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She crosses her arms. “She’s busy.”
Huh. A human barricade.
Good thing I’ve been trained for such an event.
I run straight at her.
She squeaks but holds her ground.
Good, because that’s what I wanted.
Veering left, I lift my booted foot, plant the arch against the edge of Lorena’s desk, toe into a leap, and vault over her.
She ducks and cries out.
Instant classic. I land with a thud.
“Thanks, Lorena,” I say, pulling open the office door.
She’s still sputtering vague threats as I close the door with aclick.
For a confused moment, I stand within the inner sanctum, a huge corner office with buttoned leather couches, two flat-screen TVs, a hulking Thor of a desk, and a well-stocked kitchen. The satisfied grin slips from my face.
Momma isn’t alone.
The man she’s with drives the air from my lungs. Built for a hot night of unforgettable sex, he has wild blond hair like a sandstorm, eyes the color of the ocean after a lazy day in the sun, and beach-bronzed skin.
Comeon, give a lady a warning. I’m used to finding stodgy business-type people in Momma’s office. Like a deer caught in beautiful blinding blue headlights, I stare at the man.
“Here’s Justice,” says Leland, Momma’s oldest friend and most trusted adviser. Man cannot be put off his game. He moves toward me, silver hair gleaming under the canopy of recessed lights, his gray-checkered Armani suit draped over him as if upon the shoulders of dignity itself. He extends his hand cordially, so very pleased I’ve made it.
Because I’m used to faking it—kind of been raised that way—I take Leland’s smooth hand. He presses down firmly and tugs me farther into the room.
“Sandesh, I’d like you to meet Justice Parish.” Only the stern grip of Leland’s hand reveals how annoyed he is. “She does PR for the Mantua Academy and will be working on the Greenville Initiative. She’s familiar with all aspects of our newest philanthropy venture.”
Dude is good. Calm. Graceful. And full of shit.Greenville?What is that project about? Giving away money, judging by what Leland said.
Behind Leland, Momma’s brown eyes show as little as the rose-colored niqab that covers her hair and face and scars.
I give Leland a rictus grin meant to be a smile that’ll probably be the scariest thing he sees all day. I’m usually more successful at hiding my feelings, trained in it and all. But this high-pressure situation—Jack-be-nimbling Lorena, barging into a business meeting, and finding this perfect hot stranger—has me off my game.
Still, I recover quickly. “Actually, my role in all philanthropic projects is still advisory. I wouldn’t want to mislead, uhm, Sandesh, right?”
His skin tone definitely matches the golden-brown hue of the Bengali desert he’s named after. A delicious and surprising name for a delicious and surprising man.
Blue Eyes walks forward, hand outstretched. “Yes, it’s Sandesh. I’m head of the International Peace Team. We’re partnering with Greenville in Jordan.”
His fingers slide along my palm with a brush of heat that sends my skin tingling. It’s not his hot, firm grip, or his intense good looks, or his confident gaze, but a combination of all of that, along with his smile, that has me floundering in all the feelings before processing exactly what he just said.
“Jordan?”
4
SANDESH
Focus on the question, Sandesh, and not the brazen gaze of the hot woman standing before you.
I can’t. This woman demands my attention.
