“Her body is so tight.” His voice is strained, and he grins lifting his chin to let the smoke out before passing the joint to me. “It’s been a while since I’ve been with someone so… fresh.”

  “Jesus… You slept with her?” I scowl, taking the joint and holding it a second. At least it doesn’t smell like that cheap, skunk shit. I wanted a drink, but this will suffice.

  “Fuck, yeah.” He chuckles at some memory. “After you went home last night, she showed up with some roadies or whatever. We hit the town and, damn.”

  His words make me think of Raquel, of touching her body, and the heat rises below my belt. I lean against my desk and take a long pull off the blunt before passing it back. I watch as he takes another hit, and my brain starts to relax. Dad’s call pissed me off, but I’m feeling a little better now that Marley’s in my office, not dead and not too far off track.

  He offers the smoke to me again, but I decline. “I am planning to show up for work tomorrow.”

  “Suit yourself. She gave me the name of her supplier.”

  “Don’t get caught with it.” This guy thinks nothing of getting high, getting in a car, and speeding through The District.

  “What did I miss today?” He pulls up his phone and starts tapping on the face.

  “Not much.”

  “What’s this? Welcome Raquel Morgan?” He turns the phone toward me and has the nerve to look interested.

  “Taron hired her.”

  “Morgan… Is she related to—”

  “Yes.”

  “Is she pretty?”

  Yes, very. “It doesn’t matter.”

  He leans back on the couch and looks at me a second before lifting the joint and taking another long pull. Then he looks out the window. Seconds pass. “Let’s go to AJ’s and see who’s playing.”

  “I told you, I have to work tomorrow. We’re meeting with Madagascar.”

  “Fuck that, you could do that in your sleep. We’re only young once.”

  I study the deep lines around his eyes. I’m going to have to do something about him, and I’m pissed I didn’t see it sooner. I’m pissed my dad is right. “We’re not so young, and you need to sleep it off. I expect you to make an appearance here tomorrow.”

  “I guess now I have to.” He stands, tapping out the J. “Have to check out this new Morgan chick in the office.”

  “Raquel works with me.” It’s possible the words come out a little too sharp. I don’t care. “I want to see your marketing plan for the fourth quarter.”

  He doesn’t bat an eye. “Already done. Instagram account @Fletchcom, hashtag luxrental, hashtag rentbnb, hashtag Fletcher. Now I just need to post a bunch of photos of our shit.”

  “And you think that’ll work?”

  “Works for Kylie Jenner.”

  “Am I supposed to know what that means?”

  “It means we can get a drink at AJ’s before we call it a night.”

  I’m not in the mood for people. “Taron’s working on two new accounts. He can use the help. Did you drive here?”

  “Uber.”

  Perfect. I lift my blazer off the back of my chair then scoop up my phone and keys. “I’ll drive you home. I want you in his office first thing in the morning.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  “Glad you remember.”

  He laughs like nothing is wrong, and after the day I’ve had, I decide to leave it there for now.

  5

  Raquel

  “I was a little freaked out. I didn’t even have my computer password yet. But it was all in French, so I had it done in a few hours.” Balancing my phone on my shoulder, I spoon take-out chicken Pad Thai into a bowl.

  “Oh, yeah, they excel at starting you off hard and never letting up. You’ve got to find a way to impress Patton. That’ll knock him off his high horse.”

  I take a bite and nod, even though she can’t see me. “You were right. Patton Fletcher is something else.”

  “Don’t fall for him.” Renée’s voice is distracted, and she says it more like a mantra.

  It kind of worries me. “Did you?” I silently hold my breath waiting for her answer.

  “Did I what?” The noise of banging fills the line, then her voice goes loud. “Fall for Patton Fletcher? Lord, no! I actually try to protect my emotional health.”

  My eyes close as I exhale slowly. Thank God. “He’s kind of stern.” And hot as fuck.

  “Stern? That’s a nice way of putting it. He’s a pushy, insulting, arrogant, demanding—”

  “He’s the boss?” It’s a gentle tease.

