Paige

PAIGE

Dressed and teetering on too-high heels, I suck in a breath and wait for Sabrina to give me her final verdict. Her elegant arms are crossed as she taps a finger against her mouth. She's so much more refined than I am, and I swear a bead of sweat trickles down my back under her scrutiny.

"One last thing. Let's freshen up your makeup. A little on the eyes and cheeks. Do you have an emergency tube of lipstick in that briefcase of yours?"

"What? No. I don't wear?—"

"Never mind." She sighs. "You can borrow mine."

Sabrina riffles through her makeup bag and hands me items like I know what the heck to do with them. "Shadow, use that sparkly blue gray one at the top. It will bring out your eyes and still match the dress."

I do as she says, leaning into the bathroom mirror and smearing the powder across my lids with my finger.

"God, you are a heathen." Sabrina sets the tube of lipstick down on the counter and turns me toward her. "Just let me."

She uses a small brush, then pats me with sweet smelling powder—over my cheeks and down my chest, which is far too exposed in this dress. Another quick assessment, and she holds out a slender chain with a lone teardrop pearl the nestles just above my cleavage.

"Good." Finally, she holds out the lipstick. "Apply. Blot. Reapply. Blot again. Got it?"

"Yeah." I take the tube and do as she says.

Sabrina sighs with a smile and goes to the bathroom door. "I really do good work."

I take one more glance at myself in the mirror. My mouth is a dark red, setting off the pale cream of my skin. My eyes shine bright and blue with the added soft color around them. And the dress…I've never been in something so beautiful, even though it's heavy and restricting. Beaded white silk cups my waist and hips, flaring just enough to allow me free movement—mostly—and it shoves my boobs up like they're being presented to the gods for a sacrifice.

But it also makes me feel older. Elegant. Sexy.

I follow Sabrina to the door and take a deep breath.

"I want to tell you that you'll be fine. The investors will love you. No doubt. But…good luck with Jake Young. He's been known to send women crying from whatever room he's in." Sabrina's words don't quite match the glint in her eyes.

Is she not as fascinated with Jake as she seems to be with Henry? Or Eli for that matter?

"He's not what I'm worried about. I can handle him."

Her brow quirks up.

"Let's just say, I'm used to handling assholes." And Jake very much wants to beg himself as one, even though I think it's a facade. Or maybe, he's just not one to me because I won't take his shit.

"Go get 'em." And she swings the door open with a whoosh and pushes me out into the hall.

After a few stumbling steps, I right myself and channel my inner goddess.

I've got this. The babysitter is staying late until Jackie gets home. He's promised to put Paxton to bed with an extra bedtime story, and I've promised to fill him in on every detail when I get home.

Stomping my way back to the office where all three men wait, I blaze with heat the moment they spot me. It's like they all look over at the same time, and the primal thrum in the air fuels my confidence.

I stop in front of them, and no one speaks.

Raising a brow, I ask, "Ready to go? Or was all of this a waste?"

Jake starts, stepping forward to take a jacket from Sabrina and offering to help me into it. I turn and let him, refusing to shiver under the light brushes of his skin against mine. Then, he offers me his elbow, and I can't help the loud laugh that escapes me.

"It's nice to see chivalry isn't dead. Let's go woo the purse holders into offering up what's in their coffers." I take his arm and wave at Henry and Eli on the way out to the elevator.

Once we're closed inside though, a new tension builds, like water slowly filling up the car with the threat to drown us both. I give his arm a squeeze with both hands.

"It'll be fine."

He nods, jaw set, eyes forward, but he's looking at me in the reflection of the door.

"Come on. It can't be that bad."

A grunt. Great. Is that all the contribution I'll get from him tonight?

Before we reach the ground level, I pull my hand from his arm and face him. "You haven't even mentioned how lovely this dress looks on me. If I'm going to be arm candy, the least you could do is give me a boost of confidence."

"I didn't think you needed anything to be confident."

