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“I’ll go get it,” Jameson announces.
I don’t acknowledge that because I’m too busy searching for my bra. I know I threw it on the armchair in the corner when I took it off the other day. I toss a pair of jeans out of the way and a shirt. By the time I’m at the bottom of the pile of clothes that I’ve thrown there, I can hear Jameson behind me, clearing his throat.
I turn to see him holding my bra in his hand. He’s clinging to one strap while it dangles in the air. “Is this what you’re looking for, Sinclair?”
I march toward him. “How? How the hell did it end up in your bed?”
He holds it above his head, just out of my reach. “You tell me.”
“Give it to me,” I demand.
“Why were you in my bed?” he asks with a smirk. “If I tear it apart, will I find the matching panties?”
“That’s not funny. I was not in your bed. I will never be in your bed.”
Our eyes lock. His lips part. Nothing comes out of them but a heavy exhale.
The moment is broken by the sound of the clanking of the tags on Dudley’s collar as he runs toward us. We both turn to see him with a black sock in his mouth as he races back into my room to jump into the bed.
“Hey!” Jameson calls out to my dog. “That’s mine.”
Dudley ignores him as he crawls under the covers of my bed with the sock.
I point a finger at him. “That’s how it happened.”
Jameson lowers his hand to grant me access to my bra. I snatch it away from him.
“My mistake,” he whispers.
I clutch my bra close to my chest. I can’t believe my dog buried my bra in Jameson’s bed. Wanting this to end now, I gaze down at my bare wrist. “It’s time for me to get to work.”
“What?” He chuckles. “Is it half past that freckle? You’re not wearing a watch.”
Busted.
“I was checking out a scratch I had there.” I rub the spot that has never been scratched. “I know it’s almost time for me to go to work.”
“Because Berk wants you there by seven?”
I didn’t bother to check the time on my phone when I woke up. That’s my mistake, and it’s costing me loads of embarrassment now.
I double down on the avoidance technique, hoping it’ll work for me this time. “Why are you going to the office this early?”
“I’m not,” he states simply. “I’m meeting someone for breakfast.”
Curiosity nips at me. “Holden?”
That sends Jameson’s head back in laughter. “Funny, Sin. That’s fucking funny.”
“So it’s Kalon?”
“Nah.” He looks me dead in the eyes. “She’s way prettier than Kalon will ever be.”
She?
Before he left New York, there were a lot of ‘shes’ in Jameson’s life. He didn’t shy away from hitting on women and taking them home with him. Apparently, that hasn’t changed since he moved away.
He stares at me as if he’s waiting for another question to pop out of me, but there’s no way in hell I’m giving him that satisfaction.
I paste a smile on my lips, hoping that it looks at least semi-natural. “Enjoy your breakfast. I need to jump in the shower and then take Dudley for a walk.”
He glances toward the bed. “I think he fell asleep. I need to go. My date awaits.”
Before I can come up with anything to say in response, he turns and exits the hallway on his way to meet a woman for breakfast.
How the hell did this living arrangement become this complicated so quickly?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Jameson
“You’re just as handsome as your brother.”
I laugh. “Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?”
Monique Hantam smiles as she directs me to sit in a chair opposite her. She summoned me to this bistro for breakfast. I got the call from her an hour ago. I initially ignored the ringing phone, but when the person on the other end persisted by calling back repeatedly, I finally relented and answered without gazing at the screen.
I was too damn tired to care. I assumed it was my brother, so I had every intention of telling him to go to hell, but then I heard the slight accent that has lingered since Monique moved here from London forty years ago. The sound of her early morning greeting brought a smile to my face and woke me right up.
“It is a compliment.” She sips from a champagne flute.
I assume it’s filled with expensive bubbly and orange juice.
“Do you want to join me, or are you going to be a boring Benny and go for plain orange juice?”
I glance at the woman headed in our direction. She’s carrying a menu, so it doesn’t take a genius to deduce that she works here at Lise.
I’ve walked by this place several times since I’ve been back in New York City, but I had no idea it was this charming inside.
