Dirty (Unexpected Lovers #3) - J.B. Heller Page 0,1
it.”
Archer is out of his seat and around my desk in seconds, scooping me into a massive bear hug. “You are the shit, Lenny!” he hoots as he spins me around in a circle.
Oh my God, he smells good.
Shit. Why am I smelling him? “Put me down, asshole!” I demand, slapping at his broad shoulders.
Gently, he places me on my feet but hovers in my personal bubble.
“You’re looking particularly fine today, spitfire,” he murmurs as his gaze dips all the way to my pointed stilettos then rakes slowly up my body, over my black, high-waisted, skinny trousers and pausing at the lace camisole peeking through the low cut of my emerald-green blazer.
I arch a brow and smirk. “I know.”
His grin is devastating, and I fight like hell to keep my reaction to it and him under wraps. But he knows what he does to me—he always has, the bastard.
Drawing his bottom lip between his teeth, he shakes his head. “I bet you do,” he murmurs. “But I like telling you anyway.”
His nearness causes my heart rate to spike, and butterflies swarm in my stomach. My fight-or-flight instinct flares to life, and I’m about to kick him in the shin to make him back the hell up, but Archer knows when I’ve hit my limit and retreats to his side of the desk again.
“I knew you’d land the deal, but I didn’t think it’d happen this quick,” he says as he sits then stretches his long legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankle.
I shrug, relief spreading through my veins now that there’s a barrier between us once more, then lower into my own seat. “You said it—I’m the shit.”
We spend the next twenty minutes going over the finer details of the contract before I hand Archer a pen so he can sign on the dotted line. His fingers brush mine as he takes it from me, clearly a deliberate move. Everything with Arch is intentional.
“What up, bitches?” Bates’ voice booms through the room as he strides in like he owns the place then deposits himself in the chair next to Archer.
“Bitches?” I query. “Is that the way you refer to your best friend and the best freakin’ agent you’ve ever had?”
Bates snorts. “You’re the only agent I’ve ever had.”
“Yeah, but I’m still the best,” I tell him, sliding a stack of papers across my desk to him.
His beefy hand shoots out to take them the second they’re within his reach. “What’s this?”
“Read it,” I say in a bored tone.
Archer tilts his head, curiosity in his eyes as Bates reads the first few lines of the contract I just gave him.
“Fuck yeah!” Bates yells, jumping to his feet and pumping his fist in the air.
“What is it?” Archer asks.
I grin at my stupid big brother as he strikes half a dozen different poses with his hand on or near his face. “You’re looking at the new face of Lux Moisturizer for him.” He says ‘for him’ in a hilarious French accent.
Archer bursts out laughing. “Are you serious? You pansy-ass motherfucker.”
The look of elation on Bates’ face drops, and he glares at his childhood BFF. “Take it back,” he demands.
Just like I did when I was a teenager, I know when they are about to come to blows over the dumbest shit. So, I sit back in my seat and wait for the shitshow that is these two to begin. I wish I had some popcorn.
“Make me,” Archer says, smirking.
Bates moves fast, his hand shooting out to slap Archer across the cheek. The sound reverberates through the room, and a burst of laughter spills from my mouth. I clasp a hand over it because these guys are freaking weird about their little bitch fights and take them super seriously.
Archer gapes at Bates. “You just slapped me!”
“You deserved it,” Bates retorts, a smug smile tilting his lips.
“Fuck you, fucker,” Archer spits, tackling my brother to the ground where they roll around like a pair of toddlers fighting over a stuffed animal and knock a vase of flowers off the corner of my desk.
Glass shatters. My assistant, Clay, rushes in, his eyes wide with panic until he sees Archer pinning Bates to the floor in some MMA-style hold. Clay narrows his eyes at them. “Jesus H. Christ, I leave my desk for thirty minutes and you two sneak in.”
“You love us!” Bates calls out as Clay turns his back on them, returning to his work station.
“He really doesn’t,” I say. My