Love Me: The Complete Series (42 page)

They talked a little longer and she agreed to show up around eight. It gave her time to finish work, then go to the gym. The gym was a must since most guys knew how to cook only a short repertoire, all of which were extremely calorie-rich. She’d forgotten to ask the menu, but it didn’t matter. Her mother’s etiquette about invitations had stuck.
When someone invites you to dinner, you go. It’s rude to ask about the menu as if you’ll only show if the food’s right. Invitations are about the visit, not the food. A chance to build something more permanent.

More permanent with Carter? Did she want that?

Amanda focused on a mass of white puffy clouds in the sky outside her office window. She shrugged. She wasn’t sure. He was nice, attentive, and expected little to nothing. That was a great thing since it meant she couldn’t possibly fall short of expectations like she’d done much of her life. He was as driven as she was about his career—a great match. God knows she wanted to have a relationship that respected and supported her career. It had been hard enough to make it past the bar exam, then snag her current job. The last thing she wanted was stress in the form of man-trouble.

So why did it all feel so—boringly by the book?

She managed to leave early enough to get a good workout before going home to shower. She wasn’t sure if the excitement that bubbled in her chest was due to her exercise or the fact the night promised a little more than dinner alone and watching late night shows on TV. Regardless, she flipped her iPod speakers on high and danced to the alternative rock tunes that bellowed. With mascara in hand, a baggy T-shirt over her shorts, and a headband holding her hair, she applied makeup sparingly. She wanted to look nice but not
intentionally
nice.

Bang bang bang.

What was that? She tapped the volume button a couple of times to lower the blaring to a reasonable roar. Four more thunderous bangs—on her front door.

She pattered barefoot to the door and peeked through the window—
oh my God
. What was
he
doing here? She rolled to the side of the door and smoothed her shirt—a dumb move since T-shirts never looked neat anyway. She yanked the band from her hair and shook it out before opening the door.

“Jackson. What are you doing here … and how’d you find me?”

“Carter gave me your address and number. He didn’t tell you I was going to call?”

“Call, yes. Drop in on me without warning? No.”

“So you know why I’m here, then?”

“You wanted to ask about a case I worked on. I suppose that’s code for wanting answers to the other items, too? Right?”

“Which items?”

Jackson glanced up and down her frame as she kept a firm hand on the door. Amanda was keenly aware that her T-shirt hung down so far that the shorts underneath were invisible.

“My eyes are up here, Jax.” She stuck a finger under his chin, closed his mouth, and pulled his face upward until his eyes locked with hers.

“It’s not my fault you answer the door dressed in nothing but a T-shirt.”

Amanda flashed her eyes skyward. “I have shorts on, and I wasn’t expecting to need to answer the door.”

He darted a devilish grin her way. “Don’t tell me you were singing to that crap on the radio? Or were you dancing?”

She felt the warmth in her cheeks. “As a matter of fact I
was
dancing … while I put makeup on for a date.”

The grin on his face disappeared. “Dressed like that? I hope it’s a sleepover date. Can I come in? It won’t take long.”

“No.”

He ignored her. As he strode past, his hand brushed her thigh. Yikes. Amanda turned to stop him and ran smack into his chest. Oomph. You would have thought a guy would back up and give a girl some room, but noooo. She put a hand out and shoved. He stepped one step backward.

“Amanda, I need your help, so I thought we could make a deal. I’ll help you with Carter and you can help me with work.”

Technically, she doubted she’d need help with Carter considering her plans for the evening. “What makes you think I still need your help? He invited me for dinner tonight.”

“That’s the date you’re getting all made up for?”

She lifted her chin. “Yep. And about that sleepover thing—”

Jackson held up both hands. “Don’t tell me. He’s making lasagna. Wine and lasagna. Carter thinks his lasagna is the bomb and it’s his version of an aphrodisiac … or at least, he thinks it is.”

“Really? Well, that’s interesting. So, his recommendation to watch the Astros game after dinner was a ruse to what? Get me drinking so much I wouldn’t want to leave?”

