I stare at him. “Why?”
“Because emotionally unavailable rich men are much easier to resist when they’re assholes.”
A laugh slips out before I can stop it. “He’s intense,” I admit.
“Oh, honey, I gathered that the minute he walked into this building looking like he owns offshore bank accounts.”
I kick his shoe under the desk.
“Ow.” He points at me accusingly. “No violence in the workplace.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And yet lovable.” He tilts his head, narrowing his eyes. “So, what happened after dinner?”
I feel the blood rush to my face immediately.
Jules’s eyes widen. “Oh my word,” he says dramatically.
“Shh! Keep your voice down.”
“Youdidsleep with him.”
I cover my face with one hand. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
“Continue,” he insists.
I peek at him through my fingers. “He kissed me.”
“Scandal.” Jules leans forward so fast the ice rattles in his cup. “And?”
I stare down at the desk again. “And I forgot the name my mama gave me.”
That earns a slow whistle. “Good for you, honey.”
I laugh at him.
“I was worried the tattooed Russian mafia man might come across bland,” he says.
I point at him. “You promised not to call him mafia.”
“I promised no such thing,” he says around a sip of iced coffee through his straw.
“You implied it.”
“Sweetheart, the man looks like he owns private islands and buried bodies,” Jules says, stirring his straw through the ice in his coffee.
I press my lips together. Because honestly? He’s not wrong.
Jules narrows his eyes at me from across the desk. “Oh no.”
I glance up. “What now?”
“You think it’s attractive.”
“I do not.”
“Maggie.”
