The Ceo Son

12

Jack left the stage but was caught up in an audience of admirers. The music started back up, and when Britt looked over, he was dancing with some woman in a halter top. She picked miserably at chips, trying to engage Thomas in a conversation just to appear busy and not like she was pouting.

“What did you think of my musical debut?” Jack asked, leaning over

the booth behind her.

“You were great. Impressive.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic.”

“No, really. You did a good job.”

“That’s so irresistibly lukewarm,” he said.

“I was hoping you’d notice.”

“I take it you don’t fantasize about the boys in the band.”

“Never. It looks like you have plenty of fans though. Have a good time,” she said dismissively, thinking with a pang of the girl he’d danced with.

Jack walked back to the bar to get a drink and Britt bolted to the ladies room. It wasn’t lovely, but it was a place to hide. Instead of loosening her up, the margaritas had dialed up her misery level, and she wanted to go home and be lonely there in more comfortable clothes. When she came out, their table was vacant, so she returned to it and resumed sulking.

Marj came back and pounded another drink.

“He’s so going home with that skanky halter top girl.”

Britt didn’t reply.

“I wish he was going home with skanky me instead,” Marj snorted. “Ready to go? There’s nothing here I want to wake up to.”

Britt threw money on the table for her part of the tab and stood. She saw Jack with his arm looped around the girl with the halter top. She had a tattoo of an angel on her shoulder. Britt thought of licking the tattoo on Jack’s wrist and shuddered at the memory and the way it stung now. It made her sick to watch him leave with someone else.

Chapter 14

Monday morning, she got an email from Phillip Fitzsimmons. His son Jack was going on a business trip in a few days, and he wanted Britt to go over the details of the expense account and receipt procedure with him. Phillip’s secretary had left a voicemail that the meeting would be at three that afternoon. Britt took a long breath. It was part of her job. She’d explained the business expense reimbursement system so many times she could practically condense it to bullet points. Still, she’d never tried to rattle off the essential procedures with Jack Fitzsimmons glaring down at her.

She took out a sticky pad and made herself some notes. She posted them on her desk in a neat row and returned to her work. She worked straight through lunch and when Jack appeared in her cubicle she was startled.

“Oh, look at the time,” she said lamely.

“Don’t be rude. Don’t say anything stupid. Save your receipts. Are these, like, your yoga affirmations or something?”

“More like words to live by,” she muttered, crumpling the sticky notes and throwing them away, annoyed with herself and him. “Please have a seat,” she indicated the only other chair in her cubicle. “Mr. Fitzsimmons indicated that you’ll need to utilize the expense account on your trip.”

“Yes, I’m going to Chicago to scout a potential client. I’ll be gone overnight.”

“Save your receipts.”

“What about being rude and saying anything stupid?”

“Use your own judgment on that. Anyway, our system works on a simple reimbursement model. Here’s a list of the items that qualify...lodging, meals taken with a client or potential client only—not just you wanted a donut and expect to be paid back for it—transportation to and from the airport and to meetings and business dinners. Not—”

“Not just if I wanted to go to a strip club and intend to charge my dad’s company for the cab? Don’t worry about it, Britt. I’m not going to defraud the firm for a bacchanal in the Windy City,” he smirked. “Although if it comforts you to think of me eating donuts in a roomful of strippers, go for it.”

“No, I’m sorry, I just, I don’t know,” she said, deflated.

“I was glad when I saw you work here. I thought if I saw you enough, if you got used to me, then maybe I’d have another shot. Clearly I didn’t do very well with the last one.”

“You did. You were fine. Really. I just don’t want to get involved with a coworker and make my professional situation as uncomfortable as it was before when Freeman was here.”

“The fact that you’re comparing me to your ex-boss the groper is insulting. I think you may need to get the rudeness sticky note out of the trash at this rate.”

“Thanks. I’m struggling here.”

“There’s no reason to struggle. You don’t have to be upset and nervous around me. Even if I am the living proof of the only sin you’ve ever committed.”

“Not the only one.”

“The worst one?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Probably the best one, but still better forgotten.”

“Ouch. I think I liked the Freeman parallel better than being forgettable.”

“I’m screwing this up. I’m not good with people. I’m better with numbers.”

“Keep practicing then, and you’ll improve with time.”

“I think I should give up and get a goldfish. Less work than a cat, but it’s companionship,” she said wryly.

“You’ll need sticky notes to remind you to feed it and not be rude.”

“Just save your receipts, okay?” she said, hoping to cut him off.

“We were amazing together. You were so...relaxed and frank and open. I couldn’t take my eyes off you the entire night. I’d never been with anyone so smart and sarcastic and sexy. I loved that you felt a little bit out of my league.”

“Right. Because the accountant who got dumped in Tamarind is supposed to be high above you? Save the flattery, Jack. You’ve already gotten into my pants without it.”

“Oh my gosh, where is that sticky note about being rude. I’m going to wave it at you every time you are, I swear. Let me finish. You’re beautiful. You’re eager and daring in bed. You’re the woman who holds the purse strings at my dad’s company. That’s not a complication. That means that you’re a competent professional and you have a job. I don’t date girls who don’t have jobs. I was done with socialites by the time I was twenty. I want a woman who thinks for herself, about something more than designer labels.”

“I like designer labels. I don’t have any, but I do like them,” she confessed.

“You think about other things, though. You said yourself you’re good with numbers. The other thing is, you were brilliant with me.”

“So I can add decimals and drive you wild?”

“That’s a fantastic dating profile if I ever heard one.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” she said, smiling despite herself.

“Do you have plans for dinner?”

“Yes.”

“What are they?”

“To eat dinner, stalker,” she teased.

“Let me take you out. We had a great time at Tamarind. Should we go there?”

“I’m not going back there.”

“I’ll take that as encouragement since you denounced Tamarind but not me specifically.”

“I don’t think....it’s a good idea,” she said half-heartedly.

“If you don’t want to go out with me, you can say so.”

“I want to. I just think it’s a bad idea. Like cigarettes or those Hostess cupcakes with, like, sugary Crisco in the middle.”

“I guess that was supposed to be insulting to me, but I’m looking at it like you just compared me to some guilty pleasures. Since I know where your apartment is, I’ll pick you up at eight.”

Britt nodded, unable to believe that she’d just agreed to go out with him. Head in her hands, she wondered exactly how many seconds of his charm it would take before she was falling back into bed with him. It was like the minute Kevin told her that he was seeing someone else, she’d lost all self-control. Her disciplined demeanor had been drowned in lime and tequila and she was done for.

The only thing she had that was remotely sexy enough as the disaster dress, the one she’d worn for the anniversary dinner. Since it was probably cursed and he’d already seen her both in it and out of it, Britt decided on her tribal print tunic, a gorgeous Trina Turk she’d bought on sale. It had a stretchy band at the bottom that landed somewhere between mid-thigh and upper thigh. She decided with the right shoes it would pass for a mini dress. Long gold earrings, up-swept hair and high, high heels made the turquoise bohemian pattern ready for cocktails. She texted a selfie to Marj, who replied, “Hot damn, girl.” Britt took that as a good sign and put some more self-tanner on her legs. She wanted a golden glow and she had a suspicion that the right amount of tan could disguise that little bit of cellulite she couldn’t quite ignore.