Chapter 21
Being the coward that I am, I went straight to the bedroom and called my boss the moment I got home. Then I told him my phone lost signal at that moment because I was heading into a very remote area of Mexico (a music studio near the nightclubs in downtown Cancún, but he doesn’t need to know that).
So I opened my laptop and fixed the article exactly the way he wanted, which basically means I rewrote the entire thing.
Only after that I gathered what little courage I had left to go downstairs and deal with updates of the Bridesmaids Project. That’s what Mila is calling it now.
I’d call it Project Neurotic Bride, but there’s no way I’m saying anything that might increase her stress levels and make this all blow up in my face.
“I heard Robbie talking to some Samantha woman on the phone today,” she whispers to all of us in what I now call: the Circle of Depression inside the moldy boiler room.
And the leak must have gotten worse since yesterday, because we can barely hear her over the dripping water hitting the puddle at our feet.
“He said he’d already booked a room at the City Express by Marriott. That’s not even a hotel, that’s basically a business center. Who is he cheating on me with? A pharmaceutical rep? A water–filter saleswoman?”
I’m trying not to laugh. I swear I am. But, at the same time, I’m trying to figure out what kind of surprise would require a cheap hotel room, and I can’t come up with anything, so there are so many things happening in my head that I lose control and a laugh slips out.
And because everyone looks at me, I immediately put on a serious face and, with my most mature, maternal voice, I say, “Mila, you really should talk to him!”
“I’m not talking to that cheater. I’ll only talk to him when I find out exactly who this Samantha is, so I can shove everything in the bastard’s face.”
“And how do you expect to do that?”
My friend looks at me like I’m very stupid and the answer is very obvious.
“We’re going to make a list of every possible Samantha in New York and start calling each of them.”
All the Samanthas in New York?
This time, I really, really want to laugh, but I have a feeling part of that job is going to fall on me, and there is nothing, absolutely nothing funny about that.
“Mila, you’re crazy,” is what I say.
But apparently my comment is so obvious to her that nothing I tell her is gonna make any difference.
I wait for everyone to go to sleep – which, thanks to the busy week we’re having, has been happening earlier and earlier – to start the mission I should’ve accomplished yesterday, if I hadn’t been too distracted by the Assman’s skilled hands.
And just because I want to make him even more annoyed, instead of going through the bathroom door, I knock on his bedroom door, even though I know the risk of someone walking by at any moment.
Well, I waited for everyone to go to sleep, but you never know who might get up to go to the bathroom or down to the kitchen for water or something.
Jasper opens the door shirtless, which alone would wipe out fifty percent of my concentration, but then he’s also wearing…
reading glasses? He’s wearing damn reading glasses, like the gorgeous, intelligent man – possibly farsighted – that he is.
And I just know I’m gonna need to be much stronger than I am.
“Were you reading?” I ask.
Hoping he’ll immediately say yes, that he was finishing the last missing Dostoyevsky novel or a Camus essay or whatever, so I can swoon and move on.
But he shakes his head.
“No, I was just reviewing some contracts, but I alre–”
My eyes move from him to the inside of the room, the open laptop on the bed, stacks of paper beside it, and I interrupt, “Jasper Hassmann, you’ve been secretly working this whole time?”
He exhales in a way that’s heavier than normal, and I can’t tell if he’s impatient or just bothered that I caught him red-handed.
I put on my best seductive face and take a step forward, forcing him to retreat into the room.
At first, he tilts his head, analyzing the situation.
I take an even bigger step, and because he’s still holding the door, he can’t step back anymore.
My body presses into his, my breasts brushing his bare skin, and now he must be wishing he’d put on a shirt.
I’m going to win this easily.
It’s only then that he seems to understand what I’m doing and gives me a crooked smile, a mix of suspicion and amusement.
Then he crosses his arms. A very, very dangerous move, because his chest basically flexes on its own, and now I don’t know if it’s a coincidence or if Jasper is doing this on purpose.
Oh, who am I kidding?
Everything Jasper does is on purpose.
“What can I do for you, Julia?” he asks, pretending not to understand, taking advantage of the moment to tease me.
Fine. I won’t get anything easily.
Unless I start using techniques just as dirty as his.
“Julia is your grandma,” I snap back.
He raises an eyebrow immediately, unable to hide his surprise at what I said.