"I don't, but it would still be nice of you to offer it."

Finally, he looks at me, and I'm not really prepared for the full brunt of his attention this way. "I'm not nice."

"No. You're really not." I turn back toward the door, arms folded under my chest.

The elevator dings, and the doors open. He moves forward to block the way before I can step out. "You look lovely tonight."

We linger in the open elevator doorway as we stare at each other. Instinct is screaming for me to take the extra step that would close the distance between us, but my rational brain keeps me from it.

"Thank you, Mr. Young. That's very kind of you." I bat my lashes at him and do a little mock curtsy.

He rolls his eyes and gets us moving, taking my elbow to steady me as we walk to his waiting car.

The driver opens the door for us, and Jake helps me into the back. Less oppressive than it was the last time I sat in these seats. Or mostly in them. I was half on Henry and Jake's lap for most of the ride home, but really, I can't be thinking about that right now.

Once the car pulls into traffic, I turn in my seat to look at Jake again. He's dressed up in a finer suit than before. Hair brushed and styled. Watch glinting on his wrist. Shiny shoes. None of it undoes the absolute misery in his grumpy features.

"So, tell me more about my role here. Do I just hang on your arm? Should I keep my mouth shut? Is this a sit down dinner or a place where we walk around eating tiny portions of food until we're so full of champagne that they're really hoping we all get drunk and forget about business?"

Jake snorts. "The second. And you can speak, . I would never tell you otherwise."

That gives me the warm gooey feeling in my chest, so I smile at him. "Good. Now, this whole date thing. How much touching will be involved."

"No touching."

I raise my brow at him.

He grunts again. "Other than your hand on my arm, or mine at your back."

"No butt touching, though, right?"

The dark look he shoots me screams scandalized. "Of course not."

"I mean because…you're technically my boss, right? Even though I don't work directly under you."

His nostrils flare, but he nods. "I literally sign your paychecks, ."

"Like by hand?"

He nods.

"You know, they have machines for that now, right?"

"I am aware."

I turn further, drawing my knees up on the seat between us. "Okay, Mr. Boss Man. Sir. So, little-to-no touching."

I lean in further, close enough that I could touch him—would if we hit a bump. He tips his face my direction. "What are you doing?"

Shrugging, I try to bite back my smile and fail. "Not touching you."

"Mm-hmm." I swear he looks at my mouth for a heartbeat too long. Let's blame it on the lipstick.

"What? I'm not touching. See?" I wave my hand between us. "At least a few inches."

That tick in his jaw pulses.

"It's the rules, right? That's why I'm not touching you." I lean in to drop the few inches to one. "Still not touching you."

His gaze darkens, pupils swallow the green in his eyes, and Jake's hand is suddenly twisted in my hair, holding me in place. "You. Are playing with fire, Miss Monroe."

I know I am, but I can't seem to help myself. "Yes, sir."

Another grunt. This time, low and gravelly.

It takes a few seconds for his grip on me to loosen and for me to fall back. Swiping a hand through my hair, I gather it over one shoulder. "You should really know better than to mess with a girl's hair before an event, Mr. Young. It's not the best way to start an evening."

He practically growls in response, but less than a minute later, the car slows, and we pull into the round drive of a massive house—all white columns and old money. I'm leaning over the small space between our seats to get a closer look.

Jake clears his throat. We're nearly pressed together like this.

"Sorry." I back off again just in time for the door to open. After a blink, Jake slides out and offers me a hand. I take it and bask in the splendor of the scenery as the door closes behind us with a sharp snap .

But we don't move forward after I've catalogued at least six different varieties of winter-blooming flowers. Who would bother with their landscaping in December?

"Are we going inside? Or shall we stand around in the snow? Maybe build a fort or a snowman? How about start a snowball fight?"

His hand squeezes around mine before he leads me forward. The stiffness of his movements and hard lines of his face both scream how badly he does not want to be here.

