Chapter 4
I was halfway down the hallway before Jack caught me and grabbed my elbow, pulling me around. I was furious. He’d crashed my presentation, possibly derailing the deal I’d been working on for a year, and now he was manhandling me!
“What? What do you want, Jack?” I demanded, shaking off his hand.
He looked abashed by the intensity of my anger. Contrite, he dropped my arm and gestured to a small alcove in the hallway, out of the way of traffic. “Eve, I’m sorry. I’m just trying to help.”
“I said I’m sorry, Eve. I just wanted to…I know you didn’t need my help. I just… You helped me and I wanted to do something nice for you.” He sounded so sad and wistful that my anger collapsed like a soufflé. His puppy dog eyes made me melt just a bit.
“How did you get here, Jack?” I asked.
He shrugged and said, “I drove,” as though that was obvious.
“But how did you know where I was?”
Again, looking unconcerned, he replied, “I made a few phone calls.”
I was about to reply when he glanced down the hallway and backed me against the door in the alcove.
He leaned into me, making my heart pound.
“What are you doing, Jack?” I asked, my voice coming out as a breathy whisper.
“What’s with all this touching? Do you think I’m going to go all weak in the knees (yes!
!) and throw my Scooby Doo panties at you like a groupie at a concert? ”
“Eve, I think we both know you’re not a 100% cotton, high-rise, 6 to a pack, Scooby Doo undies type of girl,” he replied.
“That’s oddly specific, Jack. I think you’ve been spending too much time in the Target underwear aisle.”
“It’s what my niece wanted for her birthday. She’s 3 and wanted big girl undies.”
“So, you bought her Scooby Doo undies?”
“What? No! I’m not a monster! I bought her Bluey panties.”
“I’ll bet she loved them.”
“She did and proclaimed that I’m her favorite uncle. Although, granted, the pool of competitors for that title is fairly small.”
He leaned closer still, his hand stroking the side of my face, leaving a path of tingles all the way up to my scalp and making my knees go weak. He whispered into my ear in a low voice, “Remember last night you told me about the guy that was hitting on you? Always wears a pink button-down shirt?”
“PBD? Yes. What about him?”
“He’s walking this way,” he stated, as though it was obvious what the connection was to his current attempts to short-circuit my nervous system.
“And?” I asked, trying pathetically to sound in control. I wasn’t. I squeaked like Minnie Mouse huffing helium.
“I’m marking my territory.”
“What? Like you’re a dog? And I’m a fire hydrant? Drenched in urine??”
“Well, when you say it like that, of course it sounds bad.”
“In what possible way does it sound good?” I hissed.
“I’m letting pink button-down know that you’re not available. Then, hopefully, he’ll back off. If he’s smart.”
Jack started nuzzling my neck, his warm breath tickling my skin and making my legs tremble.
I struggled to keep my breathing even as his arms wrapped around my waist. A small corner of my mind voiced the opinion that I should be upset by this, but it was quickly voted down by the rest of my mind which was all in for the nuzzling.
There was an awkward throat clearing behind Jack. Over Jack’s shoulder I could see PBD just standing there. “Hello Robert,” I managed to say. He nodded and said, “I just wanted to make sure you knew the schedule. There’s a meeting at 2:00.”
“Thank you, Robert, I know the schedule. And that meeting is for Luxe employees only, so I am not involved in it.” The silence extended and became even more awkward.
Jack turned around, “Hey, pal, this isn’t a kissing booth. You’re not at the head of a queue.” PBD had the good grace to blush a shade that matched his shirt, bobbed his head, and walked away.
Even though my hormones were screaming, “More! More!” I managed to find the strength to push Jack away.
“Great. What was that supposed to accomplish? Now you’re adding character assassination to your list of feats. I’m sure he’ll go back and tell everyone at the Luxe meeting that I’m…a…a whore.”
“Wow, Eve, are you saying that I can only get dates by paying them?” His smirk let me know he wasn’t offended in the least.
“No, Jack. Obviously, you have groupies flinging themselves at you for free. I just don’t happen to be one of them.” I adjusted my blouse, smoothed my skirt, and picked up my laptop which had somehow ended up on the floor. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go.”
“Why? You already established with PBD that you have nowhere to be,” he countered.
“Because this is my free time to do what I need to do, which does not include beating off some handsy, egomaniac pop star!”
His lips compressed and dimples popped in his cheeks as he fought against a grin.
“What? What did I say?” I demanded. I replayed my words in my head and sagged with a groan.
My double entendre, though unintended, had taken the righteous wind out of my sails for storming off.
“Fine,” I muttered through clenched teeth.
“Keep your mind in the gutter. I’m going to go get out of my killer shoes and find a way to destress that doesn’t involve you. ”
The laughter he’d been battling erupted in a guffaw. “But Eve, it’s a lot more fun with me.”
And on that line, he turned and walked jauntily away, pausing only to throw back over his shoulder, “And, for future reference, they’re size 11’s!”
Ugh. How did he always seem to come out on top in our sparring? Was there no way to escape this with my dignity intact? There didn’t appear to be one, so I fled to my room.
In my room, I changed from my business outfit to running shorts and a tank top, and laced up my workout shoes, all the while keeping up a steady stream of commentary about presumptuous pop stars and their high-handed ways.
To think that only this morning I’d been thinking positive thoughts about Jack.
Kind—hah! Thoughtful—as if! Considerate?
Only if he was considering how to be a pain in my ass.
Grabbing my phone, ear buds, key card, and a bottle of water, I headed to the hotel workout center.
