“If you keep doing that, you’ll be turning in another wrecked PT Cruiser.”
“You said you wanted to drive,” Taylor whispered teasingly as she nibbled at his neck.
“Because I’m the man.”
“Fine. I’ll stop then, if that’s really what you want . . .”
The car careened wildly as it took the next corner.
“Fuck it,” Jason groaned. “I’ll buy you a new car.”
THEN SHE WAS naughty in her apartment, in the foyer inside the front door, on top of the console table.
“My bedroom’s just down the hall,” Taylor gasped as Jason tore open her shirt. Buttons flew everywhere.
“We’ll get there eventually,” he said, pushing up her skirt while sliding one hand along her thigh. He smiled wickedly as his fingers slowly inched their way up. She moaned and arched her back against the wall.
“Let’s go there now, Jason,” she commanded.
“My, my, aren’t we pushy . . .”
WHEN THEY FINALLY made it to the bedroom, she was naughty there, too.
“And you said you’d hate me forever,” Jason teased as he tossed Taylor onto the bed.
She reached impatiently for his belt buckle, yanking him onto the bed with her. “This is angry sex—I actually don’t like you at all.” She wrapped her legs around him, trying to get on top. He grabbed her hands and pinned them over her head.
“Are you sure about that, Ms. Donovan? Because you seem to like it an awful lot when I do this . . .”
LATER ON, SHE was even naughty on the kitchen counter, after Jason innocently pointed out that they had forty minutes to kill until their Chinese food arrived.
“Are you sure you’re not too tired?” Taylor taunted, lacing her fingers through his hair and pulling him between her legs. “Although you do seem to have a lot of energy for a thirty-nine-year-old.”
Jason grabbed her by the back of her neck, pulling her mouth to his. “Thirty-eight, smart-ass. I have a December birthday.”
Hijinks ensued.
FINALLY, WHEN THEY were both so spent that they literally fell into bed, Taylor rested her head on Jason’s chest. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, and they fell asleep instantly. A deep and peaceful sleep.
And in the morning, they were naughty all over again.
Thirty-five
“SO YOU REALLY quit your job?”
Jason handed Taylor another doughnut, the double chocolate with sprinkles per her request. Earlier, she had discovered the one drawback of sleeping with the Sexiest Man Alive: in the morning, she had to be the one to go out and hunter-gather breakfast. Unless, as Jason put it, she wanted a side of paparazzi with her orange juice and muffins.
“Yep, I really quit,” she told him, biting into the chocolately goodness she had wrangled from the bakery down the street.
“But you’re so calm about it.”
Taylor shrugged nonchalantly. “Something else will come along.”
When she said nothing further, Jason gave her a look.
“Look—it was a simple decision: you or them. I chose you,” she said.
“Aww, honey . . . that’s so sweet of you.” He leaned in and gave her a kiss. Then he pulled back with a knowing gaze. “You already have another job offer, don’t you?”
Taylor smiled proudly. “Three, actually.”
“Hmm . . . when did all this happen?”
She shrugged. “I made a few calls on the way to get the doughnuts.” She caught his look. “Well, I can’t just sit around and be unemployed forever.”
“It’s been twelve hours,” Jason said with a grin. Then he broke off a piece of his marbled frosted doughnut and handed it over, having noticed the slight glare she’d thrown him after he’d picked that one out of the box.
“So come on, tell me about these three offers,” he said.
“Well, they’re large firms, like my old one. And since Gray and Dallas made me a partnership offer before I quit, they all said they’d be willing to match it.”
“Not bad,” Jason said, impressed. “You can pick up right where you left off.”
Taylor nodded. “Mmm-hmmm.”
He caught her tone. “What? Now what are you up to?”
Taylor grinned. “Well, I’ve been giving these things a lot of thought—”
“—You really have been busy these past twelve hours—”
“—and I feel as though I’ve peaked in the large firm environment. After all, there’s only so much you can learn in one place—”
“—I’m pretty sure that’s a line from a song—”
“—and so I was thinking that maybe I should start my own law firm.”
With this having been declared, they both fell silent. After a long moment, Jason spoke first.
“I think that’s a great idea.”
Taylor jumped off the couch excitedly. “I know! I can see it now—Taylor Donovan and Associates. That has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
Jason gave her the strangest look. “Don’t you mean Taylor Andrews and Associates?”
Taylor laughed as if this was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard.
She stopped abruptly when she saw Jason’s serious expression. “Ohh . . . I see our first fight as a married couple is going to be a big one.”
Jason got up off the couch and walked over. He gave her an affectionate kiss.
“I’ll start preparing now.”
Right then, they were interrupted by a knock at the front door.
Taylor looked over. “Shit—I forgot to call and cancel the movers. Oh, they are gonna be pissed.” She smiled sweetly at him. “Maybe you could answer it, honey? Go . . . sign some autographs for them or something.”
JASON GRUMBLED HIS whole way to the front door.
This was what assistants were for. And managers and agents and various sorts of househelp. Taylor quickly needed to get used to her new way of life, before she started sending him to the store for milk or tampons or something.
And Jason Andrews did not do milk or tampons.
