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“You want to get to know me?” I smile at him. “I’m winning you over.”
“It’s a long ride back to the office,” he replies evenly. “Don’t read into it.”
“Honestly?” I say. “I’m not looking for anyone. Luz, my friend, has been setting me up with guys who want to have fun. But I’m not interested in dating right now.”
“Why not?”
“I had a bad breakup.” I fiddle with a loose button on my coat. “I don’t know why I even answered that. I need to figure out what I want before I date anyone.”
Jonah makes a humming sound. “That’s fair. If you had to, though, what would he be like?”
“You’re being weird.” I wrinkle my nose at him. “Why are you asking me this?”
“So I can use it against you later,” he says blandly. “Now tell me.”
I shiver at the way his gaze presses into me. He’s totally focused on me and it makes me squirm. I shut my eyes and try to picture the perfect man, but it’s Jonah in my head. Physically. Not personality-wise, because that would make me a masochist.
“Thompson.”
My head is empty of everything but thoughts of him. His scent, his jaw, the way he watches me. Jonah feeding me, coming to bring me my phone, his dry humor. Oh no. Say something.
“Um. Blond. I don’t care if he’s tall or not. Blue-eyed. Funny. Works a regular job. Like a teacher or a doctor. Someone who will watch sports with my dad.” Half truth, half lies. I’ll let Jonah try to figure out what’s truth.
“Regular, eh?” he says. I open my eyes to see his expression shuttered again. “Makes sense, I guess.”
He looks out the window, hand clenched on his thigh, and I can’t help but think I’ve disappointed him.
18
Jonah
When I descend from the gym that Friday morning, Callie is already at her computer.
“Working on your paper, Thompson?” My voice comes out icy with rage. I’m blowing hot and cold with her, and I can’t help it. I hate her paper. And in the minutes that I manage to forget that she’s a reporter who went after my sister, I actually like Callie Thompson. I like her and I hate that I like her. It’s making me grouchy and snappish. My staff is avoiding me. Even Jason texted me telling me I was being a dick. I snapped at Lane at dinner last night, and Miles nearly punched me. Lane just laughed and said I must be losing my head over a woman. I’m very much not. I just need to work out more. Forget about Callie Thompson. Keep her at arm’s length. Starting today.
“It’s not nine a.m. yet,” she says warily. Her big blue eyes and her pink lips are stamped in my brain. I don’t even have to look at her to know the exact tilt of her head and fall of her hair. But I do look, because I’m an idiot. She’s wearing that short skirt from her first week here, a black tank top, and a blazer. She looks sexy and forbidden. I glare at her and she glares back. I love it. You sick bastard.
“That’s right, but I have something for you to get started on when the clock strikes nine.” Something that will crush whatever is between us. Forever. Not that Callie will care. She doesn’t want me. She wants a regular guy. A teacher or a construction worker. Someone like the guy she was with last night, who saves lives. Someone my family would approve of, someone who could drink beers with a guy like my dad and make small talk about sports. I know fuck all about sports, and I’ve never wanted to be regular.
When I pass her the stack of files, her brow wrinkles in confusion.
“More files?”
“I need these delivered.”
“To where?” She’s still confused. She thinks she’s here to work for me, when in reality, she’s here for me to use. She thinks we’re getting closer, when just this morning I looked at charity events to attend so I could dangle her in front of Dylan as bait. I shove down the guilt that flares. It’s high time she started proving her use. I’ve been weak where she’s concerned. She’s supposed to be helping me get back at Dylan, and I’ve made exactly zero progress.
“Various locations.” I hand her a list, and she scans the addresses.
“New Jersey? You’re joking. That will take hours on the train. Can I take a car at least?”
I laugh coldly. “Who do you think you are, Thompson? No, you can’t take a car.”
She sucks in a breath, looking like I punched her.
Nausea rises, like I kicked a puppy. “Thompson? Are you ill?”
“Give me the files,” she says woodenly. Her hand shakes when she holds it out. Don’t feel guilty. This is what you wanted. The desired result. Back to our assigned roles. Her, hating me. Me, lording it over her.
