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When she reached the main reception desk, he was suddenly very deep into her personal space. He surrounded her from behind, and she felt his erection pressing against her bottom. One hand reached around—almost as if he were hugging her—and he pressed her blazer against her stomach. “You little tart,” he rasped in her ear. “If you don’t put this back on, I’m going to have to bend you over this desk right now.”
Breathing shallowly, trying not to cross the line into panting, she let the blazer fall to the floor.
Then he was gone. He’d only stepped back a few feet, but she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. The disappointment was visceral, and she shivered as his warm presence receded.
“And that is not happening,” he said.
She wanted to shake her fist at the sky. It wasn’t like they were going to date each other. He didn’t do relationships—message received. So what did it matter if they fooled around a little while they worked? As she’d told Danny, she got it now. And now that she got it, she wanted to get it. “You and your rules,” she muttered.
“The Wexler deal is too important, Cassie. I’ve seen deals fall apart—I’ve seen companies fall apart—when people let things get too personal.”
Well, that stung. But so be it. He wanted her, but apparently not enough to do anything about it. She shoved aside the ding to her pride and summoned another of her fake-bright smiles. “All right, let’s get started. Can I get a tour first? This is a lovely space.”
“Sure.” Jack led her down one of the two corridors that split off from the reception area, turning on lights as he went. The floors were hardwood, which seemed incongruent for an office, and the walls were painted a pale sky-blue. It was all very elegant, but comfortably so.
“Huh,” she mused as he led her into a kitchen that was tricked out with stainless steel appliances and a cappuccino machine.
“What?”
“It’s not very…officey.”
“Well, that’s the point, I guess. We spend a lot of time here.”
“We?” she prompted. The place was smaller than she’d imagined. But then, she’d pretty much imagined the Bat Cave—cavernous, masculine, dark. Maybe he saved that aesthetic for his house. She’d seen half a dozen private offices on this side of the suite, and beyond the kitchen looked to be an open area filled with a few dozen large cubicles, but since the space was surrounded by windows on two sides, they lacked that stifling feeling that usually came with cubicles.
“Yeah, the kitchen especially is the hangout spot. There are two other companies on this floor—a software company and an advertising agency—and everyone always seems to end up here.”
“I can see why.”
When they crossed back through reception to the other side, there were fewer, larger offices. He pointed at the first one. “My EA.”
“You have an executive assistant?” She couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice. But of course he did. He was a scion of industry. What did she think? He booked his own meetings? Made his own lunch reservations? If her surprise was unreasonable, so was the irrational stab of jealousy in her gut at the idea of some hot girl—for she would be hot—knowing the ins and outs of Jack’s life. “What’s her name?” she asked casually.
He looked like he was trying not to smile. “Seth.”
“Oh.” She sped on to the next, slightly larger office.
“Carl,” he said.
“Okay! Moving on.” She stopped at the last office before the corridor made a turn.
“This is Amy. Her title is VP, but she’s really my real estate person. She’s in Mexico right now.”
Oh, so this would be the hot girl. “Christmas getaway—nice,” Cassie said, pointedly asking no further questions about Amy.
“Nope, work. We’re working on our first project outside Canada and the US. I’m in the early stages of construction of a resort near Tulum. An eco sort of thing. Zip-lining, hiking—and of course the ocean. Hey! Why are you wrinkling your nose?”
“I’m sure it will be great. I just don’t get the idea of going on vacation in order to like, exert yourself. If I ever went on vacation, I would lie around reading trashy novels and napping all day.”
He laughed. “It’s for people who don’t work as hard as we do. Personally, I’m with you.”
It was her turn to giggle. The sight of him stretched out in a beach cabana reading a bodice ripper was too funny—he looked like he should be on the cover of one. “I thought the company would be bigger,” she said, running her fingers over the dark, polished wood of Amy’s door.
