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"Not until you give me some actual feedback on the video." I bite my tongue. Did I just decline a date from Malcolm Strong?
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. It's a hypothetical, not a date.
He's not interested in me.
That wouldn't make any sense.
He looks to me. "You've got the mood right. I get the narrative. It's simple and it fits the song. A guy is thinking about his ex. People like that shit."
"But?"
"But nothing. It's missing a few beats. We can talk about how to fill them in, then you can cut it back together. Get it perfectly synched to the music."
I nod. "This was proof of concept. You should have Danielle—"
"I want you."
"But—" I bite my tongue. Editing this video will be the end of my job working for Danielle. But can I really turn down the opportunity? This is exactly the kind of thing I want to do.
"Let's talk over dinner. I have an offer for you."
How about we finish up with this video and hop on
to that bed? I force a professional smile. "A business meeting?"
He nods.
"Then I should probably put on something less slutty."
He chuckles. "I had you nearly naked in my bed. A crop top isn't going to make me think less of your professionalism."
But him knowing I regularly touch myself thinking of him—that will make him think less of my professionalism.
Which means I need to act like a fucking adult here. I'm not going to fangirl over Mal. Not even a little.
I take a deep breath, send the video to my Dropbox, pack my laptop in my bag.
And I turn to Mal like he's any other client.
And not like I'm currently fighting my desire to ask him to throw me on my bed and fuck me.
I can handle this.
I can totally handle this.
5
Mal
Lacey's eyes go wide as she steps into the restaurant. She looks around the sleek lobby, her gaze focusing on the Dress Code on the wall.
She looks to me. "You're kidding, right?"
"About?"
She reads off the sign. "Men must wear suit jackets. Women must wear skirts and heels." She tugs at her short shorts. "Not a skirt."
But a lot of leg. Fuck, she has nice legs. I want them wrapped around my waist. Or pinned to my chest. Or pressed against my cheeks.
