sighs and leans back in his chair.
“What do you want? I need to get back to work.”
Disappointment pinches his expression. “The Times is running an article on the event this weekend, and they want a quote.”
“You’re the PR guy,” I say with a thin hold on my restraint. “Do your job.”
His brows pinch into a scowl, making him look so much more like his twin. “No shit, but they’re asking for a quote from you.”
I turn back to my computer monitor, dismissing him. “Give them a quote from me, then.”
“You want me to make it up?”
I look up only long enough to glare. “Did I stutter?”
A crooked grin tilts his lips. “This’ll be fun.”
His threat is empty. He’d never do anything to tarnish the name of North Industries. When I think of the things he’s done to protect our family business, the way he’s had to spin a story to keep me out of the tabloids and out of jail, my reputation is safe in his hands.
“Close the door on your way out.”
He chuckles and stands to leave. “Jordan’s a special lady for putting up with your ornery ass. Hold on to that one.”
I keep my eyes on the screen until he’s gone and then lift my gaze to the door after it’s closed. Holding on to Jordan would be the selfish thing to do. If I cared about her at all, I’d let her go to find someone better. And even as the words slip through my head, my vision goes red with thoughts of violence.
Will I be able to simply stand by when she decides to walk away?
Twenty-Four
Alexander
The North Industries charity event is our company’s yearly attempt to prove that we’re not just rich assholes, we’re charitable rich assholes.
All of the wealthiest people in New York will be there, and I’ll be forced to do more socializing in one night than I do during the entire year combined. Usually, I’d have a paid escort on my arm. She’d hold a college degree in a field related to civil engineering or design, and I would bank on her carrying the bulk of the conversations as well as dazzling the room with her beauty.
Jordan will have no problem turning every head in the room. But I fear that the majority of the conversations will fall on my shoulders, and with my track record, this could end up disastrous.
I’ve just slipped on my dress shoes when I get an incoming text from Murphy, saying he’s downstairs whenever we’re ready. I knock on the bathroom door.
“I’m almost ready,” Jordan calls from the other side.
I slip on my coat and tug at the collar of my shirt in an attempt to loosen my bowtie. I manage to loosen it a millimeter when the bathroom door opens. I lift my eyes to the mirror to see her reflection as she steps into the bedroom behind me.
Her ice-blue gown is held to her body by two thin straps and pours like liquid silk over her curves.
I turn around, staring unabashedly at the gentle dip of her neckline, which exposes just enough cleavage to drive a man crazy with lust. She turns around, and those thin little strips crisscross at her back, which looks soft and gloriously bare. Her long hair is wavy and wrapped in a loose bundle at the base of her neck, leaving some pieces free to fall against her neck and frame her face.
“You’re so pretty,” I say, mostly to myself, but her cheeks turn pink as if she heard me.
Her high heels click against the marble floor, calling my attention to feet that look nearly barefoot except for the tiny silver strap across her toes and ankle. She stops in front of me, and I watch her gray eyes as they study me. I resist the urge to squirm under her intense appraisal.
“You look pretty, too,” she says and leans in to press a soft kiss to my lips.
I hardly have the wherewithal to kiss her back, stunned by her beauty.
She cups my jaw and swipes at my lips. “Lipstick.”
I open my mouth to speak but slam my teeth closed, afraid it might be inappropriate to say what’s on my mind. That I wouldn’t mind wearing her lipstick on my skin—my jaw, neck, and collar. If I tell her I’d walk around proudly with the evidence of her lips on me, would she think that’s weird? The visual of her lipstick stains on my skin sends a surge of lust through