Page 63 of A Perfect Fit

I stare at him suspiciously. “Right.”

“Maybe you could visit him,” Aaron suggests.

I hesitate. “He’s probably busy with work.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” A grin twists Aaron’s lips. “He’s just chilling in his office right now.”

I’m pretty sure Aaron made up the houseplants thing, but I’m here anyway, so I might as well rip off the Band-Aid and go ahead with seeing Jackson.

“All right,” I say.

The smile on his face widens. “Allow me to lead the way.”

We take the elevator, arriving on the eleventh floor. Aaron leads me down the hallway, and we walk past a water cooler and several cubicles with workers hunched over their desks.

I rub my sweaty palms against my jeans, my heart beating fast. I feel like I’m a teenager who’s gathering the courage to walk up to their high school crush.

Except this is Jackson Carter. I’ve never been nervous when it comes to him, until now, apparently.

Jackson’s office door is already open, and he’s at his desk, reviewing some documents while taking notes with a pen, his brows furrowed in concentration. His tie is slightly loose, and the sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up, revealing his forearms.

I suck in a breath. It should be illegal for someone to look this good.

Aaron knocks once. “Your three p.m. appointment is here, Mr. CEO.”

Jackson doesn’t glance up from his notes. “I don’t have a three p.m. meeting.”

Aaron turns to me. “Looks like you’ll have to make another appointment. Sorry about that, Isabelle.”

Jackson’s pen freezes mid-page when he hears my name, and he whips his head up, his gaze raking over me in a way that sends a treacherous, fiery trail down my body. My heart flutters like a kite blowing wildly in the wind.

Without even doing anything, he’s capable of having an effect on me no one else ever has.

“My work here is done,” Aaron gleefully says.

I almost forget he’s still standing here. He disappears down the hallway before Jackson or I can say anything.

A smug look enters Jackson’s face, a reminder of the cocky Jackson I’m more used to. “Miss me already?”

All traces of nervousness within me wither away. “You wish.”

His gaze still locked on me, he seamlessly spins his pen. I don’t know how he makes a simple move seem so attractive. “To what do I owe the pleasure then?”

“Thought I’d finally repay the favor after all those times you visited me at The Daily Brew.”

Jackson laughs, the sound rich and velvety as it vibrates in his office. “It was only three times.”

“I wasn’t counting.”

That’s a big, fat lie.

His gaze trails over me again. “You planning on coming inside?”

“I was waiting for you to invite me inside.”

Our eyes lock, silence hovering in the air and an electric current flowing between us. Tingles shoot through my body like bubbles of champagne popping.

“No invitation needed, Isabelle,” he finally says. “You’re always welcome here.”