  She huffs out a sarcastic ha. “Bosses don’t have to act that way. He’s a jerk.”

  Stabbing the slippery noodles with my fork, I think about the sexy man in question. “I didn’t think he was a jerk. He more, sort of… hyper-focused.” I take a big, spicy bite of chicken and crunchy carrots and broccoli. Delicious.

  “Has he insulted your wardrobe yet?”

  I make a little noise of defeat. “I’m not sure if it was an insult. He asked me if I was going to a funeral.”

  “Ha!” She fake-laughs. “Asshole. Like everyone was born with a trust fund, inherited their dad’s successful business, and shops at Armani all the time.”

  “I’m more a Balenciaga gal myself.” I’m really trying to diffuse the tension. I wasn’t that mad about his comment, and once I ditched the blazer, he was downright friendly.

  “How’s it going with Hazel? Is she treating you like the help?”

  “She’s okay. Her cat count has officially risen to ten.”

  “Ten! How many cats is too many?”

  “Well…” Her voice trails off. “They stay outside except the ones who’ve been declawed. It’s such a cruel practice, declawing. It’s like cutting off the tips of all your fingers, and as they get older, they develop arthritis making it painful to jump—”

  “I’ll never declaw a cat. Promise.” It doesn’t take much to get my sister on a soap box, and she has many causes. “How are you feeling? Are you happy there?”

  “Of course! I wouldn’t stay if I wasn’t.”

  Chewing my lip, I think about her words. Since the loss of our parents, it’s just Renée and me, and after her unexplained breakdown, I’m a little gun-shy. I finally have a job where I’m making good money, but I can’t afford more medical bills. I certainly can’t afford to go back to Savannah to take care of her. Not now.

  “You’ll tell me if you need anything, right? No disappearing again.”

  She doesn’t answer right away, and I hear the sound of running water.

  “Ray?”

  “Look, Rocky, I’m fine, okay? You’d do well to follow my advice and take care of yourself.”

  I take another bite of dinner, letting the sudden tension diffuse. “I really liked Sandra. She was glad to hear you’re doing well.”

  “Sandra’s nice. Tell her I said hello.” The warmth in her voice encourages me. While I chew, her tone becomes thoughtful. “Who else did you meet today?”

  Stabbing another bite, I quickly review the day. “Dean is the receptionist. He’s super nice, college aged, although I don’t think he’s enrolled anywhere.”

  “He must be new… Anybody else?”

  “Nope.” I take my last bite, talking around it. “I lost most of the day working on Madagascar. I didn’t even get lunch.”

  “Hm.” Another banging noise. “Well, I’d better go. I’m making soap.”

  “Hey, take care of yourself, okay? I love you.”

  “Protect your chin.”

  We disconnect, and I grab the remote, flipping to Netflix and letting Queer Eye play. The Fab Five are working with a man in a wheelchair, and his smile is so bright. I wonder if I could maintain my positive attitude in the face of physical adversity.

  I’ve faced personal challenges. While Renée was going through her stuff, my social life all but disappeared. I couldn’t afford to go out with the girls, and if I did have a free night or weekend, I either passed out from exhaustion or drove to Savannah to stay with her. I was barely twenty-one, but she needed me.

  Now when she does the overprotective big sister routine, it feels so unnecessary. She’s so worried about Patton Fletcher… George. My nose wrinkles.

  It really is a crime how sexy he is. I’ve never had such an immediate, primitive response to a man. I’ve had boyfriends, of course, but this is different. This is like being offered a thick, juicy steak after being on a 40-day bread and water diet.

  Setting my dinner on the end table, I lie on my side on the couch. I want to thread my fingers in his dark hair. It’s so thick and glossy, I love that he wears it slightly longer. I want to trace my finger down the line in his forehead, erasing the anger there. Is it anger or is it tension?

  Maybe if I ran my hands all over those broad shoulders… I could press my lips to the back of his neck, touch my tongue to his warm skin and taste the salt on his hard body.

