Best Laid Plans (6 page)

Now that I have some distance
from the man, I’m horrified at what I let him do. I fell right into his beautiful
hands, because I thought he wanted me. I feel like a fool, and I’ll bet that
was his intent. It’s my own fault. He told me he wanted to give me a lesson in
submission. Sex isn’t about attraction with him; it’s about power. Minerva
warned me. He mindfucks women, and even
knowing
that was no defense
against it.

Robert is right behind the
curtain, placing twenty-five candles on the cake.

“Listen, I need a really big
favor, and I’m willing to pay for it.”

“You want to leave early with
Jackson? I think that’s worth $250, if I have to close by myself.”

“I’ll pay you $500, and I
want to leave without Jackson. He has the wrong impression of me.”

“That you’re easy?”

“That I’m kinky.”

“Wait, what?” I suddenly have
all of Robert’s attention.

“He’s into kinky sex. I guess
he’s kind of famous for it because Minerva was giving me all the dirt.”

“And what was he giving you
in the backroom?”

“A sample.”

“A real-life Christian Grey.
You know what that makes you—
Anastasia Steele.
”

I can’t resist. “You know
what that makes you—
Katherine Kavanagh
.”

“I was thinking Jose
Rodriguez, but I did always want to be a blonde.”

I need to get away from
Jackson, and his wandering hands, so I add a few incentives. “I’ll close the
parsonage. I should be safe there. And I’ll take the morning shift with the
janitors tomorrow. But you need to tell Jackson I left.”

“Jillian, I’m not comfortable
with lying so you can avoid dealing with a situation.”

It’s great having a friend who
calls you on your bullshit. Except tonight. I need to win this argument, so I
use the secret weapon.

“He’s the one who took your cell
phone. That’s how he found out where I was hiding.”

Robert stops and stares. “Let’s
light this cake up and start lying our asses off.”

As soon as the aerialists
finish their act, we light the candles first, and then the sparklers, and roll
the cake out as the applause dies down. Everyone bursts into “Happy Birthday,”
and I sneak out the back exit, longing for a piece of cake.

When I enter the parsonage, I’m
happy to see the pack-up is almost finished. I verify the return counts on all
the rentals before signing the paperwork. That only leaves waiting for the
lighting guys to remove the overhead illumination. They work quickly, and we have
the move-out completed in record time. The cleaning crew comes tomorrow, so my
goal is to get home, get to bed, and be back in the morning.

My phone buzzes. A text
message from Robert. “Lied to the a-hole. Txt me when u leave.” Well, now it’s
safe to go.

I remember that the real
estate agent had told me there was a trick to locking the front door—but there
had been tricks to every door and I was trying to remember this one. Do I have to
hold the latch when I turn the key—or was that the trick to unlock it? I try
both and the door won’t lock. This tiny little dress is no protection against
the cold breeze coming off the bay, and I start to shiver.

“Ms. Whitkins, what a pleasant
surprise.”

Did he really just say that?
I look to my right, and see Jackson saunter toward me. His jacket is open, his
white shirt is unbuttoned at the top, and his tie is folded in his breast
pocket. This must be his casual look.

“Jackson. I was just closing
up the parsonage before coming back to the party.” I try turning the key again.

He climbs the steps, two at a
time, and stops dangerously close to me. “I was under the impression you had
left for the night.”

“No. I was just checking the
return counts for the linens and furniture.” I pull out my copies. That would
certainly convince him. Solid proof.

“Oh. Because Robert was very definite
that you had left. He was also
very
vocal in telling me that you had no experience
with kinky sex. Or did he say you had no interest? They are two very different
things…experience and
interest.”

I can feel the heat radiating
from his body, and I’m so cold I just want to wrap myself around him. “Are you
sure it was Robert? That doesn’t sound like something Robert would say.” (That
totally sounds like something Robert would say.)

“I’m sure it was Robert. He
texted you that he had lied to the a-hole.”

I freeze (literally and
figuratively) and turn toward him. “Yes, I got the text. The question is, how
did
you
get it?”

“I’ve been monitoring your
phone since our first meeting. I needed to know if your story was true. I intended
to turn it off, but was out of the country. It’s just a lucky coincidence that it’s
still on.”

I feel so lucky—and so
stalked. “Well, I will certainly talk to Robert. That is not the sort of
behavior I tolerate.” I’m babbling. I just need to stall him enough to get this
door locked so I can put some distance between us.

I recite every corny sales
line I can remember, while I struggle with the lock and my chattering teeth. “Your
business means a lot to us. We strive to go the extra mile for you. Our
customers always come first.”

“Not tonight, Jillian. Like I
told you earlier, I’m not the one who will be coming first.” He grabs the door
handle, pulls it open, and drags me inside.

The only illumination in the
room comes from the streetlight that shines through the windows, and I find
myself pinned between the wall and Jackson. He feels so warm, I lean into him.

“You’re freezing.” He rubs
his hands up and down my arms and I begin to defrost. When his hands rub other
parts of my body, I realize I’m making the same mistake again.

“Shouldn’t you be checking on
your mother? She probably doesn’t know anyone.”

“I sent her home after dinner.
She doesn’t like loud music.” His hands move down to my thighs.

“I can save her a piece of
cake, if you’d like.”

“Aren’t you thoughtful,” he
says sarcastically. “Worried about my mother, apologizing for your behavior, handing
out tissues, and giving Bryan his dream party. I’ve got a room full of people
who believe I planned this big production. Why would you let them think that? I’ve
spent my life disappointing my family.”

I need to keep it light. I
also need to press my thighs together as tightly as I can. “Hard to believe one
party can undo a lifetime of hard work.”

His hands still. “I wanted a
simple dinner.”

