Page 12 of Big & Bossy

Mandy

The repeated sound of my heels clicking against the drought-ridden sidewalk was the only thing keeping me sane as I walked to The Buff. Jackson had sent me an email, cc’ing Harry, requesting our presence at one of the nicest cafes in Boulder. He’d said he wanted to “talk business,” but it felt a lot more like he just wanted to get under my skin.

I hated that it was working.

I’d enacted my plan, though, and I’d be damned if I let it fail. Harry would be exceptionally confused why I’d shown up in a short skirt with my long hair down considering my usual business attire was slacks and a blouse with my hair in my everyday bun. I would explain it away later.

I plucked my phone from the front pocket of my purse as I stood outside the doors of the cafe. I didn’t want to go in alone. I texted Harry.

I’m here. Where are you?

I stared at the screen for what felt like minutes as I waited for Harry’s three little dots to dance across the bottom of the screen.

Shit, I didn’t tell you, did I? I was… how do I put this nicely? Uninvited.

I couldn’t believe it. Jackson. He wouldn’t.

But then again, he did force me to meet with him alone first. What was stopping him from doing that exact same thing again?

I slipped my phone back into my bag as I stepped through the sliding glass doors of The Buff. I’d never been there before, not by choice, but because it was notoriously difficult to book a table. It appeared its reputation held true as I made eye contact with the hostess at the podium, her eyes narrowing as she looked me up and down.

“We don’t take walk-ins,” she sneered, leaning forward on her soapbox. “You’re welcome to call and try to book a table though I know reservations are full for several months .”

The temptation to roll my eyes was stronger than when I had to speak with Jackson, and that was saying something. “I’m meeting someone who I’m positive is already here.”

Her brows furrowed as she looked me up and down once again. “We don’t have anyone expecting company.”

“The reservation should be under Jackson Big,” I said, keeping my voice as level as I possibly could.

A flash of surprise cut through her glare and I followed her gaze as she turned her head to the side. Not too far off in the distance, a lonely Jackson sat at a private table, the rest of the seating around him empty. If it’s this hard to get a reservation, what the fuck did he do to empty half of the restaurant?

Jackson looked up from his menu, likely feeling the weight of eyes on him. Within seconds he was on his feet walking toward us, his composure and professional demeanor waning as I caught him glancing down at my exposed thighs not once, not twice, but three times.

“Mr. Big, is this who you were expecting?” The hostess asked, the pen between her fingers twirling aimlessly. “She doesn’t match the description?—”

“Yes, it is,” he answered, cutting her off with an edge to his tone. He stopped before me, clad in an all-black business suit with a matching black button-up shirt. His dark hair was pushed away from his forehead, highlighting every obnoxiously gorgeous, angular line of his face. Time had only been kind to him. “Hello, Miranda.”

My lip twitched upward in a sneer at my full name. “Hello, Mr. Big.”

“I said… fuck it. It’s fine. Come on.” He turned on one foot, not even waiting for me as he started walking back toward his table. I followed, cursing myself for every step, every click of my heels.

He didn’t even pull my chair out for me.

He sat before I did, every movement precise, keeping his eyes forward as much as he could. That will only get harder with me sitting across from you.

“Why did you uninvite Harry?” I asked, unable to stop it from coming out of my mouth. It was all I could think about since I saw Harry’s text. Well, that, and Jackson’s jawline. Fucking annoyingly unreal.

He sighed as he leaned forward on the table, his chin resting perfectly against his joined hands. “I figured it would be best for us to discuss some aspects of our working arrangement alone. Do you have a problem with that?”

I watched as his eyes lingered on my lips, my curls, my neck. Then lower, to my collarbone and chest. “I have a problem with you inviting him and then rescinding your invite.”

“I didn’t think you’d come if he wasn’t invited.” The words came so easily, so simply for him. I hated it. What did I ever see in this asshole? “I would argue that my assumption was correct. Wouldn’t you?”

“I would argue that that’s entirely manipulative and rude,” I snapped back.

“Not incorrect, though.”

“Did you bring me here solely to prove your theory correct or do we actually have things to discuss, Jackson?” I asked, shifting slightly in my chair and pressing my breasts together with the inside of my biceps. His tongue moved slightly across his lips, his gaze wandering, and yes, that’s perfect, this will work.

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