Page 18 of Between the Lines

CHAPTER SEVEN

LET’STALKABOUTVOYEURISM. If you’re reading this blog, chances are you’re a dirty birdie and you already know what it is, but for those of you who don’t, it’s getting hot and bothered watching someone else involved in illicit activities. Now, while this sounds like it could be a sexy good time, if you take it too far, it ventures into crime territory, so don’t expect to peep into your sexy neighbor’s bedroom window without consequences. But say you’re at a party and you’re grabbing some alone time. A couple with oral sex on their mind stumbles upon your hidey-hole, and before you can make your presence known, she’s giving him a happy ending and you’ve been whisked along for the ride. Is this awkward, or is it hot? Is it hotter if they discover you’re there?

Food for slutty thought,

Jojo Kink

The offices for Crossing Lines took up the entire third floor of a tall office building just outside the financial district in downtown Boston. The building was sleek, the smell of latex paint still evident as Jo closed herself in the shiny silver elevator that was so eerily silent she double-checked to make sure she was actually moving.

The woman at the front desk was the type who intimidated lesser specimens without having to lift a finger. She barely even looked up as Jo crossed the plush carpeting to the massive chrome desk, clearing her throat when she arrived.

“Can I help you?” When the woman finally did look up, she flicked a glance over Jo, and though there was no visible change in her expression, Jo felt her distaste flavoring the air. Jo knew what she saw and couldn’t help but squirm a bit under the assessing stare.

She’d never gone on a job interview. The position at the paper so very many years ago had been offered to her over the phone based on her work on her high school paper. When she ghosted stories for other writers, they didn’t care what she looked like or how she dressed. She deliberately left images of herself off her blog.

That left today. She hadn’t had time to go shopping for something more appropriate and didn’t know what that was at any rate, so she’d settled on a pair of black jeans that were free of rips and tears, a black sweater from the men’s department, and a clean pair of sneakers. Face-to-face with this woman, whose hair was glossy and highlighted, and who wore a white blouse without a single wrinkle, Jo knew that she’d missed the mark, but there was nothing she could do about it now.

“I have a meeting with John Brooke,” she stated, drawing herself to her full, if insignificant, height, trying to look like what she was wearing was just fine. “At ten o’clock.”

“I’ll take you to his office.” When the woman stood up, Jo noted that she was also wearing heels that added at least three inches to her height, and that her skirt came to midcalf, hugging her legs like a second skin. How did she walk?

The woman, who hadn’t introduced herself, seemed equally interested in Jo, taking a long moment to look her over, her expression faintly puzzled. Maybe, Jo thought, she was wondering how security downstairs had let someone with such little fashion sense into the building.

Finally, the other woman turned and walked down the hall, gesturing for Jo to follow. Jo watched the sleek length of the woman’s ponytail, thinking of the woman last night, savoring the resultant heat.

Not now, Jo!

The woman paused outside a glass door. It was cracked open, but she knocked on it smartly. A voice called out for them to enter. The woman didn’t follow Jo in, just studied her intently again as she gestured her in, and Jo felt her stomach slowly roll with nerves.

“Miss Marchande?” The man who stood up from behind the desk was tall, well over six feet, and absolutely gorgeous. Light brown skin set off pale green eyes, and the short buzz of his black hair showed off the strong lines of his face. Dressed in a well-cut suit, he was, quite simply, hot. “I’m John Brooke.”

His smile was friendly enough that some of Jo’s nerves eased. He didn’t make her feel out of place like Miss Tight Skirt had, and when he offered a large palm for her to shake, she felt some of her confidence return.

“Nice to meet you.” She winced a bit as the words came out just a bit too loud, but he didn’t seem to notice. Gesturing for her to sit, he checked the expensive-looking watch on his wrist. “The owner will be here momentarily. While we wait, would you like coffee? Water, tea? I can have Ava get you whatever you’d like.”

Assuming that Ava was the girl at the front desk, Jo was tempted to ask for something as a petty revenge for the scrutiny. She knew she wouldn’t be able to swallow a thing, though, since the news that another person would be joining them had ratcheted her anxiety back up again.

“I’m fine.” Doing her best to smile like a normal human, Jo took a second look at John Brooke. He’d said in his email that he was some kind of adviser to the company, which made her think of endless travel, city to city, clandestine encounters in airport bathrooms. He looked the part—sleek and sexy.

He did nothing for her, roused nothing more than a mild appreciation for a fine-looking man.

“Sorry I’m late.”

No. Oh, hell no.

Jo hadn’t recognized Theo’s voice last night because she hadn’t heard it in so very long. Now, with it fresh in her mind, she was on her feet before he’d even cleared the doorway, his voice triggering an instant surge of adrenaline.

“Miss Marchande.” He cast her a polite smile, almost as if they were truly meeting for the first time—almost. There was a glint in his eye that told her he was looking forward to seeing how this played out.

It pissed her off.

“What the hell, Theo?” Still standing, she planted her hands on her hips and stood up straight. “What are you doing?”

“Do you know each other?” John stood as well, furrowing his brow in Theo’s direction. “I thought Miss Marchande was the writer of that blog you showed me.”

“She is the writer of that blog,” Theo replied, fully entering the room. Crossing the room, he propped a hip on the massive desk, looking like he truly didn’t give a fuck about the tension brewing.

He’d never given much of a fuck about anything...anything except her. She couldn’t make out what his game was here, though, and she didn’t like being a pawn in it.

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