“Then why did you give me
$150,000?” I know why, but I want to hear him say it.

He steps back. “Where’s the
damn light switch?”

I step to my right and flip the
switch. The harsh fluorescents blink on while he studies me.

“So Bryan’s party…that wasn’t
you throwing the money back in my face?”

“Honestly, I was trying to
justify a higher fee.”

“You were supposed to do a
simple dinner and then keep the rest of the money. I thought I made that clear.”

I sigh. “Has anything
ever
been clear between us?”

He shakes his head. “I told
you I wanted you. The women I’ve dated know what that means.”

I think of Pippa. “How have
those women been working out for you?”

The tight set of his jaw lets
me know Jackson isn’t a fan of sarcasm, either. “There’s always been an understanding.
I take care of them, and they take care of me.”

So there it is. I was supposed
to be the next Pippa. “You were trying to buy my love?”

“I have no interest in buying
love. That money was intended as an incentive to play with me.”

I should be offended, but it
was a
lot
of money. Plus, he thinks I’m as attractive as Pippa—or was I
just low-lying fruit? “I guess my price has gone down since you found out I
wasn’t kinky.”

“I don’t believe so. You’re a
very responsive woman.” He takes my head in his hands. “I’ve never trained a
brand new submissive. I might be able to get exactly the woman I want. Someone
who doesn’t have to unlearn all those bad habits.”

His lips brush against mine
and then he tilts his head back to gauge my reaction. This is a different
Jackson than the one behind the altar. That man commanded and dominated. This
man is all gentle seduction. I just have to remind myself that gentle doesn’t
mean sincere.

I try to think of a good exit
line until his mouth comes down on mine and his tongue parts my lips. I
surrender to his kiss, and a small part of me hates myself for doing it. Our
tongues dance and explore, and I don’t know how long we stand there before he
comes up for air.

“When was the last time you
had sex?”

“With someone else?” Filter,
Jillian. Get your mouth filter on.

He chuckles. “That’s a good
start. The way you’re reacting, it was either very recent or very long ago.”

I think. When was it? The
thought is so depressing. “It was another lifetime.” My tone sounds maudlin,
even to me. If he offers to break my losing streak right now, I might even say
yes.

He scans my face. “I wish I
knew what was going on in that brain of yours. Maybe if you weren’t such a
mystery…”

He doesn’t finish the
sentence. Maybe what? Maybe he wouldn’t be interested?

“I can see I’ve moved too
fast earlier tonight. You’re very willing when you’re aroused, and I took that
for experience. It’s important we communicate well. I…make mistakes…when I
misjudge situations.” He steps back from me and I almost fall forward. I hadn’t
realized I was pressing myself against him that much.

He surveys the room. “This is
where we had dinner?” Stripped bare, without the décor, it’s just a plain
assembly room. Linoleum floors, bars on the windows, acoustical tile ceilings. I
watch him move around the space, trying to compare what he remembered to what
he is seeing now. “Why did you decide to expand the party?”

His tone has changed from
accusatory to curious, and I know I don’t have to defend myself. “I listened to
your brother. He was bored to tears in the countryside. I knew he needed
something urban, something loud and bright. Something that would stimulate all
his senses.”

I want to add,
Oh, and I
had all that money
, but my filter is firmly in place now.

“I thought he’d be interested
in wine importing.” I can hear the frustration in his voice. Family does that to
you.

“No, your brother is more mojito
than nebbiola. I see him running a club, not a distribution chain.”

The tight set of his lips
informs me he’s not about to indulge his brother’s latent talents.

“How was this space to work
in?” And for the next twenty minutes, he bombards me with questions. Why did I
choose this space? How big is the parsonage? What worked? What didn’t work? How
were the owners? Are the buildings attached? What did I do pre-planning? What
had the inspection found? He asks a ton of questions and listens to my answers.
A man who listens. Jackson must suffer from multiple personality disorder. If
only I could keep this one.

I stifle a yawn as best I can,
but he notices.

“You’ve had a long day. You
must be
weary
.”

I can’t help but smile. “I
thought you didn’t like teasing.”

“I don’t like
being
teased. Let’s get you home.” He opens the door and holds it for me as I step out
into the cool night air. I’m grateful Robert is closing the party. Still, I don’t
think it’s good for clients to see me yawning—or have their fingers in my hoo-ha.

Jackson locks the door in his
first attempt. I have to test it myself, and he raises an eyebrow.

“I have a lot of experience
with locks.” He hands me the keychain.

I put it in my ditty bag as he
places his hand on my back again, and walks me to his car. When he opens the
door, I hesitate, not knowing what he is planning.

The man is all cool professionalism.
“My driver will take you home. I’m going back to the party. We’ll talk
tomorrow.”

Of course. Behind closed
doors, he’s dangerous, sexy Jackson. In front of the help, he’s unruffled CEO
Jackson. No public displays of passion. Except that once, when the spotlight
found us. When he thought I was throwing his money in his face. The money he
intended to buy me with.

I settle in to the seat as he
shuts the door. I look to see who’s driving, and it’s Ron.

“Ron, it’s good to see the back of your head again.”

“It’s good to see you in the rearview mirror.” That comment
could be taken a number of ways, but I let it go. I give him my address, and
his reply is, “I know.”

Of course he does. I’m not the only one with snooping
skills.

As I text Robert that I’ve
left, my stomach grumbles. I’m sure it’s loud enough for Ron to hear in the
front seat. I try to remember the last time I ate, and realize I didn’t have a
chance today. Funny: when I’m on a diet, I am
always
thinking about
food, but when I’m working for Jackson, I don’t have the time. The Jackson
diet. I can see women all over the world starving themselves on that regimen.