  I want to see what he’s hiding under that suit, see his tattoos, feel the strength of his arms, slip my hand down his stomach and check the size of his package… My thighs squeeze together, and I consider fetching my vibrator.

  I should probably stop fantasizing about my grumpy boss, but it doesn’t count if he isn’t interested in me, right?

  Patton Fletcher, I exhale a sigh. He’s either going to be the best or the worst thing that’s ever happened to me…

  Dashing into the office, I’m five minutes late. I can barely breathe, juggling my coffee and my bag with my cardigan over my arm. I don’t have another suit, and it’s too hot for winter coats. My only option was a pair of black cigarette pants, a chambray blouse, and my cream blazer.

  “Nice French tuck.” Dean does a little clap as I jog past his desk. He’s in teal pants and a mustard crew-neck sweater. “Tan would be proud.”

  “I didn’t know fashion would be a part of the job.” I’m not joking. I’ll have to hit up Target as soon as I get my paycheck and hope I can do enough rotations until then.

  “I’ve found if you fly under the radar, you don’t get hit.”

  I can’t tell if he’s intentionally making a military reference or not. I’m well aware all three of the partners here are decorated veterans. Some incident in the jungle I didn’t have time to research.

  “I’m not sure that theory will work for me.” I already stick out, being the only female besides Sandra.

  I almost jump a foot in the air when I round the corner to find Patton waiting in the corridor with a frown. “Glad you decided to join us.”

  My heart was flying from the fright, but now it’s swooning from how hot he looks. I think he must be getting me back, because the white dress shirt he’s wearing is thin enough that I can see his wife beater under it. I can also see more of the tattoo on his arm from the way his sleeves are rolled to his elbows. I see a band with semper fi on it in thick, chunky lettering.

  He catches me looking and shoves his sleeves down, buttoning them at the wrists. He’s so close, I can smell the crisp blend of soap and citrus hanging around him.

  “In this meeting, you only translate. Nothing more.” His deep voice sends heat filtering from my chest down into my stomach. “The deal is made. We’re just finalizing it in person. It’s essentially a Skype handshake.”

  Blinking up, I meet his dark eyes, and it’s like a flash of electricity. His brow quirks, and he clears his throat, looking away.

  For a moment, I’m confused. Did he just pull away from me?

  I’m sure I imagined it.

  “I should stick to the script.” Like a good little girl. I don’t say it, but he cuts me a look.

  For the span of a heartbeat, I feel something move between us. It’s almost like he wants to say something, but he changes his mind. He turns and walks to the conference room, and without his blazer on, I get my first glimpse of his butt. Holy shit. Tight, square, perfect.

  I’m melting into a hot puddle until he calls back loud enough for everyone to hear. “Ditch the cardigan. You’re not eighty.”

  It’s like a splash of cold water on my lust party. I jump back, looking down at my sweater and frowning. I’m not even wearing it, and when I am, I do not look eighty.

  Turning, I see Sandra watching me with one eyebrow cocked. “You okay?”

  “Sure… I’m great. I was just trying to figure out what to do with this.” I start to hold out my sweater, but I don’t want her to think I care if he hates it. “My notes… I guess I should stop by my office. I can drop this off while I’m in there. It’s not really that chilly in here. You never know, though.” Jesus, stop talking, Rocky!

  I hate how I talk too much when I’m nervous. Or flustered. Or completely intimidated by the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.

  A smile curls her lips, and she nods. “You’d better get going.”

  My face is burning hot as I hustle to catch up to Patton, who’s already in the conference room and logging onto the website. I’m supposed to be impressing him, not fumbling around like an amateur.

  “What took you so long?” He’s back to gruff annoyance, which of course, makes me want to fire back.

  “You’ve only been in here ten seconds.”

  He turns on his heel, and his brown eyes are hot when they hit mine. “Don’t start with that smart mouth in front of these guys. They’re used to women knowing their place.”

  “Is it a philosophy you agree with?” I blink at him innocently, sarcastically.

