Jayme rolls her eyes at my confusion and laughingly pushes at my shoulder as though I said something funny. “Not the boy band redux concerts. Aren’t you listening? A series directed at the social media generation.”

  Nope, I’m not listening now. Not when I’m distracted by her touch, however fleeting. I want to take her hand and press it to my shoulder again, move it to my chest and down my abs to my cock.

  “Carson?”

  My name on her lips rouses me from my fantasy. “So . . . uh, another concert series?” I sound like an idiot, but my brain is not receiving the majority of the blood flow in my body at the moment so I’m lucky I can form actual words and not just make gibberish sounds. I fight adjusting myself in my slacks, but do shift in my chair a bit to make room. Thankfully, Jayme doesn’t notice.

  “Yes. We’ll contact Spotify, TikTok, and Instagram artists—DJs, bands, indie singers—and have them perform. Again, using their followings as market targets, and live streaming the shows on various platforms to emphasize the brand recognition. We’ll finish the season with a big show. I don’t know who yet, but we’ll get someone right on the cusp of making the jump to mainstream and make it an interactive set, with the live stream moderated by someone doing engagement activities like prize giveaways and Americana Land trivia.”

  That is different from what we typically do. Very different, but interesting. My brain’s already going a million miles per minute, in a hundred different directions as I work out the logistics of putting Jayme’s idea into play.

  When I’m silent for too long, she asks, “What do you think?”

  “I like it,” I tell her honestly. “It’s going to be a lot of work, but we already have an on-staff production team that does planning and set-ups, the graphics department can get on flyers, and the IT crew can source a small group to do the livestream prep and management. Our biggest issue is going to be the timing. We’ve got a lot on the calendar, so putting these concerts around the other ones, our shows and parades, and the annual charity event, will be no easy feat.”

  I go quiet as I think about everything we’ll need to tackle because this will be no small undertaking if we do it right. A campaign like this will affect every department from the on-the-ground teams to administration, but it’ll be worth it if it works.

  Jayme snaps her fingers in front of my eyes, which are seeing a to-do list instead of her beaming smile. “Guess that means you approve?”

  When I focus on her once more, I find her fighting back laughter as she watches my brain work. “I approve,” I growl, though I’m covering laughter of my own. “As long as you’re promising to work with me, side by side, through all the late nights.”

  Every bit of that sounds as though I’m proposing sex, sex, and more sex. She said we needed to stay professional, and I can do that, but a project of this scale in this timeframe is going to require a lot of close work, and flirting with danger sounds right up my alley.

  And make no mistake, Jayme Rice is danger in a stunningly sexy package.

  “I think I can fit you into my busy schedule,” she teases, looking up at me through her long lashes, unsuccessfully fighting back a small smile.

  “Then let’s do it.”

  CHAPTER 6

  CARSON

  I should have left hours ago. Jayme did, after a long day of working together to brainstorm ways to make this new campaign come to life. I wonder what she’s doing now? Is she curled up on her couch in comfy pajamas or getting dressed up for a night on the town again?

  Not liking that second idea at all, I stare out the window. The sun has long since gone down, and the sky is black with sparkles of white stars, but the real light show is closer. Americana Land is alive beneath me, people walking around hand in hand, rides whirling, children screaming in delight. All of it’s lit up in LEDs and neon, almost every color of the rainbow.

  It’s home to me, a home I dedicated myself to years ago. A home I won’t let down.

  I turn back to my computer, trying to focus on the day’s work I missed while plotting and planning with Jayme. I thought I’d get a lot done tonight with a quiet office, but the truth is, I’ve gotten exactly two things accomplished . . . Jack and Shit. And Jack left the office an hour ago.

  Okay, I’ve read my emails, approved a few expense reports, and made notes on some proposals. But that’s all rubber stamp stuff, nothing that my assistant couldn’t do if I were out of the office. It’s nothing in the big scheme of things, especially compared to what I want to finish.

