was cliché and cocksure.
That hadn’t stopped the tickle in her belly when he’d shoved her in the van and slammed her against the cabinets. Or the rapid beat of her heart now, as he stood there, all long and lean and sculpted muscle beneath that designer suit, waiting for her to respond.
To what? Did he just asked me out?
No, he said need. Not want.
What difference did it make? She was not dating this man-child, this savory morsel of temptation with a capital T that spelled trouble. She could hear her grandma’s whisper, “That flutter in your tummy’ll lead to the flutter of a wee one.”
Grandma didn’t trust men, and neither did Jo…anymore. Twice, she’d tried. Twice, she’d failed. Or rather, they’d failed her. Now, her grandma’s whispers and the callused scars on her heart were her armor.
Slipping back into its protective shell, she shook her head. “I’m not interested in your needs.”
“Then let’s talk about yours,” he said, angling his head toward Giselle’s van. “Your patisserie? I can help you get it.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks. So that’s what he’d meant about making her dreams come true.
Dreams not fantasies. He’d piqued her curiosity in both, and that was scary.
Dreams were safe. Fantasies were dangerous.
She hadn’t felt that sexual pull in a long time.
That alone should have her running for the hills.
On the other hand, she’d been saving for almost a year and had only put away a drop in the bucket of what she needed. What could it hurt to hear him out?
Jo squashed the hormones running roughshod over good sense. “I’m listening. Make it fast.”
“I need a date,” he repeated. “Well, not really a date. I’m thinking more along the lines of a plus one with the appearance of a date.”
“Fake dating?” This sounded like one of the books Brooke had left lying around in their apartment and had disaster written all over it.
“Yes,” he said, turning up the wattage of a smile that sent goosebumps rippling along her skin. “I would pay you. Per event.” Excitement danced in his eyes as he took a step toward her and swung an arm to encompass the country club. “And believe me, I go to a lot of these things.”
How much? The question stalled at the tip of her tongue, her mouth going dry, both at his nearness and the scent of his citrusy cologne swirling around her. He was oozing that charm again.
“I don’t have time for dating, fake or otherwise.
” She’d meant the retort to come out with a sharp and resounding fuck-you tone.
Instead, it sounded as if she regretted not having the time to spare.
As if her career was insignificant, when it was really the only thing that drove her, the only thing she allowed herself to think about.
“We can work out the details.” He waved a hand, dismissing her concerns as insignificant.
“They’ll steal your dreams, convince you to give up what’s important to you until you’re nothing but a ghost of who you used to be…who you wanted to be.”
With an inward sigh, she shook her head. “Thanks, but no. I’m not interested. In you or your proposition.”
Ignoring the disappointment flashing in his eyes, she turned to go. Giselle was probably looking for her and would dock her pay if she didn’t get back to work.
Still, she couldn’t resist one last barb, if only to convince herself she was immune to the lure of a hot-as-fuck bad boy like Avery Preston. “Maybe you’ll have better luck convincing What’s Her Name. If you can remember it.”
Gravel crunched behind her, his steps unhurried, his chuckle mocking. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”
“Don’t hold your breath.” But regret for the lost opportunity tightened her chest as she entered the crowded ballroom and threaded her way toward the dessert tables, leaving him and his crazy but lucrative offer behind.
Viv was plating apple rose puffs and mini lemon tarts when Jo slipped behind the dessert table. “Sorry I took so long.”
“That’s okay.” She laid out the last of the tarts. “But Gruella’s lookin’ for you.”
Jo sighed. “You know, one of these days, you’re going to slip up and call her that to her face.”
Viv shrugged, then folded her arms and cocked a brow. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“I need deets. What did that sweet hunk o’ handsome have to say?”
A hot flush crawled up Jo’s neck and into her cheeks at the thought of Preston’s ridiculous propositions—one filthy, the other insane. Both more tempting than she cared to admit. Neither was anything she dared say out loud.
“I knew it!” Viv chuckled. “How was it?”
Jo shrugged. “Nothing happened.”
“You were gone a long time for nothin’.”