  His lips press into a straight line, and he turns to the screen. “It’s possible they’re onto something… when it comes to certain women.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “Certain women?”

  He cuts me off. “Follow my lead. We can’t afford any fuck ups at this point.”

  “It’s what I planned to do.” I’m irritated with him now. “So their email said they’d like to conduct the meeting in French.”

  He pulls on a light brown blazer, pulling his cuffs down with a huff. “If they speak French, they speak English.”

  “I’m sure they speak English, but they want to speak French.”

  “Makes everything take twice as long as it should. An annoying power move.”

  He’s grumbling, and I’m about to point out how being fluent in other languages makes us unique and more appealing to international companies when the enormous monitor flickers to life. A white room with a large window appears, and three men in gray suits sit side by side behind a long table facing us like we’re in court.

  No one is smiling.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen.” Patton gestures to me. “Raquel Morgan here is our new Director of International Affairs. She’ll be our translator.”

  He touches my shoulder, sparking a zing of electricity that I shoot down. I’m not entertaining those thoughts when I’m pissed at him.

  The men on the screen don’t respond. It’s almost like they can’t hear us.

  A few seconds tick past, and Patton gives me another nudge. Oh, shit! I jump to life and quickly repeat what he said to them in French.

  All of the men smile, and one nods. “Sali. K’aiza.”

  Patton glances at me, and my teeth clench. He knows I almost missed it, but he’s letting it go. I’m not. I remember Renée’s advice: Impress him.

  The man’s greeting was not in French, but my work yesterday paid off. It’s a common Malagasy greeting.

  “They say, ‘Hello, how’s it going?’”

  Patton’s eyebrows flicker up, but after that crack about knowing my place, I’m ready to roll up my sleeves.

  The conversation continues with Patton speaking in English and me translating it into French, and vice versa with the men. The rental is on one of the top floors in a high rise in Knoxville. They’ve seen photos, and Patton assures them the space has been newly renovated and is able to accommodate all the latest tech for a team of up to fifty.

  They discuss the college town briefly and traffic patterns. It is pretty boring, and I’d probably have zoned out if I didn’t have to translate all of it. It’s doubly annoying because ten minutes in, it was clear these guys do indeed speak English, and Patton’s right—the meeting would go a lot faster if we could drop this pretense.

  We’re finally at the end, ready to sign off on all the contracts when the door opens, and a guy I’ve never met swaggers into the room. He’s tall with neat brown hair and wearing an expensive gray suit. His blue eyes strike me as world-weary, but he gives me a big grin in spite of it. I’m ready to like him, when I glance over and see the tension in Patton’s face.

  “What’s going on in here?” The guy pulls out a chair across from us and drops into it.

  “You know what.” Patton’s voice is even. I’ve only been here one day, but I can tell by that tone he’s pissed. “We’re meeting with Madagascar.”

  “Mada-gascar!” He says it in a mocking way, and my stomach clenches. I realize this guy is a loose cannon… He shouts at the screen, waving, “Are these our friends in Africa? Jumbo!”

  My lips press together, and I’m not sure if I should translate or not. I think he might be high. The men on the screen seem confused, and Patton takes the lead.

  “Taylor, Justin, Rickey, I’d like to introduce you to Martin Randall. He handles our marketing.” His tone is all business. “Martin’s had some late nights recently.”

  I translate this quickly, knowing these guys understand everything Patton said. Martin’s eyes are on me, but it’s not predatory like Jerry. He’s studying me, watching me for clues.

  “Was that French?” Martin’s voice is still loud, and he turns from me to the screen. “I thought Madagascarians spoke Mulligatawney.” He holds up a hand Native American style and quips, “Moto-Moto!”

  Patton is on his feet at once and rounding the table as Martin falls back laughing. “Get it? I like to move it, move it…”

  He’s still going when Patton catches him by the arm, lifting him out of the chair. “Let’s go.”

  “I heard they smoke a lot of pot in Madagascar… It’s not legal in Tennessee. It’s so confusing these days where you can get high and where you can’t.”