  I’m excited by Jayme’s idea of a fresh, new take on our summer concert series, and I can’t wait to really bring it to life. It’s brilliant in its simplicity, and I should’ve come up with it on my own. But more interestingly, I’m excited by her.

  She’s calm, cool, and collected but went toe to toe with me in a flash. Her mind is sexy and quick, challenging me to up my game. And her confidence makes me question my own worthiness. She’s a fucking queen.

  And I’m a king.

  A king who’s not going to get any more work done tonight while my brain is filled with obsessive thoughts of Jayme.

  I push back from my desk, striding across the room to lock my office door. Not to do anything scandalous, but so I can change clothes without being interrupted. Though it’s not likely anyone else is still here, I won’t take a chance at being caught by a janitor in my underwear in the office. That’d definitely go against the ‘good guy’ image Jayme has in mind for me.

  I hang up my slacks and shirt, making a mental note to send them to the dry cleaners, and trade them for black jeans and a long-sleeved gray Henley and my leather jacket. I swap my Oxfords for short but sturdy cap-toed boots and grab my helmet.

  I’m ready to go.

  There’s just one problem. I don’t know where Jayme lives.

  We talked about a lot last night, but she didn’t tell me her home address.

  A secret smile curls my lips as I realize that she tracked me down at Verdux, and I’ll do the same to her. I just have to use my big brain and not so much my little brain. Not that anything on me could be described as little, of course.

  In the elevator going downstairs, I figure out how I’m going to work this magic. As soon as I emerge, I put my plan into action.

  “Hey, Ellie!” I say to the night security guard.

  She jumps in surprise, looking up from the bank of monitor screens in front of her with one hand pressed to her chest and one on her hip where her Taser sits. “Oh, my gracious! Mr. Steen! I didn’t realize you were still here. Your floor’s been quiet for hours.”

  I smile warmly, especially when she relaxes her hands and is no longer considering shocking me with ten thousand plus volts of electric piss-yourself juice. “No worries. I’ve been locked up in my office all day. Didn’t even get out for lunch. Had to watch all the fun below through my window.”

  “Poor, poor you,” she banters back in a scolding tone, which makes me laugh. “Off for a late-night ride?” She gestures to my helmet, which I’ve set on the counter.

  “You know me too well,” I answer. “I do have a question before I head out, though.”

  “Yeah, of course. What can I do for you?” Ellie looks eager to help. I hope that’s still the case after she hears what I want.

  “When visitors come in, they have to sign in with security, correct?”

  Her nod is slow as her brows draw together. “Yeah.”

  “And you make a copy of their driver’s license for your records?” She doesn’t answer this time, but her brows have basically become one united unibrow of suspicion above her glasses. “I need to see Jayme Rice’s driver’s license. She’s the new PR consultant we’re working with.” The words rush out in the hope that she won’t examine them too closely.

  Ellie gives me a wary look, leaning back in her ergonomic chair with her arms crossed over her chest. “And why would I do that? No offense, Mr. Steen, but this sounds like the sort of thing that ends up with me talking to police and looking like a damn fool. I’ve seen it happen on Law & Order. I believe they call that an accomplice, and I ain’t one of those for no one. Not even you.”

  “Nothing sketchy, Ellie. I promise. Cross my heart even.” I make the motion on my chest, but Ellie’s doubt-filled face doesn’t change. If anything, she looks more dubious at my intentions so I decide to put my cards on the table. It’s a gamble, but I think Ellie will respond to the truth better than any cover story I could cook up.

  “Look, I’m gonna be honest with you here. I’m a nice guy, a good one . . . you know that. She’s giving me shit about my motorcycle riding being dangerous, so I want to show her what it’s all about. Nothing more, I swear. She tracked me down at Verdux last night, so I’m returning the favor.”

  Hopefully, honesty really is the best policy with Ellie because she narrows her eyes, scanning me like a human lie detector. Crazy thing is, I believe she can actually tell whether I’m lying or not, so it’s a good thing I’m telling the truth. Mostly.