If I thought the outside was beautiful, inside takes my breath away. It's classic Christmas, all twinkling white lights, pale blues, glittering silvers, and is that an ice sculpture in the middle of the small buffet and the bar?

Waiters wander past, weaving through small groups of people, and Jake snags a champagne glass off one tray. He hands it to me, and the waiter waits long enough for Jake to grab a second before he disappears back into the small crowd.

Downing half of his flute in a gulp, I widen my eyes at him.

"I hate these things."

No more are the words out of his mouth that a couple saddles up to us, drawing us further into the space. "Jacob Young. How good to see you again, my man."

Right away, I can tell these two are old money, even though they're both just past middle-aged. They have the confidence and air about them that screams high breeding and proper social etiquette.

Jake's hesitation has my elbow digging into his side. "Nice to see you, Harold. Pamela. This is my colleague, Monroe."

I take the man's outstretched hand and curtsy a little to the woman.

"How beautiful you are . Is that a Sergio Giorgini?"

I look down at my dress. "Oh. I believe it is, yes."

"Last year's design but utterly breathtaking on you."

"Thank you." I drum up my best smile at the backhanded compliment. "Is that a Hermès bag? I absolutely love his newest line of Kelly bags. He's bringing back the iconic designs in a new line. Did you hear?"

The woman's face lights up, and I know I have her. We talk designers for a good fifteen minutes as the men speak to each other, before Jake pulls me away.

It's not long before another couple or pair of couples stop us. Each one has Jake clamming up, but none of the women distract me from my purpose this time. I step in and talk business with my: Did you know about the new project Rockwell International is putting together? Oh, you haven't heard about the mix of young and old designers we're recruiting for each unique interior? Splendid, if you know someone who'd like to participate in the contest, please send them our way.

And the more I talk, the more Jake seems to touch me. First, it's just a hand at my lower back, then, he starts tracing the exposed skin between my shoulder blades, and on to twisting one section of my hair around his finger. Finally, when we've gotten a break and made it all the way to the bar, Jake's hand is at my waist like he's afraid if he lets me go, I'll melt back into the waiting throng of people.

He procures me another flute of champagne. This is my third, and it's already gone straight to my head. Good thing I don't need filters when I'm talking about work. Jake sighs, downing his glass and signaling the bartender for something stronger.

As he waits, his focus returns to me. "You, , are amazing."

Heat flushes my cheeks. "It's really not that hard to talk to people."

His jaw clenches. "For you, perhaps."

I lean against his arm. "I'll teach you a trick," I say conspiratorially. "Ask them about themselves. People love to talk about themselves. Makes everything easier."

Jake traces the thin strap of my dress across my shoulder and down my back. "I wouldn't know where to start."

Shaking my head, I roll my eyes at him. "How many people do we have to get through before it's appropriate to escape?"

"Too many."

Nabbing a small napkin of food from a passing server, I not-so-daintily shove it into my mouth and follow it with a few sips of champagne. Not ladylike, but it's the only way to keep me upright. With all the talking I've been doing, I've barely gotten a bite, and it's far past time for my regularly scheduled dinner.

A soft pang hits me. I really hate missing dinner with my son. I can forgive myself only if I don't make a habit of it. I can't dwell for too long because we're sucked back into the throng. And I have no clue how long we've been here other than how tipsy I've gotten and how much the pinch of my borrowed heels has made my feet ache.

Escaping one more round of schmoozing, Jake pulls me aside. We're hovering by a window, using the view as a reason to take a few seconds to ourselves. Or at least, I'm using it as an excuse.

Jake's hand hooks around my waist again, and he's so much closer than he's been all night, chest nearly pressed into mine. The heat of him is a siren call, and I can't help the way my hands find his shoulders for balance.

He dips closer, mouth brushing my ear. Heat and a long unattended need sears through me. "Want to get out of here?"

I dip my nose against his earlobe, oh so tempted to take a nibble, and say the only word that comes to mind. "Yes."