The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue #2) - Jessica Hawkins Page 0,69

“Don’t underestimate mommies and daddies,” I say. “That stuff about the birds and the bees has to come from somewhere.”

She touches the hem of my t-shirt. I nearly shudder when her knuckles graze my stomach. “Speaking of roleplaying, I thought you were kidding about dressing up as a garbage man.”

I check my clothing again. “This is what I work in.”

“Oh.” She looks me up and down, her eyes twinkling. She’s giving me shit and enjoying it. “Good thing I find it sexy.”

“Yeah?” I ask. “That was risky, sending me that photo in the bath. I almost came back to the hotel room for you.”

She purses her lips. “I wouldn’t have let you in.”

“No?”

She presses her body to mine, rises onto the balls of her feet, and kisses me on the mouth. The way her soft lips mush into mine makes my dick come alive. I’ve wanted this sweet taste, these red lips, since I stepped into this building. And before that. Since I left her and her sexy dress in that hotel room. I go to wrap my arms around her waist, but she pulls away. She gives me the cigarette before glancing at my crotch. “Better do something about that, handyman,” she says and walks around me to return to the office. “We have a whole meal to get through.”

EIGHTEEN

AMELIA

Andrew’s daughter holds his hand as we walk to the restaurant, but she won’t stop turning around and looking at me. It’s as if she suspects something. But how could she at her age? She wears a miniature pink backpack, which is funny because miniature backpacks are all the rage right now.

To my left, Sadie fills me in on the latest feature she secured some client on some website. Bell is a beautiful little girl, a spitting image of her dark, mysterious father. She seems well behaved, but in my experience, most kids are until they aren’t.

“Turn left at the corner,” Sadie tells Andrew. “It’s the place with the red-and-white checkered tables out front. They have a kid’s menu.” She turns back to me. “Anyway, what do you think? Is it time to make a play?”

“For who?” I ask.

“Jo Keller—of What Jo Wore? The breakout fashion blogger I’ve been watching for months?”

Hot, new, promising up-and-comers are my thing. It’s partly how I made a name for myself in the industry—carefully researching clients in order to create my dream roster and then ruthlessly going after them, no matter if they were looking for representation or not. But my gut reaction isn’t excitement. Taking on a new client means presentations, lunches, dinners and drinks, numbers, negotiation. It costs money. And time—which is another way of saying money. Considering my business is currently up in the air, I don’t know that I can afford to bring on anyone new. At least when I was starting out, I had enough energy to make up for lack of money. Since I missed winning the award last week and confessed my hesitations about avec to Andrew, my focus has been waning. And the more it wanes, the harder I have to work to keep up.

“Let’s hold off,” I say.

“Why?” Sadie asks. “She’s got staying power, Amelia. Someone’ll scoop her up if they aren’t wooing her already.”

I scratch my eyebrow, glancing at the back of Andrew’s head. Strangely, he knows more about my situation with Reggie than anyone in my office. “I trust your instinct,” I tell Sadie. “But just keep doing what you’re doing. We’ll revisit in a few weeks.”

“Okay . . .”

Andrew opens the door to the restaurant. Bell and Sadie walk through, and as I follow, he taps my ass. I haven’t forgotten that it only took one kiss earlier to make him twitch against me. Or that he came all this way to see me. I might’ve been able to say no if I’d forgotten about him this week like I’d planned. When he suddenly left the hotel after I’d worked up the nerve to spend a second night with him, I remembered why we had an arrangement in the first place. But seeing him unexpectedly in the office just now made me realize how gray my week had been until that moment. And I didn’t want to forget. Time with Andrew—our baths, conversations, sex—has been the most at peace I’ve felt in months. Maybe even since Reggie left.

The hostess greets us. It’s early for dinner, so the restaurant is nearly empty. She leads us to a four-top table with two chairs on