20. JULES
JULES
There’s a rap on the door as I’m putting the finishing touches to the meeting setup. Even his knock drives me mad. It’s a little tune I don’t recognise. I check my watch – he’s shockingly on time. There really is a first for everything. I open the suite door and he’s—
‘Sweaty,’ I blurt out.
Tiago rakes his fingers through his hair. It’s damp and curling at the edges. ‘I ran here. Didn’t have time to decompress in the gym after interviews.’ He kicks off carbon-plated running shoes and walks in, looking around.
He’s not lying. His grainy blue top’s sticking to him, outlining his pecs and the top of a six pack. Maybe even an eight pack.
‘I thought you said I shouldn’t even think about your hotel room because it’s so far out of my realm,’ he says, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips.
I don’t know why him mentioning my room would cause an odd flicker of heat to travel down my torso, but it does. Tanned biceps gleaming in the subdued lighting isn’t helping things.
‘Don’t read into it.’ My voice is strangely hoarse. I clear my throat and push through. ‘We don’t have time to go somewhere else, and since this country’s the size of a pea, it’s swarming with press. Privacy’s crucial for strategy sessions.’
His amused hm sound shoots straight to my centre. What’s wrong with me?! Yes, he’s objectively hot, and yes, I haven’t shagged anyone in a while, but it’s Tiago Cabrera.
I motion to the small table and chairs I’ve arranged for our meeting. ‘Shall we?’
I should’ve known his attention would last for approximately four seconds. Something catches his eye across the room. ‘Hey, I know that mug.’
My blood runs cold. I don’t need to turn to know he’s pointing to the Luke’s mug on the nightstand. ‘We don’t have much time, Tiago. Can we just—’
‘That’s…’ He clicks his fingers, trying to remember. Jesus Christ. Please don’t please don’t please don’t. ‘Dude, that’s from Gilmore Girls!’
Heat rushes up my neck. ‘How do you know that?’
‘Were you Logan, Dean, or Jess?’
My brain falters at this completely out of character admission. ‘What?’
‘They’re Rory’s boyf—’
‘I know who they are. I can recite all seven seasons word for word.’
His eyes grow wide and I know instantly I shouldn’t have said that. ‘This isn’t like a childhood thing. You watch it now.’
‘I—’
‘When was the last time?’
Oh, what the hell. It’s not like I’m trying to impress him. ‘I watch it every day.’
He blows his cheeks. ‘Every day?’
‘It’s my comfort watch.’
A thoughtful smile stretches across his face. It’s really beautiful. I kind of want to sit on it.
No.
‘You, Jules Butler, are nostalgic as hell,’ he decides, picking through my jewellery. He’s moving things and it’s stressing me out, but it’s not like he’d stop if I asked him to.
My voice is small. ‘A little.’
‘It’s ok, I am too. Nice to know your hobbies aren’t limited to stealing the Moon and leading an army of Minions.’
‘Hey!’ I retort, but it makes me smile.
‘How’d you feel about Disney Channel movies?’
I’m quiet and laughter builds in his chest.
‘You so watched Camp Rock last week.’
I fight a grin, anxiety from him running his fingers through my necklaces slinking into the background. ‘Did not.’ The Lizzie Maguire Movie is a different thing.
‘Did The Cheetah Girls make it to the UK?’ He moves onto my perfumes. ‘I remember liking the hot Latina.’
‘How do you know all this? You’re not exactly The Cheetah Girls’ target audience.’
‘Hello, did you not hear Isa on the flight? What part of I have seven sisters is so hard to grasp?’
Seven sisters. I don’t think I’ll ever get my head around that. ‘But you also have four brothers,’ I point out.
‘Not near me I don’t. I’m in the middle of five girls, and the two above me are twins. Have you ever tried saying no to a Latina? You’ve met Isa, you get it.’
I’ll give: that is a rough deal.
‘Ok.’ Sober up, girl, you have a job to do. Focus on the agenda. ‘First up, let’s talk about what you’re wearing to the gala.’ I tap the back of an upholstered chair.
He’s moved on to perusing my books and distractedly mutters, ‘Sure.’
As much as I hate him reorganising my stuff, I’m grateful for the distance. I can appreciate him without the proximity making me dizzy. I sit and grab my laptop.
He taps a framed photo of me, Minnie and Ash at a theme park for Minnie’s sixteenth birthday. ‘You look different here.’
On reflex, I say, ‘It’s the nose.’
My breath catches in my throat. I cannot believe I just said that to him.
‘I meant like…’ he rocks on his feet, ‘lighter.’
Oh god oh god.
Quickly moving on. ‘Or shall we start with Leone’s content strategy instead? In your voice note, you mentioned—’
That sparks something. ‘Yes!’ He comes over and the scent of him blindsides me. Why couldn’t he smell like BO? ‘If I have to do one more dumbass TikTok for Leone, I’m going to rip my hair out.’