  Oh, I do want to show Jayme what riding is like, but I also want to feel her thighs wrapped around my hips, her chest pressed to my back, and her arms squeezing my torso. I don’t let any of that show to Ellie, but I’m pretty sure she still knows.

  After a long minute when I’m not sure she’s going to help me, Ellie looks at her watch. “Well, would you look at that? It’s my bathroom break time. I’ll be gone for less than five minutes, right down that hall.” She points toward the closest restroom. “So if anyone happened to take a quick peek in that binder over there, I wouldn’t know about it and certainly wouldn’t be responsible in any way, shape, form, or fashion.”

  I grin at her clever workaround. “Thanks, Ellie. I promise it’ll be fine.”

  “Just know that I’ll sell you out in a heartbeat if anyone comes a’questioning.”

  “Won’t happen,” I vow, hoping I’m right. “But if it does, I’ll buy you a whole case of those Fireworks cookies you like.” I’ve noticed her eating the Pop Rock candy-covered cookies from the souvenir shop in the park from time to time. “Hell, I’ll buy you a case for this.”

  “For what?” she asks, playing dumb. She stretches exaggeratedly and then gets up and slow walks down the hall, whistling a tune to herself. I don’t waste any time, lunging for the binder she indicated and flipping to the page for yesterday.

  I find Jayme’s address and quickly memorize it. “Ten thirty-four Everton,” I repeat to myself a few times.

  I damn near speed walk to the parking lot, throwing a leg over my motorcycle. Though I’m itching to peel out, I take a moment to program the address into my phone to get directions. The preview shows it’s taking me to a nice area, and as I head that way, I smile behind the face shield of my helmet. “I’m coming for you, Jayme.”

  A short ride later, I pull up to the curb of a far beyond ‘nice’ apartment building. Either Jayme is making serious bank at her job or she’s got a secret revenue stream from somewhere because this place is swanky with a capital ‘who’d you wank to get a place here’ vibe.

  The first obstacle? The beast of a doorman who looks like he moonlights as a bouncer at a heavy metal thrasher club. With his bald head and dead stare and a body that’s stuffed into a suit that he looks like he’s about to burst out of, he basically dares me to come his way and be his evening’s entertainment. But I’m not scared. In fact, I can understand why Jayme would appreciate a building with security masked as concierge service.

  I turn off my motorcycle and confidently stride to the doorman. “Hey, man! How’re you doing tonight?” I greet him.

  “Fine. Can I help you?” His question is polite, but the tone is more ‘fuck off’ than ‘let me be of service’.

  “Yeah, I’m here to see a friend.”

  “Name?”

  “Jayme Rice.”

  He looks at me as though contemplating stabbing me or breaking my neck, and it’s a hard decision because he’d enjoy them both.

  “Your name,” he explains, his face void of all expression.

  “Carson Steen,” I say with a smile, knowing that the last name has enough weight to open typically unopened doors.

  Not this time. He blinks once, giving the impression that he’s checking a mental list, before stating formally, “You’re not on the list of visitors this evening, Mr. Steen. Perhaps another night.”

  The suggestion is a complete dismissal if ever I’ve heard one. I’ll admit that I’m surprised. I didn’t expect it to be this hard to get in the door of an apartment building, even one with a doorman. I consider doing something dubious like shimmying up the fire escape or distracting the doorman-slash-guard and rushing past him, but something tells me he’s got me in his sights, and nothing short of a bomb going off will tear his threatening glare from me now.

  Holding up my hands in a classic ‘no harm, no foul’ move, I step back. Slowly, I reach into my pocket for my phone. One press and it starts ringing.

  “What’s wrong?” Jayme answers.

  “Hello to you too. Why do you assume something’s wrong?” I say, narrowing my eyes at the way the guard’s lips are twitching. Is he laughing at me?

  “Carson, it’s nearly eleven thirty at night, so either this is a booty call—which it had better not be—or something’s wrong.” She sounds fearful that I might’ve forgotten my promise to be good already, and I contemplate telling her some crazy story like I saved a rabid racoon from a forest fire, but it bit my nose, causing a bulbous red clown look, and it’ll be on the morning news complete with an interview with Carson ‘Bozo’ Steen.