“I wasn’t saying that … I don’t know what he’s planned. We haven’t talked about you. Look, I need your help. Give it or not. That’s up to you. But don’t play around with my friend if you’re not interested. He has enough to deal with already.”

It was odd that her living room shrunk the minute Jackson stepped inside. It had felt so roomy when she chose to add the space rug and put an antique steamer in the middle as a table. Now, she needed space and there wasn’t any to find. She shoved him again. “Would you mind sitting down? I’m getting a crick in my neck trying to look up.”

Jackson flopped backward into a chair and stretched his legs over the trunk. He glanced around her home. “You have a lot of stuff.”

“Most of this ‘stuff’ is considered antique, things I’ve collected from family members or that I’ve purchased at auction.”

“Seriously? You paid for someone’s old junk?”

“Not junk. Antiques. They have value.”

He shrugged and Amanda registered the disbelief in his expression. “If you say so. Looks like junk to me.”

Amanda crossed her arms, ready for battle. “What do you want from me, Jackson? Let’s get this over with so I can finish getting ready for my dinner date.”

“With Carter.”

“Yes, with Carter. Now, spill.”

“Look, I don’t want to interfere, so we can continue talking while you”—he swirled a hand toward her bathroom—“do whatever you need to do. I can talk while you primp.”

She hesitated. Her place was small enough she could hear him from the bathroom but did she trust him alone? She threw her hands up in exasperation. “Okay, fine. I’ll listen and you talk.” She went back to the bathroom, finished applying her mascara, and drew on some lip gloss. Tossing her makeup case into a drawer, she leaned over and pulled her curling iron from below.

“You really do have shorts under there.” Jackson’s voice held surprise.

Amanda jolted up and met his gaze in the mirror as it slowly rose from looking at her backside. “What are you doing?”

“I’m talking.”

“I get that but I meant in there. Talk in there.” She pointed down the hall. “You can hear me from the other room and I can hear you.”

He leaned a shoulder against the door jam and stuck his hand in his pocket. “But I can’t see you if you’re in here and I need to know what you’re thinking.”

As if he could tell that just by watching. Hell, she couldn’t read him at all so what made him think he could do so with her? “Jackson, this is my
bathroom.
Guys don’t have conversations about business with a woman in her bathroom. That’s off limits.”

“Why?”

“It’s … it’s … private. Personal.”

Amanda wrapped her hair in the heating curling-iron and narrowed her eyes at him in admonishment. Surely he’d get the message and tread back down the hall to the safety of the living room. She released the hair and let it fall in a soft ringlet, then wrapped another strand.

Jackson didn’t seem disturbed by the comment. He simply sat down—on the toilet. Next to the open cabinet, under the sink, which boldly displayed things even more personal. He glanced at the pink tampon package, the plastic container that held her birth control pills, and the stash of nail polish. Awkward.

Amanda stuck her bare foot against the door and slammed it shut. “See? Personal.”

He leaned his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor. “Your bathroom smells like you.”

She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. “So what’s this contract you’re all worked up about?” Thankfully, he didn’t glance down too far below his feet, where she’d discarded the bra and panties she’d had on before her shower. How could she retrieve them without notice?

“Right before you left, you were reviewing a contract for a bid proposal on work for a company called BookMyss. Do you remember that?”

“Of course. Their attorney was pretty difficult to work with and refused to allow us any changes. He’d sent over a first draft on the contract and I took that to mean it was negotiable but he wouldn’t budge on some of the key items.”

He grinned. “I knew you’d remember. Carter said he doubted you would but he doesn’t really know you like I do, does he?”

With her hair wrapped around the hot wand, she stared at his lopsided grin. “
You
don’t really know me like you think you do either, Jax. We haven’t seen each other more than a few hours in two years.”

“Yes, but I know your mind is like a steel trap. Once something goes in there,” he tapped her head above the curling iron, “it stays.”

Amanda let the curl fall and started on another. “So I remember things. Most good attorneys do. That’s how we make a living—ensuring our facts are straight and provable.”

