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“I don’t know. Maybe if you’re a Victorian ghost?”
“All I’m saying is that sexy little dress you have on doesn’t look like any kind of pajamas to me.”
“Well, it is. And no one asked you for your opinion.”
“If you wear that thing in front of me, you’re not going to be wearing it for long. You good with that, Lemon?”
Shrugging, I squint my eyes up at him. “I’m not wearing it in front of you. I’m wearing it in my own house. And you’re not even supposed to be here. You weren’t invited. So, I guess I’ll take my chances.”
“We need to talk.”
“No. I don’t want to talk to you about my pajamas or about anything else.”
“I’m done hearing you tell me no. I think I’ve let this go on too long. Let you think you’re in charge here.”
“And you think you’re in charge here?” When I try to slam the door in his face, he shoves his boot in to block it from closing.
He grabs the door in his hand and holds it steady, stopping me from trying to slam it on his foot again. “Yeah, I do. We both are. Not just you, Lemon. You don’t dictate the terms here. We talk about them, and we decide together.”
“That sounds entirely too reasonable.”
Jameson smiles down at me, a smug fucking smile, baring his straight white teeth. “And you just hate that I’m the one saying it, don’t you?”
I nod.
“Don’t you want to see what I brought you?”
“No. Are you going to leave if I ask you to?”
“Not until we talk. Then if you still want me to go, you know I will.”
“Fine. Get in here before someone sees you. If they haven’t already. If anyone saw you come here tonight, I’m never talking to you again.”
The second Jameson steps inside, I slam the door behind him, so no one can see us together. When I turn around to face him, he’s surveying the disaster I made of my kitchen tonight.
“I see how busy you are. Working was it? Looks like you’re drinking margaritas by yourself.”
“So, what if I am?”
“You should have texted me and told me to come over. I like a margarita from time to time. You never have to drink alone, babe. Not when you’ve got me.”
“I don’t want to have you,” I mutter.
Jameson quirks a brow and then grins down at me. “Tell me something I might actually believe. Make me a margarita, babe.”
“Asshole. Fine, I’ll make you one. Now just say what you need to say, so you can go.”
“I will. But first, explain to me how this is working again?”
“I’m testing botanical syrups that can be added to coffee or lemonade or cocktails or sparkling water. Like the ones I make for Ladycakes. But those flavors are just for the bakery. So, I’m trying to come up with some new flavors. All this mess is courtesy of what is apparently known as product development. I Googled it.”
“Product development sounds pretty fun.”
“It was until you got here,” I promise him with a salty smile.
“Until I got here? And here I thought the fun was just getting started. You’re looking real sexy in that shiny little dress, babe.”
“There will be no fun tonight, kid.” I don’t care what he says, I’m going to call him kid all damn night. If he doesn’t like it, he can leave.
