Chapter 10 – Jenna
JENNA
Several Hours Later
“So, you’re engaged to one of the richest men in the city, but you don’t live with him?” Mr. Reaves asked me over the phone Friday afternoon.
“What can I say?” I squeezed the hell out of my stress ball before tossing it to Diana. “I’m stubborn and stuck in my ways. I’ll move when we’re actually married.”
“I see. But you can see why that gives someone like me pause, right?”
“Yes.”
“You sound a bit angry right now, Mrs. Saint,” he said, and the sound of that name made my blood boil. “Is now not a good time?”
“It’s not.” I shook my head. “It’s definitely not a good time, and I’d prefer if you called me back any other time.”
“Sometime tonight?”
I ended the call and put my phone on silent.
“Deep breaths, deep breaths.” Diana rushed over to me. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Did you see that ridiculous email he sent out?” I snatched jeans out of a drawer. “Now everyone is going to think I got promoted because I was sleeping with him.”
“Everyone already thinks that, so—”
“What?”
“I said, please take some more deep breaths,” she said. “And I totally respect the fact that Mr. Saint demanded that I sign thirty NDAs about this situation.”
“That’s not what you said.”
“But you can’t prove it.” She shrugged and smoothed one of my sweaters. “Look at the positive side. You get to spend time in your childhood home, hang out with family, and get paid a shit ton of money to pretend like you’re married to your boss.”
“That’s all the positives you have?”
“Depends on if you’re giving your favorite friend a bit of the bonus money. I’ll add that to the list if so.”
“You’re not my favorite friend anymore.”
She laughed and opened my bag for boots. “If I were in your shoes, I’d make the trip worth it and try to at least get some sex out of him.”
“So I can be even more disappointed in him?” I asked. “He probably has no idea what to do in the bedroom and—”
I sucked in a breath as my front door swung open.
Nicholas stepped inside, looking between me and Diana.
“Still talking shit about me, I see,” he said. “Too bad it isn’t true.”
“You can’t barge in here like that!” Diana gasped. “How the hell did you even get past the first door?”
“Jenna gave me her emergency keys years ago.”
His eyes landed on mine.
“Jenna, I don’t even have an emergency key for you…”
“Get out before I call security, Mr. Saint.” I stepped back.
“I came here for a reason.”
“Whatever it is, save it, because I could’ve sworn we agreed on certain things—and you’ve already broken what little trust I had in you.”
“Excuse me?”
“We agreed that we wouldn’t make any public announcements about us until after the holidays, and yet you send out that ridiculous email.”
“Did you see your name in it?”
“It might as well have been.”
“But is it there?”
“You’re just trying to assert more control over me before our trip,” I said. “I’ve seen you do this with your clients before, but I need you to know that it will not work on me.”
“Miss Dawson—”
“The passive aggressiveness, the long ‘Do what I say or else’ stare, and the arched brow—”
As if on cue, he arched his brow.
“Those don’t work for the next few weeks, because you need me more than I need you.”
“Are you done yet?”
“I have three more things to say.”
“I’ll listen to one.”
“Then I’ll go in reverse.” I stepped closer to him. “Three, I’ve told you that none of my family members will believe this charade if you don’t start being nice to me. Last time I checked, you haven’t even tried.”
He started to walk past me, but I blocked him, planting my body in front of the doors.
“Two, when we agree to something, you need to hold up your end of the deal just like you expect me to do. And one—”
“You’re way past one.”
“We’re equals now.” I glared at him. “You’re not my superior, and I’m not taking any orders while we’re together.”
“This wasn’t part of our deal, Miss Dawson,” he said, closing the gap between us. “Now you’re just making shit up.”
“It’s just a minor revision,” I said as he clenched his jaw. “Isn’t that how it works?”
“We need to take a picture in front of the holiday tree at headquarters for the photographer.”
“For what?”
“Because according to Mr. Reaves, it doesn’t make sense for a guy who cares so much about the holidays not to have a picture in front of his favorite thing with his new fiancée.”