It was nowhere near as comprehensive as the gym I belonged to in NYC, but they made an effort to cater to the traveler who needed to maintain fitness.
This set-up only had the space for 3 treadmills and a stair machine, a pull-up bar, a yoga mat, a mirror and barre, a weight bench, and a set of hand weights that only went up to 30 lbs, but that was perfectly adequate for the average traveler.
I did some light stretching at the barre, then went to the treadmill, placed my water bottle and phone on the console, and plugged in my ear buds.
I selected my favorite workout playlist and started at an easy jog.
As the tempo picked up, I increased my speed.
I was just hitting my stride, finding the right pace, when I noticed someone step onto the treadmill next to me to my left.
I ignored the intrusion, as gym etiquette dictates that you pretend you are alone, never staring at another person, engaging them in chitchat, or playing your music out loud.
I kept my eyes fixed on the television that was on the wall ahead.
It looked to be some kind of home makeover show.
Since I had my tunes going, it really was just a place to focus as I matched my stride to the beat of the song.
Just as I was getting into the serious part of the run, I was stunned when a hand reached over and grabbed my phone. What the actual hell??
I grabbed the handrails and hopped onto the sides of the treadmill, so as not to pull a George Jetson, then whipped around to shout at whoever had my phone.
I sucked in my yell and tucked it behind pursed lips.
Jack. Of course it was Jack. He was wearing only a pair of running shoes and workout shorts that hugged his body like a glove, giving a little bit of emphasis to a finely sculpted posterior.
He’d taken off his t-shirt and had it draped over the handrail, exposing his amazing chest, abs, and arms. Seriously, those arms, though.
Part of me wanted to just curl up in those arms and take a nap.
Jack had his treadmill set at a walking pace, and he was strolling along leisurely, flicking through my phone, a smile playing across his lips. I shoved away my appreciation of his manly wares and said through gritted teeth, “Jack, give me back my phone.”
His smile broadened as he said, “Let’s see, what have we here. A playlist titled Guilty Pleasures?”
“No Jack, give it back!”
“Top of the playlist is a little tune by PRTY—Beat Me, Whip Me (Make Me Wear Plaid)”
I growled, “Jack, give it back.”
“So, you did know who I am, Eve, but I feel like I don’t know you at all. Your French accent is gone and now I find you listen to songs like this. I’m shocked, Miss Lambert, shocked that you would have this in a play list.”
“That song is hilarious, that’s why it’s there,” I replied, through clenched teeth.
“Hilarious? The song is about bondage, Eve, sadomasochism, and you think that’s funny?”
“That’s not what it’s about.”
“Uh, yeah, it is. I wrote it. I should know,” he said, cocking an eyebrow at me.
“Well, you’re wrong. It’s about the fashion industry and how they gleefully torture women by telling them to wear hideous and uncomfortable things to fit a mold of beauty. And it makes me laugh. So, give me back my phone.”
He handed me back my phone, with a smirk, his eyes sparkling. At this point, the familiar groove of my workout was shattered, so I decided to give up and turned off my treadmill and went over to the barre to do some cool-down stretching.
Jack mirrored my movements, put his shirt back on (sigh) and followed me to the mirror. “So, are we going to talk about when you figured out who I was? And why you pretended to be French?”
I lowered my voice and answered, “I figured it out as soon as I saw your face, Jack. I’m not blind or stupid. You just seemed like you needed a sympathetic shoulder, not a squealing fangirl. So, I didn’t say the obvious.”
He paused a moment, digesting that. “Thank you for that. And why pretend to be French?”
“I wasn’t pretending. I am French. And American. I just choose to be more French when I’m traveling. I find it’s easier to brush off intrusive people if I appear to be barely able to speak English. Plus, I find the service is better.”
“Your French accent is really good.”
“It should be. I was raised in Paris.”
“So, you actually do speak French?”
“Yes, fluently. As well as English. And what about you? Do you speak anything other than annoying jackass?”
He cocked his head to one side and smiled. “That depends on the company.”
“So, this full-on assault of annoying is all for my benefit?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I don’t look at it as annoying, Eve. It’s a purposeful campaign to get your attention.”
I threw up my hands in exasperation. “Well, it worked! It worked so well that if there were any pointy sharp objects within range, you’d be in serious danger.”
“You don’t really mean that Eve. I’m pretty sure that you think I’m charming.
” That dimple flashed again, and I had to keep a grip on myself to keep from flinging myself at him.
The truth of the matter was that, yes, he was charming.
And handsome. And funny. And I just couldn’t afford that kind of distraction.
His hand brushed over the back of mine, causing shivers to go up my arm. Looking deeply into my eyes he leaned in and murmured, “We can get this all straightened out over dinner.”
“That won’t be happening, Jack. I have dinner plans with the Luxe executives tonight to finalize our agreement.”
“I know, Eve, that’s the dinner I’m talking about. I ran into Scott in the hallway, and he invited me. Heckuva guy. I like him. He told me how thrilled he is to be working on this project with you. Oh, and he gave me a certificate for a couple’s spa day at Luxe. Isn’t that awesome?”
Again, I had that feeling that I was in a cart being pulled by runaway horses with no way to steer to avoid the oncoming crash.
I turned away. Fine, if I had no control here, I’d just have to salvage what I could at dinner. “Since you and Scott have such a nice little bromance going, I’ll see you at dinner.”
His grin lit up the room. “Shall I pick you up? You know they’ll expect us to be together.”
What could it hurt? I gave him my room number and said, “6.30. Sharp. I dislike tardiness.”
“I’ll bet you do, Eve.” And with a saucy wink he left the workout room and left me to try to pull myself together.