“Provable. Now there’s the word I was looking for. Something about that contract just doesn’t seem provable … Do you do that to your hair every day?”

She turned, a big mistake, because he lifted his head and his eyes were level with her chest. He didn’t flinch but he didn’t look away either. Instead, he grinned again.

“On work days I usually put my hair up. It saves time and keeps it neat all day. I don’t like it falling in my face and looking mussy.”

“I would.”

“Would what?”

“Like it falling in my face and looking mussy.”

“Seriously, Jackson? You’re sitting on a toilet trying to make a move on me while I get ready to go on a date with your best friend? Are you kidding me?”

He shrugged. “I can’t help myself.”

She held the end of the curling iron toward him and swirled it like a sword. “You do realize these things are hot, don’t you? It would make a nasty scar.”

He slid up to full height. “I was only kidding.”

She finished her hair and set the curling iron down, then walked toward her bedroom. He followed. She whirled at the door and pushed his chest with both hands. “Oh, no you don’t. Go back in the other room.”

“But we’re talking.”

“We can talk in there,
after
I get dressed.” Gripping his biceps, which sent a little tingle through her stomach, she turned him around and pushed.

“Talk about a buzz kill.”

“Yeah, well, there wasn’t really a buzz going yet, Romeo.”

Jackson turned back around to face her. He slowly ran his fingers through one of the curls she’d pressed into her hair and let it drop. “No?”

Amanda sighed. “Sorry if hanging out and talking shop in the bathroom doesn’t turn me on, Jax, but maybe that works with someone else. Oh, snap. I forgot.” She clicked her fingers.

“Forgot what?”

“My friend that I introduced you to a while back wanted to know if you’d like to double.”

“Double?” He let that stupid grin curl back up. “As in both of you and … me?”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “No, as in you, her, me, and Carter.”

His faced went serious. “Oh, uh, I’ll have to think about that and get back to you. When did you say your date was tonight?”

“I didn’t say but I’m going over to his place at eight. Now,” she waved a hand in a go-away gesture, “wait for me in the living room. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

She half expected him to refuse and tromp into her bedroom just as he’d done her home earlier. He didn’t. Jackson turned and followed her direction.

Amanda joined him after slipping on a T-shirt, a blue skirt, and open-toed sandals. She had her purse over her shoulder and he frowned when she walked in. She put a hand to her stomach and pressed the shirt down. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing. You look great.”

“Thanks.” She smiled. Why did she care about his approval? She had no need to impress him. “So, what do you want to know about BookMyss?”

“I was hoping you had the old contract lying around somewhere. Or at least committed to memory. I have the current one here.” He held up a handful of papers that she hadn’t noticed until now. He’d drawn them from a pocket. “I did a little research on the BookMyss Company and if the Internet is accurate … which we know isn’t always the case … the company has no possible reason for a project of this type.”

She pulled the papers from his hand and flipped through the pages, pausing periodically to review verbiage. The document was forty pages long and she hadn’t the time to give it more than a brief glance. “You’re right, it doesn’t. That’s not the contract I was working on. I’ve never seen it before.”

“None of it?”

She handed the document back to Jackson. “I can’t say without reading it more carefully but at first glance, no … not a word. If you leave it with me for a couple of days, I can take some time and review it in full. I could let you know by, say, Friday?”

“I’m not sure I can stall that long. This contract goes in front of the board on Thursday for a vote. I also have to approve the financials and there’s a couple of transactions that confused me. This contract requires up-front payments to a couple of vendors in order to get started. It points to order placement guarantees required to meet the production timelines.”

“So? People do that all the time. It helps to protect the vendor in case you default on the project.”

“I know that. Oddly, in this case, we’ve already paid a significant amount to this vendor.”

“Maybe you’re using them for another project?”

Jackson shook his head and Amanda squelched an urge to move his bangs away from his eyes so she could see him better. “The contract specifically states the reason for pre-payment is due to no prior established relationship or credit lines. That would imply we haven’t worked with them at all.”

“Oh, let me see again.” She held out a hand.