“My grandma would ground you for a week for being so bad-mannered.”
“I can’t imagine what she’d do if she knew about all the insufferable things you say to me.”
His eyes sparkle, and I know I hit a nerve.
Here, the reaction I was waiting for.
“I don’t say anything you don’t want to hear.”
“You only say the things I don’t want to hear, Jasper. While the ones I actually want… I’m still waiting.”
He takes a step forward.
“I spent the whole day wanting to tear off those lace panties you were wearing underneath your tight dress, Julie,” Jasper says, in a low, soft… needy voice. “You don’t want to hear that kind of thing?”
I do.
God, I do.
But no way I can agree with it, because that’s exactly what he’s trying to do. He’s trying to seduce me again.
“You don’t want to hear about all the things I’ve been thinking about doing to you tonight, Jules?”
The sound of my name coming out of his lips, wrapped in a warm breath against my ear, give me goosebumps everywhere.
Shit, he’s going to win this, isn’t he?
I finally find some superhuman strength to resist him and push the door harder, making him finally step back and give me room to pass. I walk in like the room is mine, because it should’ve been.
“Close the door,” I order, not even looking at him.
He doesn’t move.
“Jasper, close. the. damn. door,” I repeat, pausing each word as if he were a little kid who hasn’t understood yet.
For a moment, he thinks he’s won, because after he does what I said, he immediately walks toward me. Before he can touch me, I step back.
“I’m not here for that,” I say firmly.
On the outside. On the inside, my whole body is on fire for him. Inside, my body seems to have forgotten what I’m doing.
“You’re not?”
“No,” I say, the word coming out like a whisper. And I think now I can start my part of the game, because I push my boobs forward and pout before continuing, “I came because I want to ask you some things.”
He doesn’t flinch. Of course not. The man is nothing but self-control and stubbornness. His smile widens as if I’m exactly where he wants me.
“You can ask me whatever you want, doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”
He should’ve known better than to celebrate early.
“I figured you’d say that,” I say, with a stupid, innocent smile. “So I thought of an incentive.”
“An incentive?”
“An incentive,” I repeat, my voice low, dragged out, full of second intentions.
Well, third intentions, because everyone already knows the second.
“It’s very simple, actually. Every right answer you give me, I take off one piece of clothing.
Every wrong answer, I take one step toward the door.
Then I leave and you stay here alone, with your sad, depressing, soft dick in your hand. ”
His eyes spark at me, then glance downward, “My dick hasn’t been soft in a long time.”
I try not to look, but… damn! There it is, the hard bulge lifting the fabric of his pajama shorts, and I’m thinking a million indecent things.
Focus, Julie!
I hide a smile and take two slow, strategic steps back, toward the bed.
“Do you live in New York or New Jersey, Jasper?” I repeat Suzi’s earlier question in a voice that’s part innocent, part mocking.
Jasper laughs. A hoarse sound that vibrates through me.
“You son of a bitch,” he mutters, still laughing, forced to admit my victory. He’ll never accept saying he lives in Jersey. There’s a reason he left and never looked back. He’ll have to tell the truth. “You know the answer.”
“Is it New Jersey?” I tease, and he shakes his head, with a very contradicted smile. “New York?”
“New York,” he confirms.
“Alright. I believe you.”
And I take off my silk robe.
Then another step back. Instinctively, he follows.
I’m wearing exactly four pieces of clothing: the robe, now on the floor, nearly transparent matching shorts and top, and my panties.
With them on, I already feel sexy enough, but with each piece removed, I know things will get worse for him.
“How would you feel if you had to wear Crocs for the rest of your life?”
“Fucking hell.” He laughs, shaking his head.
He understands what I’m doing. The goal was never to force him to tell me the truth. The goal was to get naked in front of him until he’s dazed enough to finally say what really matters.
So I stop. And wait for the answer.
“I’d jump off the top of the Empire State Building,” he admits.
Because he wouldn’t be able to lie about that either.
“Okay, I believe you.”
And I take off the shorts.
Now I’m here in the tiny top and even tinier, see-through panties that Jasper definitely wants to take off himself.
His next step is wider, away from the door and toward me. My eyes drop to the bulge in his pants again. It must be like concrete at this point.
“Do you want me now?” I ask.
His answer is another step forward.
And another.
And now we’re almost touching again.