Page 87 of Power
Myplan, the one I’d told Tessa about, was the only one that would work. The only way Jace would be left with no doubt that Marcus was not only my harasser, but he was also a threat to Jace himself, was if I could capture Marcus saying it.
“If you have any other questions for me, I’ll be in my office.” I pivoted and started to walk away, wondering if his eyes followed the sway of my hips.
“You will have dinner with me tonight,” he declared in a firm, controlled tone, making me stop in my tracks. It wasn’t a request. Not even close.
I turned slowly, one eyebrow arched with precision. “That wasn’t a question, Mr. Lockwood. Perhaps we should revisit the corporate handbook section on workplace communication.”
“A work dinner,” he claimed, walking around his desk with the grace of someone used to getting exactly what he wanted. His cologne drifted into my space as he approached, triggering memories of how that scent had clung to my skin after we’d sweated in that meadow, doing a very non-meadowy thing. “Strictly professional.”
“Anything you would like to discuss, we could do so here,” I countered, gesturing to the perfectly adequate conference table in his office. Which wasfor surenot reminding me of the one he’d lain naked on, sucking on my sex until I shattered on his face. I adjusted my legs, hoping he didn’t sense the flash of heat shooting through them. “Where there are witnesses.”
“Please.” His voice softened unexpectedly, and for a split second, I caught a glimpse of something vulnerable behind that billionaire armor. His fingers twitched at his side, as if fighting the urge to reach for me. “Have dinner with me. There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
“If this is about getting a name out of me …” I narrowed my eyes.
“No name.”
Jace held up his palms in surrender, the gesture drawing my attention to his hands. Hands I knew were equally skilled at closing business deals and unraveling my composure. Those fingers—my Lord, what they could do to my?—
“It’s about something else, I promise.”
Then what? What could it be? And why did his eyes look … borderline sparkly? If it wasn’t about us (was there even an us?) and it wasn’t a new tactic to extract information from me, what else could possibly warrant this dinner routine? My curiosity was officially piqued.
Dammit.
“Seven o’clock. Le Bernardin.” He moved closer, close enough that I could see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw despite his morning shave. Stubble that had left the inside of my thighs deliciously raw. “I promise to be on my best behavior.”
“Your best behavior probably makes theWall Street Journal’s gossip column,” I pointed out, fighting the urge to step back—or worse, forward. “And I prefer establishments where the menu actually lists the prices.”
A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips, the same lips that had mapped every inch of my body. “Fine. You pick the place.”
“I pick the place; we split the bill,” I countered, chin raised, my breath catching slightly when his gaze dropped to my mouth.
“The bill will be paid for by the company,” he challenged. “It’s a work dinner. Splitting the bill implies it’s personal.”
Mental note: Next time, bring better arguments to a verbal sparring match with a man who negotiates billion-dollar deals before breakfast.
“But I admire your defiance all the same,” he added, having the nerve to smirk and look sexy as hell, doing it, the heat in his eyes making it clear he was remembering exactly how that defiance had played out between us in private.
“Seven thirty. Rosebud on Taylor.” I took a step back, reclaiming my personal space before I did something ill-advised, like remember how his mouth tasted. “And this had better be worth sacrificing my evening of true crime documentaries and takeout.”
“It will be.” The confidence in his voice was infuriating.
And it had me all sorts of curious …
I bit my lip, failing to tame a smile as I exited his office. Funny how just last night, I’d felt so heavy, and now I felt so light. Excited even to spend the evening with Jace.
Hopefully, I’d be armed with some damn evidence against Marcus by then.
44
SCARLETT
The candlelight cast a warm glow across Jace’s face, highlighting that jaw that could cut glass. We’d been at Rosebud for an hour, our appetizers long gone, our entrees half eaten, and the conversation flowing as easily as the wine. Something about this felt different. Safer somehow. As if the outside world couldn’t touch us here.
But safety was an illusion I couldn’t afford to indulge in. My failed attempt to meet Marcus today lingered in the back of my mind, a persistent shadow over our elegant dinner. He’d given a vague possibility of meeting tomorrow, but the uncertainty had my nerves on edge. Was I doing the right thing by sitting here, smiling across candlelight at Jace instead of warning him? Was waiting for concrete evidence the safer move? Or would delaying another full day, taking the risk he might dismiss Marcus’s threat as empty posturing, become the more dangerous play here?
“So,” I said, taking a sip of my cabernet, “you’ve spent the entire meal avoiding the topic you claimed was so important. Are you going to tell me what this is about, or should I order dessert first?”