However . . . he mused to himself with a smile, somebody was going to have to trek out to the store for some more condoms, the way they were going . . .
With this thought in mind, Jason opened the door in great spirits. “Gentlemen—I’m afraid there’s been a change of plans.”
He quickly explained the situation, paid the movers for their time, tipped them an extra grand for agreeing to keep Taylor’s address private information, and yes, he did also sign an autograph or two. As the movers got back into their truck, one of them congratulated Jason on his engagement.
Jason grinned. Of all the things he’d accomplished in his life, that may have been the congratulations he most enjoyed receiving.
He shut the door and headed back inside, into the kitchen where he could hear Taylor cleaning up. She was rinsing out a glass at the sink and glanced over when she heard him come in.
“How’d it go with the movers? Is everything okay?”
Watching her, Jason smiled.
“Everything is great.”
He walked over and scooped Taylor up. “Stop pretending like you know what you’re doing at that sink,” he teased. Then he carried her off into the bedroom.
They didn’t leave the apartment the entire day.
FINALLY, LATE THAT night as they lay in bed, Taylor rested her head on Jason’s shoulder, looking up at him.
“I love you,” she said softly.
Jason’s arms tightened around her. He grinned sleepily. “I know.”
Taylor drifted off contentedly. Until, through the darkness, she heard a low, sneaky whisper.
“Mrs. Taylor Andrews . . .”
She didn’t bother to open her eyes.
“Still not gonna happen.”
But then she lay there, awake. She opened her eyes and, for a long time that night, watched Jason as he slept peacefully by her side.
Only because she wanted to be sure she had gotten in th
e last word.
Of course.
Turn the page for a preview of
the next romance from Julie James
Practice Makes Perfect
Coming soon from Berkley Sensation!
PAYTON REVIEWED THE schedule of events for the Gibson’s executives a second time.
To say she was displeased would be an understatement.
She had been swamped this week, preparing for both the Gibson’s pitch and a sexual harassment trial that was set to start the following Wednesday. J.D. had caught her at a particularly bad time when he stopped by her office yesterday to discuss the agenda for wining and dining Jasper Conroy and his in-house litigation team. She’d been arguing all morning with opposing counsel over last-minute additions to the exhibit list. She had hung up the phone, spotted J.D. standing in the doorway, and sensed her morning was only about to get worse. But instead, in a rare moment of apparent helpfulness, J.D. had offered to take the lead in setting up the Gibson’s schedule.
And, in a just-as-rare moment of receptiveness to anything J.D.-related, as her phone began ringing off the hook and she saw the familiar number of her opposing counsel on the caller ID and she realized she was about to begin round 137 with him, she accepted J.D.’s offer.
Big mistake.
Clutching the agenda in her hand, Payton looked up at her secretary with a mixture of frustration and trepidation.
“Is this really the agenda?” she asked.
Irma nodded in the affirmative. “J.D.’s secretary just dropped it off.”
“Okay. Thanks, Irma.”
Payton pretended to resume typing at her computer as Irma left her office. She watched as her secretary headed back to her desk, waited a moment or two more, then casually got up and walked across the hall to J.D.’s office.
J.D. peered up from his desk when he heard the knock on his door.
“Got a sec?” Payton asked pleasantly. One never knew who was watching.
“For you, Payton—anytime. How can I be of assistance?” he asked magnanimously.
Payton stepped into his office and shut the door behind her. They both instantly dropped the charade.
Payton held out the agenda accusingly. “You told me we were having dinner with the Gibson’s execs tomorrow evening.”
J.D. eased back in his chair, gesturing to the agenda. “And as you see, we are.”
“But you’re also playing golf with them tomorrow afternoon. Why wasn’t I invited?”
“Do you play golf?”
“No, but you didn’t know that.”
J.D. grinned. “Actually, I did. I overheard you mention it to Ben last summer.”
Stunned by the snub, Payton opened her mouth to respond. She clenched her fist as she searched for some response, some insult, anything, and a moment passed . . . and then another . . . and—
Nothing.
J.D. smiled victoriously. “Tell you what—why don’t you think about it for a while? Come back when you’re ready—make it a good one.” Then he ushered Payton out of his office and shut the door behind her.
She stood there in the hallway. Staring at that stupid name-plate, J.D. JAMESON. She was seriously tempted to tear it off the wall and chuck it straight at his face.
It was true that she didn’t know squat about golf; she had never even swung a club. Her avoidance was purposeful. She had distinct opinions regarding the sport and, more importantly, those who played it.
Payton considered her options. On the one hand, she hated the idea of J.D. getting the better of her. And she really hated the idea of looking like a clueless novice playing golf in front of Jasper and the Gibson’s team.
On the other hand, the thought of being left out for the entire afternoon was not appealing. With the partnership decision looming, she needed to ensure she was an integral part of the effort to land Gibson’s as a client. And she simply didn’t think she could stomach playing the part of the little woman sitting back at the office while the men talked shop at the twenty-first or whatever tee.
So as far as Payton could see, she had no choice.
Despite the fact that she was already internally worrying over how she was going to squeeze in a quick at-least-I-won’t-look-like-a-total-jackass golf lesson that evening, Payton strode confidently back into J.D.’s office.
