Best Laid Plans Page 6

Lesson? I don’t want any more tutoring on that subject. I try to sound calm. “We need to cut the cake now or the caterers will go into overtime.” He’s as still as a statue, but keeps hold of my arm in his vise grip.

  Since he doesn’t seem concerned with cost, I change tactics. His mouth has turned Berry Noir, so I grab a tissue from my ditty bag and hand it to him. “You should wipe the lipstick off your face.” He just stares at me, silent and still, but lets go of my arm to retrieve the tissue. I turn and walk away as fast as my shaking knees can.

  Bryan is easy to find—he’s been standing in plain sight the entire time. Maybe that’s why Jackson was so still. He doesn’t want his brother to see us together. I suddenly feel like Jackson’s dirty little secret.

  When I reach Bryan, I wrap my arm through his. “Follow me to the DJ booth. We want you to make a little speech to thank your guests before we bring the cake out.”

  I try to stay half a step in front of him, so I don’t have to see his eyes on me.

  “Are you dating Jackson?”

  “Don’t be silly.” I’m sure Jackson doesn’t date. More likely, he just plunders.

  “I saw him kiss you earlier, and then you both came out of that back room—and I know sex hair when I see it.”

  My hand goes instantly to my head.

  “Not your hair. Jackson’s.” I realize my little move just confirmed Bryan’s suspicions. “Jillian, I think you’d be great for my brother. Just—make sure—always be honest with him.”

  “And no surprises?”

  Bryan acts contrite. “I was a little worried about that. But instead he gave you a big kiss!”

  There’s how things are, and there’s how things look. Nobody knows that better than an event planner. Bryan thinks Jackson is dating me, and I’m thinking it’s more of a personal vendetta. How did things go so far, so fast?

  When we reach the DJ booth, I text Robert, the lighting guy, and Minerva before I hand Bryan the microphone.

  As the DJ finishes his mix, I push Bryan into the spotlight.

  “Thank you all for coming to my party! As you know, I’ve just spent two weeks in the Italian countryside and tonight in San Francisco—both thanks to my brother.” Bryan walks back toward Jackson, and the spotlight follows him. “If there’s one thing I learned in my first quarter of a century, it’s that family can be annoying, but they can also be awesome!”

  When Bryan reaches his brother, he gives him a big bear hug. Jackson looks terrified, and the expression on his face is worth the price of admission. “Let’s give it up for my bro—Jackson! He’s the guy who’s paying for all this!” Glasses fill the air and mix with shouts of approval.

  Bryan’s friends descend on the two and slap Jackson on the back. He looks like such a fish out of water when only five minutes ago he was master of all he could hold—and manhandle.

  The house lights dim and spotlights land on the two large silk banners that flank the DJ booth. The silk billows and twists, and two aerialists drop from the ceiling into the suspended fabric. While they climb, wrap, and drop to the strains of a Tchaikovsky piece, I make a beeline to the pipe and drape. I need to wheel out the cake, sing “Happy Birthday,” and get the hell out of this place.

  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 stal
ked. “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.

  CHAPTER SIX

  * * *

  I dream of being chased by a pack of wolves that all look like Jackson. That isn’t the disturbing part. In my dream, I’m waving my arms so they can find me.

  I awake with a start. I’ve overslept, so I don’t have time for either a shower or a cup of coffee. The fridge is still dead, and I make a mental note to call the super to get the status. I’ll have to do it later because the cleaners arrive at nine, and I need to let them in. I grab a taxi and barely make it in time.

  I retrieve the work clothes I hid last night and stuff them into my backpack. I check the refrigerator to see whether the caterers left any food, but there’s only an opened bottle of water.

  By noon, when the real estate agent arrives, all traces of the previous evening have been scrubbed away. I hand over the keys and thank her profusely for the rental.

  “The pleasure is all mine. I’ve been trying to move this property for months, and today someone wants to see it. Someone with deep pockets.” She winks at me. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

  I don’t have to guess who the mystery buyer is. The wink told me all I need to know. I thought he was interested in me. I should know better. You don’t become a billionaire by romancing event planners. You get inside information from them. It makes me a little mad.

  I leave the church and head for the neighborhood sandwich shop. The more I think about all his questions, the angrier I get. I might have my mouth filter on, but my texting fingers are itching.

  “Texting U (even tho U read ALL my txts). Hear ur getting n2 church biz.”

  My phone rings. I don’t need to guess who is calling. “How did you know about the church?”

  Based on his tone, I’m glad I’m out of his reach, and that makes me bold. “It must feel awful when people don’t respect your privacy.”

  “I’m waiting.”

  “I just called my head of technology and had him bug your phone.”