“Miss Jones, nice to meet you. Andromeda Carrys, Mr. Vaughn’s assistant.”
Perfect. That’s just perfect.
I’m staring. I know I am, but I can’t make myself stop. There’s so much to take in. The hair. The skin. The Angelina Jolie lips. He must be in lust with his assistant. That’s why he avoids the pussy parade. He must be. What man wouldn’t be when he looks at this all day long. I’m practically in lust with her and I’m straight.
“Miss Jones?” Her voice is soft and feminine, and in direct contrast to how she dresses.
“Ah yes,” I say, shooting out of my seat. Restless, I smooth my dress for no reason whatsoever. The one that I now determine makes me look Amish. Then again, I could be in a crotchless latex jumpsuit and look Amish standing next to this woman.
Oozing sex appeal, Andromeda the bombshell sets off for Fancy’s office while I obediently follow in her shadow. Apparently walking is a sensual act. I never got this memo. I guess we’re doing this now––sexy walking. Must be the new thing.
She knocks twice and opens the door, motioning me inside, then closes it behind me.
“Sunava bitch is going down…romancing my client behind my back is an act of war,” Vaughn says into the cell phone. He looks up and our eyes lock. His eyebrows gently pull together. For a moment he looks pleased which sets me at ease. “I went to see Sean’s mother and made sure she understood that Kaplan doesn’t have her son’s best interest at hand…yeah, his mother loves me.” Until his eyes scan me from head to foot and his mouth tightens. And my ease quickly turns to discomfort. Fidgeting, I stand there longer than I should. “Yeah, listen I have a meeting. We’ll discuss this later…I’ve already put in calls to two of Kaplan’s clients offering them a better deal…I’d do it for free just to teach that fucker a lesson…okay…later, Barry.”
Placing the cell on his desk, he rocks in his chair and fixes his shirt cuffs. “You can come in. I won’t bite,” he casually offers.
“I do.”
The hell if I know where that came from. To cover up my extreme lack of control over the crap that comes out of my mouth, I do my best to look bored. He, on the other hand, looks like a guy caught surfing porn at work, wide-eyed and frozen. “I’m kidding. Get real, Vaughn. Not if we were the last two people on a deserted island and I was in dire need of a meal.”
That snaps him out of his frozen state, his lips gently turning up. “You wouldn’t eat me if the alternative was starving to death?”
Clearly it’s his turn to act like an ass. “I’d rather chew my arm off.”
His phone rings. He glances at the screen, and grimaces. Smoothing his tie, he clicks it off. “I’ve seen the way you eat, Jones, and I say you last one day before you start eating me.”
I can feel the heat blast up my neck. So I have an appetite, so what. This mouth needs fuel to operate. Meanwhile, his attempt to tamp down his amusement at my reaction is poor at best. His eyes betray him, turning into half moons even though his mouth stays firmly in a straight line.
“You’ve been watching me? What a creeper. The peeping Tom thing makes sense now.”
His reaction is swift. Gone is the amusement at my expense. Gone is the cocky half smile––sliding right off his face and onto mine. Pink blooms on his high cheekbones. He clears his throat and rocks his chair back.
“I…umm…” He scowls.
“Relax. I’m messing with you, counselor.” I walk over and take a seat directly in front of his desk. My eyes are immediately on the move, perusing the room, anything to avoid eye contact. The intensity of his stares have tripled overnight and it’s making me jumpy.
“So this is where you do your Jerry McGuire thing.” The office is spars, the colors muted, the furnishings simple. “Not what I expected.”
I can tell from the periphery of my vision he has yet to take his eyes off of me. “Jerry McGuire is an agent,” he says as he stretches his neck left and right. I’m also pretty sure he just puffed out his chest. What’s gotten into him?
“I’m a licensed agent and a business manager. Not only is my job more comprehensive, it’s also much more demanding.”
Commercial break for an exaggerated eye roll.
The desk phone flashes. He answers. “June, hold all my calls…yes, all of them…I don’t care who, all of them.” He hangs up. “What did you expect?” he asks, his voice softer this time.
“I don’t know…something a little fancier maybe.”
“I’m rarely here.” He leans back in his chair and laces his hands behind his head. His tailored white shirt clings to his chest. The one I know is all cut muscle under fine cotton. It demands attention and I hand mine over willingly. Until he coughs.