I want to listen to his rant, I do, but my fingers are tingling, and my mouth’s parched, and my thighs are crossed so tightly together they could crack a walnut.
‘—never had to do this shit at Volare,’ he finishes as his phone buzzes for the fortieth time.
‘I’ve explained this. Volare have brand equity, Leone don’t,’ I say, a little too sharp. Focus, Jules. ‘Leone don’t carry much weight and they don’t have big budgets. They need you to perform for attention and visibility.’ That’s all I can manage, and I gobble down water.
He doesn’t carry on ranting like I thought he would. Instead, he says the worst thing he could possibly say at this moment: ‘You ok there, boss?’
‘What? Yes, just… hot.’ I hurriedly take my cardigan off, willing myself to calm the fuck down.
Tiago’s expression is inscrutable. His tongue traces along his bottom lip with intoxicating slowness.
I can’t handle the weight of his full attention.
I’m not used to it. This is what happens when you don’t have regular sex.
You turn into a crazed knot when the nearest man shows a speck of attention.
‘Let it be known I’m trying really hard not to look at your rack right now. I want credit where credit’s due,’ he says quietly, voice low enough to settle under my skin.
Sweet Jesus.
He said it in a self-growth way, like I’m supposed to be proud instead of imploding with need.
‘Well done,’ I force out.
‘Thank you. Out of curiosity, are they real?’
Him talking about them makes my tits feel tight and heavy, like they’re filled with water. ‘What?’
‘Don’t be offended, but Trey and I have been debating this for about six weeks. I say no, and I’m usually pretty good with this stuff.’
Before I can respond, his phone pings again and I’m way too overstimulated for this. ‘Can you please tell your playthings to shut up for twenty minutes!’
He laughs. Hard. Then even harder. I mean, it’s common decency. We’re supposed to be in a work meeting. And what do they have to constantly message him about? Nudes? God, I haven’t sent a nude in about five years. I doubt I still have the angles.
I wonder what they look like. The women, not the nudes. He said he liked Adrienne Bailon in The Cheetah Girls. I get it, she’s stunning. He must like natural girls, tanned girls, not girls who need a Ukrainian lady to stop them looking so white they’re almost blue.
Tiago leans back in his chair and says, ‘When was the last time you had sex?’
I jump like he pinched me. I temper my voice so it’s not obscenely high, and do a terrible job. ‘Why would you say that?’
His smile’s salacious. ‘Just curious.’
‘Eighteen months ago.’ Why oh why did I tell him that? I’m unwell.
‘That explains a lot.’ He takes a sip of water. ‘Wait, so you never fucked Rogers and he’s still pussy-whipped?’
‘I don’t get it either.’
He draws out a, ‘Shiiiiit.’
‘I’m fine.’ I shrug, aiming for casual. ‘I take care of myself.’
His eyes sparkle. ‘Like with toys?’ I don’t respond and his grin widens. ‘Do you have them here? I love toys.’
Oh my god. We can’t be having this conversation. We’re business partners. We’re in an alliance. We have a contract.
‘They’re not for you,’ I retort, the hoarseness of my voice glaringly obvious.
‘Yeah but I’m just saying. Where are they?’
I study every inch of his infuriating, taunting face. He knows they’re here, but he doesn’t think I’ll get them out. He’s throwing down the gauntlet. Guesses I’m too chicken to take the bait.
How little he knows me.
‘I’ll show you,’ I say.
I head to the wardrobe. I can’t risk glancing at him or my knees will buckle from want. I’m simply proving a point. I could be getting my suitcase out to show him. Apples. Pencils. A beach ball. It just happens to be…
An old Dyson Airwrap travel case.
It’s heavier than it was yesterday, my muscles tense as I take it off the top shelf.
‘That’s a big boy,’ he murmurs.
He’s behind me. Right behind me. I can feel heat radiating off his body.
This is mad. My fucking dildos are in here. Even the big one.
When I turn, we’re almost nose to nose. Despite the dull lighting, I can see his eyes are molten. Could he be burning as much as I am? Surely not. He probably had sex this morning.
I put it behind my back. It’s my turn to throw the gauntlet. ‘What will you do for me in return?’ My voice is a husk.
The rise and fall of his chest falters. He looks strange, like he’s at war with himself.
Before I can feel self-conscious about overstepping, he says, ‘Open it and I’ll show you.’
There’s a moment of suspended stillness.
And it’s gone.
We crash together to the sound of my box hitting the floor. His lips are full and soft, and my god do they know what they’re doing. Strong hands find my waist and tug me against his erection.
I open my mouth and his tongue slides in. The kiss is rough, addictive, sucking the air from my lungs. My hand meets stubble as it runs down his cheek. I want it between my legs. I want to grind on his irritating face.
With a hand on his chest, I shove him back. ‘What about the contract?’
He touches his swollen lips, his roguish smile enough to wish I hadn’t stopped him. ‘I won’t tell if you won’t.’
That’s good enough for me. There are only two race weekends left of it anyway.