“He didn’t seem to grasp the meaning of no. It took some convincing.”
“Are you crazy?” Viv’s head wagged from side to side. “Girl, if I was single, I’d ride Just Avery like a nob jockey ’til I reached a trifecta…” She sighed. “You work too hard. You’re like a clock that’s wound too tight. You need to blow off some steam. Live a little.”
“If I did, it wouldn’t be with that dick.”
“A dick’s a dick, and if you’re gonna pick one, why not Just Avery’s?” She winked. “Bet he’s hung like a horse.”
Another rush of heat hit Jo, this one centering low in her core. Viv wasn’t far from wrong. She’d felt that monster dick—long, thick, and brick-hard—prodding her belly when he’d caged her against the cabinets.
Stop. Stop thinking about him.
“Looks like the crowd is thinning.” It wasn’t, but Jo needed to get her mind straight. “I’m going to clear.”
Thirty minutes later, after dropping off the fourth load of dirty dishes, Jo pushed through the swinging kitchen door and nearly crashed into Giselle.
“Sorry, I didn’t see you.” Releasing the door, Jo stepped out of range of its backlash and waited for Giselle’s.
“A word please.” The woman’s thin-lipped snarl didn’t bode well. Neither did her tone or the fact that she didn’t dress Jo down for not being more careful or for some other imagined slight.
“Of course.” A heavy weight of doom settled over Jo as she followed Giselle across the ballroom and into the quiet hallway. What had she done this time?
Giselle stopped and turned to face her, hands clasped at her waist. “I’ll be brief. You’re fired.”
Jo shouldn’t have been shocked. She’d felt it coming. But actually hearing the words, knowing they were final… “What? Why?”
“A policy infraction,” she said, her beak of a nose surging higher. “You know my rules. No fraternizing with my clients.”
“I haven’t fraternized with anyone.” Even as Jo denied it, she knew it wouldn’t do any good. Giselle had to have seen her with Avery Preston, watched her climb into the van with him, and drawn the conclusions that suited her ultimate goal—to get rid of her.
“I’ll have to disinfect the van, which will cost a fortune, so the cost of your lapse in judgment will be deducted from your last check.
Count yourself lucky I’m not suing you for damages.
If Mrs. Preston had seen you trying to dig your claws into her son, I would be.
Reputation is everything in this business.
” She inhaled a haughty breath and tugged the bottom of her black blazer.
“I’m needed elsewhere. Vivianne is waiting for you in the van.
Collect your belongings and leave the premises. ”
Defeat glued Jo’s feet to the floor as Giselle swept past her, leaving her in a cloud of suffocating perfume and shock.
Fired.
She’d been fired. Sacked. Canned. Dismissed. Shaken off like the dirt under Giselle’s designer shoes. No severance. No letter of recommendation. Nothing to show for all her dedication and hard work.
Fired.
She’d never been fired before, but she was familiar with the feelings washing over her—indignance at Giselle’s unjust accusations, inadequate in her own defense, and resignation because there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.
Fired? How the hell had this happened?
A door down the hall opened, and a giggle broke the silence closing in on her. What’s Her Name teetered into the hall, her blonde hair mussed, lipstick smeared. She adjusted her ample cleavage, tugged at the hem of her dress, and reached for something behind the door.
Coming away with a fistful of golden silk, the blonde gave it a playful yank, and Jo’s focus sharpened on the reason for her trouble as he stumbled into view.
Avery Fucking Preston.
He was buckling his belt as she pulled him in for a quick kiss.
Fingering the hair from his brow—Jo didn’t want to think about where those fingers had been—he muttered something, settled his hands on the girl’s ass, and hauled her hips against his.
Leaning back, What’s Her Name adjusted his tie and smoothed a hand over his jacket, the act as intimate as the one they’d just engaged in.
Nausea roiling in her stomach, Jo gritted her teeth.
Her only exit, other than the one she’d taken earlier from the ballroom, which wasn’t an option because she’d rather walk over hot coals than face Giselle again, loomed behind fucking Preston and his nameless lover.
She had no choice but to pass them on her way out.