Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 97994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
His head tilts. “I’m not saying it was a mistake.”
He’s not? Could have fooled me.
“Ah,” I tell him lightly. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
Aaron’s lip threatens a smile. “I wouldn’t have crossed the line without thinking it through first, had I known you worked for the organization.”
I uncross my arms. “Maybe I was doing you a favor the other night. Maybe I thought spending time with me would cheer you up.”
His dark eyes dip, skimming the front of my sweater… down my legs… lower, to my velvet shoes.
“Maybe you did.”
My breath catches.
Aaron doesn’t move closer; he doesn’t need to. His gaze holds mine—steady, unreadable, and way too intense for a casual visit to a chandelier-filled room.
“You should be careful with that,” he adds.
“With what?”
“That look.”
“W-what look?”
One inch closer. Then two. “Like that. With your pretty sweater and pearl earrings.” Pause. “Those prissy shoes.”
Prissy shoes?
I glance down at the tips of my toes. “What’s wrong with my shoes?”
“Nothing.”
My heart does an unprofessional summersault. “I don’t understand.”
“Listen,” he whispers. “Do yourself a favor and say no when I ask you out.”
My pulse beats so loud I can feel the frantic rhythm at the base of my neck, thrumming against my gold necklace. Raising my fingers, I reach for the J suspended from the chain and press my forefingers against it.
“Are you p-planning to ask me out?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” I swear I can hardly breathe.
“To make up for the other night,” he says, lowering his voice as if it was going to echo in the cavernous room. “I don’t want things to be awkward between us.”
“Awkward between us?” I repeat. “I don’t feel awkward. Do you?”
He shakes his head. “No, but—”
He stops, and on its own accord, my body leans forward, anxious to hear him finish his sentence. Hang on his every word…
“Juliette Kennedy, do you want to have dinner with me tonight? Let me buy you a proper dinner. We can talk about what happened at your apartment—or not talk about what happened.”
Slowly, my head nods.
Yes, I want to have dinner with you tonight.
I do.
“I like food,” I tell him, praying that the heat in my chest isn’t creeping up my neck.
He leans down so only I can hear. “I like food, too.” I feel his lips near my ear. “Should the date be our little secret?”
“Yes,” I whisper, another nod.
“Good.” He straightens to his full height, stuffs his hands in his pockets, and I watch, transfixed, as he licks his lips, pressing a finger to them. “Shhh.”
Then, from across the room—
“Juliette!” Garrett shouts. “They have miniature crab cakes on the menu. Miniature!”
I jump back from Aaron as if I’ve been tasered, spell broken.
His walls go up.
Game face on.
Across the room, Garrett waves a tiny appetizer tray at me like it’s the discovery of the century.
With a heavy sigh, I force myself to smile.
SIX
AARON
Juliette Kennedy wants to be bad.
I can see it on her sweet, innocent face.
“Should the date be our little secret?”
“Yes.”
For now.
“Good.” Guilt flashes across her expression when I hold a finger to my lips. “Shh.”
I shouldn’t have fucking asked her on a date, and that’s the truth. She is the one person in this ballroom I should not be thinking about, let alone inviting for dinner. Everyone knows the Golden Rule: Don’t date staff, coaches, reporters.
Not casually.
Not secretly.
Not at all.
But Storm was standing five feet away, outrageously flirting with her, and Kennedy’s ugly face lives rent-free in my head, and I am the kind of man who does what he wants.
Besides.
She could have said no.
She knows the rules, too.
I know for a goddamn fact that every spring, corporate does sensitivity, compliance, and harassment training—she would have already been told to steer clear.
But she didn’t.
Which tells me one thing: Juliette Kennedy likes me.
Which is dangerous…
For her.
Liking me isn’t safe. It isn’t smart. It isn’t deserved, because unlike Garrett Storm, I won’t fall in love with her. I won’t bring her to meet my parents. I won’t introduce her to my sister. Which means, Storm isn’t the villain in this story.
I am.
Because he is actually interested in her.
Because if he took her out, he wouldn’t be faking it.
In fact, I can feel Storm’s presence without looking in his direction, his excited oohing and ahhing as Whitney continues her tour at the far end of the ballroom prickling beneath my skin.
“What about him?” she asks suddenly.
“Who?”
She tilts her head. “Garrett.”
My jaw tightens before I can stop it. “What about him?”
“He’s been…” She trails off, searching for the right word, fighting a coy smile. “Friendly.”
That’s one way to put it.
“You interested in Storm?” I ask.
Juliette bites her lower lip. “It’s against the rules to date a player, didn’t you know?”
It’s like she’s read my mind.
“It’s not stopping you from going out with me,” I point out.
“It’s going to be our secret, remember?” she reminds me. “Garrett doesn’t strike me as the type that keeps things quiet.”