“I came here to pick you up.”
“That’s okay.” I moved away from him. “I’d rather enjoy my last hours of freedom away from you.”
“I’m not making a goddamn request.”
“You have to be.” I grabbed my coat and tossed Diana my keys. “You’re not currently my boss for the next few weeks, remember?”
I rushed outside and into Francis’s town car.
“To headquarters,” I said. “Please put a rush on it.”
“Right away, Miss Dawson.”
He sped off without asking a question.
My stomach dropped when Francis pulled in front of headquarters.
Through the glass doors, I could see a bunch of my coworkers taking their own pictures, and I didn’t want them to see me and Nicholas taking one together.
Before I could tell him to speed off and take me home, my back door opened and Nicholas reached for my hand.
I didn’t take it.
I grabbed my purse and rushed ahead of him.
“There she is…”
“You think she’s quitting after the holidays?”
“Why didn’t she tell us first?”
I ignored the whispers and made my way down the hall to where a small forest of fir trees stood, out of everyone’s sight.
Nicholas rounded the corner seconds later, glaring at me.
“This is good enough,” I said, waving my hand. “Tell the photographer to snap us here and tell Mr. Reaves to mind his business.”
“Your engagement is literally my business.” Mr. Reaves stepped in front of us, biting into a cookie. “Why wouldn’t you want the picture in front of the biggest display here, Mrs. Saint?”
Stop calling me that.
“We’re really low-key about ‘us,’” I said, refusing to look at Nicholas. “We don’t do public displays of affection.”
“Yeah, I was marking that down in my file earlier,” he said.
“I understand why you two have kept this under wraps for so long, given the work situation, but I find it a bit odd that I received thousands of proof photos of you at various conferences and on trips and such… but no affection. Not so much as a hug.”
“Are you here to direct a Hallmark movie or do your job?” Nicholas asked.
“I’m just saying…” He tapped his chin. “Seems kind of calculated, in a way. You could easily be faking this entire thing—which I’d have to report. And even if it wasn’t true, it would delay the inheritance from being doled out, so—”
Nicholas grabbed my hand and pulled me down the hall, back to the lobby.
“Can you give us a second to take this picture, please?” He spoke to someone in the crowd I couldn’t see, and the company photographer held up his fingers.
“Okay,” he said. “Merry Christmas to Mr. Saint on the count of one, two—”
On three, his mouth covered mine.
Not giving me a chance to pull away, he wrapped his arms around my waist—letting his tongue dance with mine as the cameras flashed.
I bit back a moan as his fingers caressed my back, as he bit down hard on my bottom lip, whispering, “You have no idea how thoroughly I would fuck you if you were ever in my bed…”
He dropped one hand from my hips and threaded his fingers through my hair, pulling my head closer, teasing me with his tongue, silently demanding that I open my mouth wider.
I obliged—completely forgetting we had an audience.
He slid his tongue against mine for what felt like forever, making my breath hitch with every slow, teasing stroke.
Ahhhh… My knees began to buckle.
When he finally let me go, my heart thundered so loudly it was the only thing I could hear.
The lobby was silent. Every face stared at us in stunned disbelief.
Somewhere behind us, someone coughed, then whispered, “They’ve definitely been fucking long before this…”
“Mr. Reaves.” Nicholas looked straight at him. “Was that a good enough angle for you?”
“Um, yes, sir…” His cheeks were as red as mine. “I’ll, um… see you at the airport this weekend.”
“See you then.”
Nicholas grabbed my hand, pulling me away from the watching eyes and into the hallway.
“I hope you’re about to apologize,” I said.
“For almost making you come with a kiss?” He smirked. “I don’t think so. I’ll see you at the airport tomorrow—be on time or else.”
“How hard is it to say sorry?”
“For giving you a taste of what you needed for years?”
“Mr. Saint.”
“Tell me something.” He glanced at my dress. “Are your panties wet for me right now?”
I didn’t answer.
“It’s just a few days of play pretend.” He stepped back. “How hard could it possibly be?”