The Consequence of Seduction (Consequence 3)

“Rules,” I said for, oh, I don’t know, the fifth time in the last fifteen minutes? “No bringing men home to my house—ever.”

“Do I count?” Max yelled through the wall.

“Seriously,” Jordan said in a hushed voice. “Who built this place?”

“Who do you think?” I nodded to the wall. “Max was in charge of this project and offered me the other penthouse.”

Jordan shook her head. “Sneaky bastard.”

“Thank you!” Max said again.

“Can we block him out?” she whispered.

“Talk louder!” Again Max.

Jordan smirked. “Oh, baby, right there.”

I choked on my beer.

“That’s it!” she screamed, slamming her hand against the countertop. “Oh, you know how to make a woman feel so good!” Otis started barking. I wasn’t sure if that was a check in my favor or not as far as Max’s listening was concerned. “Oh, oh, yes, yes, yes, yes!” Bonus points for screaming, and suddenly I appreciated her hair and the wild way it seemed to bounce with every scream. I could definitely be down with that . . . oh, I could do a lot of things with that. I squeezed the bottle harder, blood pumping to all the wrong areas.

“Yes!” She slammed her hand against the counter again. “You’re so—”

Silence.

And then. “Guys?”

Otis barked.

“Guys?” Max yelled. “What happened? Since when has Reid ever gotten a girl to scream?”

“All the damn time!” I yelled back.

“Please,” Max replied. “I live here.”

“Really wish you didn’t!”

“You love me!”

I turned to Jordan. “It was a nice try . . .” This time I patted her hand. “Really, you had me believing I was a magic orgasm-giving unicorn.”

Jordan giggled, the beer teasing the edge of her lips. I wanted to take a step forward. Instead I backed up, nearly colliding with the fridge. “So, I guess the only rules are . . . don’t bring any guys back here. Ever. Keep it down until Max gets married and moves somewhere else, and well, try to keep the apartment clean.”

Jordan set down her beer, and her teeth teased her lower lip as she slowly held out her hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Oh.” I tugged her closer to my body. “And another thing?”

“Yeah?” she said breathlessly.

“You need to take a shower before dinner. I refuse to claim you and that thing on your head.”

She stomped on my foot and walked down the hall.

“Second door to the left,” I yelled. The door slammed.

It was worth it to see the fire in her eyes. “Well.” I nodded to Otis. “What do you think, boy?”

His answer?

To lift up his leg and pee on my keys.

Fan-freaking-tastic.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

JORDAN

There were worse things than cohabitating with your client turned fake boyfriend, right?

I chewed the lipstick from my lower lip and shot a nervous glance at Reid. I hadn’t exactly brought cocktail attire to his apartment, but I did own at least four Diane von Furstenberg wrap dresses. I threw on a white one and added my fake green crocodile heels and prayed that my hair would stay in the tight bun I’d fastened just above my neck.

I even added makeup.

A real effort took place!

I think it probably helped that Reid had some of the best bathroom lighting I’d ever seen. It was the type that made you look half your normal size as well as tan, something I’d never been accused of in my entire life. If anything, my paleness just made me more invisible.

“You look good,” Reid muttered in a hoarse voice once we were walking toward the restaurant. I’d pretended to be busy checking my messages in the cab while he stared longingly out the window, probably wishing he could simply jump out of the car and be done with the whole charade. It’s not like it had been a cakewalk for me either.

I was going to have to line up TV interviews, do a press release, and try to appear shrewlike while also enamored with him while filming. Just the thought of it had my head aching. Granted, it was my job, but he was adding a crap load more work onto what I usually had to do, and all he needed to do was smile and wave. To add insult to injury, I was going to be in the spotlight as well, and it’s not like I was comfortable with it, not even a little bit.

I sighed. At least he was easy on the eyes.

But his personality left much to be desired.

“Thanks.” I held my head high as he opened the door to Barbour, a high-end bar and grill in Upper Manhattan.

A couple exited the restaurant, nearly colliding with me in the process. I barely managed to sidestep them when someone else ran into me from behind.

“Sorry,” I managed to croak out.

Reid frowned, then pulled me firmly against his side. “Seriously, people can be so rude.”

I shrugged. “It’s fine; it happens . . . often.”

“What? People being rude to you?”

“No.” Because at least then they would see me. “People not watching where they’re going . . .”

He nodded and ushered me through the door. I stopped at the hostess booth, but Reid kept walking, so I followed him back. We walked through black velvet curtains and into a large room with a table set for eight.

Max was already seated, a beautiful girl with short, dark-blonde hair by his side, her smile captivating and fun. She was wearing a miniature black cocktail dress and had some killer leather wrap bracelets on her left wrist. I always noticed jewelry—thought it said a lot about a person.