Juicy. Noelle MackЧитать онлайн книгу.
pressed a button on a small intercom console. “Dora. We need some coffee in here. How do you take yours, Bliss?”
“Black, please.”
“You got it. Two black coffees, Dora. Thanks.”
For no particular reason, Bliss imagined Dora as a motherly, efficient type in sensible shoes. Two minutes later, she was not thrilled to find out that Jaz’s assistant was a leggy blonde with ice-blue eyes. Perfectly poised, Dora brought in an ebony tray that matched her close-fitting suit, and positioned it low enough for Bliss and Jaz to help themselves to the two china cups on it.
“Thanks,” Jaz said politely, taking his cup and studying the spreadsheet he’d just pulled up. Bliss murmured her thanks as she took the remaining cup, momentarily unnerved by the look of cool appraisal that Dora gave her.
“You’re welcome,” Dora said.
“Did you two meet?” Jaz asked absently, glancing from one woman to the other. “Bliss, this is Dora. Dora, this is Bliss.”
“I figured that out,” Dora said, a faint note of affectionate mockery in her voice. She turned the empty tray sideways against her well-toned thigh and walked out. Bliss didn’t quite get the subtext. Jaz’s nonchalance could very well mean that he was fooling around with his assistant. Or not.
Bliss sipped her coffee, which was very good and freshly made, and focused on the columns of figures. She tried not to glance down at Jaz’s thighs so close to hers, spread wide to accommodate athletic-looking muscle and the intriguing bulge between his legs. He was hung. Totally hung. Not that he had an erection, of course. Yet. All she would have to do was run her hand along one solid quad and touch him there…no, no, no, she told herself. This is a client. Hot Treats is a big account. You want to land him, not lay him.
I want both, said a wicked, womanly voice in her head. He has to be the hottest treat of all. Her inner she-devil was reacting to Jaz’s nearness in a big way. Bliss pressed her knees together, feeling a sensation of pleasure fire up between her legs.
A few hours later—she had no idea how many, the reports piled on his desk covered the time display on his main computer—they had covered a lot of ground without ever leaving his sanctuary. He was fascinated by the viral web-marketing campaign she outlined for him, even if he wasn’t sure that YouTube-obsessed teens and blogging moms would send quirky videos about strawberry pies to everyone they knew.
But he did agree that the company needed to develop more flavorful fillings to gain competitive edge and sell a snack-to-the-max experience. They didn’t see eye to eye on the packaging: Jaz wanted to update the label but what he had in mind was too subdued for a grab-and-go treat. Warming to her subject, Bliss explained that appealing colors and trendy graphics stimulated impulse buying. He agreed that the gingham wrapper had to go, ditto the chubby cook on the label. Even the Pillsbury Doughboy had lost his gut, Bliss pointed out.
She was feeling a whole lot better. Intense verbal back-and-forth with a very interested and brainy guy did wonders for her ego. The combination of intelligent business discussion, creative concept talk, and, hell yes, hot and heavy flirtation had pretty much dissolved her own brains, though. Just squirming in a swivel chair right next to a powerful, turbocharged male body made for sex was all the foreplay Bliss needed.
But she couldn’t act on impulse, couldn’t just jump in his lap, despite the fantastic chemistry, despite the fact that she liked Jaz—a lot. Goddamn it.
Dora was a big question mark but since Bliss was resolved to sidestep a potentially problematic affair, whatever was going on between him and his assistant wasn’t her problem. Because Bliss and Jaz were going to be friends. Friendly friends. Not very friendly friends.
“Whew. That was an amazing session,” she finally said. “But I have to go. I’m on the last flight out of Pittsburgh.”
He tapped a key and the flight schedule for Allegheny Air appeared on one of the monitors. “It just left. It’s later than you think.”
“Shit.”
“Stay over. We can go out to dinner. I’ll ask Dora to book a room for you at a local B&B. Great place. You’ll like it. I’ve stayed there myself.”
“Don’t you live around here?” Bliss couldn’t help asking.
“Nope. I live in Manhattan, same as you. So does Dora. She goes back and forth when I do. But I won’t be staying at the B&B tonight.”
“Oh.” He wasn’t forthcoming about where else he stayed in Pennsylvania or who with and she couldn’t exactly ask. New York was a safer topic. “So…East Side? West Side?”
He named an address at Columbus Circle. Bliss had seen the building. It was new, sheathed in shimmering blue glass, with wraparound views of Central Park and the Hudson River from the upper floors.
Not the same as her Chelsea studio, a sublet. Bliss told herself often enough that she should be able to buy her own place at the age of thirty but she couldn’t. New York was just too expensive, that was all there was to it, and you didn’t get much for the money. The studio had a microscopic terrace that served as extra storage space. And a stop for pigeons, which promenaded on the terrace rail, cooing madly to each other. So much for the al fresco barbecues she’d imagined having.
But her friend Anna, whose name was on the lease—and who had joined the Peace Corps and was still somewhere south of the equator digging holes for latrines—had pointed out the rusty hibachi behind the bicycle with the flat tire. Just in case Bliss wanted to buy a steak small enough for its tiny grill and four charcoal briquets to cook it with.
“Sit tight. I’ll go talk to Dora.” Jaz got up and headed out to wherever it was that his cool, ice-eyed assistant sat. Probably on an ice floe, Bliss thought unhappily. Was there any reason he couldn’t just talk to Dora on the intercom? Did he have to make excuses for taking Bliss out to dinner?
She reached down into her bag and flipped open her laptop, wondering if wi-fi worked this far from civilization. Wonder of wonders, it did. Fully booted up, she accessed her office e-mail and found a message from Vi.
Did you nail him? I know Jaz Claybourn is a dish.
Bliss frowned and rested her fingers on the edge of the keyboard. How did Vi know that? The answer drifted to the surface of her preoccupied mind. Her boss had probably leafed through the extra copy of the press kit on Bliss’s desk. Viola Lentone didn’t miss a thing.
I think I got the account, Vi, if that’s what you mean.
She could just see her boss’s long red fingernails poised to reply. In less than half a minute, Vi did.
Good work, Bliss. Take a day off tomorrow. Enjoy Pennsylvania. I understand that some people do.
Bliss replied with a smiley face and signed off. At least Vi valued her employees. She wasn’t easy to work for, but Bliss knew how to get on her good side after seven years at Lentone Fitch & Garibaldi. Bliss had signed on when it was still a boutique firm with a reputation for original work and bare-knuckles aggression.
Bliss didn’t know what had happened to Fitch or Garibaldi. Vi had always run the company pretty much by herself. But she was billing millions of dollars a year now and proud of her take-no-prisoners nickname: The Violent One. Of course, a lot of the money went back into the business, especially their office space, which took up an entire floor in a posh building. In advertising, image was all.
She sighed and closed her laptop as Jaz came back through the office door.
“You’re all set. Your overnight stay is on HT, by the way. Sorry you didn’t make your flight. I should have paid more attention to the time. We can get great burgers or a decent steak at the restaurant in town. What do you say?”
The big, bold, mighty CEO actually looked eager to take her out. Bliss could not think of a single reason to say no. “Okay,” she said at last.
She gathered up her things and let Jaz lead her out of the