**MILA'S POV**
The bell above Morning Bean's door hasn't stopped jingling before Jax is already past me, moving in the opposite direction of my car.
"Where are you going?" I click after him in my sunflower-yellow heels, folder tucked under my arm. "The meeting isn't over. We haven't touched the media schedule, and you haven't signed anything—"
"I told you," he says, not turning around. "I need to think more clearly."
"And you can't think clearly in a cafe with excellent lighting and comfortable chairs?"
He stops so abruptly I nearly walk into his shoulder blades. When he turns, those green eyes find mine and hold. "No. I can't."
Then he's walking again. Faster.
I've spent five years learning to read people — in negotiation rooms, across conference tables, watching Rick charm million
