Page 22 of Jameson Fox

“Oh, for God’s sake, Jameson, she thought I was joking.”

“Just keep in mind what I’ve said.”

I only just manage to keep all my thoughts to myself over this. If it wasn’t so cold, I’d stand on the sidewalk and argue with him, but since it is, I slide into the car and push my annoyance away.

He closes my door. A few moments later, he’s sitting beside me, and Max is pulling back out into traffic.

I take a sip of my latte and realize why Jameson and Bill frequent Brenda’s shop. Before I can stop myself from starting a conversation with him, I say, “Brenda knows her coffee.”

He nods. “She’s the best in the city.”

“How long have you been going there?”

“Ever since Bill took me there fourteen years ago. Vinnie’s father owned the shop then. Bill was a customer of his for years.”

“Is he still around?”

“No. He passed away four years ago. Brenda and Vinnie took over then.”

I sip some more coffee before taking a bite of the Nutella roll. I was going to wait until I got to work, but I have to know if Brenda’s coffee-making skills extend to food.

They do.

“Oh my God,” I mumble as I shove more of the roll into my mouth. “This is amazing. Seriously, I need to know her recipe.”

“You bake?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. I know how to do many things.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he says before glancing down at his phone.

I watch him while finishing the Nutella roll. I try hard to keep my eyes on his face, but I fail. That suit he’s wearing today is doing things to me. Things I’d rather it not be doing.

And then there are his hands.

I skim my gaze down his body to them. I’m not sure how he manages to get work done on his phone. Not with the size of those hands.

Jesus.

And now I’m thinking about what said handswouldbe good at.

Abort, abort, abort.

I quickly shift my attention tomyhands and focus very intently on watching my Nutella roll disappear. Much safer than watching Jameson work his phone.

I spend the next little while guzzling coffee faster than I’ve ever drunk coffee. When Max pulls the car up outside my office, I can’t exit fast enough.

I need to put space between me and that suit and those hands and all the thoughts those things are inspiring.

I gather my belongings and juggle them with my coffee cup. I’m in the middle of trying not to spill what’s left of my drink when Jameson opens my door. He managed to exit the car and come around to my side with me barely noticing. That’s because all I could think about was escaping him. And now he’s standing outside the car, watching and waiting.

“I’m capable of opening my own door,” I say after thanking Max and getting out of the car. If Jameson was my real husband, I’d be all for this, but he’s not, and I don’t want him doing things for me. Yes, when Bill is around, but there’s no need for this right now.

“I’m aware.” His tone is terse. “Perhaps you could just let me do the things a husband should do without making a fuss every damn time.”

“Perhaps we need to exchange a list of what we deem are husband jobs. The top item on my list would be ensuring his wife has room for all her belongings in her bedroom.”

His lips press together but he doesn’t bite. Instead, he says, “Let Max know when you’re ready to go home. I’ll likely be working late tonight.”

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