J.D. glanced up from his desk as the door opened, surprised by her sudden entrance.
“That was fast.” He leaned back in his chair and beckoned with his hand. “Okay, let’s hear it, Kendall. Give me your best shot.”
Payton saw the stapler near the edge of his desk and had to fight the urge to take him up on his offer.
“I’ll do it,” she announced. “Count me in for tomorrow’s game.”
J.D. stared at her, surprised. He clearly had not expected her to say this.
Payton nodded in response to his silence. “Good. That’s settled, then.” She turned to leave, her mind already running in a hundred different directions. She needed to find a set of clubs; perhaps Laney had some she could borrow. And of course there was the matter of attire—should she wear shorts? A polo shirt? A jaunty little cap, perhaps? Were special shoes required? The details surrounding this kind of event were—
“You can’t go.”
J.D.’s words stopped Payton right as she reached the door. She turned around to face him. “You can’t be serious. You’re that desperate to get some alone time with the Gibson’s reps?”
“No, that’s not it,” J.D. said quickly. He hesitated, and for the briefest second Payton could’ve sworn he looked uncomfortable.
She put her hand on her hip, waiting for him to finish. “Then what, exactly, is it, J.D.?”
“We’re golfing at Butler,” he said.
Butler? Oh . . . of course, Butler , Payton thought sarcastically. That meant bupkiss to her.
“And?” she asked.
“Butler National Golf Club?” J.D. said, apparently believing this should ring some sort of bell with her.
Payton shook her head. No clue.
J.D. shifted awkwardly.
“My family has a membership there. Ben suggested it because it’s a nationally ranked course. But, as it happens, it’s a private club.” He emphasized this last part.
Payton failed to see what the problem was. “But if you can get the Gibson’s people in as guests, I don’t see why I can’t come, too.”
J.D. cleared his throat uneasily. He shifted in his chair, then met her gaze.
“They don’t allow women.”
The words hung awkwardly in the air. Drawing a line between them.
“Oh. I see.” Payton’s tone was brisk, terse. “Well then, you boys have fun tomorrow.”
Not wanting to see what she assumed would be the smug look on J.D.’s face, she turned and walked out of his office.
“WILL I SOUND like a total crybaby if I say it’s not fair?”
Laney patted Payton’s hand. “Yes. But you go right ahead and say it anyway.”
With a frustrated groan, Payton buried her head in her arms on top of the coffee shop table they had just sat down at moments ago.
“I hate him,” she said, her voice muffled. She peered up at Laney. “This means he’s going to get twice as much time with the Gibson’s reps.”
“Then you will have to be twice as good when you meet them for dinner,” Laney replied. “Forget about J.D.”
“Screw him,” Payton agreed. She saw Laney’s eyes cast nervously around the coffee shop at this.
“I mean, it’s bad enough he plays this card with the partners,” Payton continued. She lowered her voice, doing a bad male impersonation. “ ‘Hey, J.D.—you should come to my club sometime. I hear you shoot a two fifty.’ ”
“I think that’s bowling.”
“Whatever.”
Payton pointed for emphasis. “The problem is, getting business is part of the business. It’s like a ritual with these guys: ‘Hey, how ’bout those Cubs,’ ”—the bad male impersonation was back?
??“ ‘let’s play some golf, smoke some cigars. Here’s my penis, there’s yours—yep, they appear to be about the same size. Okay, let’s do some deals.’ ”
When the woman seated at the next table threw them a disapproving look over the foam of her jumbo-sized cappuccino, Laney leaned in toward Payton. “Let’s use our inside voices, please, when using the p-word,” she whispered chidingly.
Ignoring this, Payton took another sip of her vanilla latte. “In the business world, what’s the female equivalent of going golfing with a client?”
Laney gave this some thought. Payton fell silent, too, contemplating. After a few moments, neither of them could come up with anything.
How depressing.
“Well, that’s it. I guess I’ll just have to sleep with them,” Payton sighed, feigning resignation.
Laney folded her hands primly on the table. “I think I’m uncomfortable with this conversation.”
Payton laughed. Actually, it felt good to laugh—she’d been quite cranky since her encounter with J.D. She couldn’t believe he had managed to exclude her from the golf outing with the Gibson’s reps by taking them to a club that didn’t allow women. Wait, back up: what she really couldn’t believe was that there was actually still a club around that didn’t let women in. Once the existence of said club had been established, however, she had no problem believing that J.D. was its Grand Poobah.
But enough about J.D. already. Payton resolved not to let him ruin another minute of her day. Besides, she saw a prime opportunity to engage Laney in another one of their “debates.” The two of them couldn’t have been more opposite on the social/political spectrum. Having been raised by an ex-hippie single mother who was as socially radical as one could get while staying inside the boundaries of the law (most of the time, anyway), Payton found Laney’s prim-and-proper demeanor fascinating. And strangely refreshing.
“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Laney. I guess being a conservative means you don’t believe in free speech,” Payton teased.
“Don’t get on your liberal high horse—of course I believe in free speech,” Laney said, toying with the heart-shaped locket she wore.