  Or maybe go with something believable like I got arrested for a bar fight, but that’s considerably more boring. But honesty worked with Ellie, so I take my chances again, this time with Jayme.

  “Neither. But I am downstairs, and your bouncer won’t let me in since I’m not on The List. So come downstairs, okay? Wear jeans and a jacket.” The doorman flicks his eyes from me to the motorcycle behind me and grinds his teeth. Unconsciously, I take a step back to give me a fighting chance if he throws down.

  Or to get a head start. I might be quicker than him.

  She’s quiet for so long I look at my phone to see if she’s hung up, but the call timer is still counting up. Is she thinking about doing it or trying to figure out how to get out of it? Or worse, how to talk me out of riding again?

  “Give me ten minutes,” she says breathlessly.

  One look at Deadly Doorman has me suggesting, “Make it five or you might have to call in a missing person’s case. Remember, the doorman did it.”

  Her laugh is bright and light. “Myron? He’s a softie, wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  I look at the Myron she’s talking about, who’s scowling and blocking the doorway as though he really wishes I’d make a move for it so he can tackle me. I can see the ‘come on, try it’ plea in his eyes. And this guy’s name is Myron? That sounds like a computer tech guy, not a deadly machine of a man.

  “If you say so. Just remember, Yronmay idday tiay.” I wait a moment, double-checking my Pig Latin in my mind. “Shit, I think I said that wrong, but you know what I meant.”

  She hangs up still laughing and promising to hurry. Myron breaks his silence as I put the phone back into my pocket. “You didn’t say it wrong,” he declares flatly.

  Awkward! And vaguely threatening.

  Luckily, Jayme seems to hustle, and only a few moments later, she appears, walking toward the door. Without looking back, Myron opens the door right on cue.

  Does he have eyes in the back of his head or something?

  Somehow, that seems possible. But the idea disappears when Jayme steps through the door. She’s stunning in her professional pencil skirts and blouses, but dressed down, Jayme is all badass babe. Her light-wash jeans have rips that show small slivers of thigh and knee and expertly highlight her curves. Her booties are black with a small, stacked heel that gives her legs the illusion of extra length. And her simple black T-shirt is cropped and loose-fitting, making me imagine ways to get a peek at the soft skin of her belly. Or better yet, get my hands there.

  And in just another twist of fate, she’s wearing a classic leather flight jacket. On Tom Cruise it looks pretty sweet. On Jayme Rice? Absolutely sexy. I greet her with a smile, running an appreciative hand down her leather sleeve. “You look gorgeous.”

  She says thank you, but the nervous smile says she’s uncertain about my sudden appearance at her apartment tonight. I want to allay those fears immediately. “You tracked me down last night, so I’m returning the favor. Full disclosure, I got your address from the visitor log.”

  Myron grunts. “Ma’am?”

  She holds a hand up to Myron, and though he’s not happy about it, he honors her wishes. To me, she asks, “Why?”

  I step closer, wishing it were only the two of us to hear this confession. “Because even though we spent all day together, within minutes of your leaving, all I wanted was to see you again. And tomorrow seemed so far away. So I thought we could go for a ride.”

  One of her arched brows lifts. “A ride? That’s it?” I repeat the crossed heart motion and charming smile that got Ellie on my side, hoping they work on Jayme too. She points her finger into my chest as she tells me, “You are bad, Carson. We talked about that, remember?”

  I take her pointed finger in my hand, pressing her palm to my chest though I know she’ll feel my heart pounding. “I’ll be good. You have my word.”

  Her eyes drop to her hand beneath mine, and I swear I feel her press into me, her fingertips branding me through my shirt. I want to guide her back through the door she just exited and up to her apartment, but instead, I fight my instincts and pull her toward my motorcycle. I help her onto the back of my bike, where it’s a squished seat, and carefully adjust the zipper on her jacket. Her breath catches, turning the moment into something intimate.