Page 21 of Tempt Me

Winslow carried on like I hadn’t said anything. “She’s a Jones. People respect their name, their brand. People will listen to her.”

Jamila wrinkled her nose. “I don’t need a crisis communications team.”

“Maybe you don’t,” he said. “But maybe you do. At least this way, you’ll have someone to direct all the calls and emails to, so you can focus on your work.” He nodded at her computer monitors.

She sighed. Then she stood and stretched her arms up over her head. The move made her neck impossibly long, and all I could think about was running a finger down it.

Her next word snapped me back into reality. “Fine.”

“Fine? Really? You’ll let me head up your crisis communications?” I held my breath.

“Yes. Do what you need to do. Please, try to keep the demands on my time minimal, and do something about all that bullshit.” She waved at the news vans outside.

“Absolutely. I’ll need access to Felicia and anyone trained in corporate communications.”

Her nostrils flared. “You don’t ask for much, do you?”

“Only what we need to do this right.”

“Okay. But no more than ten percent of anyone’s time. Including mine.”

I bit my lip. I’d definitely need more than four hours a week of Jamila’s time. Considering she probably worked more like sixty or eighty hours a week, maybe I could get ten percent of that. If I used a longer time horizon, I could front-load the demands so that it averaged out to be ten percent over the next six months. I’d put the problem to bed long before then.

“I’ll need an assistant,” I said. “Don’t worry, I know just the person to bring on.”

“Bring on?” She rolled her eyes. “Should have figured you’d take over. You’re a Jones. One more thing.” She paused to look me in the eye. “Ignore what Winslow said. I don’t want any of that Barbie bullshit. Be on your A game for this. You know what I mean.”

She was talking about that Christmas party. I nodded, not trusting my voice not to waver.

“Okay, then,” she said. “You can tell Felicia, and she’ll make it happen.”

Bubbly happiness overflowed in my heart. If I made Jamila’s PR problems go away, she’d forget about that awful party and finally see me as an adult.

I skipped behind her desk and threw my arms around her. “You won’t regret it, I promise.”

When my hands touched her bare shoulders, she froze as if I’d shocked her. My skin buzzed. After a second, she relaxed, and her hands landed lightly on my back to pull me closer.

The perfume at her neck was sensual and floral like jasmine. With the coconut scent of her hair, she smelled like the tropics, like the time our family vacationed in Bali and the night air carried the delicate scent of jasmine and faded sunscreen. I closed my eyes and imagined reclining on a beach, warm sand between my toes, and Jamila beside me.

Gently, she pulled away and dropped her hands from my shoulders. “Get to work. Remember, ten percent.”

I collected myself enough to grin at her. “You got it, boss.”

Already composing a text to Hannah, I pushed out of Jamila’s office and pulled up a chair to the other side of Felicia’s desk.

“Looks like I’m your new PR consultant.”

7

Later that afternoon,I poked my head into Jamila’s office. Alone, she mirrored Winslow’s position from earlier, leaning a shoulder against the window frame and staring through the glass. Although it was after six, the late-April sun was still high in the sky, and it glinted off the cars as they snaked along the road on their way to homes, pets, families. Maybe Jamila wished she could go home, put on her comfortable clothes, and snuggle up with Quill.i.am. But as she’d shown me on that organizational chart, she was at the top, and every one of those cars, homes, and family dinners was paid for by the work she directed. She’d always be the last one out.

“Did you eat today?”

She whipped her head around at my voice and took a beat to narrow her eyes. “Yes. Felicia makes sure I eat lunch.”

“Good.” I crossed my arms. Jamila was so slender I wondered if lunch was the only meal she ate regularly.

“Figured you’d have gone home by now,” she said.

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