“Is as organized as a landfill.” He dropped his feet to the ground. “Just what time does this Titanic of a business open?”
Her chin stubbornly shot up. “Our hours are flexible.”
He choked back a laugh. “More like nonexistent. Where’s the guy I ran into yesterday? The one working on the plane? Why isn’t he here?”
“Zeke has the day off.”
“Of course he does.” His tone was heavy with sarcasm.
“How I run my business is not your concern.”
“Somehow I don’t think these”—he reached for the stack of magazines he’d found—“have anything to do with running a business. Riveting as the articles are. And by the way, thanks for highlighting them.”
“Give me those.”
She made a move to grab them, but he easily evaded her.
“I don’t think many clients come here looking for the ‘Top Five Hair Removal Secrets,’ ” he read from one of the magazines. “Or,” he thumbed down the pile. “‘Six weeks to a perfect body.’ ”
Her face flushed pink.
This time, when she grabbed for the magazines, he let her take them.
“Every office has magazines.”
“Lady, this isn’t an office. It’s a dump.” He leaned back in the chair, enjoying watching her squirm. In a small way, it made up for all the garbage he’d just spent the last couple hours wading through. “It worked, just in case you were wondering.”
She clutched the magazines to her chest and eyed him warily. “What worked?”
“The six weeks.” He raked his eyes over her body, making sure he paused in all the right places to fully admire and appreciate her God-blessed assets. “You are perfect, Cotton Tail. I’ll give you that.”
Her face burned a crimson red. “Don’t call me that.”
“And if you need help with the other thing, you just let me know. I’d consider it my civic duty to volunteer.”
He could see she didn’t want to ask, could tell how hard she struggled. But in the end, curiosity won out. “What other thing?”
Before she knew what he was doing, he pulled one of the magazines from her tight grasp. There, on the front page and in letters large enough to grab attention at the grocery checkout stands, was the headline: “Ten Positions Guaranteed to Drive Him Wild.” “Believe me, sweetheart, it would be a night you’d never forget.”
“You are insane.”
He flashed her a smile that had opened more bedroom doors than he could remember.
“Insane,” she repeated, crossing her arms under her chest. The action molded her long-sleeved shirt tight against her, pulling the V neckline down until the tops of her full breasts were exposed. As clothing went, there was nothing provocative about what she wore. But try telling that to his body.
Jesus, what in the hell was wrong with him? He’d been tossing out sexual innuendos for more years than he could remember, and a helluva lot more explicit ones. Until now, they’d never boomeranged back around to him. But there was something about her . . . something that pushed him off center and made him think about things that were better left alone.
“Before you leave—”
“Who said I was leaving?” she interrupted.
He cut off his smile. She was tough; he’d give her that. But not tough enough. “Before you leave, I have something for you.”
“You have nothing I want.”
He hid his grin and opened the bottom desk drawer. It was full of crap. Female crap. Makeup. Nail polish. A plastic bottle labeled Polish Remover that smelled like shit. And a whole lot of other unnecessary stuff. Sliding the drawer all the way out, he upended it into one of the empty boxes he’d found earlier. The tiny glass bottles clinked together.
Too late, she realized what he was doing. Trying to stop him, she grabbed the box, and glass bottles of nail polish fell onto the floor. “What are you doing? You have no right.”
“Lady, until you come up with my money, I have every right. And from now on, no personal shit in the office. And one more thing.” He ripped a piece of paper off the pad he’d been writing on. “Here’s a list of supplies I’ll need to get this place into shape, and when you bring me my lunch, I like white bread. None of that whole wheat shit.”
“Go to hell.” Without taking the box or the slip of paper, she left.
Jared watched her go, smiling. Like taking candy from a baby. By this time tomorrow, she’d be begging her parents for the money.
Jenny slammed her front door behind her and instantly wished she hadn’t. She grabbed her